In the summer of 1985, just before I started college, I got a job as a nanny for a divorced woman. She rented a house on a fancy private island off the coast of Connecticut. The woman was an acquaintance of my mother’s and had two daughters—one was eight, the other ten. During the interview, the mother told me I would be alone on weekdays, and she would come from the city on weekends. The girls were sweet, especially the younger one, and I was excited to be in charge.
“You have your license, don’t you?” Mrs. Heim asked. She radiated nervous energy mixed with a hint of glamour. Her hourglass figure captivated me. She had all the curves I lacked. My body looked more like a toothpick than a pear. Her full lips, painted red, had some of the color wander onto her front teeth. It was hard to imagine her at the beach or in casual clothes.
“Yes,” I said. “I have my license and I’m a good driver.” Since I’d gone to boarding school, I hadn’t driven much, and my mom couldn’t afford to buy me a car. It seemed okay to stretch the truth because I wanted the job.
“Fantastic,” she said. “I have a Volvo for you to use all summer. You’ll need it to take the girls to camp, pick them up, get groceries, and stuff like that.” I thought it was strange that Mrs. Heim named the car brand as she pushed her large, black-framed sunglasses up the bridge of her nose. “No boys over, no parties, or anything like that.” She examined her manicure. “I’m sure you understand.” Then her demeanor shifted suddenly, like a taillight blinking. “You’re going to have a lot of fun this summer!”
I took notes during my interview to seem more professional. The word FUN, written in uppercase, was something I quickly doodled flowers around. Mrs. Heim offered me the job and asked me to start on Friday. We would have the weekend together to review the schedule, and then I’d be on my own.
With a duffel bag full of summer clothes, I took the train from Long Island to the city to meet Mrs. Heim and her daughters at their apartment on Park Avenue. We then drove to the ferry terminal to catch the ferry to the island. Since I had never visited Fisher’s Island, I didn’t know what to expect. The boat, Mrs. Heim told me, carried both cars and people. There were vehicles lined up in three tight rows waiting to board. We stepped out of the Volvo once the operator directed us onto the ferry. I noticed a crowd of attractive people carrying L.L. Bean canvas totes. The men wore pants Mrs. Heim called Nantucket Reds, which were a faded salmon color. The guys wore backward baseball caps with college logos, and the girls had ponytails, wisps of hair haloing around their heads with the ocean breeze.
The younger daughter, Louise, held my hand as we stood on the upper ferry deck. She looked up at me and smiled. Her dark, wiry hair slightly out of place compared to the other kids. I reached down and adjusted her hairband. “You’re beautiful, you know,” I said. Louise giggled. Agnes, the other daughter, stood close to her mom. She was in the early stages of puberty, awkward, slightly chubby, and self-conscious. I made a mental note to treat the kids with kindness and shuddered at the thought of my painful childhood. My heart swelled with pride at the idea of being responsible for two little lives. The ferry pulled away from the dock as seagulls swarmed overhead. Mrs. Heim wrapped an arm around Agnes; her shopping bag was placed on the deck. A box from a bakery called Dumas was balanced on top. Several teens gathered at the bow, laughing and talking. A sense of smallness overcame me. I felt like a nobody, a nothing.
Louise wanted to buy candy at the snack bar. On the wall was a map of Fisher’s Island, which appeared long and narrow. There was a small town at one end, with a road running through the middle. The map also displayed a golf course, two country clubs, a few marinas, and various small lanes leading to coastal homes on both sides.
“Our house is on that end,” Louise said, reaching for the map from her tiptoes. My nerves spiked as I thought about managing two kids all by myself for a whole summer.
Mrs. Heim hurried into the snack bar area. “We’re almost there.” She noticed me looking at the map. “Fisher’s is a hotspot for the upper crust,” she said. “Most of the homes are mansions. There’s a lot of history. You know, old money—Vanderbilt, Whitney, DuPont.” She took off her sunglasses and leaned over the map. “Our house is right here.”
I worried I might not fit in on the island and that it would be a long, lonely summer. We piled back into the car as the ferry pulled up to the dock. I turned to check the girls in the backseat. Louise smiled, and Agnes gazed out the window.
“You’re going to love it here,” Mrs. Heim said, perhaps sensing my nerves.
There wasn’t much to see from the road except driveways and occasional glimpses of the ocean. It seemed we drove the entire length of the island as Mrs. Heim veered right onto a bumpy dirt road. “You’ll have to take it slow,” she said. “Full of potholes.” We stayed on the dirt for a while until she pulled into a gravel driveway. The house was yellow with white shutters and a grand wraparound porch. Flower gardens edged the house, and the rest was lawn. A badminton net flapped in the breeze. At the end of the property were dunes topped with tall grass, then the sea. The air felt thick and salty.
“Let me show you your room.” Louise squealed with excitement as she rushed to the front door. I followed, dragging my duffel bag behind me. Mrs. Heim drew the shades while I trailed upstairs after Louise. “Here it is,” she said, pointing to show the size of the space. “And I sleep in here.” Louise stepped into the hallway and pointed to the next door. “We’re neighbors.”
Mrs. Heim popped in. “You have a separate bathroom.” She ushered past me to the window and opened it up. “This place gets too stuffy when no one is here.” While shears billowed in the breeze. “Ocean view,” she said.
“It’s lovely,” I replied. “Thank you.” I sat on the queen-sized bed with a pale blue headboard and floral sheets. It was the nicest room I had ever stayed in, and I felt giddy.
There’s a boy who comes on Wednesdays to mow, water, and tend to the flower beds. He’s very handsome.” Mrs. Heim opened the double closet doors. “Hang your dresses here and use the bureau for other items.” She stood with her hands on her hips. “I’ll let you get settled. How about we plan on heading out to tour and get dinner around four.” Mrs. Heim glanced at her watch. “That gives you a half hour.” She ushered Louise out of my room. I unzipped my bag and pulled out my wrinkled clothes, relieved I’d listened to my mother and packed a few dresses, just in case. I moved as quickly as possible to unpack and then changed into white jeans and a T-shirt with flip-flops. My sandals snapped as I descended each stair.
“Let me show you around the kitchen and talk about what the girls like to eat.” For the next hour, I was feverishly taking notes. Louise liked peanut butter; Agnes hated it. Louise claimed to be allergic to salmon, but she wasn’t — she just didn’t like it. Chicken tenders made a good dinner choice. I was supposed to provide a starch, a vegetable, and a protein. She whispered that her oldest was gaining weight and asked me to be careful about having too much junk food in the house. “I buy pastries from Dumas on the weekends as their special treat.” I smiled, but inside I felt a pang for Agnes because no one wants their mom to think they’re chubby. That afternoon, Mrs. Heim introduced me to the deli owner where she had a charge account. We shopped for groceries at the only store in town and ordered a pizza from the Italian restaurant to bring back home. At each place we visited, I saw many attractive young people, and my insecurities grew. I felt like an outcast and as though no one noticed me. The pizza helped calm my nerves, and during dinner, Mrs. Heim offered me a beer.
“I’m sure you’ve had a beer before,” she said. “But please don’t drink when I’m not here.”
“Of course not,” I said, sipping the cold drink and quietly releasing a burp. Mrs. Heim had a detailed schedule spread across five sheets of paper. It outlined exactly where the girls were supposed to be and when. She even had playdates, movies, art classes, and an ocean-safety course organized and taught by the lifeguard at Hay Harbor Beach Club, where Mrs. Heim was a member.
“Feel free to charge whatever you like at the club.” She sifted through the papers. “Our member number is here,” she said. “The girls have it memorized by heart.”
We spent the next few days driving around, reviewing the schedule, and getting to know the island. By Sunday, my head was spinning with information, and I prayed I wouldn’t mess up. The girls and I saw their mother off on the ferry, staying to wave as it pulled away. There I stood, with a kid on each side and a world of responsibility on my shoulders.
The first few days went pretty smoothly. I got lost twice and was late to camp once because Agnes couldn’t decide what to wear. During the second week, I forgot to pick her up at the movies. I hurried around the corner and found Agnes sitting on the curb in the dark. The moment she got in the car, she burst into tears. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I feel terrible. Please don’t cry.” We went to the ice cream shop, and she calmed down. My nerves were rattled for a while, and my heart ached.
With the girls’ busy schedule, I hurried down our dirt road while they jostled in their seats. A trail of dust followed us. After dropping the kids off at camp during my second week of watching them, I stopped at the market and grabbed something for dinner. I decided to roast a chicken, thinking I could call my mother and ask her how to do it. When I returned from the store, a pickup truck was parked in the turnaround, blocking my way. I checked my watch every few minutes, worried about being late to pick up the girls or forgetting one of them. A tan, blonde guy was rolling a lawnmower down a makeshift ramp attached to the back of his truck. He looked up and waved.
“Hey,” he said. “I’m Jack.” He smiled and took off his shades, revealing piercing blue eyes. “Can I help you with your bags?”
“Thank you,” I said, feeling as though I were playing grown-up. “I’m Carrie; it’s nice to meet you.” I followed Jack into the house. He seemed to know his way around quite well and headed straight to the kitchen. His arms were toned, and the sun had bleached his hair. He pulled a carton of milk from the grocery bag and placed it in the fridge. “So, do you live on the island?” I asked, realizing it was a stupid question.
I live in New York City, but I’m here for the summer,” he said. “My father is the summer minister at the church in town.” He smiled, twisting his baseball cap so that the brim faced the wrong way. “I’ll be a junior at the University of Vermont in the fall.” He leaned against the white marble counter and looked at me.
“Oh, cool,” I said. “I’m starting at Boston University.” An awkward silence hung between us. My armpits started sweating, and my face grew hot.
“Hey, there’s a party tonight. Maybe you could come.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Mrs. Heim leaves the kids alone all the time.”
I wondered how he knew so much about Mrs. Heim and the house, but I chose not to ask. I figured I wouldn’t get party invites and didn’t ask Mrs. Heim if I could leave the kids. “I don’t know,” I said. “I better not.”
“Come on,” Jack said. “Live a little.” He brushed the grass off his work boots onto the kitchen floor. “I’ll swing by around nine to get you.” He strolled out the door. A moment later, the lawnmower started up, and he was out front pushing the machine in straight lines. His T-shirt was off and tucked into the back of his jeans. I nearly died when I saw his muscles.
My mother didn’t answer the phone, but I left her a message asking for instructions on cooking a chicken. I put everything away and went to pick up the girls. Jack waved at me as I drove off. My stomach tingled with excitement. “I met a boy today,” I told the kids as they got into the car. “The lawn guy, you know, Jack.”
“Jack and Carrie sitting in a tree, K-i-s-s-i-n-g. First comes love, then comes marriage,” Louise stopped because she was laughing too hard.
“Very funny,” I said. At the four-way stop, I turned to Agnes, who was sitting in the passenger seat. “He invited me to a party tonight, but I wasn’t sure if you guys are allowed to be alone.” Agnes had a mouthful of braces and lots of food caked on the front. I tried to focus on the positives rather than pick on her like my mother did to me.
“Yeah, you can.” Agnes smiled. Her hair was stiff with salt. “I’m ten after all.”
The phone was ringing when I opened the front door. Agnes ran to answer it. “It’s your mom,” she yelled.
“Hey, Mom,” I said, grabbing a pen and paper. “What if I don’t have herbs of Provence?” The phone was tucked between my chin and shoulder as I browsed the spice cabinet. “Nope, nothing says that on the label.” I jotted down a few more notes and hung up. The most important thing she said was that the liquid runs clear, and the leg should be easy to wiggle. I looked at the ominous chicken and wondered if this was going to be worth the effort. Once the chicken was in the oven, I ushered Agnes into the shower and got Louise in the tub.
“Are you leaving us to go to a party?” she asked while I shampooed her hair.
“Just for like an hour,” I said. “Maybe you shouldn’t tell your mom.” She tipped her head back while I rinsed her hair with the handheld. “I mean, she might get mad at me.”
“Okay,” Louise said. “I can keep a secret.” I started smelling smoke and remembered the chicken was in the oven. When I opened the oven door, thick black smoke billowed out, blurring my vision. I must have put it too close to the top because it was both burnt and raw. I tossed the chicken into the trash. “We’re getting a pizza,” I said. “I’m bad at cooking.” The girls jumped up and down, but I worried there wouldn’t be enough time for me to shower before my date. My hair smelled like grease and smoke. “Dammit,” I said under my breath. By the time I got the pizza, Jack was waiting in the driveway.
“Hi, Jack,” Agnes hopped out of the car with the pizza box. I hurriedly untied my ponytail and added some color to my cheeks. No one prepared me for how hectic it would be to watch two kids. I had barely had time to shave my legs since arriving and felt overwhelmed. Jack eased over to the car as I opened the door. He hugged me right in front of Louise, which was embarrassing.
“Hey,” I said, edging past him. “I’m really not ready at all. Maybe I should skip it.” Jack followed me into the house. “I mean, I need about twenty minutes to change and brush my teeth. You know, stuff like that.”
Jack sat at the kitchen table with the girls while I ran upstairs. “Take all the time you need,” he said. “Nothing gets rolling until later anyway.” He helped himself to some pizza and got the girls glasses of milk. I threw on my favorite ripped jeans, mascara, and a skimpy tank top. Luckily, I remembered to spritz on perfume to hide the burned chicken smell. The fact was, I had no idea where we were going or what the dress code was, but I figured if it involved college students, it would be casual.
“Can we stay up until you get home?” Louise asked. Her arms wrapped around my waist. “Please.”
“I guess,” I said, checking my watch. “Why don’t you grab a blanket and watch TV in the family room with your sister?” I peeled her arms away from me. “Keep the door locked. I’ll be back in an hour.” I turned the key in the lock with a heavy feeling.
Jack looked really cute in jeans and a T-shirt, with his damp hair streaked by a comb. “You look nice,” he said, leaning in for a kiss. We made out in the driveway until I saw Louise pressed against the window, spying on us. Jack threw his car into gear, and we sped down the dirt road. “This is an uppity group,” he said. “You know, snobs and prepsters.” We drove for a while on narrow roads until he passed through an open gate. Cars lined both sides of the driveway all the way to the house. Jack squeezed into a spot, and I crawled over to his side because I couldn’t open the passenger door. Music blared from the yard. The entryway was lively with people holding beers and mixed drinks in monogrammed plastic cups. Jack led me through the crowd until we found a keg.
“Jack.” A girl draped her arms around his shoulder. “You made it.” She looked me up and down without so much as a smile. “Who’s this?”
“Carrie,” he said. “She’s working as a summer girl.” I reached out my hand, which she ignored.
“Thanks for having me,” I said awkwardly.
“No worries,” the blonde said. “Welcome to paradise.”
Jack led me outside where a crowd had gathered. He pulled something from his pocket. “Do you smoke?” he asked. I was pretty sure it wasn’t a cigarette.
“Um, no I don’t. I mean, I never have.” I watched him light the joint and take a hit. He passed it to me, and I tried to fake it, but smoke filled my mouth, and I started hacking.
“Easy tiger,” he laughed. I felt dizzy and out of sorts. Within moments, I lost Jack; it was as if he vanished. Panic struck me—I didn’t know where I was or how to get back to the rental. I wandered around searching for him. He wasn’t outside, so I headed into the house. A few people bumped into me, but no one acknowledged my presence. I found Jack talking with the same girl who greeted him when we arrived. They were standing at the bottom of the curved staircase. It made me think of Gone with the Wind. I couldn’t imagine this place was someone’s beach house.
“I need to get going,” I said. “Can I use your phone to call a cab?” I wasn’t even sure how to get back.
“What?” Jack said. “No, I’ll take you home. We were talking, you know, catching up.”
“If you’re sure it’s not any trouble,” I said.
“What are you going to turn into, a pumpkin or something?” The girl sneered at me, then laughed.
Jack took my hand. “Libby, be nice.” She kissed him on the cheek.
“See you soon, lover boy.” Her ass wiggled as she walked away. I wondered why Jack was even bothering with me.
“We dated last summer,” he said as we strolled to his car. “She’s a train wreck.”
I couldn’t figure out what gave Jack the impression that I wasn’t a total mess, too. He kept his hand on my knee during the drive. I was still dizzy from the pot, my tongue feeling heavy and dry. He followed me into the house and helped me get the girls to bed. They looked so relaxed, like they’d known him forever. “They like you,” I said as Jack followed me down the stairs.
“Well, I’ve been doing the lawn for a few seasons. It’s a small island,” he said. “You get to know people.” We settled on the sofa in front of the TV. His rough hands moved up my thigh to the edge of my shirt. I reached over and turned out the lamp. It had been a while since I’d made out with anyone, and I’d never had sex. Something told me that was about to change. After all, I didn’t want to start college a virgin. I felt ready.
“Want to go get more comfortable?” he asked. My bra was undone, hanging from my breasts. I eased off the sofa and headed toward the stairs. “Let’s go to Mrs. Heim’s room; it’s more private.” It seemed odd that he knew where Mrs. Heim’s room was and was sacrilegious to have sex in my boss’s bed, but I agreed. The thought of the girls catching us was far worse than breaking an unwritten rule. Jack moved around my body like a painter using gentle brush strokes. “Do you have protection?” he asked.
“I’m a virgin,” I said. He hovered over me, ready to enter the place no man had ventured.
“Really?” he said in disbelief. I guess he forgot that I hadn’t answered the protection question because he entered me and exploded after three pumps. He lay on top of me in a heap. “Maybe you should go get cleaned up, try and get it out just in case.”
After that night, Jack carried condoms. It was only a few weeks before my period was late, but I already knew. I didn’t have a lucky bone in my body, and of course, I’d be the one to get pregnant the first time I ever had sex. My breasts were tender, and I was a raging bitch. Something didn’t feel right. When Mrs. Heim left that Sunday, I drove to the drugstore to buy a pregnancy test. “Wait in the car,” I told the girls. Once inside, I lingered in the aisle until the coast was clear; otherwise, everyone on the island would find out. The stick showed positive, and I sobbed on the bathroom floor.
“Well, I’m not ready for a kid,” Jack said when I told him the news. “I know a place in Boston.” It was as if he’d done this before, but I didn’t want to know. I asked Mrs. Heim for a few days off to prepare for college. I told her I was meeting my mother in Boston and hoped they wouldn’t communicate to confirm. Jack scheduled the appointment at the clinic and paid for everything. We stayed with one of his college friends. The place was a dump, with beer cans, stinky shoes, and piles of dirty laundry. I almost threw up when I walked in. That night, I couldn’t sleep. When I finally did, the baby appeared in my dreams. A peanut-shaped human, tiny but with perfect features. Please don’t kill me, mommy. I want to live. In the morning, we drove to the clinic. Jack parked a few blocks away. As we rounded the corner, picketers leered; some screamed, “Murderer!” One woman grabbed me. “You have options! Follow me. Come into the light.” With my head bowed, I followed Jack into the clinic. They offered me a Valium but advised that if I took one, I would be required to stay longer. I decided not to, maybe so I could remember the pain.
Jack wanted to get food before we left Boston. He mentioned a famous burger spot. My stomach churned with nausea.
“Sorry about everything,” he said between bites. “I feel terrible.” He reached across the table for my hand. “We can’t harp on the bad stuff. Gotta move on.” My body ached. I couldn’t think about what had happened. I slept most of the drive back to the ferry. My knees buckled when I tried to stand. Jack helped me onto the boat, and I laid my head on his shoulder until we reached the dock. Something told me that things between us would never be the same.
I saw Jack two more times that summer when he mowed the lawn. He waved as I looked out the window.