Chapter 19
Hayley was engaged in scrubbing the kitchen sink when her cell phone rang. Hurriedly, she wiped her hands on a towel that had seen better days and then answered.
“Hayley?” a pleasant voice said. “This is Marisa Whitby.”
“Oh,” Hayley said. She was aware of a slight fluttering of butterfly wings in her stomach. “Hello.”
“I’m calling to offer you the position as nanny to Lily and Layla,” Marisa said. “Your references were impeccable, and I really enjoyed our conversation yesterday. More, the girls seem to take to you. So, what do you think? I hope you’re still interested. I wanted to call as soon as possible in case you were offered another position.”
Hayley leaned back against the sink. She felt downright faint with relief. “I think, I mean, yes, thank you,” she said. “Thank you very much. I’d love to work for you this summer.”
“I’m so glad!” Marisa went on to outline the terms of the agreement they had discussed the day before and promised to drop off two copies of a contract later that day.
“No,” Hayley said quickly. Marisa could not come to her home. Ever. “I mean, thank you, but I’ll come by and pick it up if that’s all right.”
Marisa agreed, and they ended the call.
Hayley stood against the sink and allowed this monumental news to sink it. The idea of finally being able to get out of Yorktide—her mother in tow—seemed almost like a real possibility now. Almost. If she could work as a summer nanny for a few years, she might just be able to save enough money to make a clean break. And who knew whom she might meet while working for wealthy people like the Whitbys? Someone who might recognize her intelligence and her thirst for knowledge and decide to sponsor her education, someone who might . . .
With a sharp tug, Hayley reined in her excitement. She was too practical and had experienced too much hard luck to believe in wonderful things happening for her. And she was still wary of the Whitbys, in spite of what she had seen of Marisa. People with the kind of money they had couldn’t be as decent as Marisa seemed to be.
Hayley walked rapidly to her room in order to change into something presentable. She couldn’t show up at the Whitbys’ home wearing her old cutoff jean shorts and a tank top. And in spite of the wariness that was natural to her, she realized that she felt the need to celebrate this moment. On her way back from the Whitbys’ house, she would stop at Dunkin’ Donuts and buy one of those seriously overpriced frothy coffee drinks. Maybe. Probably not.