Christine Rimmer - The Nanny's Double Trouble

It was as far as she got. Frannie hurled again, this time down Keely’s front. “Oh, bad!” Frannie wailed.

“No, no,” Keely promised her. “It’s not bad, honey. It’s okay.”

That was when Frannie threw up again, all over herself. She wailed even louder, “Keewee, I sowwy. I sowwy, sowwy, sowwy.”

From his crib, Jake cried, “Fa-Fa? Fa-Fa, oh, no!”

“She’s okay,” Keely promised and wished it were true. “Jakey, she’s going to be fine.”

Maisey appeared in the doorway to the hall. She moaned in sympathetic doggy distress.

Keely carried Frannie to the changing table and quickly got her out of her soiled clothes. “Jakey, we’ll be right back,” she promised the increasingly agitated little boy as she grabbed the little girl and a clean diaper. Holding both out and away from her vomit-soaked body, she stepped over Maisey and carried baby and diaper across the hall to her room, moving straight through to her bathroom, which had a traditional tub-and-shower combination.

Shoving the shower curtain aside, Keely lowered the little girl into the tub. “Here. We’ll get you all cleaned up.”

“’Kay.” Frannie sniffed.

Keely turned on the water. Once she had it lukewarm, she grabbed a washcloth and rinsed Frannie off.

Frannie was quiet, sniffling a little, watching her through wide eyes, as Keely dried her off and carried her—held out and dangling—to her own bed, where she put on the diaper.

“You feel better now, honey?”

Frannie solemnly nodded, eyes wide and wet. Keely scooped her up again and put her in the playpen she kept set up in the corner for any time she needed to corral the kids in her room.

“Fa-Fa? Keewee?” Jake cried from the other room.

“Coming, Jakey. Just a minute!” Keely called back.

A plush pink squeaky kitten lay waiting in the playpen. Keely squeezed it and it meowed. Frannie took it and hugged it close.

“I’m just going to go into the bathroom to clean up. I’ll be right back. Okay, honey?”

For that, she got another somber nod from Frannie. Though still flushed, her eyes red and her nose running, Frannie did seem much calmer at least.

Thank God, the vomiting bout seemed to be through.

Jake called again, “Keewee?”

“Just another minute, Jakey. I’ll be there. I promise!” Peeling off her smelly shirt as she went, Keely darted for the bathroom. Standing on the bathroom rug by the tub, she wiggled free of her bra, kicked out of her shoes and shoved down both her jeans and panties at once.

“Keewee!” Jake shouted.

“Jakey, I’m right here! Just a minute!” she called, as she hopped around in a ridiculous circle, whipping off one sock and then the other. Flipping on the taps, switching the flow to the showerhead, she got in under the still-cold spray and yanked the curtain closed.

Three minutes, tops, she was in there. Jake called her name repeatedly. Once or twice, Frannie did, too. Keely got the mess off, rinsed in record time, flipped off the tap and shoved the shower curtain wide.

She’d stepped, dripping wet to the bath mat, and reached for her towel before she happened to glance through the open bathroom door to the bedroom.

Jake in his arms and Maisey at his feet, Daniel stood by the playpen staring at her with his mouth hanging open.

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