Chapter 5 - The Name Annie Never Mentioned.
Kevin waited until the boys were upstairs before asking again.
"Who was Rebecca Reed?"
Annie stood beside the dining room window with both hands clasped in front of her.
The confidence she had shown Diane was gone.
"My sister."
Kevin's eyes narrowed.
"Was?"
"She died three years ago."
"What does that have to do with my family?"
Annie looked toward the staircase.
"She knew Lauren."
The name changed the air.
Kevin stepped closer.
"How?"
"They volunteered at the same children's literacy program in Yonkers."
Kevin tried to remember Lauren mentioning a Rebecca.
Nothing came.
That bothered him.
Lauren had possessed an entire life of small kindnesses he had only understood after her funeral.
"How well did they know each other?"
"Not best friends."
Annie swallowed.
"But well enough that Lauren visited Rebecca in the hospital."
Kevin felt a cold pressure behind his ribs.
"What hospital?"
"St. Agnes."
"Why was your sister there?"
Annie looked down.
"Leukemia."
Kevin's anger faltered.
"I'm sorry."
"Thank you."
She took a breath.
"Rebecca was sick for almost two years."
"And Lauren visited her?"
"Every Thursday she could."
Kevin stared at her.
Thursdays.
He remembered Lauren saying she had volunteer work on Thursday afternoons.
He had never asked where.
"Why didn't you tell me this when you applied?"
Annie's eyes met his.
"Because I knew exactly what you'd think."
"Which is?"
"That I came here because of Lauren."
"Did you?"
Annie hesitated.
Kevin's anger returned.
"Did you?"
"Partly."
He stepped back.
"So my mother was right."
"About that one thing, yes."
Kevin laughed bitterly.
"You lied on your application."
"I didn't lie."
"You left out a connection to my dead wife."
"There wasn't a question asking whether my sister once knew the homeowner's wife."
"Don't play with words."
Annie's eyes flashed.
"I'm not."
"Then why are you here?"
She looked toward the ceiling, as if she could see through it to the boys' room.
"Because three months ago I saw Jordan outside his school."
Kevin stopped.
"What?"
"I was delivering cafeteria supplies to the elementary building next door."
Annie's voice softened.
"He was sitting behind a stone planter alone."
"His nanny was with him."
"She was on her phone near the car."
Kevin's jaw tightened.
"Which nanny?"
"Monica."
His stomach sank.
Annie continued.
"Jordan was crying."
"Did you speak to him?"
"Not at first."
She rubbed her thumb across her palm.
"Then I heard him say his mother's name."
Kevin looked away.
"He had a little photograph in his hand."
"Lauren's photograph?"
"Yes."
"What happened?"
Annie's face tightened with the memory.
"Monica walked over and took it away."
Kevin's voice became flat.
"Why?"
"She said, 'We talked about this. Mommy pictures stay at home.'"
Kevin closed his eyes.
Annie kept speaking.
"Jordan begged for it back."
"And?"
"She put it in her purse."
Kevin's hands curled into fists.
"I followed them to the parking lot."
Annie's voice was quieter now.
"I asked if Jordan was okay."
"What did Monica say?"
"She told me to mind my own business."
Kevin almost smiled at the familiarity of that phrase.
"Then Jordan looked at me."
Annie's eyes grew wet.
"And he looked so much like the photographs Rebecca had shown me of Lauren's boys that I knew who he was."
Kevin stared.
"Rebecca had photographs of my children?"
"Lauren sent them to her."
"Why?"
"Because Rebecca loved hearing about them."
Annie opened her handbag and removed a small envelope.
Kevin's pulse changed.
"What is that?"
"Something I should have given you on my first day."
He did not take it.
"What is it?"
"A letter."
"From whom?"
Annie's fingers tightened around the envelope.
"Lauren."
Kevin's face emptied.
"That's not funny."
"I know."
"Lauren died fourteen months ago."
"I know."
"Why do you have a letter from my wife?"
Annie held the envelope out.
His name was written across the front.
KEVIN.
He knew the handwriting immediately.
The K leaned too far right.
Lauren always made the dot over an i slightly crooked.
Kevin did not touch it.
"Where did you get this?"
"Rebecca's storage box."
"Three years after she died?"
"I couldn't go through her things."
Annie's voice shook.
"Not until this spring."
Kevin looked at the envelope again.
"Why would Lauren give your sister a letter for me?"
"She didn't."
Kevin frowned.
"Then why did Rebecca have it?"
"Lauren left it in a book."
Annie removed a second object from her bag.
A battered copy of The Little Prince.
Kevin recognized it.
Lauren used to buy copies for children at the literacy program.
"Rebecca found the envelope inside after Lauren's accident."
"Why didn't she give it to me?"
"She was already very sick."
Annie's eyes lowered.
"She died six months later."
Kevin's anger became confusion.
"And you waited another eight months?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Annie looked ashamed.
"Because grief makes people selfish sometimes."
He almost snapped at her.
Then she continued.
"That box was the last thing in my apartment that still smelled like my sister."
Kevin went quiet.
He understood that kind of irrational preservation.
Lauren's pillow was still on his bed.
"When I finally opened it, I found the book and the envelope."
Annie swallowed.
"I searched your name."
"And applied for a job in my house?"
"Not immediately."
"But eventually."
"Yes."
Kevin felt betrayed.
It was disproportionate.
He knew that.
He barely knew Annie.
Yet after one day of discovering edited therapy notes, secret residential plans, and distorted nanny instructions, one more hidden motive felt intolerable.
"You should have mailed it."
"I know."
"You should have contacted my office."
"I tried."
"My office receives mail."
"Your assistant's assistant told me personal correspondence needed to go through family counsel."
Kevin closed his eyes.
Of course.
He had built a wall around himself and then acted shocked when no human voice reached him.
"So you applied here."
"The housekeeping position was open."
"To deliver a letter?"
"At first."
"And then?"
Annie looked toward the staircase again.
"Then I met the boys."
Before he opened it, another memory surfaced.
Lauren had once come home from a hospital visit carrying a cheap paper cup of coffee and a tiny knitted hat.
Kevin had been answering email at the kitchen island.
"One of the women at the program made this for Rebecca," Lauren had said.
Kevin had nodded without looking up.
"That's nice."
Lauren had stood there for several seconds.
Then she had placed the hat beside his laptop.
"Rebecca is scared she won't make it to Christmas."
Kevin remembered finally looking at his wife.
He remembered saying he was sorry.
He remembered Lauren asking whether he wanted to come with her the following Thursday.
There had been a board dinner.
He had said maybe next week.
He never went.
Now Annie stood in front of him, and Kevin realized Rebecca Reed had not been a stranger hidden from him.
Her name had passed through his house.
Lauren had offered him a doorway into that part of her life.
He simply had not walked through it.
"Did Rebecca hate me?" Kevin asked.
Annie looked surprised.
"No."
"Did Lauren complain about me to her?"
Annie considered the question.
"Probably."
Kevin almost smiled despite himself.
"That's honest."
"Rebecca complained about everyone she loved."
Annie's expression softened.
"She said Lauren never sounded like a woman who wanted to destroy her marriage."
"She sounded like someone who wanted her husband to notice it was disappearing."
Kevin looked at the envelope again.
That description frightened him more than anger would have.
Kevin finally took the envelope.
It felt impossibly light.
He turned it over.
The flap was sealed.
"Have you read it?"
"No."
"Did Rebecca?"
"I don't know."
Kevin slipped one finger beneath the edge.
Then stopped.
His heart was pounding so hard he could hear it.
For fourteen months, he had wanted one more sentence from Lauren.
One more complaint.
One more stupid grocery reminder.
One more message asking him to come home earlier.
Now a sealed envelope sat in his hands, and he was terrified to know what it contained.
Annie moved toward the door.
"I'll give you privacy."
"Wait."
She stopped.
Kevin did not look up.
"Why did my mother know about Rebecca?"
Annie's face changed.
"I don't know."
"She knew enough to use her name."
"I never told her."
Kevin stared at her.
"Who did?"
Annie shook her head.
"I have no idea."
He believed her.
That frightened him more.
Kevin opened the envelope.
Inside were four handwritten pages.
The first line made his knees weak.
Kevin,
If you're reading this because I lost my nerve and never gave it to you, then I hope you can forgive me for being a coward.
He sat down.
Annie remained near the doorway.
Kevin read the next line.
I love you, but our boys are learning that love is something people say before they leave the room.
He stopped.
The page shook in his hand.
Then he saw the date at the top.
October 2.
Nine days before Lauren died.
And beneath the date, in smaller handwriting, she had written one sentence that Kevin had never known existed.
Tonight I asked Diane to watch the boys because I need to tell you I can't keep living like this.
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He Fired Five Nannies After His Wife Died
