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She hands her son a strip of banana, and he mashes it in his fist. “Is fifty dollars an hour enough?”
My tongue nearly springs from my mouth. “I, um. I thought I’d start with a surface clean to see how long it takes me. Deep cleaning rates—”
“Of course,” she cuts me off. “Eighty for deep cleaning.”
“I don’t think that’s quite the industry standard.”
“You’re right. Let’s do one hundred.”
Oh my God. “Eighty is fine, Nora.”
She glances up at the use of her name. For the first time since I stepped foot in her home, she really looks at me. Her critical gaze scrutinizes my simple black skinny jeans and white V-neck tee. Luckily, it’s hard to feel inadequate wearing cleaning attire.
“I think with your job description, we’ll stick with one hundred. I expect a deep clean once a month and a surface clean twice a week.”
What land of money trees did this woman come from? I’m torn between speaking up and keeping my mouth shut. Obviously, she’s judgmental of my career choice, and she seems like a woman who’s used a cleaning service before. Maybe she’s just generous?
“I can do that.” I remove the pen I stashed in my pocket and retrieve the contract. This needs to be in writing. “Would you like to pre-schedule those dates now?”
She waves a hand dismissively. “That’s fine.”
Using my phone calendar as a reference, I begin scribbling the dates at the bottom of her contract. Two a week, with a deep clean on the Sunday after next. I try not to concentrate too hard on the dollar amounts swirling in my head. If she’s serious about this pay, I could be in an apartment in a month. With one client. Anything extra can go toward my debt.
A phone rings from nearby, and Nora snaps to attention.
“Do you mind cleaning him up for me? I have to get this.” She rushes out of the room without waiting for my reply.
“Babysitting rates are extra,” I mumble beneath my breath as I tie my hair up into a messy bun. “Hey, Tommy.”
At the sound of his name, the little boy looks at me with huge, round eyes and a messy grin. He thrusts his banana-covered hand in my direction. “’Nanas!”
I giggle. “That’s right. Bananas. Let’s clean you up so you can play.”
“Play race cars?”
I wet a cloth and swipe gently at his face. He purses his lips and closes his eyes while he shakes his head to hide from the cloth.
“Do you like race cars?” I ask. In my mind, I’m begging him not to cry. He puffs his cheeks, and a toothy smile appears again.
“Race car crash!”
God, he’s adorable. “I wish I could play, buddy. Let’s go find your mom so I can get to work.”
I deposit the dirty tray from his high chair on the granite kitchen island. After picking a few remnants of food from his green dinosaur shirt, I hoist him onto my hip. He’s lighter than I expect him to be. A warm comfort expands in my chest at holding a baby close. What really does me in is when he folds his chubby fist around a lock of my hair and lays his head on my shoulder.
Every instinctual urge inside me screams to protect this kid at all costs. He’s such a little treasure.
I wander with him through the first floor until I spot a set of French doors resting open. Without being intrusive, I lean into the crack and find Nora sitting at a desk. She’s no longer on the phone, so I give a tentative knock. As much as this little guy melts my heart, he’s sort of in the way. I have at least five hours of work ahead of me.
She looks up as I enter. Thankfully, her expression is clear of annoyance. “Sorry. That was my attorney.” She holds her hands out to Tommy. He appears reluctant to untangle my hair from his fingers.
“He’s all cleaned up. I’m going to get started now if that’s okay.”
“By all means. I’ll have your wages and the contract signed by the time you’re done.”
A polite smile slides into place. “Thank you. That’d be great.”
I set off for my supplies and shake off the feeling slithering inside. It’s not exactly sinister, but something about this woman feels off.
