Mother of All Secrets(35)

The nannies were talking in hushed voices, so as not to wake the babies, but I heard Vanessa’s nanny—I thought her name was Cynthia—say “Naomi.”

They were talking about Isabel.

Though I’d half-heartedly resolved to take Selena’s advice and butt out, I was overwhelmingly curious. They might know something, have seen something, maybe.

I decided to follow them. It was innocent enough—I was going for a walk in the park with my baby, just like they were, like so many other mothers and caregivers were. I just happened to be walking at the same pace as them, and at a relatively close distance that allowed me to hear their conversation.

Completely innocent. Casual.

“She was at their apartment a few days before she went missing,” Vanessa’s nanny was saying, gesturing to Phoebe in the stroller. “So sad. Poor woman. I remember she was crying when she was over. The baby was napping, so I mostly stayed in the kitchen, to give them their space. But she was very upset.”

Everyone touts their proximity to tragedy. It’s human nature. She could have been exaggerating the degree to which she’d borne witness to Isabel’s troubles. But this was interesting, to say the least. I hadn’t realized that Vanessa and Isabel hung out on their own. And it sounded like they were close, that Isabel had confided in Vanessa.

“It’s so terrible,” the other nanny said. “What do you think happened?”

“Who knows,” Cynthia said, shaking her head. “Nothing good, though. Poor woman. She was over all the time, you know.”

Vanessa certainly hadn’t made it seem like their relationship was that extensive when we brought food over to Isabel’s. She hadn’t said anything about Isabel being over “all the time.”

“What was she like?” the other nanny asked.

“Very considerate. Spoke to me by name. Usually the boss’s friends don’t even acknowledge us, right?” The other nanny rolled her eyes and nodded knowingly. “But she always went out of her way to ask me how I was doing, where I grew up, that kind of thing. She did seem overwhelmed by the baby, though. Not sure why—Naomi seems easy enough. But she seemed intent on being the perfect mother. If Naomi spit up even a drop on herself, Isabel would change her entire outfit immediately. And I heard her tell Vanessa all about how she wasn’t sure if she could do it, it was too much, something like that. I remember feeling that way when all three of my kids were born—a lot of it is the hormones, of course. And you just do what you think you can’t do, and as time goes on you realize that you’re doing it—then, lo and behold, you’re a mom. Fake it until you make it, right? None of us know what we’re doing in those early days.” She paused, and I could tell she was about to say something else. I picked up my pace to inch a little closer. “Honestly, I’m a little surprised that she was looking to Vanessa for help.”

“Why is that?”

“She’s a great boss. Don’t get me wrong. I’m very lucky. But she’s not exactly the warm and fuzzy type. Nor was she in a position to empathize with Isabel having a tough time.”

“What do you mean?” Nanny #2 asked, patting the blanket down over her baby’s legs.

Cynthia paused; I couldn’t tell if it was for dramatic effect, or genuine hesitation. She seemed to be enjoying sharing both her gossip and her wisdom. “It’s just . . . easier for some women than others. I’ve been with them since Phoebe was six weeks. Vanessa had her on a schedule, was already back in the gym. No squeeze bottle or witch hazel pads still lying around. No pumping bras and nursing pads to wash, since she formula feeds.” This was news to me. Vanessa had implied many times in our meetings that she was nursing. I thought so, anyway. Maybe I was wrong. But hadn’t she said something about stopping by her place to feed Phoebe during the day? I supposed that could have meant bottles, though. “Hell, if you’d asked me,” Cynthia continued, “I would say there was no way she could have just given birth! Some women are blessed like that, though. Just snap back into their bodies like they were never pregnant at all. Point is—Isabel was going through something that Vanessa wasn’t. Assuming that Naomi was what had her so upset, of course.”

I hoped the other nanny would press her further, and thankfully, she did. “What did she say to Isabel when she was upset?”

“From what I heard, she just kept telling her to press on, that it would be fine, which actually isn’t terrible advice, when you think about it. Look, she’s a lovely woman and a great mother. I’m grateful to be with them. She’s just not the person I’d choose as a shoulder to cry on, that’s all. She also doesn’t seem . . . as worried as you might expect, about Isabel. She’s going about her business like her friend isn’t missing. But of course, people hide their fears and sadness all the time. Especially people like Vanessa. Miss Perfect.” She clicked her tongue with overwrought sadness. “Poor Isabel. Pray they find her safe and sound.”

“I hope so, too. For that little baby’s sake. Poor thing. Probably missing her mother. Babies know when their mother is near.” I’d heard that before, but in the context of my presence somehow being hindersome to my baby’s feeding and sleeping schedule. Hearing it in this new context put things in perspective once more: how lucky I was to have my baby close to me, both of us safe and sound.