Patricia
I was up at six to prepare breakfast: scrambled eggs, biscuits, and grits. I was used to getting up early. Animals on a farm have needs: feed to be distributed, eggs to be collected, cows to be milked, and shit to be shoveled. So, like all farmers, I’m up with the first light. Usually go to bed early to compensate, although when Ashley was a teenager, I’d stay up late so I could be there for homework or just a chat. When she was in the mood for a chat. I didn’t go to bed early in the Phillips house either. In the Phillips house, the housekeeper (me) was expected to keep appalling hours.
Anyway, I was anticipating my first in-person meeting with Brenda. Even more interested to see her interactions with Christina. Was she as terrible a mother as I assumed she was, or did she have any redeeming characteristics?
I wasn’t quite sure which I wanted. And that bothered me.
Here I was, pondering whether Brenda Phillips, who helped kill my daughter, might have some redeeming qualities—and therefore deserve to stay alive. Because that was really what I would be deciding in judging her as a mother, wasn’t it?
And it bothered me because I knew she didn’t consider what wonderful qualities Ashley might have had before making the decision that led to her death. It bothered me because my liking Christina complicated what I intended to do for Ashley.
What Ashley deserved for having died so young. For no reason.
She deserved justice.
And here I was, making biscuits and grits, worrying about a child who was not my own, who was the child of the woman who’d taken MY child.
Was that justice?
If I were a different kind of person, if I were really going for the “eye for an eye” type of thing, wouldn’t it be just to take Brenda’s child from her? But I wasn’t that kind of a person. I wasn’t going to hurt a child for the sin of her parent.
Besides, I had a sneaky suspicion that Brenda might not care that much if I did.
I baked biscuits; I cooked eggs and grits; and I waited for the family to descend.
They took their time. Kevin was first at around quarter to seven. He almost bounded into the kitchen, dressed for school, his face shining from soap and water and expectation. I filled his plate with the eggs and grits, and a hot biscuit.
He was excited by the biscuits, even more excited by the thought of seeing real horses.
“Can we go today? Maybe after school?” He talked with his mouth full of buttered biscuit.
I told him to chew and swallow. He did. Mr. Phillips wandered in, phone in hand. He was also impressed by the biscuits.
“They’re enormous.”
“Made from scratch.” The Phillips kitchen had all the right ingredients, and I’d done my usual thing with biscuits. I’d been a little worried about the baking soda, but it worked.
He put two on his plate along with a glob of butter, and I served him grits and eggs. “Not instant grits, either?”
“No self-respecting Southerner uses instant grits.” I waited for him to recognize the quote, but apparently, he wasn’t a fan of My Cousin Vinny.
He searched the fridge for a bottle of fake maple syrup and poured it over all the food on his plate—so much for his being a gourmet food lover—and carried his phone and his plate to the table.
Christina, in another too-tight dress, entered the kitchen next. She offered me a shy smile and held out her plate for one biscuit and a scoop of eggs.
How could I even have a passing thought of hurting that child?
“Dad.” Kevin talked with his mouth full again, this time with eggs. “Can Mrs. Black take us to see horses after school?”
Roland looked up from his phone. “What?”
Kevin repeated the question. “And it’s Friday so we have the weekend to do homework.”
Mr. Phillips turned to me. “Horses? Riding?”
“No, just to see them. There’s a rescue place that was in the news. It’s not too far.” Then I thought of a problem. No car. “You won’t need to take too much time out to drive us.”
“I’d like to see them, too.” Christina was on the same page as Kevin.
He waved a hand, indicating what? Consent? Indifference? “I’m busy. I don’t have time to take you.”
“Dad?” Kevin again. “You don’t have to come. Can’t Mrs. Black drive the old car? It’s just sitting in the garage.”
I learned that the Phillips owned a 2003 Toyota Matrix that had belonged to Brenda’s mother. They’d kept it to teach the children to drive when the time came.
Christina wisely let the favorite child do the heavy lifting.
I glanced at the clock. Seven. Still no Brenda. Grits turn into cement if they get too cold. Not that I cared if she ate cement.
Roland sent a question my way. “Mindy, you can drive?”
“Of course.” I even had a fake license in Mindy Black’s name. I was all prepared. Even though I hadn’t planned on outings with the children.
Roland returned to his phone and his corn syrup-drenched grits. “If your mother says it’s okay.”
The children were almost finished when their mother finally made her appearance, dressed in a dark blue suit that probably cost a thousand dollars, complemented with a light pink silk blouse and a gold looped necklace. She breezed into the kitchen, phone against her head.
For a second, our eyes met. I saw a glimmer of recognition, oh yes, she’d interviewed me on Zoom. There was a second when she seemed to be about to say the name that she thought was mine. But she didn’t remember it.
“Coffee. Cream and a little sugar. Not too much,” she said to me. Then she spoke into the phone. “I’ll speak to you at the office. Yes. Okay. Yes, I hear you.”
She swept the cup of coffee from my hand, waved off the plate of eggs, grits, and biscuits, seated herself next to her husband, and spoke to her children. “We have fifteen minutes until we have to be in the car. Finish up. Books and homework?” She took a long drink of coffee.
“Backpacks are in the front hall,” Kevin said. “Can Mrs. Black take us to see rescue horses after school?”
“What?” She glanced at her husband. “What is this?”
He briefly explained. She looked at me again, this time as if she saw me.
“How far away is this place?”
“Maybe half an hour.” I was guessing. I really didn’t know.
“That political dinner is tonight. You know the one that cost us a thousand dollars,” Roland spoke to his wife. “So Mindy won’t have to worry about cleaning up after us.”
I just loved how they used MY first name while I had to call them Mr. and Mrs. Phillips.
“Okay. But no riding. It’s dangerous. And have them back by bedtime.” She actually spoke to me. I think I was supposed to feel honored. Then she responded to her husband. “I don’t know why you keep bringing up the cost of tonight’s dinner. We can afford it.”
“Unless you lose that lawsuit.”
“I’m not going to lose anything.” Her words were curt. “And this isn’t the place to discuss it.”
David’s lawsuit perhaps? I hoped that’s what was upsetting her.
“Whatever. I’ll be in my office if you need me.” Roland carried his plate to the kitchen counter and departed, leaving the two children, his wife, and me.
Kevin was busy eating yet another biscuit. Christina had finished, but she sat stiffly.
“Mom?” Christina, taking courage from Kevin’s successful approach, tried her own. “I need new clothes for school. Can you take me shopping? Or can Mrs. Black if you’re too busy?”
“Why do you need new clothes?” Her mother was reading something on her phone, not looking at Christina.
“Everything’s too small. I look stupid. And fat.”
She put down the phone and regarded her daughter. “We’ve talked about dieting, Christina.”
Christina squirmed. “I know. I’m trying. But my school stuff is still too tight. Kids make fun of me.”
Brenda finished her coffee and stood, leaving the cup for me to pick up. “We’ll talk in the car. Now go get your things.” Christina and Kevin handed me their plates and headed for the hall.
Brenda paused on her way out of the kitchen. “Good job. Christina hasn’t liked any of our other housekeepers.”
“She’s a good kid. She just needs some patience.”
“I’ll say.” And then she was gone.
I was alone with the dishes and my thoughts. Brenda Phillips hadn’t been exactly a model of motherly concern or love, but there did seem to be a glimmer of connection between her and her children. Was it enough for me to change my plans?
It was enough for me to decide to wait. A few days at least.