Chapter 1
"You're the new nanny?" In the living room, a middle-aged woman in a traditional dress looked me over as if I were something on sale.
"Your resume says you're twenty-three, but you look eighteen." She tossed my resume onto the coffee table.
I tried to explain, "Mrs. Turner, I know I'm young, but..."
"We've hired seven nannies," She cut me off. "The priciest one charged one thousand an hour. She was a graduate of Loverto Royal Parenting Academy."
She picked up her cup. "She lasted three days."
I stayed silent.
She asked, "Do you know why?"
*****
Suddenly, a wail erupted from upstairs.
It was sharp and continuous, cutting through the air.
Betty Turner's face changed for a moment.
She said, "Because my grandson has hardly stopped crying for eight months straight since he was born.
"We've checked every hospital. Every test says he's fine.
"But he cries all the time, day and night. It doesn't matter who's holding him."
The crying upstairs got louder.
But I heard more than crying.
I heard a voice.
It was faint, muffled, like it was coming through water.
The voice echoed, [It hurts. My tummy hurts.]
I froze for a second.
This was my ability.
I'd had it since I was little.
While everyone else heard a baby crying, I could hear their thoughts, their true feelings.
"Mrs. Turner, how long has it been since the baby last pooped?" I asked.
She frowned. "Why are you asking that?"
"Please answer me," I insisted.
Betty thought about it. "Maybe... three or four days? So what?"
I said firmly, "No, it's not three or four days."
I knew for sure. "It's been at least seven days."
Betty's face changed. "How do you..."
"Take me upstairs to see him," I said before she finished speaking.
She hesitated for a few seconds and then stood up.
I followed her upstairs.
We opened the door. The nursery was huge, with pale blue wallpaper, an imported crib, and expensive comfort toys scattered on the floor.
Inside the crib lay a tiny baby.
His face was bright red from crying, and his little arms and legs were kicking nonstop.
[It hurts. It hurts so bad. Nobody knows I'm hurting.] That was the baby's voice in my head.
The little voice returned, faint and aching.
I walked over and gently placed my hand on his tiny tummy.
His small belly was a bit firm, and I could feel the gas swelling inside.
"Mrs. Turner, the formula mix isn't right," I said.
"What?" she asked, sounding surprised.
I explained, "He's lactose intolerant. The formula you're using has too much lactose.
"That's been making him bloated and constipated for a long time. He's been crying because he's hurting."
Betty was speechless for a moment, her mouth hanging open.
She said, "That can't be. This formula is imported from Graffland, and it's 1.3 thousand dollars a can."
"Because it's pricey doesn't mean it's good for the baby," I said.
As I spoke, I rubbed the baby's little belly in gentle, clockwise circles with the pads of my fingers.
My touch was light, deliberately avoiding the area around his belly button.
The crying quieted down a bit.
[A little better.] That was Luke's thought, faint but clear in my mind.
Three minutes ticked by.
Then, like that, the crying stopped.
The whole room fell silent.
Betty was stunned. "For eight months, this is the first time in eight months he's ever stopped crying."
The baby looked up at me with big, round eyes.
Luke: [She's so warm. It doesn't hurt anymore.]
I smiled warmly at him.
Suddenly, I heard footsteps at the door.
A man stood in the doorway.
He was wearing a dark gray suit, tall and with a commanding presence.
His features were cold and sharp, with deep-set brows and cheekbones that looked like they were cut from stone.
He looked over at the now-silent baby and then checked me out.
"Who are you?" he asked.
Betty quickly said, "Seth, this is the new nanny, Ms. Hailey Goodwin."
He walked over and looked down at the baby.
The baby grinned up at him.
Seth's face softened for a moment, but he quickly returned to his usual cold expression.
"Luke's smiling?" Seth asked, genuine surprise in his voice.
"Yeah, he's not crying anymore," Betty replied, her voice trembling. "She's only been here for ten minutes, and Luke stopped crying."
Seth turned to look at me.
His gaze was icy, like he was scrutinizing me.
"Other nannies have managed to calm him down before, but the longest he stayed quiet was two hours. After that, he'd cry worse than before," he said.
"That's because they never figured out what was wrong," I replied.
"You figured it out?" he asked.
I explained, "It's all because he's lactose intolerant, which makes him bloated and constipated.
"Switch his formula to hydrolyzed protein and give him some gentle tummy rubs, and he'll be much better in a week, like eighty percent improved."
Seth didn't say anything.
"What's your education?" he asked.
"High school," I replied.
The room went quiet for a moment.
Betty looked a bit embarrassed.
"Seth, her education's not the best, but..." Betty said.
"Our nannies need at least a bachelor's degree in nursing, plus at least three years working in the neonatal unit of a major hospital," Seth said.
He looked me over. "You don't meet any of those requirements."
I smiled. "Mr. Turner, out of all those so-called qualified nannies, did any of them make your son stop crying?"
He didn't answer.