The Nanny, the Husband, and the Woman They Forgot I Was novel · Chapter 3 of 32

Chapter 3: You Can't Fire Me

Margot fires Harper on the front porch in front of the neighbor, Harper blurts that Kestrel pays her, and at midnight Blake brings her back with an ultimatum.

"No," I said.

Harper laughed, a little puzzled.

"Mar. It's already arranged."

"Then unarrange it."

I bent down and picked up the diaper bag with my free hand.

Rosie grabbed the strap and tried to eat it.

"Blake's mother has a whole room set up," Harper said. "She bought a crib. It's for you. You need sleep."

"I need my daughter. She stays with me."

Harper's smile slipped.

She took out her phone, tapped it, and held it up between us on speaker.

It rang twice.

"Hey," Blake said. "Is she packed?"

"Margot's home," Harper said. "She says no."

There was a sigh on the line.

It was the sigh he used for waiters who brought the wrong wine.

"Margot. Babe. We talked about this. You're exhausted. You're not yourself."

"We didn't talk about this," I said. "You talked to Harper."

"Because Harper actually listens. Just let her take the baby. It's two nights."

I turned around and walked out of the nursery.

I went down the stairs, through the front hall, and out onto the porch.

The afternoon was bright and warm.

Across the street, our neighbor was on her knees in her rose bed with a trowel.

She was seventy-something and missed nothing on our block.

She looked up and waved.

I waved back.

Harper came out behind me with the phone still on speaker.

"Margot, what are you doing? Come inside."

"I'm getting some air." I shifted Rosie to my other hip. "Harper, I'm letting you go."

She blinked.

"What?"

"As our nanny. You're done. Pack your things tonight and leave your key on the hall table."

Across the street, the trowel stopped moving.

Harper's face went pink under her makeup.

"You're firing me? For packing a bag?"

"For taking my daughter's things out of my house without asking me. For calling my husband instead of me. Pick one."

"You can't fire me," Harper said.

"I hired you."

"And Kestrel pays me, not you!"

It came out loud.

It went across the lawn and over the street and right into the roses.

Our neighbor sat back on her heels.

On the phone, Blake had gone completely silent.

Harper heard it a second too late.

Her mouth stayed open a little.

"Kestrel pays you," I said slowly. "To change diapers?"

"I mean... Blake handles it. It's a tax thing."

"Is it."

"Harper," Blake said through the phone, very quietly. "Take me off speaker."

She fumbled with the screen.

I didn't wait for her.

"Well, it's a weekday," I said. "If Kestrel pays you, you'd better go to work."

I walked back inside and closed the door.

I didn't slam it.

I locked it.

Then I stood in the front hall with my back against the wood and my heart thumping.

Rosie grabbed my nose.

"Ow," I told her. "Fair."

Harper knocked for a while.

Then she stopped, and I heard her car start in the driveway.

Through the window I watched her back out with her purse on the passenger seat and her face in her phone.

Our neighbor was still watching from her roses.

She caught my eye through the glass and gave me one slow nod.

I fed Rosie and gave her a bath in the kitchen sink.

She kicked water all over the counter and looked delighted with herself.

I laughed out loud.

It sounded strange in the empty house.

I texted Vivian.

"Fired the nanny on the porch. She shouted that Kestrel pays her. Neighbor heard."

Three dots appeared. Then:

"I said don't tip him off."

"I didn't. She tipped him off herself."

A longer pause.

"Fine. Lock the doors. Don't leave the house."

I put Rosie down in her bassinet at eight.

I took the first shower I'd had in four days.

I stood under the hot water until my fingers wrinkled.

Afterward I sat on the bed in a clean T-shirt with wet hair and my laptop open.

I read the Cayman statements line by line.

Every month a payment came in from something called BCA.

I fell asleep sitting up.

The front door woke me.

The clock said 12:07.

I heard the lock turn. Two sets of footsteps. Wheels on the hall floor.

I got up and went to the top of the stairs.

Blake was in the front hall with his carry-on.

He was supposed to be in Austin until Sunday.

A valet tag hung off the handle of his carry-on.

It was from a hotel in Menlo Park, ten minutes away.

Harper stood behind him with her big suitcase.

Her eyes were red and she was holding his sleeve.

Blake looked up at me on the stairs.

"Harper is part of this family," he said. "She stays."

He put one hand on the banister.

"Or you go."

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