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Oh my God. I can’t think about this.
What kind of idiot am I?
Of course, Sunny is standing at the edge of the veranda when I rush past her, and she yoo-hoos at me but I can’t stop now. I yell out something about having to edit the photographs for the real estate listing and hustle back into the house, my cheeks burning with humiliation.
Seriously, have you been out of society that long? I question myself cruelly as I try to focus on work, swiping angrily through the photographs I took.
He is going to think you are insane!
You are going to get fired!
I try to focus on work, editing photos that are probably fine the way they are, tapping out little snippets of text about each room. I even go back and mentally count the rooms, giving estimates for the sizes. It is all just busy work, but it does make the afternoon go by faster.
Still, that kiss keeps popping into my head. There was something in it. Something… Waiting. It really did feel like the beginning of a race. Like if I stepped on the gas just a little bit, we would be… flying. Every time I think about it, I have to suck my lower lip between my teeth and bite, hard.
You are going to drive yourself crazy with this, I warn myself silently. Just let it go.
Yes, that is what I need to do. I need to stop thinking about it. I need to focus on work.
/> It has always been a refuge for me. I’ve been working since I was sixteen years old, since my father passed away. I had five younger siblings and my mom, and suddenly I didn’t feel like I could be a kid anymore. It is not that my mom made me be an adult; it’s just that my brothers and sisters needed someone to look to, and I at least appeared steady and calm.
My mother didn’t fall apart, but she didn’t quite stay together either. Why would anyone think she would? It wasn’t that my father was such a great and wonderful man. He was stern and judgmental, maybe bordering on worse than that. But he was the bedrock of her life. Losing him suddenly from a heart attack knocked her off balance.
My first job was at a shoe store around the corner from our house. All I had to do was keep the shoes stacked and organized in the store room. I made thirty-eight dollars a week.
It was a help, though. Thirty-eight dollars could be a few days worth of groceries. It could be an emergency trip to McDonald’s when somebody needed a milkshake. (I believe milkshakes are legitimate psychological therapy.) It could also be catching up on the electricity bill, saving up for a car, or bringing my mom home a Milky Way bar just to surprise her.
I guess I always thought of having a job, having income, and taking care of things as being the key to stability.
Work is a comfort. Doing it well means I get to keep my job. People can come and go in my life, but at least I know I can always find something productive to do. And right now, what I need to do most of all is not give in to the swirling whirlpool of thoughts. I can’t get sucked to the bottom of all that. Or I could lose everything.
After a while, a knock at my door startles me, and I am surprised to see one of the maids step in. She invites me to dinner and then leaves politely.
Okay, I tell myself. I can do this.
The listing is practically done. I’ve written a nice description of this place, highlighting the artistic flourishes as well as the livability of this unique property. Combined with pictures, I have every reason to think that this place will sell for an amazing price as soon as it finds the right buyer.
Steeling myself for the inevitable humiliation, I force myself to walk with dignity back to the large dining room. Sunny looks up at me first. She smiles warmly. Maxwell only hesitates for a moment, but when he looks up his expression is courteous, calm. I force myself not to search his eyes for a sense of connection.
It’s fine. There doesn’t need to be one. There shouldn’t be one.
It’s all fine.
We have a beautiful dinner of roasted pheasant with tiny blue and purple potatoes and multicolored carrots in some kind of ruby-hued sauce. I don’t know what it is, but it’s delicious.
After dinner, Sunny challenges Maxwell to a game of chess. When he agrees and shifts his chair slightly away from me, I have to admit I feel a sense of relief. I feel like I have been let off the hook, and I excuse myself to retreat to my room.
I know I’m a coward, but what would I say? What if he looked at me for more than half a second? I feel like if I start to talk, the dam will burst. Who knows what would come out?
Chapter 9
Maxwell
Dinner is awkward, though it is delicious. Sunny keeps shooting me angry looks as Clarissa keeps her head down and focuses on her meal. Eventually, it’s too much. Sunny sits tall in her chair and balances her elbows on the linen tablecloth.
“Fancy a game of chess?” she asks me.
As soon as I say yes, I hear Clarissa’s chair scraping against the hand-scraped hickory floorboards. She excuses herself and leaves the room.
