The Bear’s Nanny by Erin Havoc

01

ASTRID

A TRUCK BARRELS past my left, the horn blaring so loud I grind my teeth together and hope to God it won’t deafen me. My fingers curling tight around the steering wheel, I stick my arm out of the window and show the passing driver my beautiful middle finger. I would tell him to fuck off too, but I’m out of breath from this last sobbing show.

Honestly, he’s not to blame. I may have driven a bit too close to him as he passed me by. But I couldn’t see all that well. Tears make a strange, foggy veil over your sight when you’re crying your eyes out.

“Jerk,” I pathetically breathe against the wheel as I wipe the tears away for the hundredth time this week. And when I say ‘jerk,' I may mean the driver, who’s not really guilty, or my ex.

My ex. My freaking ex-husband. The man who used to say he loved me and who took my hand and smiled when we signed our names in front of a judge. Though I’ve always wanted a wedding, even a small one, he was the kind of guy who said weddings were a capitalist plan to force us to spend money. A nice guy, as one can guess. But I thought he was the best I could ever have.

My heart aches. I massage my chest as if I could reach within my ribcage and touch the organ. As the tears dry, I squint at the road.

I have no idea where I am.

Ever since I got home an hour earlier and found Pete nailing the nanny on the couch, things took a wrong turn. As an empowered woman who works hard, I should have kept my cool. My control. I should have faced this head-on, called my lawyer, and told him to arrange the papers. Pete wasn’t exactly a fan of paying his taxes, and I had the proof to screw him if I wanted revenge.

Instead, I burst out crying. Pathetic. I packed up clothes and my favorite things while Pete first tried to tell me it wasn’t what I was thinking, though it clearly was. He then said I should understand because I wasn’t hot and, as a male, he needed someone younger.

Fuck that. Fuck all of that.

Yeah, our marriage wasn’t exactly happy. It was more comfortable than anything — Pete had already been married once, but I worked hard to give him a nice place to come home to. Because I worked, I couldn’t stay home with his son, the one from the first marriage.

He’s thirteen. I’m an idiot for thinking he still needed a nanny, but I put my heart and soul into that family. I wanted them to be happy. To feel welcome.

The nanny had left by the time I finished packing. Pete’s son arrived home, and instead of taking my side, he leered at me because the nanny was younger and hotter. So, of course, his father would prefer her. Now that I look back, it was obvious they were a couple of jerks who never cared how much blood I gave for them.

I shoved my stuff into the back seat of my car, and I drove off. First stop, my lawyer. He got the papers ready in record time while I sobbed on his shoulder. Then I bid him goodbye and hit the road.

Driving always helped me clear my head. I’ve been taking on the back roads for a week, and it still hurts.

Not because I loved Pete. I haven’t for a long time.

The betrayal hurts anyway, so much. It’s worse because I put my soul into our relationship.

Pete was the first home I knew. My birth family was so fucked up I just wanted out the second I became an adult. But between sharing places with nasty roommates and renting one-room apartments in the worst neighborhoods in town, I never found a home. Pete was the closest thing I had to a real family. I promised to do my best to make the place feel like home for them. What a pity they never made it feel like home for me too.

My nails dig into my palms as I swallow thickly. For the past few nights, I’ve found roadside motels and cheap bars to drink until my stomach couldn’t take it. I’d puke the next morning, take some aspirin, and hit the road again. No need to tell me I’m behaving pathetically. If you ever marry a dickhead who can’t give you an orgasm and blames you for that, and then find out he cheated on you, we’ll be even. Only then can you judge me. The pain is real. And I want to leave it behind.

No songs on the radio can distract me. The stations fade in and out, but I keep it on for the sake of company.

I never had a home, never had friends, and clearly never had love.

I take a deep breath and release it. My entire life is in the suitcases in the back of my car: clothes, cosmetics, my favorite books, and earrings. I can start again. Anywhere.

I need to start again.

As the words sink into me, slowly, as they drift across the fog of self-pity in my brain, the car jerks. Hard. The sound of an explosion slams into me, and my arms tense. My jaw clenches, and for a moment I think I’m a goner. Just as I decided I should start over.

The car sways, and I keep a tight grasp on the wheel, driving off the road as my teeth clatter in surprise. I glance at the rearview mirror. There’s no one behind me. The roads around here are deserted.

Wherever here is.

I release a deep sigh, rationality coming back. The tire, of course. No one’s trying to blow my car up. Who would? I’m a forty-one-year-old woman with too many rolls and no thrill in life. I’ve worked as a manager my entire adulthood. Not exactly heroine material.

“Christ,” I pray as I slow down and stop the car. I open the door and stumble out. My legs tingle as I stretch them. I should have done this before. Limping a bit to the right side of my car, I search for the guilty tire. It’s torn. Not empty. Torn. As if there was a freaking knife on the road, and I passed it at a hundred miles a minute. My shoulders sag. “Crap,” I say, then feel bad for a curse being the next word that left my lips after Christ’s name. Looking up, I raise my hands. “Sorry.”

My throat rasps, and my voice sounds strange. I’ve only been using it to order food and tequila. Tequila has a way to hit you hard and fast, and the food allowed me to stave off the drunken state. Though that was the eventual place I ended my night.

For the first time in I-don’t-know-how-long, I look around myself. The sight before me is breathtaking. The place is forested, to say the least. Enormous trees take over the sides of the road, thick underbrush tells me how little this place is used. The sun filters through the leaves, and a sense of peace washes over me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this.

But there’s another thing taking over my body, dread. Where the fuck am I supposed to find a mechanic? I don’t have my spare tire — Pete took it for his car a couple of months ago, and I couldn’t afford a new one so soon.

Not my most brilliant plan.

I rake my fingers through my hair, pick up my phone, and open my Google Maps. My blond strands run through my fingers, and I reach the end of them too soon. Talk about unwise choices. I shouldn't have cut my hair this short. It used to be near my waist, now it barely hits my jaw. Besides, I am many things, but not a hairdresser. My haircut looks like shit.

The app loads. There are no cities nearby, but a side road cuts through the greenery to what looks like a gathering of houses. Weird, there's no street sign. Maybe it’s a private area. I’m not sure. The only way to find out is by walking there, not that I have any other options.

I pick up my handbag and keys, lock the car and start walking. My hand feels for the pepper spray I keep in my purse at all times. A girl has to protect herself.

With some luck, I’ll find a mechanic who can save me. With more luck, the place will be a small town nice enough to stay over for a couple of days. Maybe I can find a part-time job and make some money, so I won’t waste any more of my savings. I totally forgot to tell my boss I wasn’t showing up again.

The first part of the walk takes me ten minutes down the road. No cars pass me by. I wonder how I got so far from civilization. My hair is a mess and my face sweaty when I approach the side road, and ten more minutes pass until I reach a small town nestled by the feet of a dark green mountain. An ancient plaque by the entrance reads Shadow Falls, but I’m not paying attention.

My eyes are wide as I take the place in from the quaint houses, to how clean and woody it is. It’s like I walked through a portal into a different place. Even the air is crisper. I cross my fingers as I enter the city. Here’s to hoping this place brings me good things for a change.