Jane Read Online Free PDF Page B

a five-year-old. “Miss Bridget’s prettier too,” she told me. “I heard Miss Lucia talking on the phone. She said Miss Bridget was fired because she went up to the third floor, but I think she was scared. Of Miss Brenda.”
    “I don’t know Miss Brenda.”
    “She lives on the third floor. I think she’s scary too.” She set Goofy down next to Eeyore. “Miss Brenda doesn’t play with me ever.”
    “Maybe she’s busy.”
    Maddy nodded. “I could paint your fingernails” — she held out a hand — “like mine, see?”
    “Pink? I’d like that. But not before dinner.”
    Maddy warmed to me slowly over the course of our first few weeks together, as our days started to pick up a rhythm. Getting her up and dressed in the morning was always a struggle. “Why can’t I stay home and watch TV?” she asked from the luxurious depths of her bed that first morning. “When I’m at school, I miss my toys. I have better toys here.”
    “You’ll be back with your toys this afternoon. Now get up, and I’ll let you pick out your clothes.”
    “I want to wear my pajamas all day.”
    “Well, maybe on a Saturday. Not on a Tuesday.”
    “Why can’t I?” When I didn’t reply, Maddy made a face. “My throat hurts. I think I have a fever.”
    I pressed my palm to her forehead. “You’re as cool as a cucumber.”
    “Why do I have to go to school? If Daddy was here, he’d let me stay home. Daddy lets me do whatever I want.”
    “Daddy’s not here, though. He left me in charge. And you need to go to school. Now get up.” I clapped my hands smartly. “Quick, like a bunny.” The bunny thing had worked on other kids I’d sat for, but Maddy was a tough customer, apparently used to getting her own way in just about everything; it took work to get her dressed, fed, and out the door that morning. But each day she got up and dressed a little faster.
    I didn’t much like dropping her off at the Waldorf School, either. It seemed to me the mothers and other nannies looked me up and down, curious about the newest addition to the household of the town’s most famous resident. Their narrowed eyes told me they didn’t find me half glamorous enough, and though the mothers would chat happily with each other, not a single one of them ever said as much as hello to me those first weeks. But I was relieved not to have to make small talk. Besides, once I’d said good-bye to Maddy, I was free for the morning. In Mr. Rathburn’s red Mini Cooper — the least luxurious car in his fleet — I would drive to Long Island Sound. I would skip stones in the cold steel-gray water, and paint watercolor after watercolor, trying to capture the changing moods of water and light.
    By the end of our second week, Maddy took to chattering for the whole car ride home, telling me about whatever she and her friend Cassandra had done together that morning. At home, she and I would eat lunch in companionable silence, all her chatter gone. Then, while Maddy spent quiet time in her room, I would lie down in mine, headphones on, acquainting myself with the music of Nico Rathburn. This particular project hadn’t been my idea. When I happened to mention to Lucia that the only Nico Rathburn album I’d ever heard was his third one, she had reacted with undisguised shock.
    “You can’t be serious.” She’d disappeared and returned with a CD player in one hand and a stack of CDs in the other. “You need to listen to every single one of these.”
    I felt myself blush. “I’m sorry to be so unprepared,” I said.
    “Unprepared?” She let out a peal of laughter. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh. Knowing Nico’s music isn’t part of your job description. There isn’t going to be a quiz.” She thrust the CDs into my arms. “You need to listen to these albums for
you.
” Her eyes took on a faraway look. “Nico’s music will change your life.”
    So while Maddy rested, I listened to Nico Rathburn’s first album, then his second. Headphones