The next room over was a breakfast nook, which led to the kitchen. There was a baby monitor on the counter showing a grainy little picture of William asleep in his crib, his arms up over his head. Everything was quiet. Lonnie had told me, “Just let yourself in, I’ll show you around. And when Billy wakes up you can give him some breakfast and take him to the park. You can go home early after that. We’ll just get him used to you.”

I’d assumed she’d be waiting for me at the door. I felt intrusive touring her house alone. I thought maybe I’d come through the wrong door after all, so I climbed the wooden stairs to the right of the kitchen, which led to a large foyer bounded by a formal dining room at the front of the house and a living room toward the back. Though the walls were an airy white, all the furniture looked like it had been acquired at an estate sale or a bordello—heavy oak, leather, red velvet in a time and place where it was a sign of wealth and taste to buy everything new. Mirrors in baroque frames hung on the walls. Both rooms were empty, save my own reflection.

“Hello?” I said, my voice coming out smaller than I expected.

There was no response. For a moment I wondered if it were possible I’d let myself into the wrong home. But no, it had been William on the baby monitor. Lonnie was probably just in a bathroom somewhere. I stood still in the foyer. The house smelled of lavender and something earthy, like modeling clay.

It felt too intimate to climb any higher. I had no idea what to do with myself. I decided abandoning my backpack by the door had been a mistake, so I went down to retrieve it. As I passed through the kitchen, the baby monitor started to emit the coos and whines of William waking. I stood staring at his restless form on the little screen, waiting for something to happen. For Lonnie to rise from the depths of the house and do something. For a creak that would signify movement. I was so still and anxious I thought I’d be able to hear the latch of a door two flights up. I heard the footsteps of someone on the sidewalk outside, the barking of a dog in the distance, the hum of traffic on Lexington Avenue, and William’s sleepy moaning. I heard my own heartbeat, but I didn’t hear Lonnie.

Was she testing me? Was this her version of a trial period? Will you let my baby cry or do something? How empathetic of a nanny are you? The clock on the stove read 7:45, fifteen minutes after my scheduled arrival time and too long to pretend I wasn’t there yet.