“Oh… I’m sorry…” she stammers. “I thought it was okay to come in. I saw Imogen was done and I figured I was next. I’ll show myself out.”
She half turns as I glance down at the interview list.
“Chelsea Hughes?”
“That’d be me, yes,” she says, putting on a half-smile.
I exhale slowly, then gesture to the seat Imogen abandoned. “Well, you’re already here. We can get started.”
“That’d be great! It’s so nice to meet you, Mrs. Keating.” Chelsea steps forward to shake my hand first, then moves to do the same with Declan. “Mr. Keating,” she says, bowing her head politely.
“First names are fine,” he says. “If you think you’re in a posh household, you’re not.”
She laughs brightly, taking the armchair. “Oh, but itislovely. Your home has such a warm feel. You’ve got an eye for details. It’s like a magazine spread but lived-in, you know?”
“That would be Amerie,” Declan says proudly, gripping my knee and casting me a sidelong grin. “She’s made the place a home.”
My cheeks warm at his words, and I’m almost distracted by them. I would be if we weren’t in the middle of conducting an interview.
Chelsea seems just as endeared by the exchange. Her smile has gone nowhere as she looks between the two of us and says, “I always think kids do best in homes like this. Not just beautiful, but full of affection. You can tell it’s a happy household.”
“Yeah… it is.” I clear my throat and glance down at her résumé, refocusing on the task at hand. “Alright, Chelsea. Let’s discuss a few of your past positions…”
Over the next half hour, Declan and I proceed to interview Chelsea, poring over her résumé like we’ve done the others, and asking her pointed questions she provides detailed answers to. She remains calm, composed, and charming every step of the way.
Almost frustratingly so.
At one point, she even goes into detail about how, at one of her last positions, she’d saved the life of one of the children she’d cared for.
“Thankfully, I carried extra of George’s epileptic medication, so it didn’t matter that his mum forgot,” she explains. She leans forward to offer a separate sheet of paper she’s withdrawn from her satchel purse. “I brought you additional references in case you’d like to reach out to some other families I’ve cared for.”
“Oh… that’s… very, um, well-prepared of you. Thank you.”
Before I can even glance at the sheet, Willow comes rushing into the room in tears.
“Mommy! Daddy!” she cries. “I… I was bouncing the ball… t-then it bounced an-and hit me in the fa-face and I… I fell… and… l-look!”
Our five-year-old holds up her elbow with a quivering lip, tears shining on her cheeks. She has a nasty scrape on her elbow from where she collided with the cement floor.
“Widget, love, c’mere,” Declan says, pulling her into a hug.
“Willow, you have to be more careful. You bounce that ball and get so excited you don’t pay attention. I’ll grab a towel and wet it under some water,” I sigh, getting up. “We haven’t bought a first aid kit, have we?”
Declan shakes his head. “Don’t think so.”
“Erm, I have Band-Aids,” pipes up Chelsea suddenly. “Kid-friendly ones. Dinosaurs and butterflies. That sort of thing. Would you like to see, Willow? If… that’s alright with you, Amerie and Declan, of course.”
Declan and I exchange a quick look.
His says he’s mildly impressed. Mine… is a lot more thrown by the convenience of it all.
“Yeah, sure,” I say finally. “That would be great, thank you. I’ll grab the towel so we can clean it up a little.”
I’m only gone for a minute, but in that short span of time, the emotional storm I left behind has vanished. Willow’s still sniffling, but she’s calmed down considerably, picking out a Band-Aid with Chelsea like she’s choosing a candy.
Declan seems to have settled on watching the two of them together for curiosity’s sake, and I do too, hovering in the doorway.
“How about this one?” Chelsea asks gently, showing Willow a hot pink Band-Aid with gold stars. “Nice and flashy. That’s the winner, what do you reckon?”
