Chapter Thirteen

Around a year ago

I turned a page of my latest fashion magazine in an attempt to block out the chaos in the house. My stepsisters couldn’t seem to move their stuff in quietly. For two hours, they had dragged, dropped, and delivered their boxes with a thunderous annoyance. And they sang show tunes, continuously giggled, and made the obscenest sounds that I refuse to even try to define.

Who makes that much noise, anyway?

Luckily, they had to share the other suite with each other, and I got to keep my own room to myself. It was a good thing, too. If I heard Dad say anything different, I would have unleashed a bratty fit like no other. I assume some otherworldly wisdom must have guided the decision. However, Dad had hinted about finding a bigger house. As if a mansion with four suites, a half-dozen servants’ quarters, several guest rooms, a formal dining room, a full library, a den, a large living room, a media room, a commercial-size kitchen, a pool with a pool house, and five acres of garden in Beverly Hills was not enough for a family of four.

Besides, Mom had lived here. She helped me decorate my bedroom—picked out this gray wool carpet, painted the champagne walls, and hung the ivory sheer drapes. Irreplaceable memories. This room meant a lot. Lord help Meredith if she ever tried to get rid of any of these.

The two girls stumbled down the hallway and landed in my doorway, giggling and shoving each other. Both were just a few years younger than me, but maturity-wise, it seemed more like five. “What?” I snapped.

Charlotte revealed her metal-covered teeth in a hideous grin. “We were thinking about going into town to buy some stuff to decorate our new room. We wanted to know if you want to come tag along?”

“Now that we’re sisters, it would be great to get to know you more,” Gabby added.

“No, I’m good,” I said, not looking up from the magazine.

Gabby dared to step forward. “I know this is hard on you, Cindy, but we really want to become a family. It would help if we—”

“You want to know what would really help, Gabby?” I peered from one sister to the other. “Do you, Charlotte?”

The two girls nodded enthusiastically.

“Bring me a cup of tea and some aspirin. I have a terrible headache.”

They glanced at each other, then scrambled out of the room.

The idea flowed through my head. Maybe I could use them to serve me and make them my personal slaves. If they cleaned for me and brought me things, then it wouldn’t be so bad to have stepsisters. A sardonic grin spread across my face. Yes, I could make it worth it. This family would never know what hit them.

****

Present Day

Gabby and Charlotte laughed and hung onto each other as they stumbled down the steps and out the front door.

They giggled more than anyone I had ever met. I shook my head and stepped on the button on the top of the vacuum. The machine purred to life. As my thoughts drifted, my vison blurred. I moved back and forth, probably longer on one spot than necessary. I needed to figure out my options. How could I get out of this horrible situation? I usually excelled at schemes—well, usually, conniving deep, dark, and devious plans. I knew how to do evil well. Stir up trouble. Be awful. I was the villain, not the princess, as my fairy godmother realized all too well. Malicious deeds I could accomplish easily.

But fixing things by being good—yeah, I had nothing. Not to mention, any plan, without any kind of resources or money, seemed impossible. Worse, I no longer had my father’s ear. Dear old Dad was the reason most of my scheming had worked. For better or worse, he backed me. And if my plans didn’t succeed, he bailed me out. Without him, this ship just might sink without a life raft. I heard a voice squeak through my thoughts. I peered up.

Eunice glared only a few feet away with arms crossed.

I turned off the machine. “Sorry. I couldn’t hear you. What did you say?”

“I said, I think that spot is clean.”

I blinked, then nodded. “Right, sorry. Daydreaming, I guess.” I turned the vacuum back on, then glided it across the cream carpet, watching the long wool fibers flatten, then pop back up. Out of all the chores Rosa had asked me to do, I liked this one the best. The soft purr and lack of brain power needed made the task tranquil, almost therapeutic. That is if I remember to move.

Eunice walked in front of the vacuum and blocked my path.

I shut it off again. “What’s up?”

She eyed me with a narrow stare. “In all of the years I’ve known you, you have never apologized to me for anything. Usually, there’s some awful retort. What’s going on with you lately?”

That’s because you were just a maid, and I was your boss. I shrugged. “I am not sure, to be honest. Things are just off somehow. But I thought you’d wanted me to be nicer.”

“I’m not complaining, I’m just wondering what you’re up to.”

I held up my palms in mock surrender. “Nothing. Just trying to be a better human, that’s all.” Her expression remained blank, her stare focusing on me for an uncomfortable amount of time. I opened my mouth to break the awkward silence.

But she spoke first. “The cook just made a fresh pot of coffee and maple nut scones. When you finish vacuuming, you should come get some.”

Now she acted nice. Interesting how one seemed to precede the other. “Thanks. That sounds great.”

Eunice bobbed her head once, then walked back to the kitchen.

Scones? The mere word made my stomach rumble. Now, I had a reason to hurry. No more daydreaming. I moved the vacuum back and forth, back and forth, hitting every corner at record speed. I shut it off, returned it to the closet, and rushed toward the kitchen. Right before I pushed the door open, I heard my name. I paused and peeked through the French slats to eavesdrop.

Eunice toyed with the corner of a scone. “There’s something weird about her. I don’t trust her. She could be up to something.”

“Yeah, like the bubble incident,” Rosa said.

“Or the time she had Meredith blame me for the scratches in the hall,” Eunice said.

“Oh, yeah, that was bad.”

“There’s no way she is being nice to be nice. I mean, is that even possible? A monster does not change her spots. Right?”

Not sure that is how that saying goes.

Rosa said something I couldn’t make out.

Eunice nodded.

“I agree with you. I don’t trust her either. What we need to do is keep an eye on her. Period.”

Eunice slid from the stool, crossed to the coffeepot, and refilled her cup. “You know me, I’ll be friends with almost anyone. But her? She’s vicious. I’ve tried a few times, but, well, you know how that ended. The nicer I am, the more the knife goes in.”

Rosa shook her head, tsking with her tongue. “They should have fired her forever ago, but that mysterious family connection always stops them.”

Harsh! I wasn’t sure how to feel. Hurt? Angry?

“Yeah, what is that, anyway?” Eunice shook a packet of sweetener, ripped it open, and let the granules rain into her cup.

“Nobody really knows for sure. Just that Mr. Tremaine came in here one day to speak to the staff. He said that Cindy was somehow family, and we needed to give her room and board in exchange for work. He said that Meredith wasn’t to know about that connection, but that we were all to fight for her. Our jobs depended on it.”

My stomach somersaulted. Family? So, he still thinks I’m family. That made me feel a little better.

“Where was I?” Eunice asked.

“I think at the doctors,” Rosa said.

“Well, why didn’t you tell me that earlier? You just told me and Henry to fight to keep her, but not why. I never understood it. That would have helped some.”

“Sorry, I probably should have told you before now,” Rosa said.

“What do you suppose the connection is? Some love child or something?”

Rosa shrugged. “Beats me. Whatever it is, I wish it didn’t matter to him.”

“Yeah.”

The two sat in silence for a moment, and then changed the subject of their gossip to someone I had never heard of.

I pushed through the doors and crossed to the coffeepot. A row of white porcelain mugs hung on hooks by the maker. I reached for one and poured myself a cup. I sensed their gazes on my back. No way would I let this get to me. I never cared what people thought of me before. Why start now? Besides, I had enough grief. I didn’t need these catty women to add to it. I sat on one of the wooden stools at the other end and proceeded to lighten my coffee with a few teaspoons of half-and-half and a sweetener.

Okay, I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. Their words stung. No one expected much of me, but perhaps I could prove them all wrong with some sort of backwards justice. I glanced up and encountered Rosa’s stare.

“Cindy, what’s going on with you, really?” Rosa spat.

No sugarcoating it. These women played direct.

I respected that to some degree. I circled my spoon in my coffee, then placed it down on the marble countertop. “Before I answer your question, can you tell me what you remember about me? Before I went to jail?”

The two exchanged glances but said nothing.

I needed an in. Some way to get these women to tell me what I wanted to know, without them thinking I was a lunatic. “You want to know what was different about me. Sure, I’ll tell you.”

The women leaned in.

I prepared to do my best storytelling. “Something happened to me the night I was in the jail cell that erased some of my memories. I know you can tell things are off with me—” I took a deep, dramatic pause, as if I was about to reveal some major truth, “I lost part of my past that night. My memory is almost completely wiped—gone. I know you don’t like me much, but please help me fill in the gaps. How did I act before going to jail?”

Eunice laughed, then covered her mouth with a hand. “Rosa?”

“Honestly, you were mean. You thought you were above all this.” Rosa glanced around the room, twirling a finger in a circle. “As if an orphaned maid had any right to say she was better than us.”

I dropped my gaze to my coffee cup. I took a deep breath to calm my anger because I needed them to continue, but the word “orphan” disturbed me. I wasn’t an orphan. Just because Dad didn’t remember me didn’t mean anything. My father still lived. Besides, I was not a maid, and I had every right to act the way I wanted. They just didn’t know who I was, that’s all. I hoped understanding would help me figure a way out of this mess. “What else?”

“You would say things like, ‘Someday I’ll be all of your bosses, and you’ll serve me,’ ” Rosa said.

They both laughed.

“Sometimes you would demand I bring you tea, even though I am your equal,” Eunice added.

So, she remembered that, just in a different context. Interesting. “And you didn’t fire me?”

“We don’t have the authority to fire you, dear, but if we did, you would have been gone a long time ago,” Rosa sneered.

I took a sip of my coffee—rich and smooth. I waited a moment before asking the ultimate question. “So, who keeps me here? Who protects me?”

The women once again exchanged glances.

“Mr. Tremaine asked us to protect you. He said that you were related to someone in his family who died and that we should take pity on you,” Rosa said.

If Dad knew me, then I had a slight pinch of hope. “Did he say what family member?”

Rosa shook her head. “No, we never questioned it. He’s the boss, you know. We just follow orders.”

“But Meredith wants to fire me,” I said.

Rosa picked up a crumb from her plate and plopped it into her mouth. “She never understood why her husband would want to hire someone so rude, but he secretly asked us to keep you as a favor. He said that no matter what, we were to fight to keep you, without Meredith knowing why.”

I shifted from one foot to the other. I feared asking, but I had to. “Is this his first marriage?”

They shook their heads together.

“He had another wife and child, but both died.”

The coffee traveled down my throat wrong, and I started to cough. My eyes watered and burned.

Rosa rushed to get me a cup of water.

Eunice patted my back.

After a few sips of water and deep breaths, I managed to get it under control. In their minds, his daughter had died. The debutante who held Daddy’s heart no longer existed. It had finally happened. Meredith and her children had completely replaced me. But who was I to him? How did he think I fit into this family? It didn’t make sense. Only the voodoo magic of an evil fairy godmother could cause such an alternative universe to exist.

Could I call her? I needed to understand. I wanted to know more. “I’ll be back. I need a personal break.”

“As long as you’re back in ten. I need you to change the sheets in the bottom floor guest room,” Rosa said.

“Will do.” I snatched a scone from the plate and a napkin and darted through the kitchen to the back entrance into the dark and empty corridor. My canvas shoes squeaked on the tile, as I sprinted down the servants’ hallway to my room. I shut the door and propped on the side of my bed. I didn’t know if this would work, and she would come. I hoped, but I didn’t know for sure. “Oh, fairy godmother? It’s me, the wretched Cynthia Tremaine.” My voice echoed in the quiet space. “If you can hear me, would you please come talk to me? I’m ready to listen. I promise. Please.”

Nothing.

“I know I’ve been awful. I am super aware that I need to change. That I have changed. I’ve learned my lesson. Please. Don’t ignore me. I really need to speak to you.”

Zero response. Lame.

“Some fairy godmother you are.” Wasn’t her mission to make my life better and come help when I fall to my lowest place? Kind of there now. “Look, I don’t know what I can do. Who does my father think I am?”

Zilch.

I dropped back to the mattress with a huge sigh. Pointless. I closed my eyes, wishing to just sleep. Sleeping seemed to be the only time I didn’t feel terrible. For a moment, my brain recalled fun times—the parties, the jewelry, the clothes. “Oh, how I miss the clothes,” I said, out loud.

“Clothes really do not make the woman,” came the melodic tone of my fairy godmother.

I shot to my feet and smiled. “You came!”

The woman wore a flowing white caftan, and her salt-and-pepper hair hung in hundreds of waist-length braids. As always, her makeup appeared flawless and glowing. “So, you’re ready to be good then?”

“Yes, yes, yes.” Was it that simple? Would she zap me back now?

My fairy godmother shook her head. “No, it’s not that simple, Cindy. You haven’t proven anything yet.”

I grunted. “I’ve been playing nice. I’ve been mopping, scrubbing toilets, and look—” I held up my left hand. “Callouses and broken nails. Total blue-collar hands. Gross, right? But I did it with a good attitude.”

“Cindy, if I put you back in your life right now, you’ll end up the same way. Maybe if you’re nice for a week or two, if we’re lucky, but then you’d go back to pushing people around and acting superior. It would not be long before your dad lost it.”

The mention of my father stabbed a bit. I hated that I had hurt him. If there was anything I wanted to change, it started there. “I am sorry about my dad. I’m sorry I hurt him. I want to fix that.”

“As I said before, Cindy, you have until New Year’s Eve at midnight. If you have genuinely changed by that deadline, then you’ll get your life back. If not, this will be your life forever, and your protection will be gone. You will not be allowed to stay here any longer.” She rotated a finger in a circle, and then glared at me. “You will have to leave and find work somewhere else.”

I gawked, open-mouthed. “I cannot live like this forever. I miss my life. I miss my dad.”

She nodded. “I understand. That’s why the choice is yours to make. Fight for him. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other clients to attend to.”

I stepped forward. “Wait! I have another question.”

She titled her head sideways, her expression tight. Would she deny me the question? “Fine. What?”

“Who does my dad think I am?”

A slow grin slipped across the woman’s face. “He thinks you are his sister’s illegitimate child. An embarrassment to the family who your dad wishes to keep a secret.”

“What? That doesn’t make sense. My aunt never had kids.”

The woman laughed. “I know, but I had to have a reason for them not to fire you. Because I knew you’d be horrid, and that would be a hard ask. So, I blinded the truth and gave them a new reality.”

“And that’s what you came up with? A love child?” My skin crawled.

She smirked.

Man, she annoyed me. “One more question?”

“Because I’m in a generous mood, sure, fine. What?”

I cleared my throat, almost afraid to ask. “On January first, if I have been good, will anyone here remember me?”

She pinched her lips together, then approached me with a soft frown. “I’m afraid not, dear. You can’t have both worlds.”

“That’s awful.”

“I know, and I’m sorry.” She waved and vanished, but not before the final words, “Be good, Cindy. Be good.”

Be good? How did one do that exactly? I sighed. I’d better figure it out—or else.