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“Yes. I just got off the phone with the boss. He’s suggesting we look for somewhere else to stay.”
“There isn’t anywhere with power in a three hundred-mile radius. It’s a big storm.”
I cross my fingers on top of my head. “I don’t know how, just figure it out.”
He nods quickly. “We’ll keep you updated.” I nod to acknowledge him, and he turns to leave before twisting back around.
“The chefs aren’t here. They won’t come until the paths are cleared on the roads and up to the house.
“That’s fine.”
“Well, none of our guys cook.”
“And the Sicilians?”
“No, sir.” I bite my lip with an exasperated nod.
“Do we know how long the power will be on?”
“Not sure. We think it could be in hour intervals.”
“Fine. I’ll be down to cook some breakfast in the staff kitchen by the stairs.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary—“
“It’s fine. I’ll be down.” He nods once and backs up out of the room, closing the door behind him. I pull out another cigarette and with the last of the one I’m smoking I press the end to it, sucking in to light the new one. This is a trick I haven’t used since I was just a kid without a lighter, but it works anyway.
I toss the old one out the window and proceed to the staff kitchen to scour the refrigerator for something to whip together. Cooking was always something my mother did for us. Even with all the chefs we paid, she still wanted to be the one to cook for us. I would be her sous chef more often than not, following her around and helping with whatever she’d let me.
Now I’m a bit of an expert at it. Not to come off cockier than I already am, but food is one of those things you know you’re good at because if it tastes good, then it is. Simple equation really. I rummage through the fridge and pull out some eggs along with a pack of ham. The ham isn’t for breakfast, it’s more of a dinner thing, maybe with some gravy and mash, but I can work with it. Slice it really thin and fry it up. I also have enough ingredients to make French toast, so I add that to the imaginary menu as well.
I never like to just make scrambled eggs. The texture irks me. So, I always throw in mushrooms, onions, corn, cheese and I usually use chicken broth to cook it in. That’s more of a trick I learned from my mother, but it hasn’t failed me yet.
I get to work rather quickly, whipping things together in record timing because I don’t know when we’ll lose the power. The scents of everything cooking at once must be wafting throughout the house because a lot of the boys are grazing past the kitchen, popping their heads in to observe every once in a while.
After I’ve cooked everything, I call out to the foyer to let everyone know it’s ready. I grab a plate for myself, stack it with whatever I want because we have more food than we probably need, even with the grand size of our security team. The boys take shifts coming in and out of the kitchen to eat while I make my way to the theater room on the lower level. I spot Espie on my way, and she looks as if she wants to say something to me, but she doesn’t. So, I roll my eyes and continue on to play one of my old Xbox games on the theater screen downstairs.
Most of the day, the power cuts my game on and off, and it becomes too frustrating by the fourth time that I head back upstairs to see that many hours have passed, and it’s nearly nightfall. Olive and Espie’s chatter is carrying throughout the main foyer from somewhere upstairs, and I decide perhaps I should try to be a bit nicer to her, considering we’re stuck in this for the long haul.
I follow their voices until I’m upstairs, and then my heart drops into my stomach. The door at the end of the hall is opened, light bursting into the darkness that usually occupies that space. My feet move before I can think straight, and then I stop in the doorway, watching Espie twirl around in one of my mother's gowns.
“What the fuck are you doing in here?” they immediately stop laughing and turn to me.
“We were just bored and—“ Olive begins, but I step closer to them, and she shuts up.
“So you thought breaking into my mother's room and trying on her clothes was a good idea?”
“We didn’t know this was your mother's room.” Espie’s brows pull together and up, like she’s sorry for me. I don’t need her to be sorry for me. I need her to stop being such a fucking bother.
“Get the fuck out!” I wave at them, and she swallows, not moving. Olive tugs on her arm, but Espie just narrows her eyes at me.
“We didn’t break any rules…” She finally has the audacity to say, as if that’s at all a factor of their lapse in brainwaves.
“Who fucking cares about the fucking rules? You have no right to be in this room!” I’m shouting now– can feel my face growing hot, cheeks hurting from the scowl.
“Okay!” She shouts back as Olive unzips the dress. I watch as she steps out of it, throwing her sweater back on over her turtleneck and leggings and moving towards the door.
“Maybe if you actually spoke kindly to me, we would have known not to go in here.” She says as she’s brushing past me, and I grab her arm firmly, bringing my forehead an inch from hers.
