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“Lara Smith speaking…” She sounds busy, in the middle of several things at once. The rapid tapping against a keyboard follows her pause and all I can wonder is what she’s typing while picking up a call.
I muffle my hand over the receiver to block the sound of me clearing my throat—a nervous habit I have before speaking to someone new. “Hi, Lara, this is Haley Vaughn returning your call about the nanny position.”
The clickity-clack of her keyboard halts. “Oh my goodness, Haley, I am so, so glad you called back. Your job post in theNewportnewsletter stood out to me. And well, I’m in dire need of help with my daughters. School is letting out in less than a week. I’m not always this disorganized, but you know how crazy life can get sometimes. Anyway, thank you for returning my call.”
The fluttering words give me a sense that she’s likely always this disorganized, but I won’t judge, not yet. “Life can get a bit wild sometimes. I completely understand what you mean. I’m glad we got to connect, too. I’d love to hear more about the position.”
The typing restarts and she’s mumbling under her breath. “I’m sorry. I was just replying to the school committee since we’re trying to arrange this event—I’m getting off topic again. I’m sure you’re a busy woman.”
“Oh, please, take your time,” I say, eager to just hear about the job.
“Well, I have twin nine-year-old girls, Madden and Blakely, and—my gosh, pick up the phone if you have so much to say,” she grumbles in a cartoonish voice. “As soon as I think my inbox is empty, another is waiting. Sorry, again. Where was I? Oh yes, we’re looking for someone to spend weekdays with the children. They need to be outdoors and off their devices. I’ll need you to take them to their piano, swim, tennis lessons and—” Mrs. Smith huffs with a sigh. “There’s a list. I’ll make a list, but to sum it all up, I need another set of hands around here. I do a lot of charity work for my husband’s business and my phone rings nonstop. I just can’t give the girls my full attention sometimes, and it breaks my heart to see them bored.”
“Yes, of course. I can’t imagine how challenging it must be to have so much going on while taking care of your daughters.” I use a summary of her own words to avoid being offensive. I’m aware it’s hard for a mother to ask anyone for help with her children. I learned that in my first of the psych classes.
“Exactly,” she says. “I thought it might be a good idea if you started by doing just a few hours before jumping into the full swing of things with them. Perhaps, if you’re free Friday night, my husband and I have a gala to attend and don’t have anyone to watch the girls…”
A commitment for the summer would be ideal, but I don’t blame her for wanting to make sure everything works out between the girls and me first. “Of course. That sounds like a wonderful idea. I’d be happy to watch them next Friday night.”
“Ah, music to my ears. In your job posting, I also noticed that you’re a child psychology student. I’m impressed, I’m sure that major must be quite challenging.”
“Yes, I’m focusing on Childhood Behavioral Health Counseling. I’m very passionate about my studies and love working with children.”
“How wonderful! I’m sure you’re terrific with children and that’s what’s most important to me, of course. I assume you must have your first-aid certification too?” I’m not sure why she thinks one thing has something to do with the other. I’ve spent a lot of time with children over the years, and no one has ever asked me for a certification. I close my eyes, wishing I could fib and somehow find a class before next Friday, but I’m not sure where I would even find one so soon.
“I’m so sorry if I’ve been wasting your time, Mrs. Smith. Unfortunately, I don’t have my first-aid certification, but I would be happy to acquire one as soon as possible.”
“Oh my gosh, I shouldn’t have assumed. I’m just neurotic with my kids. I forget not everyone is like me,” she says with laughter that resembles the sound of embarrassment. The typing begins again, along with a thread of silence that should fill with words I can’t think of. I’m sure most moms are neurotic about their kids. There are different variations of neuroticism,but I wouldn’t place a first-aid certification on either end of a scale.
“I’m sure I would be the same.”
“I was just searching to see if—yes, oh good! There is a first-aid class on Wednesday night from five to seven at City Hall. If I pay for the class and certification, would you be willing to attend?”
“I could do that, yes, of course.”
“I’ll pay you for your time as well. If you could text me your email address and last name so I could send over the payment, I’ll get that over to you. I can also sign you up while I’m on the screen. Should I just use this phone number you called me from?”
“Yes, that’s fine.” My heart is racing from the speed of her questions and the agreements I’m giving without thinking them through, but it’s just a first-aid class.
“Once I receive your text message, I’ll reply with our address, so you’ll know where to find us on Friday night. Will six thirty work for you? The hourly pay is forty an hour—I try to be competitive since so many college students in the area go home for the summer. You’re a rare find.” I’m glad this conversation is over the phone, so she doesn’t see my eyes bulging. I’m not sure I’ve heard a family paying a nanny or babysitter forty an hour, but I won’t complain.
“That’s very generous of you and yes, six thirty works fine.”
She sighs with a sound of relief. “This is perfect. If you have any issues with the first-aid class, please let me know. Just don’t forget to text me your email address. And…” She draws out her final thought. “Yeah, I will see you Friday night at six thirty! Thank you so much for calling me back, Haley. I look forward to meeting you. The girls will be thrilled, as well.”
“Same here. Thank you so much, Mrs. Smith. Have a great day.”
I fumble with my phone to send her a text message with my email address, wondering why I’m still feeling so frazzled. The moment my message goes through and a “delivered” receipt appears, I take a breath and fall back onto my bed. A certification will be great to have, and on top of that, I’m grateful it won’t cost me anything.
My phone buzzes with a thank you. Mrs. Smith’s address, and a second message with a Venmo payment for a hundred dollars follows. I didn’t expect this much for a two-hour class if she’s paying forty an hour. This might just be the best summer job I could get my hands on.
I tap the link to her address. Her house pops up on my phone and chills zing up my spine. There’s no way…
FIVE
WEDNESDAY, JUNE 7TH 5:00 PM
I’m curious to see if this class includes CPR. I’ve been meaning to learn it but have yet to. It’s one of those things I shouldn’t have put off. I don’t always know what to do in an emergency. I’m useless during those moments, but everyone should learn the basics.
