I woke the next morning, gasping from a nightmare about Dad’s seizure. Pulling the covers over my head, I cried until I heard Mom’s footsteps. She was home. I jumped out of bed.
When I stepped into the kitchen, she was sitting at the dining room table, talking on the phone. I poured a cup of coffee, fighting off the dread of spending the day at the Vaughns’. I admired Mom for how hard she worked, cleaning the estate and several other homes in Savannah. But the job felt demeaning to me... like I wasn’t worthy of a better life.
As I went back to my room to change, Mom dialed another number. I left the door open a crack so I could listen to her conversation.
“Hi, Daddy, how’s everything going?” she said. “Has Mark left yet?... Oh, okay. I don’t know if Brandon’s going to be able to fight it this time... I know. I just talked to his sister. His vitals crashed in the middle of the night.”
Hearing that bit of news, I burst out of my room.
“Okay, love you, too.” She hung the phone on the wall.
“Is Mark on his way?”
“He left a few hours ago.”
“What about Dad?”
“It’s not good. They induced a coma this morning.”
Determined not to cry, I walked away without a word. The disappointing news didn’t surprise me anymore. I was expecting it.
Ten minutes later, Mom hollered that it was time to leave.
As we drove across the Harrison-McGarity Bridge into Savannah, the air shifted to the smell of burnt broccoli and sulfur. The stench preceded every storm moving toward the Tennessee River Valley. A wonderful byproduct of Pickwick Paper Mill—it complemented my stinky mood. Nevertheless, I actually loved the Vaughn estate. Built in the early 1800s, it was what one would imagine when the word “plantation” was mentioned. But, I despised Mrs. Vaughn. The first and only time I met her, she had sized me up and pointed at a stain on my shirt.
Mom parked the truck on the asphalt driveway and climbed out. She looked exhausted, as we walked up the steps to the front porch. She unlocked the mahogany door and pushed it open.
A grand staircase divided the second level into separate wings, like Beast’s Castle in Beauty and The Beast. I stepped on the red-and-black Oriental rug, in complete awe of the pristine, white-walled foyer.
Mom rounded the staircase, eager to get to work.
I slowly climbed the stairs. The glossy, walnut handrail felt cool and smooth under my touch. Tiny rainbows sparkled off the walls from the chandelier above and plush carpeting cushioned each of my unworthy steps. Mom passed me, running on pure adrenaline. I worried about her almost as much as Dad. If she didn’t chill and get some rest, she’d end up in the hospital, too.
When I caught up with her in the hallway, I said under my breath, “This house.”
“What about it?”
“It’s so beautiful, and perfect.”
“Yeah, well.” She pushed Mrs. Vaughn’s bedroom door open. “Everything isn’t perfect just because it’s beautiful.”
Whatever. I would’ve killed to wake up every morning in such luxury. Soft gray walls outlined in white crown molding, a king-sized, cherry poster-bed covered in spotless white linens and plush pillows. Even the blooms on the mimosa tree outside danced in the breeze, like little pink fairies curiously peeking through the full-length windows.
“Pull out the bedside table,” Mom said. “We have to wipe the walls.”
“Why?”
I’ve never had to wipe walls at our house before.
“Because she’s paying me to do it,” she said, deadpan. “Now, come on. I wanna get this done. I hate not being at the hospital.”
After ten minutes of wrestling with the cumbersome furniture, I flopped on the mattress.
Mom didn’t slow down a beat. Heading straight to the navy drapes, she pulled one side shut. The room darkened, and muted shadows fell across the white carpeting.
“We have to steam clean these.” She yanked the fabric again. “There’s a steamer down in the basement. It stands upright, kind of looks like a vacuum. Think you can find it?”
“Sure.”
Anything to get out of wiping walls.
I headed downstairs and took a right toward the kitchen. Thinking nothing of it, I detoured to the polished stainless-steel refrigerator, yanked the double doors open, and scoffed out loud. An array of fresh fruits was stocked in the drawers, while milk, power drinks, and bottled water filled the shelves next to stacks of packaged fresh meat. Why would the woman need so much food? Leaning forward, I buried my head inside.
“Anything good in there?” a guy’s voice resonated from my right.
I jumped back and slammed the doors. Staring at the floor, I quickly blurted, “I’m sorry. I didn’t take anything.” Then, I looked up and gasped. “Tyler?”
“Elsie.” He smiled. “What a nice surprise.”
He stood at the doorway, wearing black Adidas warm-ups and a white tank top, his tan skin glistening with sweat. My heart pounded. Absolutely breathtaking.
“Are you related to the Vaughns?” I asked.
He bit his bottom lip for a brief moment, then said, “I am a Vaughn. I apologize. I should’ve told you that yesterday. How’s your dad doing?”
Well, that made more sense, considering his speedy phone call to Mom.
“He’s stable. Thanks for asking.”
I stared at his Nikes, unsure of what to say. Tyler scratched the side of his head, as if he was struggling with the same thing. Then, he took a step closer.
“Why don’t we start over?” He held out his right hand. “I’m Tyler Vaughn. It’s a pleasure to meet you again.”
“Nice to meet you, Tyler Vaughn.” When I took his warm hand, goosebumps tingled up my arm. “Elsie Richardson.”
“And Elsie’s short for?”
“Elizabeth.”
“Nice. I wondered if it was a nickname.”
“It is, but I prefer Elsie.”
“Elsie it is, then.” He released my hand. “I never had the chance to tell you why I came into your booth. I really love your work. You certainly are talented.”
I’d forgotten all about that part of the horrible day.
“Thank you. It was the first time I’d tried to sell anything.”
“I’m sure that under different circumstances, you would’ve done well.”
I took a step back. The last thing I wanted was the subject to shift to Dad’s seizure.
“I need to go to the basement. Mom wants me to get some steamer thingy. Could you maybe send me in the right direction? I have no idea where it is.”
“The door’s in the foyer.” He motioned over his shoulder. “It blends in with the wall.”
“Cool. Thanks.”
Moments later, I stood in the entry, staring at the thirty-foot walls. Tyler stepped beside me, looking amused.
“Where the heck is it?” I asked.
He pointed at the wall to my left. “It’s there.”
I still didn’t see it. His muscular arm moved past my face, then he pressed the panel right in front of me. Click. The secret door cracked open, disguised behind the white, molded trim.
“Nana had these walls resurfaced years ago. Did you know... ” he started, exaggerating his Southern drawl, “it isn’t lady-like to have a basement? One must cover such atrocities with something more appealing.”
I laughed. “Thank you. I never would’ve found that.”
He stepped backward, pulling the door open with him. “You’ve never been down there?”
I shook my head. The hesitant look in his eyes made me nervous.
“Why don’t I help you find it, then?”
“Okay.”
I followed him down the narrow stairwell – a far cry from the staircase in the foyer – and the pungent smell of red-clay dirt punched me in the nose, exposing the true age of the mansion.
He flipped on the light at the bottom of the stairs. A soft yellow glow from bulbs hanging off the rafters illuminated the brick floors. Across the room, he opened a door and flipped another switch. The fluorescent lights flickered, before a full-service laundry room appeared. The workroom had a center folding table and two sets of washers and dryers.
“So, what’s this thingy you’re looking for?” Tyler asked.
“It’s a steamer for the drapes. Mom said it looks like a vacuum.”
We both spotted the appliances at the same time. Five different machines resembling vacuums were lined up against the wall.
“Which one is it?” I asked.
Tyler turned to me with a baffled look. “You’re talkin’ to the wrong guy. I don’t use steamer thingies.”
“I don’t either.” I laughed, then I looked closer at the brand names on the labels. “Okay, this one’s definitely a vacuum. I don’t know what that one does... This one’s a steamer, but for hardwood floors. And—”
“Ooh, it’s the one on the end,” he said, like he’d found a golden egg.
“How do you know?”
He pointed at the bulkiest hunk of metal in the group and smiled. “It says ‘Steam Cleaner,’ right there.”
I giggled, and started to reach for the handle. He caught my hand to stop me.
“I’ll get it,” he said.
“Thanks.”
Within minutes, we were headed back upstairs.
“Are you home for the summer?” he asked.
“No. I live outside Morris Chapel.”
“How old are you?”
“I’ll be eighteen in November. It’s my senior year.”
“Oh. You seem older than that,” he said. “So, you’ll graduate in May?”
“No. December, if everything goes right. Are you in Savannah long?”
“Six weeks.” He pulled in a heavy breath and stepped in the foyer. “Six, long-ass weeks.”
The tone in his voice took me off guard. I shut the basement door, certain I should leave the subject alone. He set down the steamer and gave a me a warm smile.
“Any chance you like to jog?” he asked.
“I’ve been known to run, but I rarely jog.”
“You should try it.”
“Do you run a lot?”
“Yeah, close to twenty miles a day.”
“Seriously?” I exaggerated my tone. “Why?”
“I, um... run cross country for Vanderbilt University, so I train a lot.”
“Yeah?”
“Elsie!” Mom’s voice echoed from upstairs.
My cheeks burned. Her bellow reminded me of the old milk commercials Dad always teased me about when Elsie the Cow was called home.
“I gotta go.”
“Sounds like it,” Tyler said with a smile. “You want me to carry that upstairs for you?”
“No, thank you. I can take it from here.”
“I’ll be at Shiloh Park around seven. You’re welcome to join me.”
I cringed. “Seven in the morning?”
“You’re lucky. I usually go at five. It’s not as hot then. Have you been out to Shiloh?”
“Sure. Dad loves Civil War stuff. It’s a beautiful park, but... ”
I didn’t know how to answer. When I “ran” it was out of fear... not exercise. But an offer to hang out was tempting. He flashed a flirty grin, almost as if he liked the challenge that I might say no.
“Come on... You know you wanna meet me. Besides, I’d like to figure out where this Yankee accent I’m hearin’ comes from.”
“Yankee?” I repeated. “What are you talking about?”
He chuckled. “Oh, okay. You wanna play that way, huh? I can roll with that.” Pleading with his eyes, he said, “Meet me, please.”
My heartbeat pounded in my ears. I wanted to say yes. I had to say yes.
“I... I’ll try.”
“Great! I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Where in the park? That place is huge.”
“Oh, yeah. Just follow Confederate Road. I’ll be outside my car. You won’t miss me.”
“Okay.”
“Do you have a cell number, just in case?”
I frowned. “No. I don’t have one yet.”
“That sucks. Oh well. Hope to see you tomorrow.”
I hurried up the steps with the steamer before Mom yelled my name again. What did I just agree to? I hated jogging and sweating. Hell... exercise, in general. And he was a college athlete. I’d make a total ass of myself within minutes.
When I stepped inside Mrs. Vaughn’s room, Mom was wiping the baseboard.
“Where have you been?” she asked.
“Sorry.” I set down the steamer. “I ran into Tyler downstairs.”
“Oh, I forgot he was back for the summer. He was the one who called the house when your dad had the seizure. Thank God I answered the phone.”
“Yeah, he helped us out. He was amazing, actually.”
“Really?” Her shoulders slumped. “That’s nice of him and all, but it kind of sucks.”
“What’s the big deal?”
“I haven’t told Mrs. Vaughn about your dad.”
“Why?”
Mom could be ridiculously private sometimes. I didn’t understand why she wanted to carry everything by herself. Stubborn German was the only thing that came to mind.
“It’s none of her business,” she said. “Besides, she doesn’t care. I keep my life private, and she likes it that way.”
“Do you think Tyler will say something?”
“I hope not. He’s pretty reserved for the most part.”
I grabbed a rag and joined her on the floor. “He didn’t seem very reserved to me.”
“What does that mean?” she snapped.
I flinched. “Nothing. Wow. You need some sleep, Mom.”
“Sorry. I really want to get to the hospital. Finish wiping these baseboards and I’ll start steaming the drapes.”
After three hours of cleaning a room that was already clean, we were finishing the windows when Mom’s cell phone rang.
“Hello... yes, this is she... okay... Thank you.” She slapped the phone shut.
“Who was that?”
“The nurse. Dr. Wood’s doing his rounds soon, and he wants to talk to me.”
Within minutes, we were putting the furniture back, and hurried out of the house.
Driving across town, her knuckles bled white from gripping the steering wheel.
“What did you and Tyler talk about?” she asked out of nowhere.
“Nothing, really. He helped me get the steamer.”
After her reaction in the bedroom over Tyler being a good Samaritan, I decided to wait to tell her about his invitation.
“He’s a nice kid.”
“Where’s he from, anyway?”
“Memphis area. Comes here for five or six weeks every summer.”
“He didn’t seem too thrilled about it.”
“Would you be? You’ve met his grandmother.”
“She’s terrible, isn’t she?”
Mom shrugged. “It doesn’t matter how I feel about her. We need the money.”
I knew I should keep my mouth shut, but I couldn’t let it go.
“Why is she so rich?”
“They’re old money from logging the forests. They owned the paper mill for years. I think her son’s still an executive of some sort, but after Mr. Vaughn died, they sold the business to a subsidiary company. I can’t imagine what she’s worth now.”
“How old is he?”
“Who? Her son?”
“No. Tyler.”
“I’m not sure... around your age.” She turned onto Main Street, then she gave me a hard glance. “I know he’s a handsome boy. But he’s off limits. We’re the staff and nothing more.”
“Jeez, Mom. All I asked was how old he is.”
“And where he lives... and why they’re so rich.”
I sat silent.
“You have to understand how important this job is.”
“I do, but would she really fire you over a boy?”
“He’s not a boy. He’s her grandson. I’m serious, Elsie. You have no idea how protective she is. I need this job, especially now.”
“Okay... I get it.”
Crap. I was screwed. If I meet Tyler in the morning, I’d have to lie to her. And I sucked at lying. Backing out wasn’t an option, though. I wanted to go, but telling the truth wasn’t an option either. She’d just given me the answer to that route. I took a deep breath. No matter... It wasn’t a big deal. We were only going jogging. I’d just change a few minor details, like name and gender.
Mom parked the truck and turned in the seat. She had something else to tell me, something I didn’t want to hear. God, please don’t let it be about Dad.
“I hate to ask this of you,” she said. “But I need you to start cleaning a few houses by yourself.” I let out a huff and slumped in the seat. She held up her hands. “I’m sorry, but I can’t be in two places at once. It’ll only be Mrs. Baltic and Mr. Smith.”
“Mom—”
“Mom, what?” Her tone was calm but firm. “I need your help, Elizabeth.”
“I know, but I hate Jack Smith. He’s a sleazebag who reminds me of Jabba the Hutt.”
She pushed back a smile. “He’s not that bad.”
“Yes, he is,” I said in a dry tone. “When?”
“Every week. Mrs. Baltic’s house is easy. All she really wants is someone to talk to. Jack goes to breakfast most mornings. If you’re there by nine, you’ll be done before he gets back.”
“Where will you be?”
“With your dad. Where do you think?”
I wanted to help her, but cleaning houses wasn’t my gig. Why couldn’t I go to the hospital and sit with Dad while she worked? A pain of guilt stabbed my stomach. I had to think about both of them. What if Dad didn’t make it? If he didn’t, I’d be the only person Mom could rely on.
I looked into her desperate, deep-blue eyes.
“Yeah. I’ll do it.”
“Thank you.”