Nanny Returns (34 page)

“Yey, they’re saved.” Ryan smiles.

“Until November. When I’m sure their apartment will be worth even more to the board.” I squeeze my face in my hands again.

“Hey, you don’t know that.”

Nodding, I unhook Grace from her leash. “Okay, listen, it’d be great if we could set me up downstairs today before you go, like, if we could tag-team on the ladder to bring down the microwave and my clothes and stuff. I have a lot of hustling to do now that Jarndyce is no longer.”

“Sure, of course.” He bends down to examine the gauges along the floor where the walls had been. “I just need to check in with work.”

“Fine,” I say, pulling the ladder from the wall and leaning it against the third-floor landing. “What time do you have to leave?”

“I could take a morning flight?” he asks hesitantly.

“Sure.” I smile in an effort to right the energy that is awkward and defeated between us. “Okay—well, I’m going to just . . .” I gesture at the ladder.

“I’ll be up in a few.” He tugs his phone from his pocket.

I nod and begin my ascent, one hand over the other, feeling the climb zap what’s left of my reserves. My head clears the landing and I clamor up to the hall, righting myself and passing the rooms currently warehousing all our boxed possessions to mount the last flight to the top floor.

“Hey, John, it’s Ryan …yeah, it’s been a great break, thanks. How ’bout you?” His animated work voice grows fainter and I hear his footsteps tread back into the kitchen. I roll my neck as I walk, thinking maybe a nap before we dig in, wondering if we should splurge on going out to dinner—I stop.

Then step into the light pouring into the hall, onto me.

I gasp to see the most beautiful treetop, our treetop, which I am looking at through my brand-new window, its Andersen stickers still plastered on each pane of glass, the bright wood of the frame crisp against the faded wallpaper it’s been sunk into.

“Ryan!” I scream. “Ryan, come here!”

I hear him running and then the clanging as he climbs the ladder. “What’s wrong? You okay?”

But I am smiling too hard to get out an answer as I walk toward the streaming light, wiping at my sweaty face with the shoulder of my cardigan.

He runs in behind me as I put my palm to the warm glass. I turn and he tilts his head. “You got your window.” The sun is bright on his face.

“Yup.”

He crosses his arms. “That contractor knows how to keep a girl interested.”

“Yup.” I laugh.

“So I did a lot of thinking on that drive.”

“Which drive?” I crack.

“Nan, I’m asking to be transferred to something with less travel for a while.”

“Ryan.”

“But don’t think I’m paying off this loan myself. I’m expecting
this
office to be extremely productive. Now that you got your fancy-pants window.”

I tilt my head. “
If
it’s an office.”

He nods slowly, smiling deeply. “If it is.”

WHOOF!

“Coming, Grace!” Ryan yells over his shoulder. “I’m going to pull up the report on the well systems that just got passed around. I’m thinking I could rig some pulley-basket thing to get her up and down, that way we can stay up here for the rest of this mess.”

“We?”

WHOOF!

“Yup, we.” He reaches out and squeezes my hand before heading out to calm the dog. “Think of the upper-body strength we’re going to have after a few weeks with a pulley, we’ll wow ’em at the beach,” he calls.

I turn back to my window, feeling a tremor of anticipation, of curiosity about this little person we haven’t met yet, this relationship yet to be forged. Here. Because it seems Grayer’s benediction was inextricably linked to my own. I reach up to turn the lock and raise the bottom pane high, the breeze washing over my face as I take in what to some may be a string of dirty roofs, a smattering of graffiti, a lacing of telephone wires, but to me is a view that, in the freshness of its revelation, rivals anything I’ve seen yet.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

We are grateful to . . .

Judith Curr for her continued support and enthusiasm. Our phenomenal editor, Greer Hendricks, for her humor, patience and insight. Her wonderful assistants, Sarah Walsh and Sarah Cantin, for always getting everything where it needs to go. Our dear friend, Suzanne O’Neill, for guiding us for take-off. Our fierce agent, Suzanne Gluck, the only lady we want out in front, for her faith and foresight. Her rockstar assistants, Sarah Ceglarski and Caroline Donofrio, for triaging our 5 p.m. phone calls. Alicia Gordon and the entire William Morris Endeavor Entertainment team for their unflagging commitment. Sara Bottfeld for taking us with her and her assistant, Tarika Kahn, for all her help. Ken Weinrib and Eric Brown, our favorite men in mid-town, for their debonair vigilance. Katie Brandi for once again lending us her brilliant mind. Joan for the perfect porcelain polar bear. Our husbands, Joel and David, for cheering us on every day and giving us a reason to turn off the computers. And finally, and with full hearts, Emma’s grandmother, Francie, for finishing in style.