A locket. A butterfly pin. A hairband. And a yellow raincoat.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror, studying in silent awe how much I look like her. In a way, I wish I didn’t. It would be easier to pretend I never went through what I did. But I have. And I have deal with my fair, silky blond hair. My blue eyes. My button nose. My dimples.
There’s nothing I can do about those mementos.
Fat tears well in my eyes, but I blink furiously, sending them back to my tear ducts where they belong. There isn’t any place for them on my face. Taking a shaky breath, I turn my heel on my mirror and leave my room, intending to get Matt up, until I remember it’s Saturday. God, this pregnancy is making me stupid.
I fiddle with my locket, accidentally unclasping it. The picture inside flashes across my vision, and my chest squeezes, my breath is trapped in my ribcage. I hurry to shut it, to get her face out of my mind.
Look for a rainbow.
My head immediately turns to the open balcony doors, where a cool breeze is coming in from the deck. Gray clouds are ever-present, but a slight flash of seven colors off to the right catches my eye.
Hang in there.
I debate what I should do, until I hear the landline wailing in the kitchen. I go in to answer it, glancing at the caller I.D.. It’s not identified, but I pick it up anyway.
“Hello?”
“Yes, is this the Klore residence?”
“It is.”
“May I speak with Miss Flora?”
“This is she.”
“Ah. I’m calling from Mia’s french delicatessen, we spotted you last week running out of the establishment with a young man with short blond hair and muscular build. The two of you are charged with shoplifting the restaurant of their blue french horn, last seen on the day you were there with the aforementioned young man. The staff heard a commotion when their maitre d’ screamed, and I quote, “That @&%$ blue french horn! I knew it was trouble the minute I saw it! I knew someone would pull this! Come back here!”’ What do you have to say for yourself, Miss Flora?” the person on the other end drones on in a monotone voice.
I stay silent, not letting the panic settle in to my voice. “I will not say anything without an attorney present.”
“Ma’am, you stole a dang horn painted blue from a restaurant, copying the hit TV show and making a fool of yourself. There has got to be more, for I just don’t get it.”
“My friend, he did it for me. He was being sweet, and-and I’m really sorry, but-” I trail off because the person on the other end starts cracking up.
YOU ARE READING
Nanny Diaries
RomanceLauren Flora is twenty one, a nanny for the world famous Angelina and Christian Klore's son, five year old Matt. Her life is uncomplicated until she gets a visit one day from the bosses themselves. She is shocked when she finds out they want her to...
