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Tristan peers longingly at the closed door at the end of the hall, seeming to disappear from the present for a moment. Then his focus sharpens on me.
“As we discussed on the phone, you will be working twenty-four hours a day. You are to be at her beck and call. This isn’t a traditional eight-to-five job. She has a baby monitor in her room that will go off when there is significant movement. Anytime you’re not with her, you are to have the twin monitor with you. At all times.”
“I understand.” I’m uncomfortable speaking of my boss’s wife like this when she is nearby. Not that it’s likely that she can hear us, but it feels disrespectful.
“I will pay you weekly, on Friday of every week, and as discussed, you live here rent-free, and eat for free, use the gym, the pool, whatever you want. Mariana gets the groceries, so you can tell her what you like, what you don’t, or if you have any dietary restrictions.”
“I’m not picky.”
“It’s fine if you are. I sleep in a room downstairs next to my office—I often work until early in the morning and then crash. So, if you hear movement downstairs, it’s me, don’t worry.”
It strikes me as odd that Tristan sleeps so far away from his ailing wife. But who am I to judge his situation?
“You ready to see your room?”
I nod. We fall into step together. My gaze is locked on the door at the end of the hall, but Tristan peels away and steps into the room before it.
“This will be your room.”
It’s smaller than I imagined for any room in the house and appears to be recently renovated. Built-in shelves bookend a bay window with seating. The room is painted light blue, and I get the vibe that it was perhaps once intended to be a nursery, which would make sense considering it’s adjacent to the master bedroom. I want to ask, but I don’t. It feels too personal.
The room is furnished simply but comfortably. A bed, a dresser, a walk-in closet, and a large bathroom with a soaking tub. Definitely better than the Tahoe.
“It’s okay?” Tristan asks.
“Absolutely.”
“Good. Mariana can help you with your bags later, if you need it. Okay. You ready to meet her?”
No, I think, but my mouth says, “Yes.”
“Follow me.”
Butterflies ripple through my stomach as I step into the hallway.
Thunder booms as Tristan knocks on the door.
“Nina?” he calls out.
I make a mental note of the protocol. Always knock and call her name before I enter the room.
Though there is no response, Tristan turns the knob and opens the door. The hinges squeak loudly as the scene unfolds itself to me.
A woman is sitting in a chair, her back to us, facing sweeping windows that overlook the mountains. A pale, veiny arm rests on the armrest. Her fingers are fluttering,tap,tap,tap, against the leather.
Tristan repeats her name as he crosses the bedroom.
I hang back, feeling like I am intruding in this woman’s space.
My gaze is drawn upward to the massive log beams that crisscross a vaulted ceiling. Recessed lights are scattered on the ceiling, emanating an enchanting, albeit eerie glow. A chandelier hangs from the center but is not on. A king-size bed sits against the far wall. Across from it is a seating area with two chairs, one of which is occupied by Nina. A pair of heavy doors lead to a closet, I imagine, and another set leads to the master bathroom.
“You like watching the rain?” Tristan asks his wife in a tone one might use to address a toddler.
It instantly irritates me. I don’t care how disabled one might be, no woman wants to be spoken to like that.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he asks her.
For a moment, we all stare at the window, at the rivulets snaking down the glass, at the gray, gloomy landscape behind it. It’s quite depressing, if I’m being honest. Certainly not beautiful.
