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Back Nanny Dearest Save as PDF
Chapters (47)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Dedication
  4. PROLOGUE
  5. Part One
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. Part Two
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. Part Three
  37. 30
  38. 31
  39. 32
  40. 33
  41. 34
  42. 35
  43. 36
  44. 37
  45. 38
  46. 39
  47. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I know this may be hard for you to understand, but I’m only doing what’s best for her. I love her more than you will ever know, and she deserves that love. As you’ll come to realize, she belongs with me. We have a connection that one only reads about in books, hears in music; she sees me, I see her. I can’t explain beyond those words, but when she is out of my sight, out of my arms, the hole in me is so deep and dark, only her light can fill it. She is a gem, a paragon, my favorite person in the world. I will treasure her forever, watch her hands grow in my grasp. We will never be apart again.

—Annie Whittaker

38

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Beth is on my bedroom floor, eating “dressed” Ruffles, as we watch Claire Saffitz from Gourmet Makes create them on her show. I pluck one from the gaping bag and pause the video before answering.

“I think I’m good, but thanks. Ihm thinks I should go by myself anyway, to fully gain closure, as they say.” I lick each finger clean and wipe the remaining orange dust on my jeans. Beth make a face and hands me a napkin.

“Okay, but please call me if you need anything. Always here to help if you get swept up in some other middle-aged woman’s obsessive fantasy.” I laugh at the dig, mostly because I can now. Though I don’t find it entirely funny, especially after reading that note. But I don’t want to go down my shame-filled rabbit hole with Beth tonight, not when we’re having so much fun.

Tomorrow would be my dad’s seventieth birthday, so I’m supposed to visit my parents’ old house. The one my mother died in, the one where Anneliese met my family. It’s used as a summer house now, since the boom in upstate New York property values, so I know the grounds will be empty. I plan to gaze at it from the outside only, to take some photos, make peace with the space and the past it holds, maybe get inspiration for a series of paintings. The present owners of the house put it on the market, vacated it, and have been renting it out for the summer, the real estate agent told me, until a buyer meets their steep asking price.

I explain to Beth how I got permission from the real estate agent: so long as I didn’t go inside and didn’t need a key, she said I could look around. She actually remembered when the house had belonged to my parents.