Until Harry(13)

I felt horrible as I let what my nanny said sink in. I really did deserve to be whacked around with a common-sense stick. How could I have ever thought my leaving right away would be a good idea for anybody? My family would be heartbroken, and so would I.

I couldn’t be here and remain sane, but I couldn’t leave either without losing my mind, so close after my uncle’s death. I didn’t win either way, but the latter meant my conscience would be clear.

“I’ll . . . you’re right,” I acknowledged. “Uncle Harry deserves more than a brush-off. I’ll stay longer. I’ll help with whatever needs helping. I promise.”

My nanny reached over and took my hands in hers, rubbing her fingertips back and forth over my knuckles.

“Ye can help me and your ma clear out his house after we meet with his solicitor on Monday,” she said, sighing. “We have so much ta sort through, but we have ta hear the contents of Harry’s will before we can start a clean-out.”

I blinked, dumbly. “Uncle Harry had a will?”

My nanny nodded. “Yeah, we all have a will, silly.”

I don’t, I thought.

My nanny snorted at my facial expression. “By ‘all’ I mean Harry, your parents, and me . . . because we’re old and can kick it at any given time.”

“Nanny!” I choked. “Don’t talk like that. You aren’t going anywhere.”

I hoped not, anyway. My heart couldn’t handle it if anyone else were to die.

My nanny smiled lovingly at me as she reached out and brushed her fingertips over my knuckles once more. She did this to me often when I was younger to relax me, and it seemed to still have a calming effect on me. It was nice to know that hadn’t changed.

I remained silent for a few moments, but when I looked back at my nanny, I saw she was gazing at me. “What is it?” I inquired.

She blinked and without missing a beat she said, “I want ye home every Christmas.”

Not a question. Not a request. A demand.

I sat motionless. “Nanny—”

“I don’t want an excuse,” she said sternly. “I want your word ye will come home every Christmas. I can’t go on with me granddaughter being on the other side of the world and never seein’ ’er. Me heart can’t take the pain and longin’ anymore.”

I gasped in dismay. “Oh, God! Is your heart okay?” I asked, terrified.

“Me heart is fine,” she assured me, “but it won’t be in the future unless ye come back home every Christmas.”

I stared at my nanny for a moment, and then I flat out glared at her. “Are you – are you guilting me into coming home every Christmas by threatening that you could have a heart attack?”

She tried to guilt me with her old age before, when she wanted me to come home from New York, and when that didn’t work, she stopped speaking to me. It seemed she was upping the ante. I didn’t know whether to be furious or impressed.

My nanny looked to her nails and shrugged. “I wouldn’t say threatenin’ ye exactly. I’m just sayin’ if ye continue to stay away from your family and I have a heart attack and die, it would be your fault.”

She’s doing it again, I told myself. The whole convincing thing.

“Nanny!”

“I know it’s awful that it could happen,” she said, bobbing her head up and down in agreement.

The twisted old bat!

“I can’t believe you,” I crossly stated. “I don’t even know how to respond to something like that.”

My nanny devilishly smiled. “Say ye’ll come home every Christmas.”

I am related to a bloody con artist.

I huffed. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m dead serious,” she countered, all traces of humour fleeing from her face.

We had a ten-second stare-down before I threw my hands up in the air. “Fine!” I groaned in defeat. “I’ll be home for Christmas.”

“Every year?” she questioned.

I grunted. “Every. Year.”

“Ye promise?” she pressed.

I gritted my teeth. “I promise.”

She gleefully clapped her hands together. “I’m so happy ye decided this.”

Yeah. Decided.

“I feel like I’ve just been hustled,” I mumbled, and shook my head. “You’d convince the Devil that he was God.”

When I looked back up to my nanny, her lip was quirked. “What now?” I warily asked.

She shrugged. “Nothin’.”

It wasn’t “nothing”; she was grinning at me, and that meant something.

“Are you sure?” I pried.

My nanny nodded, but said nothing.