Nanny Diaries

Chapter 13 - Yellow Raincoat

“Lauren? Lauren, why are crying?” Zack’s voice is in my ear as the tears keep falling down my face. I’m not crying as hard anymore, but I can’t stop them either.

I look at his blurry face, his expression a mix of confusion, concern, and guilt. He thinks this is his fault. 

It’s the song’s fault, too. 

But mostly it’s her. 

“Can we go home, please?” I say, my voice clogged with tears. He nods immediately, and I start to stand, but he scoops me up and carries me bridal style for the next two blocks. 

We pass a newsstand, a new issue featuring, guess who?

Me!

I clench my fist, hiding my face in the collar of Zack’s coat. A drop of water hits my hand and I shiver as it starts drizzling. 

I close my eyes as a flash of remembrance hits me in the face. 

Shutting my eyes was a mistake. 

I see images I’ve blocked from my mind for years. 

The kitchen at the earliest morning hour. Shadows cast on the floor and walls menacingly, hiding all evil until it can get you. 

Like the truth. 

We get up to the empty apartment; I find a note that George took Matt to the zoo. I flop down on the couch, and I realize this is the first time Zack has ever been here. Except for the time Shelby called him, inviting him over. That day he returned my coat. The one I’m clutching around my shoulders for dear life this very second. He shrugs off his coat and hangs it on the coatrack.

“Want me to hang yours up, too?”

I shake my head, wrapping the yellow raincoat tighter around my body. If I let it leave my body I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to put it back on. 

He sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Do you want some tea?”

I nod slightly. Zack sets off in search of it. I know I could tell him where it is, but he will probably find it anyway. I clench my fist over my locket, thinking of how to provide an explanation for my meltdown. 

And the answer is around my neck. On my shoulders. In my hair. On the collar of my coat. In the song. 

I hear Zack moving around in the kitchen. Strangely, it’s comforting, reminding me of the days when I was complete. 

“I hope peppermint is okay.” Zack says as he hands me a mug of warm tea. Peppermint is actually my favorite. 

“Thanks.” I whisper. I take a sip, then set the mug down on the coffee table. The mint washes over my tongue and down my throat, instilling some confidence into me as I take a deep breath and prepare to let Zack see what’s inside of me. “I feel like I owe you an explanation.”

I hope he doesn’t run away. 

Or maybe I do. Maybe if he runs away, I can get out of this right now without getting hurt and he can continue living his life. He’s too good for me. 

I swallow over the lump, waiting for him to answer. 

“You don’t owe me anything. You don’t have to tell me.” he replies, keeping his gaze on his lap. 

“I want to.”

“Okay.”

.  .  .

My mother was the constant in my life. I loved her with all my heart, I told her everything, she was always there for me. Most children learned the ABCs when they were five, but my mom taught me how to look for a rainbow on a rainy day. She was the silver lining type of thinker, it rubbed off on me. To this day, her influence stays with me. 

I wish she were here right now so badly it hurts. 

She was looking for work as a nurse in our town, but failing that, she worked as an RN in a city two hours away for a few years. Finally, a hospital not fifteen minutes from our house hired her, and she did her last day of commuting from the other job. It was very late, and she was on the freeway when she fell asleep at the wheel. She veered off the road and got into a one person crash. She died instantaneously. 

I was eleven years old. The police knocked on our door at 3 AM, waking my father up and informing him of what had taken place. I heard low voices outside my bedroom door and crept out slowly. I crouched by the banister, peering through the painted white bars. I could vaguely see two shadowy silhouettes at the dining room table. 

One was still speaking in a low, steady, solemn tone. 

And the other had his head in his hands. 

I made my way down the stairs carefully, tiptoeing past the landing and sneaking farther into the kitchen. 

“We may need you to...” I hear the first voice trail off. 

“Lauren, what are you doing down here?”

My father’s weathered voice reached me and I straightened up from hiding behind the counter. 

“What’s going on, Daddy?”

He raises his head slowly, staring at me in my pajamas at three in the morning. Even without light, I tense at the atmosphere reaches me and causes me to get a bad feeling. 

“What’s wrong?” I whisper. 

He stays silent. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Something’s happened.”

My stomach plummeted through the wooden floorboards as I gulped, waiting to hear what the bad news was. 

As my dad finally opened his mouth and spoke, relaying the story to me in the most basic of ways. My knees wobbled and I fell to the ground, hoping to find some relief once I did. Unfortunately, there was none. 

The truth was as evil as the dark. 

All I could do was try and look for a rainbow.