Nanny Returns Read Online Free PDF

foyer, which Grace takes as an invitation to wag over and lick the remnants of his upheaval off his coat.
    “I’m—we’re, my husband and I are renovating.” I cross my arms over Ryan’s sweater. “How did you find me?”
    “My mom’s files. Some notes about the Hutchinsons and then, you know, Google.”
    I feel an unexpected burst of pride in this demonstration of his smarts—immediately extinguished as he fishes through his pockets to draw out a pack of American Spirits. “No.” Grace backs up, head down. “Sorry, but no, you can’t smoke inside.”
    “This is inside?” He cradles the pack between his hands. “This isn’t, like, the confound-the-mutants antechamber and those doors open to a fat pad?”
    “No, this is …it has a lot of potential.”
    “Right.” His eyes drift close and the cigarettes slip to the step below.
    “Grayer.”
    “Yup.”
    “Why are you here?”
    “To tell you to go fuck yourself.” He inhales in two quick sniffs, eyes still closed.
    My stomach twists. “Okay.”
    His eyes flutter open, seeking mine in the dim light. “Okay?”
    “Yes. I mean, yes, I understand. I—”
    “Okay?” He throws his hands out and jerks forward, his elbows landing on his knees. “Great! That’s great! Because, you know, you talked a lot of shit to be someone I have to fucking Google . You wanted to give them the desire to know me , huh? But you walked out like the rest of them. So fuck. You.” He drops his head and splays his fingers across the back of his neck.
    “Grayer.” I reach out to him, but he jerks away.
    “What.” His voice thickens. Oh my God, he’s crying. I crouch to try to meet his gaze, but his long bangs hang thickly between us. “Fuck, I’m such a pussy.” He burrows his palms into his eyes. “We got back from the country last night and he’s moved out—for real, gone—and she dug it up for evidence and I just watched it and the thing is, the thing is …I don’t even know who you are.” He reaches for his coat pocket and wrestles something out, the force of its release slapping my cheek. I reel from the sting. “Christ—sorry. I didn’t mean to—” He drops the VHS tape and it clatters to the chipped tile between us. Holding my face with one hand, I pick it up and tilt it in the shaft of colored light to make out the faded “Nanny” written on its label in her controlled script.
    The nanny-cam video. She saw it—kept it . . .
    “The things you said …and I don’t know . . .” he murmurs, and I kneel down to reach my arms around his grown-up frame, pulling him against me. “I don’t know you.”
    “I’m Nanny, Grove, I’m Nanny.” And he slumps into me, passing out.
    “Shit.”
    I inhale awake the next morning, my eyes opening to see Grayer Addison X standing in the middle of my living room—what will be my living room—what is now partial subflooring, partial parquet, dotted sparsely with inherited furniture recently liberated from storage. “Hey.” I run my hand through my hair and unfold myself from Grandfather Hutchinson’s wing chair. “How you feelin’?”
    One hand resting on his hip, the other holding the loop of his peacoat tag, he pivots, eyeing me warily, and I realize that he was aiming to slip out. “I can’t find my phone.”
    “Yes, your phone!” I stand, pain shooting through my stiff neck. “I, um . . .” I rub at the base of my skull and step over to the mantel. Grace jumps up and starts to figure eight between us. “I know. You need to pee.” I pat her shimmying rear as I swipe the cell off the soot-stained marble. “It’s here.” I reach out to give it to him and he stretches to take it without moving a step closer. I stand awkwardly as he folds his coat over his arm to check his e-mail.
    “Grayer, I’m really glad you found me,” I begin my speech, acutely wrong in the light of day currently filtering through the New York Times –covered windows.
    He nods with a vacant smile—the one he must use