Chapter Eighteen

Monday morning, we returned to work.

Rosa called all of the staff to the living room for a meeting.

A few additional people I didn’t recognize lined up next to me.

The cook marched down the line, inspecting our collars, checking our uniforms, and examining our shoes. When she glanced at mine, she tsked. “Is that a tear? You need new shoes, Cindy.”

“I know,” I replied.

She shook her head and pivoted to face us. “Mr. Tremaine is coming back today on a 10 a.m. flight.”

My stomach somersaulted. Dad was coming home.

“I want the house, the gardens, the limo, the food—everything tip-top shape, and we need to also get the house decorated for Christmas.” Rosa kept talking.

Though her mouth still moved, she lost me at “Mr. Tremaine is coming back today…” I hoped to finally see Dad up close and personal in the flesh. How could he possibly look me in the eye and not recognize his own daughter? I wasn’t sure if I felt excitement or fear. What if he didn’t know who I was? I thought of him blowing out his candles without me. That devastated me, but at least, I still existed. The night of our birthday cut to the core, but he still remained my father. Sure, my pictures no longer hung on the walls, but I had to believe, somewhere deep inside, this man would remember me, and that he loved me. He just had to see me.

“Cindy? Cindy?”

I blinked.

“Earth to Cindy. Are you with us?” Rosa asked, snapping her fingers in my face.

I blinked again. “Yes, sorry.”

“I asked if you could clean the upstairs today. I need Eunice for decorating down here.”

I nodded emphatically. The idea of returning to my room sounded good.

“Great, then we’re all assigned. Lunch will be a little later today for obvious reasons. Dismissed.” Rosa returned her gaze to a clipboard.

The crew dispersed.

I caught Henry’s eye.

His expression held concern. “What’s up?”

“He’s coming back,” I whispered.

Henry peered over my shoulder, then grabbed my hand and led me into the hallway. Once the door swung closed, he cupped his hands under my chin and kissed me.

Butterflies swarmed in my stomach.

“Sorry, I needed to do that first.” Henry winked. “Now, who’s coming back?”

“My dad. Do you think he’ll recognize me?”

He pushed his lips together with a deep breath through his nose. “I’m here for you either way. If he knows who you are or if he doesn’t.”

I kissed him again. “Thank you. Now, I’d better get upstairs before Rosa fires me.”

He brushed his lips to my forehead and sauntered down the hall toward the outside exit.

I smiled and walked back in. After grabbing cleaning supplies from the closet, I climbed to the second floor. The vacuum hummed and the silverware clinked in other rooms below. I preferred the quiet upstairs. Meredith left for the farmer’s market, and the sisters were in school. I had the second floor to myself for now.

I followed the glass railing to the end and opened the door to my parents’ room. Nothing had changed. A four-poster, king-size bed rested in the center of the large room covered by a champagne comforter and matching pillows. Next to it, a pair of cherry wood dressers stood with matching mirrors. A cream chaise perched under the bay window, and a burgundy Persian rug partially covered the wooden floor. Over the bed hung a modern painting of the Hollywood sign that looked oddly out of place.

I meandered around the room, waving the feather duster at the furniture. When I reached the bed, I smiled. Many nights as a kid, I had pretended to have a nightmare, just so I could squeeze between my parents. Though king-size, I often took up more than eighty percent of the mattress, forcing Mom and Dad to ride the edges.

They never complained.

A hint of Dad’s spicy aftershave hung in the air. I touched Dad’s dresser and skimmed my hand along his brush. Two of his cufflinks glimmered in the sunlight that coursed through the windows. I lifted one up and studied the diamond at the end. I recalled him wearing these on our birthday. I set it back and continued to dust.

The door to the walk-in closet was ajar. I crossed to it and flipped on the switch. On the right hung all of my father’s suits and shirts, but the left was almost bare with a few sandals, a pair of boots, and only one pair of dress pumps. On the rack, there hung maybe a dozen dresses—all bohemian, nothing fancy. This notion still baffled me. This woman had tons of money at her disposal, and what did she spend it on? A pair of sandals and a collection of peasant dresses? I would never understand her. Nothing in me wanted to try either. I might have found peace with the sisters and the workers, but not with her—not yet. She played some angle; my detective work just hadn’t uncovered it yet. But I would one day. Somehow, I would expose her for what she was—maybe a screenwriter or struggling actress—and the truth would eventually come out. More digging would unearth the truth, and I embraced my new mission.

I snapped off the light and returned to dusting. After I finished, I vacuumed and cleaned the toilets. I reached for the trashcan, and my heart about ripped through my chest. A discarded pregnancy test lay on the bottom. With my rubber glove securely on, I withdrew the blue-and-white stick. My stomach churned, and I feared any discovery. I squeezed my eyes shut, brought the stick in front of my face, and peeked. The center of the plastic stick held a plus sign. Stars danced in front of my vision. I released the stick and reached for the wall, afraid to admit it. Meredith was with child. My dad’s child.

I plopped down onto the seat of the toilet—stunned, numb, afraid to stand for fear I might throw up. If there existed a worst-case scenario, I had just slammed into it.

The sisters had said Meredith had news. They had said something about a new puppy, but was that all?

I had fed the dog, but maybe that wasn’t the real news. Had this been what she had sought to tell me all along? She said she “wanted to get to know me better,” but that seemed silly. Now it made sense. This was what she planned to share and to have said to my face, “You will be replaced.”

I lumbered out of the bathroom, down the hall, and into my old bedroom. The sterile nature of the game room did little to help me find peace. I staggered into my old closet, dropped prone on the carpet, and closed my eyes. Be good, the fairy godmother had said. Did she know Meredith was pregnant when she said that? Couldn’t she appreciate what that meant for me? How could I be good when Meredith kept creating a larger wedge between Dad and me? Not only had I been forgotten, and Mom had been deleted from our lives, but now, I would also be replaced with an “ours” baby. I wondered if she had told Dad yet. Did he know the night he made his horrible birthday wish? That just fueled my insecurity and more feelings of resentment.

Suddenly, I didn’t wish to wallow any longer. I aspired to strike and get even, return to what I knew best, and be nasty. I walked into the game room and located all the table tennis balls, the disk in the air hockey game, and the foosball table ball. I dumped them in the garbage and wrapped up the bag. Of course, this probably wasn’t the best form of revenge, but it gave me a certain amount of satisfaction. I stomped down the stairs, went outside, and tossed it inside the dumpster.

Across the lot, Henry caught my eye. He waved.

Without a response, I stormed back up the stairs and sprinted to my room again. I waited there until lunch time, not cleaning, but sleeping. I no longer cared about being fired. Let me live somewhere else, away from this madness.

At lunch, I kept to myself. No one seemed to mind or care. Afterwards, I returned to the second floor and finished my chores, only to keep from burning down the house. The rage that seared through my veins could easily send me over the edge. I knew right then, I was dangerous. If the wrong person talks to me…Lord, help them. I entered the sisters’ room to dust.

“You sure are taking a long time up here,” Eunice said from the doorway.

I glanced from the cloth in my hand and smirked. “And it’s taken you since birth to pluck your eyebrows. We all work at our own pace.”

She furrowed her bushy brow. “Excuse me?”

“No excuse for you, Eunice. You’re just a mousy waif, working for people you aren’t worthy to be friends with.” I swiped a dust bunny onto the floor. “It’s no wonder you haven’t found a husband yet.”

“Why are you being so mean again?”

“Again?” I pretended to dust the shelf. “I’ll always be me. Just like you are who you are and don’t seem to want to change. I’m mean. So, what? Deal with it.”

The diminutive woman stared, mouth wide, obviously unsure how to respond. So, she didn’t. She spun on her heel and disappeared out of my view. A moment later, the clomping of her footsteps could be heard down the hall as she descended the stairs.

A new emotion engulfed me. Never had I felt so satisfied and so guilty at the same time. The power of being a jerk removed some of the anger, but Eunice had started to be nice. One might even say we were nearing friendship. Not best friends, but civil acquaintances with friend potential. Nothing I could say now would fix the hand grenade I just tossed in the middle of our relationship. This war now claimed a casualty. I sighed, unsure about who I was or what I sought to be. Most certainly my fairy godmother just red-marked my score card. In a single second, I probably sealed my fate. I would forever be a maid.

But the image of the pregnancy stick caused me not to care. I didn’t know how to navigate these emotions in a healthy way. I had never had to before. I lacked any experience on how to be good when I felt anger. So, what could I do? So far, I had just resorted to what I knew. Be wretched. But it didn’t satisfy me like before. In the past few months, I must have grown a conscience. The longer I dwelled on what I did, the worse I felt.

Tires crackled below. I rushed to the window and peeked out behind the blinds.

Dad emerged from the limo.

I tucked the rag into my waistband, glanced at my reflection, and attempted to smooth my hair and dress. I walked to the edge of the stairs, just as the front door opened.

Meredith waited at the bottom and hugged her husband as soon as he stepped inside.

Adrenaline coursed through my veins. He was here. I lingered, praying he recognized me. Hoping for a sign, a miracle, some register of expression that indicated he remembered me, but none came. When he peered up, his gaze looked right through me.

The two of them exited to the living room, arm in arm.

I trudged down the stairs and back to the kitchen.

Eunice sat on the stool, crying. Rosa patted her back. Both women glared at me.

Rightfully so. But what could I do? “I’m sorry, Eunice. I’m having a bad morning.”

The waif sniffed. “You know, we gave you chance after chance, and all we get in return is nastiness. You’re a horrible and damaged person, Cindy, and I hope you get what’s coming to you.”

Those words stabbed my soul. “I already have,” I whispered and hurried past them and out of the kitchen to the solace of my room. I stayed there for the remainder of the day. No one bothered to check on me or give me more orders. I think for the moment, everyone thought that best. They were right. I was a horrible and damaged person. Likely, that would never change.