The Fultons

WHO DOESN'T LOVE A GOOD RICH CRAZY FAMILY DRAMA????

I should have known something was off.

            The family seemed too good to be true. A tall, broad shouldered husband, with perfectly straight teeth and a head full of jet black, immaculate hair. A lean, gorgeous wife, with daring eyes and brilliant red lips. And of course, two perfect, wholesome, adorable twin toddlers standing lovingly at their side. This is the kind of family that makes you think I really need to hit the gym. This is the type of family that makes you seriously question if her perfect body really squeezed out two children. This is the type of family that makes you hate your own family.

            This is the Fulton family.

***

            The summers between my first few college semesters were generally spent traveling back to my small hometown and working at a day care. This particular summer, however, I decided that as a twenty-year-old, First Aid/CPR trained para-professional, it was time to explore my options. In other words, the daycare pay stubs just weren’t cutting my ever-rising apartment rent.

            I was told by a friend, who was told by another friend, who was told by a cousin of the mother of the family, that the Fultons were looking for a full-time nanny that summer. Now, in a small town like my own, everyone knows about the Fultons. If you’ve never met them, you’ve heard about them. If you have met them, you’ve practically engaged with celebrities.

            I was in the large majority of those who had merely heard of the Fulton’s vast greatness.

            Here’s the deal. Mark Fulton, who currently holds the Fulton fortune, inherited some long-running, family owned oil company that currently employs about 75% of our town and more. The Fulton family is one of the town’s founders, and the longest family line that has been tracked in our community. The only marry the best, they only associate with the elite, and they only raise the most pristine children.

            Now don’t get me wrong. When I found out they were hiring, I was wary of the opportunity at first. But, as any true college student can attest for, I was blinded by the idea of actually having a decent amount of money.

            I emailed my application, and one week later I was standing on the porch steps of the largest and most excessive beach house I have ever seen. I knocked three quick times, only to have Anne Fulton open the door just as quickly as I brought my hand down, as if she was waiting for me. Her red lips stretched into a smile that made me feel like she was genuinely happy to see me. I could smell the distinct, flowery scented perfume wafting from the wrist that was extending towards me.

            “Ellie! It is so wonderful to meet you. I’m Anne.”

            I took her hand and shook it, feeling self-conscious about the sweatiness of my palms. “It’s great to meet you, Mrs. Fulton.”

            She rolled her eyes in an airy, joking manner. “Please. I hate being called Mrs. Fulton. Really, just call me Anne.”

            I thought that was slightly odd, but I took it in stride. It’s a normal thing, not wanting to be tied down by your husband’s last name, right? Any self-respecting woman would want that. A simple way to remind yourself that you are your own person, not just a wife to Mr. Fulton.

            Anne showed me around the house, occasionally stepping over a Barbie doll or showing off a mediocre crayon drawing, with Jane or Rosie written on the bottom in a teacher’s hand writing. She seemed so proud of her daughters.

            After a tour of the enormous house, I was introduced to the twin girls. Jane, a carbon copy of her mother, had jet black hair and a mousy little nose. And Rosie, her fraternal twin, had uncharacteristic blonde hair and kind, questioning eyes. The girls were perfect in every meaning of the word. There is really no other way to describe them. They were extremely well behaved, well mannered, and absolutely adorable. They were excited to meet me, and after an evening filled with dress up and glitter glue, sweet little Jane asked me, “Can you come play with us tomorrow?” Anne was thrilled, and my heart almost burst out of my chest.

            Needless to say, I got the job.

***

            I showed up the following Monday for my first official day as the Fulton’s nanny. I knocked on the door, expecting a radiant Anne to open it, beaming back at me. However, Mr. Fulton answered the door that day, looking confused.

            “Um,” he glanced around the porch, seeing if I was alone. “Hi, can I help you?”

            I was momentarily speechless. For one fleeting second, pure panic flashed through me, and I assumed I heard Anne wrong. Maybe she said I didn’t get the job. A moment of wide-eyed confusion passed between us, before Anne appeared next to him, smiling as brightly as ever.

            “Ellie!” She said. I was pulled into a hug before I realized what was happening. Anne took a moment to explain to Mr. Fulton that I was their new nanny, to which he smiled at me and extended his hand. “Call me Mark,” he said. When he turned away, I saw the irritation creep into the lines of his face.

            I found it fundamentally strange that Mark didn’t know who I was, or at least that I was coming. It had been four days since I was given this job. Why had Anne not communicated that to her husband?

            It was only after one week that I began to notice more little red flags, scattered discretely across the house.

            One morning in particular, I arrived to the house slightly earlier than I was scheduled. When I knocked on the door, Mark answered. He seemed more disoriented than usual, and when I followed him inside, I could see a pillow and several blankets scrunched along their luxurious couch. He tried to bundle them up and throw them quickly into the bin at the end of the couch, before I could see what he was doing. I looked away and naively wondered why a man such as Mark wouldn’t be sleeping in his own bed.

            There was also the day that I stumbled upon their wine cellar, while retrieving a soccer ball Rosie had kicked down the stairs. When I opened the door, I was hit by a cold surge of air, and the glass door fogged up in a grey haze. I could tell just by glancing around the small room that there were far more empty bottles scattered along the floor than there were full.

            I was contemplating this when a knock on the door nearly scared me out of my wits. I took a moment to recover before yelling to Jane and Rosie, “Don’t answer the door yet, girls! I’ll get it!”

            I looked through the small peep hole before I cracked the door open hesitantly. A man with blonde hair and bright blue eyes looked back at me, smiling awkwardly.

            “Oh, um, hi,” he said. “You must be Ellie. I’m John.”

            I shook his hand as he continued. “I live next door, and I think I left my coat here the other night.” A pause. “The Fultons hosted my wife and I for a, um, dinner party. It should just be in the closet.”

            I had to search the closet for the coat he described, which was bundled in a heap in the corner. When I pulled it out, I had to wipe off dust bunnies. I presented it back to John, who thanked me. “I need to have it for work tomorrow. It was nice to meet you, Ellie.”

***

            A few days had passed before the next red flag appeared, this one the most prominent so far. I was sitting on the floor of a ridiculously pink bedroom, holding a Barbie in one hand and tickling Rosie with the other. Her laughter was contagious, and before long, we were both rolling together on her carpeted floor, breathing heavy from precious laughter.

            “Miss Ellie? Can I tell you a secret?”

            I sat up to face her and replied, “You can tell me whatever you want to, Rosie.”

            She looked down at the Barbie in her hand, suddenly sheepish. “Daddy yells a lot.”

            I was suddenly so angry that I could actually feel the heat radiating from my body. Rosie and Jane are the two most wonderful children I have ever met, and they deserve nothing but the best. I thought for a minute before I spoke again. “When was the last time he yelled at you, Rosie?”

            She looked confused. “No, not at me. At Mommy.”

            Now obviously, at this point, I could see the relationship issues between the seemingly perfect couple. Little things stood out to me, like a razor and shaving cream in the downstairs bathroom, instead of the master. There was always a new bottle of wine in the fridge and an empty one in the trashcan. I felt the tension when they were together, almost like it was a tangible sheet that was placed over the room.

            So, when I got asked to stay longer one night, it was a pleasant surprise to hear that the couple was having a date night.

            Well, I thought it was a pleasant surprise.

            Anne and Mark left together that night in good spirits. They seemed to enjoy each other’s company, laughing at a casual joke the other made and complimenting the outfit choices. Soon after they walked out the door, I declared that it was bed time for the girls. They complained, and I gave in to reading not one, two, or even three, but four books before they would willingly get into bed and go to sleep. I creeped back downstairs and planted myself on the couch, where I turned on America’s Next Top Model and lounged about the living room for the next two hours.

            The peace from those precious two hours was short-lived.

            I heard them before I saw them. Heavy, slurred voices drifting closer and closer to the front door. I paused my show seconds before the front door slammed open, and Anne came bursting in, drunk out of her mind. Dried mascara was crusted in tear-like marks down her cheeks, and she was screaming unintelligible words at her husband.

            Mark followed her in, ignoring the open door behind them and yelling right back at her, just as loud.

            “I mean, Jesus, Anne! Why can’t you just stay sober for one night? We were trying to have a nice dinner!”

            Anne retorted, flinging her purse onto the counter as she whipped around to face him. “Because you’re insufferable! You’re cheap! You scroll through your phone the whole night instead of looking at me! The only time you acknowledge me is to tell me to sober up- “

            “Shut up!”

            “And if that’s the only way I can get your attention, then so be it! I’ll- “

            At that moment, Mark reached over and slapped Anne across her perfect little cheek. Anne stared back at him, and for a moment, there was a blissful silence.

            I watched, almost in slow motion, as Anne took off her red stiletto and threw it at Mark, hitting him right below his left eye. He stumbled back until he was standing in front of the door, and Anne marched right up to him and shoved him out of the house, slamming the door in his face and locking it.

            And all this time, I remained in my place by the couch, a simple bystander observing the wreckage. Anne fell against the wall and began to sob. I had absolutely no idea what to do. Realizing that the doors were all locked, I began to panic. I could hear Mark’s pleas for the door to be opened, but Anne didn’t budge. She only cried.

            After a few minutes that seemed like hours, the lock turned. I was expecting to see a furious outline of Mark in the doorway, but it was only John, the blonde, awkward neighbor.

            He collapsed next to Anne and wrapped his arms around her shaking body. He was whispering “Hey, it’s alright,” over and over again in a comforting tone. After a minute of this, she began to calm down, taking deep breaths.

            The girls appeared at the top of the stairs. “Mommy?” Jane asked.

            I opened my mouth to reassure them, but John was quicker.

            “It’s alright girls. Go upstairs, and I’ll read you Brown Bear in a minute, okay?”

            The girls loved Brown Bear. They ran back upstairs, the need to hear their favorite book recited back to them overpowering the curiosity about their mother. Anne regained her confidence enough to stand up, and John walked her back to her bedroom.

Mark was nowhere to be found.

At this point, you can understand how flustered I must have been. I had spent a good majority of my life hearing about how marvelous and simply divine the Fultons are. They owned 70% of the town, with the perfect son to take over the perfect family company. Anne and Mark’s wedding was on the front page of the newspaper, for crying out loud. This was the last thing I expected of my Saturday night. I didn’t know how to comprehend everything that just happened in front of me, but I did know that it was time for me to go home.

 I was putting my shoes back on as John came back downstairs. “Ellie, can I walk you out?”

            I nodded and grabbed my keys from the table by the door, taking any chance I could to get the hell out of that house.

            As we walked, John said, “I’m sorry you had to see that, Ellie. This has been going on for years. Now you know just how messed up that family really is.”

I nodded uneasily. I knew something was off about the family, I just didn’t know what. I felt bad for Anne, like a weight pressing on my shoulders. I hated how the pressure of this prestigious family line took a toll on her marriage, and possibly her sanity.

 I only then started to think about how weird it was that John knew exactly what to do to calm down Anne. He also knew the girls’ favorite book, exactly where his coat would be, where the bedroom was…

I watched John turn, and as he walked away, I noticed that his hair color is the exact shade of blonde as sweet little Rosie’s. It was then that the distinct, flowery smell of Anne’s perfume wafted towards me, and everything suddenly clicked together.