Chapter Twelve

The insufferable alarm blasted at 6:00 a.m. I leapt out of bed, showered, dressed, and then waited on the edge of the mattress.

At 7:00 a.m. sharp, Eunice flung open my door, and her mouth dropped ajar.

I was ready for her to “rise and shine” me, but instead, she closed her mouth and crossed her arms, her eyebrows dipping. “You’re up?”

“Ready to serve.” I grinned a bit too wide.

“Um…great.” She glowered a moment longer, then waved for me to follow her to the kitchen. “Breakfast is ready, and whatever cook made, it smells amazing. Once we’re finished eating, we will clean up after Meredith’s dinner party from last night.”

The name of my stepmonster made me twitch. While I lived in squalor, Meredith now hosted parties in my childhood home, in my dining room, with my inheritance. “Absurd,” I hissed under my breath.

Eunice turned back. “What’s that?”

“Awesome.”

Eunice shook her head, her dishwater-blonde ponytail swinging side to side.

I would do this good thing and bite my true feelings. I wanted to say, Why should we have to clean up after her? but instead, I asked inside, What would Ms. S do? I squared my shoulders. I had to be Ms. S. It was why I got up early this morning, ready to go. I might have had a slow start, but I had this.

After a quick breakfast of cinnamon rolls and coffee, we ventured into the formal banquet area. When I was growing up, we hardly ever used this space. Dad preferred to eat in the family dining room. He said it was cozier. I agreed, but I still admired the beauty of this room. Tall ceilings with gold-leaf molding and an eight-light crystal chandelier, a long, cherry wood table and champagne, covered chairs sat on a burgundy Persian carpet. The chandelier lit the room in soft orange hues. The room could be a little dreary. I always said it needed windows. Dad said he didn’t see the value of cutting into the wood paneling on the outside wall. My counter argument was the rest of the house screamed twenty-first century, while this one was stuck in 1972. We had a good laugh, but he always won—his money, his house, his rules.

Now, rows of discarded cloth napkins, dirty glasses stained with lipstick, and crumbs lined a long white tablecloth.

Eunice pointed toward a gray tub a few feet away.

My new role was busser? The thought of cleaning after others grossed me out. Touching the leftover dishes that actually came in contact with someone’s mouth was nasty. Maybe being exposed to COVID-19 made me a germaphobe, but who wasn’t these days? Using only my thumb and forefinger, I pinched the glass stem and set it into the tub. I did this over and over, trying not to clank them as I laid them into the bin.

Eunice hummed nearby.

Her resting expression was always smiling and content. How could anyone be so happy all the time? My default setting was miserable. Possibly some poor soul actually liked her? What else could make someone cheerful twenty-four-seven? Love, I suppose. Though, how would I know? I had never experienced anything close to love, and I didn’t intend to. Men were for sport. Anything more would end in eventual pain. This I was sure of. I had had enough pain and loss in my life, so I avoided any potential threat at all costs. “Can I ask you a question?”

She withdrew an earplug from an ear. “Yeah?”

“Why are you so happy all the time?”

The waif puckered her lips for a second before responding. “Life is what you make of it, Cindy. You decide every day whether you are going to be happy or sad, angry or calm. I choose joy.” She winked, then stuck her pod back in her ear.

As I reflected on my life, I considered happiness. Since Mom died, I conscientiously decided to be irritated with the world and to blow off anyone close to me. Eunice spoke the truth. I chose misery. It was just easier that way. I carried the full bucket back into the kitchen and set it in the sink.

The cook pointed toward the dishwasher and walked back to a cutting board to cut up a chicken.

I sighed and opened the door to the enormous machine. Carefully, I deposited one of the flutes inside the top rack.

“No, dumb girl. You can’t put those glasses in there,” Rosa said behind me. “Just the coffee mugs and bread plates. You will need to wash the glasses by hand.”

Inhale, exhale. It’s my choice to decide it’s okay. I’m okay. Don’t get angry. Inhale. Exhale. No matter what anyone said, I would just nod and smile. So, I did. I spun back to the sink and flipped on the water. Of course, the cook had to come demonstrate how to wash a wine glass by hand. But once she did, I completed the task without a hitch. “Thank you,” I managed to squeak out. “I finished the dishes.”

“Sweep the floors,” Rosa ordered.

I nodded and smiled.

“Dust the rooms.”

I nodded and smiled.

“Empty the trash.”

Yep, a nod and smile. It was a tad crazy, but somehow, it worked.

The staff seemed to let up some, too.

By dinnertime, Rosa returned my nod and smile.

I folded and hung my apron by the back door and shoved the revolving door.

“Ouch!” a male yelled.

I stepped back, with eyes wide and heart pounding.

Henry peeked around with hands cupped over his nose.

“Oh, my gosh. I am so sorry. Are you okay?”

He laughed and dropped his hands. His face was fine, as always. “Just joking.”

I swatted his bicep. “Not funny.”

He held up a thumb and finger an inch apart. “A little funny?”

I shook my head, and then returned his smile.

“Are you done for the day?” he asked.

“Yeah. You?”

“Yep. I came to see if you’d want to go grab a coffee?”

I glanced a few feet away.

Rosa and Eunice sat at the counter, eating a chicken casserole, deep in conversation.

“Are we allowed to leave?” I whispered.

He laughed and leaned to mimic my whisper. “We’re not prisoners here. If we’re off the clock, we can do whatever we want.”

Best news ever. “Cool, yeah. Let’s go. I haven’t seen the real world in over a week. Give me a second to change.”

“I’ll meet you at the entrance.”

I slid past him and started walking to my room, then stopped at the realization that the only clothes I owned was this awful gray uniform. I swallowed my pride and walked back to the kitchen. “Eunice?”

Her gaze met mine. “Yeah?”

“Um, any chance I could borrow something of yours to wear?”

She set her fork down and slid out from the stool. Without a word, she walked past me and out the kitchen door. A moment later, she placed a pair of folded black yoga pants and a red tee in my arms. “I don’t think you’d fit my jeans, but you could probably squeeze into these, and the shirt was the former maid’s. It’s too big on me, anyway.”

“Thank you,” I said more humbly than I can remember speaking, especially since she kind of implied I was fat. I decided to let it go this time; after all, it was nice of her to give me clothes.

She returned to her casserole.

If anyone had a reason to hate me, that woman did. I acted like a jerk on purpose, but she showed me kindness. Of course, she didn’t remember I had treated her like a jerk before all this, but I knew. Somehow, deep in the recesses of my spider-webbed heart, her kindness touched me.

I returned to my room and slid my legs into the pants. They were a tad tight, but they worked. The T-shirt fit well but was hardly stylish. It didn’t matter. I’d do anything to be out of that ugly gray dress for a while. I ran a hand through my hair, pinched my cheeks, then met Henry at the front.

“Scored some clothes, did you?” He grinned.

“Yes. Though, don’t judge me.”

“Judge you? Why would I?”

“They aren’t my usual style.”

“Sounds like you’re the only one judging.”

I laughed. “I guess so.”

He opened the passenger side of a small truck and stepped back.

I slid in and grinned. For a brief second, I felt like a normal girl—no cleaning and scrubbing or sitting in the servants’ quarters sulking. Just a girl on her way to have coffee with a cute guy. I wanted to have fun and feel alive again. I decided I would attempt to follow Eunice’s advice and choose joy from now on. A foreign concept I hoped I could pull off. I’d sure try.

The ride to the coffee shop caught me by surprise. A warm peace settled in my chest as Henry told me story after story. In truth, I didn’t usually listen to other people’s stories. I mostly tuned them out and waited until I could share my own. Or I would jump in to cut them off because I didn’t care—or wanted to care. But right now, I didn’t have much to say or share anyway, and it seemed cool to just listen for a change. “Do you have any other funny stories?”

He pressed his lips together and dipped his two eyebrows.

I waited.

“Yeah, one. I was waiting for this mechanic friend of mine to check my tires. It was a really nice day, so I was standing outside checking my phone, when he comes out with this woman.” He glanced at me and then continued, “She walks the mechanic to this white muscle car, and the guy is like, ‘Oh, nice ride.’ And the woman is like, ‘Yeah, I know, right?’ So, the mechanic checks the pressure of all the tires, then turns to the lady, asking, ‘Can you open it, so I can check the mileage?’ ” Henry laughed, obviously struggling to finish. “So, she clicks the remote, and a car door opens three stalls over.”

“No way?” I giggled. “It wasn’t her car?”

Henry shook his head, laughing. “No.”

“Did she even own a muscle car?”

“Yeah, which makes it even funnier, because when the mechanic gets to her car, he says, ‘Oh, I see we’ve downgraded.’ ”

“Ooh, that’s so lame,” I groaned. “The poor girl.”

“Yeah, we laughed about that for a week.” He rolled the truck against the curb, turned off the engine, and came around to let me out.

I couldn’t believe how relaxed I felt.

When we got to the coffee shop door, he opened it for me.

It was the first time someone had served me in over a week. As I passed by, I smiled.

He returned the smile.

Inside, soft jazz played in the background. Post-millennials and hipsters lounged around the room on fuzzy high-backed chairs, typing, talking, or texting.

We weaved through the small crowd to the counter.

A woman in short dreads entered from the back and approached us. “What can I get you two?”

“She’ll have a hazelnut-vanilla coffee with a shot of espresso, half-and-half, and a Splenda?” Henry winked.

How did he know my drink? “So, we’ve done this before?”

A coy smile pinched at his lips. “Except I’m usually in line behind you, and you refuse to sit with me.”

Now that sounded more like something I would do.

“I’ll have a dirty chai latte,” he said.

“Gross,” I whispered.

He tilted his head sideways. “What? You don’t like that?”

“No.” I laughed. “I had it once. Tea and espresso do not go together. One sip, and I wanted to puke.”

“Nice.”

“You asked.”

“Anything to eat?” the lady asked.

The food at the house never tasted great. I ogled the pastries one-by-one. My mouth watered at the sight of sticky cinnamon buns swathed in candied pecans and caramel. I let my gaze drift over the shelves filled with lemon cupcakes piled high with yellow buttercream frosting and sprinkles, raspberry scones dripping in sweet glaze, and blueberry muffins laced with powdered sugar and crumbles. How did one decide? I pointed toward a flaky puff pastry smothered in dark black cherries and drizzled in cream cheese frosting.

“We’ll take that, and I’ll have a bear claw,” he said.

Balancing plated pastries and mugged drinks, we crossed to a couple of tall stools at a corner café table.

I tried to pace myself with the dessert, but it tasted so good. Each bite of the buttered sugary goodness melted in my mouth. I skimmed a finger over the dropped crumbs and licked my finger.

“If it’s that good, I can get you another one,” Henry said, with an amused smile.

I nudged the empty plate away. “Sorry, I’ve just been so hungry for yummy food.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes. I didn’t know what to say, so I waited. Usually, I could small talk, but for some reason, I didn’t feel like talking about anything unimportant. I think the reality of everything had finally started to take its toll. Out of nowhere, a sadness washed over me.

He leaned forward. “So, tell me what has been going on. Are the nightmares just becoming too real?” Henry took a sip of his coffee and then said over the brim, “It might be time to go see someone.”

“See someone?” I raised an eyebrow. “You mean like a shrink?”

He nodded.

“I’m not crazy.”

His stare linked with mine.

His gaze appeared to hold genuine concern. Could this stranger actually care about me? Why would he? He barely knew me. But it didn’t seem to be mean-spirited suggestion. Simply put, he couldn’t understand. How could he? My truth had a supernatural, unrealistic bent. What would it take for this man to believe me? That somehow, I had stepped into some alternative universe, and I wasn’t really the maid he thought I was. I had tried to convince him before and obviously had failed miserably. Explaining would only make him insist even more on a psychologist. I didn’t know what to say, and it exhausted me to think about it. So, without responding, I reached for a napkin and wiped my hands instead.

He placed his elbows on the round table and leaned forward. “Look, you just seem super unhappy. I hate when people are sad. It makes me sad, you know?”

“Would you consider me a friend?”

He looked down at the table without a word.

“So, we’re not?” I nodded. Of course. Not even in this mixed-up universe did I have anyone in my life. Why would I? What did the fairy godmother call me? Wretched? The truth hurt. I knew it. The biggest mystery was why all of a sudden, I cared. I never cared before, and there was a reason for that. Caring stung. Caring cost. Caring could destroy me.

“Well, to be fair, this is the first time we’ve ever really hung out or talked without you insulting me.” He lifted his mug and sipped, a glint of a smile in his eyes as he peered over the rim.

“Sorry about that.” I don’t know if I meant it because I never apologized to anyone ever. Out of nowhere, a powerful emotion of sorrow clutched my chest. My throat closed as my eyes welled with tears. I needed to roll the feelings away before they controlled me. If I didn’t, I would burst out sobbing right then and there.

He set his cup down and reached out to my shoulder with his free hand. “Are you okay? Did I hurt your feelings?”

Did he? No, not really. “I just feel so alone.”

“Not to sound callous,” he said, withdrawing his hand, “but I thought you liked it that way.”

Sure, in the past I had told myself that lie. Pushing people away seemed safer, but in all honesty, who really liked being alone? “I might pretend, but it’s not pleasant.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

I wrapped my hands around the warm mug, unsure what to say next. I needed so much for this person to understand how I felt. I wanted an ally. As insane as it might have been, for the first time in years, I desired a friend.

“I’m a pretty good listener. You can share anything. I promise not to judge,” he said.

I licked my lips, hoping for the right words. “Promise that you won’t call me psycho or insist that I need to see a shrink again?”

“Okay, I promise.”

I set my cup down and shifted forward, so he could hear me as I lowered my voice. “Nightmare or not, my reality is somehow skewed. For you, this has been going on forever. For me, it has only been a week. I remember living not as a servant, but as the one who orders servants around.”

He bristled.

Did I dare go on? I had to. “I’m confused. The other world—the one you say is a recurring nightmare—that’s the one that’s real to me. This—” I spun a finger around in a circle. “This feels off. Not normal. I can’t explain it. I know I’ve told you this over and over, but this isn’t my real life. I wish I could somehow convince you….” I trailed off, not sure how to finish.

“Did you hit your head?”

Did I? I thought back to the bar parking lot when that drunk idiot pushed me. No, I don’t think so. I would remember that. Or would I? Nothing made sense. “Who knows, but something is not right. I feel it. I know it.”

“I’ll admit, you’re a little more pleasant than usual.” He winked.

I playfully kicked his shoe with mine. “Jerk!”

“Now, there’s the Cindy we all know and love.” He smiled. “Look, I’ll try to help you figure it out, okay?”

“Really? You’d help me, even though I’ve not been very nice?”

He pursed his lips together, then slowly allowed them to melt into a grin. “Yeah, sure. Damsel in distress, why not?”

“Thank you, Henry.” I downed the rest of my coffee, excited that I might actually be able to trust someone. I hoped he could help me get back to my old life. But if he did, would it be the same?