Cora’s eyes fly open to a wide slice of warm, honeyed light stretching across her bedroom floor. It is ten thirty a.m.; she has slept almost four hours past her usual wake-up time. She scrambles to her feet so quickly that her brain takes a moment to adjust to her movements. Once again, she is rushing through the Calverts’ house, doing one last thing before she can escape.
She was up until the early hours of the morning, unable to sleep. She lay in her bed, witnessing the evening sinking into that velvety deep silence that she has only ever known in neighbourhoods like Bukit Timah and Dasmariñas, where the houses were ensconced in towering groves and hidden at the tops of private roads.
Ma’am Elizabeth had noticed Cora looking slightly pale at dinner.
“Are you unwell?” she asked.
To which Cora nodded, because what could she say? She had crushed up the pills, as she had done every night so far, and looked at them for a long time before sweeping them into the bin, as she had also done every night so far. No matter what Jacqueline thought, no matter what Cora had done in her past, she wouldn’t—couldn’t—betray an employer again.
She rushes to the bathroom and takes a quick shower, listening for movements in the house as she pats her body down afterward with a towel. Stepping into her standard outfit of a cotton T-shirt and a pair of loose batik shorts, Cora wonders if it was a mistake telling Angel about what happened to Raymond. It was a confession, but Cora doesn’t feel absolved. And then Angel made that discovery about the camera in the Hongs’ home, and Cora felt so overcome with guilt that she simply couldn’t tell Angel any more.
There is a chorus of voices in the living room when Cora emerges with damp hair and a prepared apology. The television, turned to Asia News Network, is louder than usual. Ma’am Elizabeth is nowhere to be seen. The screen is split three ways for an overlapping conversation among three men in black suits, all of them sitting against backdrops of skylines and bridges. Cora has to pay attention for only a few seconds to realize that they are discussing the stock market, not Flordeliza Martinez.
She spots Ma’am Elizabeth lounging in the pergola and her heart rises to her throat. Right then, Cora wants to tell her everything that Jacqueline did, if only to untangle herself from this family once and for all. Ma’am Elizabeth is frowning at her iPad screen.
“Ma’am?” Cora says.
Ma’am Elizabeth lifts her head and gives Cora a little wave. “Are you feeling better?” she asks as she peels herself off the chair and steps back into the house. “I think I’m starting to come down with something as well. I could have stayed in bed all morning, but there’s this news briefing about SAGE that I want to watch.”
“I’m feeling better, ma’am,” Cora says. Her response is automatic; anything else she needs to say dissipates. She adds: “I’m very sorry for sleeping so late.”
“Not a problem,” Ma’am Elizabeth says. “No need to do breakfast this morning; Cecilia stayed over at a friend’s last night. Jacqueline has the day off for another dress fitting and then they’ll both be here for lunch, if they don’t kill each other first.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Cora says. “Last night, I marinated the pork belly in char siu sauce for tonight’s dinner. I can cook that for lunch instead.”
“That would be very nice, thank you. We should have some shrimp and pork mixture left over from the dumplings you made on Friday as well. Can you steam another batch? They were divine.”
As Cora is crossing the broad living room to the kitchen, she glimpses Jacqueline’s black portfolio sitting on the dining table. It is closed, and she would not dream of opening it, but her fingers itch for a chance to flip through it to see if Ma’am Elizabeth has signed the papers yet. There isn’t a hint of revelation on Ma’am Elizabeth’s face. Before getting her hands covered in a paste of tapioca flour and water for the dumpling skins, Cora does a quick survey of her messages. Still nothing from Donita, which worries her, especially after the messages that Angel sent to their group last night.
Angel: Ladies, this is important. I think there is some evidence that the police have either not considered or are ignoring. Look at the photo in the article. There is a picture frame in the background, directly across from the closet. I think there’s a camera inside the frame. Look at this link! I came across the same photo frame when I was searching for hidden cameras online before my interviews. The old picture is still inside the frame. Maybe Mrs. Hong put it there to catch her cheating husband? Or the husband put it there to see what she was up to in the bedroom?
Angel: Hello? Donita? This is a big deal. Please tell me you’re getting these messages. I was just thinking that if the camera recorded what happened in the bedroom, the video must be captured on Mrs. Hong’s phone, right? Or her husband’s? And the police would have seen it. If Flordeliza really did something, the police would have evidence and it would be all over the papers. I think the camera recorded something else.
Angel: Donita? Are you seeing these messages? Write back when you can.
Cora: Donita, let us know that you’re okay.
She turns up the volume on the phone so she can hear notifications when they come through. Kneading the dough for the dumpling skins takes only a little bit of time and she doesn’t have to check the recipe for proportions of water and flour. The dough yields to the half rotations of her fists. Light morning rain patters against the panel window above the sink. It feels like this is the last time she will stand here, like she just has to blink and she’ll be back in Manila. Take this, she is telling Paolo, pushing the earring into his hand, and he is shaking his head slowly. It’s not enough. I want something else.
The doorbell rings at twelve thirty, just as Cora is setting the table. Jacqueline and Cecilia stride through the foyer with two blocky shopping bags. “You bite the shoes first and they won’t bite you back,” Jacqueline says. “Wasn’t that what Po Po used to say? It worked for her.”
“There’s this beeswax rub you can get for your heels. It rolls on like deodorant,” Cecilia replies. “The last thing you want is uncomfortable feet on your wedding day.”
Cora avoids the black portfolio sitting on the dining table but it becomes a centrepiece as she inches the plates and cutlery into their places. Cecilia gives her a wave before disappearing up the stairs. Jacqueline does not pay any attention to her. Her eyes are focused on the television screen.
“What a mess,” she tells Ma’am Elizabeth, nodding at the television. Two graphs with screaming red lines fill the screen. “Hans was dealing with this all weekend.”
“I hope they still air the SAGE briefing,” Ma’am Elizabeth says. “They’re supposed to go live in a couple of minutes. We need an indication of whether we’re going to be voting again to reinstate the former executive committee.”
“We?” Jacqueline asks with an eyebrow raised.
“You didn’t know I was a SAGE member?” Ma’am Elizabeth asks.
“Never an active one,” Jacqueline says. “You’ve been following this drama?”
“More than following. I made a few calls yesterday to ensure that Camille Cherian was assigned to the interview today. The anchor that SAGE requested, Harris Ng? He’s a prominent megachurch member. It’s not fair.”
“I thought we talked about getting involved with politics. It’s different for our family, especially—”
Ma’am Elizabeth cuts off Jacqueline by drifting over to the dining table to inspect the dishes. “Just wonderful, Cora. So fragrant. What’s the secret ingredient you’ve been putting into the dumpling stuffing again?”
“Some chopped snow pea shoots,” Cora says. She casts a quick look at Jacqueline and sees her face has turned to stone.
“Snow pea shoots!” Ma’am Elizabeth exclaims, clasping her hands together. “They’re subtle but they add this depth to the dumplings that we never had before. Come, Jacqueline, it’s time to eat. Call your sister. And keep the TV on, just lower the volume. I don’t want to miss the press conference.”
Jacqueline holds Cora’s gaze as she crosses to the stairs. From the middle landing, she calls her sister’s name. Cora and Ma’am Elizabeth both look at the portfolio at the same time, then Cora reaches out for it. “I put this somewhere else, ma’am?” she asks, but Ma’am Elizabeth shakes her head. The expression on her face is unreadable.
Everybody serves herself. Cora tries to leave two chairs between her and the Lee daughters’ seats but Ma’am Elizabeth beckons her to the seat to the right of the head of the table, where she is positioned. Directly opposite Cora is Jacqueline. Behind them, the television murmurs. The dumplings explode with flavour in Cora’s mouth. She didn’t realize how hungry she was, having skipped breakfast.
“I’m so blessed to have you all here today,” Ma’am Elizabeth says. “These opportunities will become fewer after Cecilia goes back to New York and Jacqueline gets married, so thank you for making the time.”
“It’s a pleasure,” Jacqueline says brightly. “I know I’ve been very stressed lately and not in the best of moods, but I hope you all understand what incredible pressure I’m under.” She straightens her back and eyes the portfolio.
“And what a fantastic eye for accessories you have when you’re trying to buy my forgiveness,” Cecilia says, holding out her wrist to show off a gemstone-clad bracelet.
Ma’am Elizabeth picks up the portfolio then and hands it to Jacqueline. “Darling, after a great deal of consideration, I’ve decided to decline your offer.”
All of the air gets sucked out of the room. Jacqueline’s eyes bore into Ma’am Elizabeth’s. Cora puts her chopsticks down on the carved ceramic holders. Her eyes trace the fine-grain lines of the table beneath the woven place mats.
“I don’t understand,” Jacqueline sputters finally. “I thought you were—I thought we were . . .” She squares her shoulders. “We had an agreement.”
“I said I would consider it. I made no promises.”
Cora is aware that Jacqueline was addressing her. She doesn’t dare look up from the table, but then she hears her name.
“Cora,” Cecilia stage-whispers. “Perhaps you can leave us alone to discuss this private family matter?”
“Yes,” Ma’am Elizabeth says wearily. “I’m sorry, Cora, I shouldn’t have brought it up at lunch with you here. Do you mind giving us a moment?”
“Sorry, Cora,” Jacqueline mimics as Cora nods and scoots back her chair. “So many apologies all the time for Cora.”
“Jacqueline,” Ma’am Elizabeth warns.
“Why are you always behaving as though Cora is a houseguest that you have to tiptoe around? There’s so much fear about Cora’s feelings—what will Cora think, what a magnificent feat Cora achieved today rearranging our antiques or adding secret ingredients to our grandmother’s recipes.”
Cecilia’s eyes are wide. “Jac, that’s really rude. She’s right here.”
Cora remains frozen in her chair. She sees a look of dismay on Ma’am Elizabeth’s face, the apology Ma’am Elizabeth wants to utter again for her daughter’s outburst, and she draws in a deep breath and rises. “Miss Jacqueline, I am not a guest in this house,” Cora says. “A guest is somebody you treat with respect. What you asked me to do is not respectful. I can get into so much trouble, and I can hurt Ma’am Elizabeth.”
Ma’am Elizabeth looks back and forth between Jacqueline and Cora. “What were you asked to do? Cora?”
“Oh, I just asked her to give you a little nudge about signing the papers. No need to be so dramatic, Cora,” Jacqueline says. There is an edge of nervousness in her voice before she recovers and commands, “Now, sit down, because we need to have a chat about your previous employers.”
“I will not sit down,” Cora says. “Ma’am Elizabeth, I am very sorry to say, I quit.”
“What?” Ma’am Elizabeth says. Cecilia lets out a small cry as well. “Please, Cora, let’s talk about this.”
Cora shakes her head. “I never asked for anything except a job where I can do my work and have peace at the end of the day.”
“And have a place to hide,” Jacqueline says. “A shelter in a country where the Philippines police couldn’t track you down, isn’t that right?”
Cora grips the edge of the table. The smooth wood feels solid in her palms. Ma’am Elizabeth blinks at her. “The police?” she asks.
“Do you want to tell her or should I?” Jacqueline asks Cora. “About your illegal activity, about men coming after you, about you stealing from the employers who took you in.”
Cora can barely get the words out. “I will pack up my things.”
Ma’am Elizabeth is pinching the bridge of her nose. “Cora, it’s not that simple. If there’s something I need to know—”
“Then Jacqueline will tell you. She seems to know everything.”
As she says this, Cora catches the look on Cecilia’s face. It is full of admiration. A smile tickles the edges of her lips, and her eyes are round with awe. Cora’s vision blurs a little, from tears and some kind of giddiness that she can’t quite explain. It is so strong that, for a moment, passing the television, she thinks she sees Donita on the screen, cheering her on.
In her room, Cora begins to pack her bags. She left her phone in the kitchen, not wanting to break her exit with a detour. Her T-shirts go into the suitcase first, then her pants and shorts, followed by two church dresses.
At the table, a conversation is taking place in hushed whispers. Cora hears the scraping of chair legs against the floor at one point and a high note from Cecilia ringing like a fork against a champagne glass, but other than that, only the low buzz of discretion. Cora opens her bedside-table drawer and surveys its contents. Two fat flashlight batteries roll over a clear plastic folder containing her documents. She picks up the folder and tucks it into the front pocket of her suitcase. As she’s pushing her hand into the pocket, she is startled to feel the tiny round beads of her rosary. The last time she held it was in the waiting room of Merry Maids.
Then somebody knocks on her door.
“Cora?” It’s Ma’am Elizabeth. Cora hesitates before calling out, “Yes?” It is her first time omitting the word ma’am from her response.
“Can I come in?”
Cora glances around the room. Soon it will look like she was never here. She crosses to the door and opens it. The narrow doorway frames Ma’am Elizabeth like a portrait. Her hands are clasped together at her chest as if in prayer. “We need to talk,” she says, eyeing Cora’s suitcase.
“Ma’am, I already tell you, I am leaving. I don’t want to burden you.”
“Okay, fine. I accept your resignation. Can we talk now? Not as employer and worker, but as friends?”
You are not my friend, Cora would have screamed at the top of her lungs earlier today, but with her feet still firmly planted in Ma’am Elizabeth’s home, it is too difficult to say this. Wordlessly, she steps aside and lets Ma’am Elizabeth into the room.
“Jacqueline’s gone home,” Ma’am Elizabeth says as she takes a seat on the edge of the bed. “I am sorry that she tried to involve you in those matters.”
“It’s because she thinks I have this kind of power over you,” Cora points out. “You make her think—”
Ma’am Elizabeth holds up a palm. “I tried very hard to draw a line between us, Cora, I did. But you live here. You are part of my household. And I saw how much pride you took in the place.”
“What Miss Jacqueline tried to get me to do is . . .” She hesitates, knowing the word for devious only in Tagalog. “Masama,” she says. “Very wrong.”
“I’m aware of that. But it’s not fair to blame me, to punish me for treating you like a member of my family. The way Jacqueline defines family is different from how I do, do you understand?”
Ma’am Elizabeth’s eyes are bright with tears. Cora feels her own throat tightening as well, and she joins Ma’am Elizabeth on the bed. They sit together, shoulder to shoulder, in a small room with two narrow windows facing the skirt of the rippled zinc roof that shelters the back shed like an afterthought.
On Cora’s first day in this house, after she had finished settling in, Ma’am Elizabeth had knocked on her door and commented that the room was small. “There are empty bedrooms upstairs . . .” she began, trailing off when she noticed Cora recoiling. “Have I mentioned my children? They don’t live here anymore,” she said, recovering, and launched into a breathless description of Cecilia and Jacqueline. Cora simply watched her, ignoring the twist in her gut as Ma’am Elizabeth talked about her daughters, one in college and one who had a career. She could not help it; even then, she had seen them as the same as the Martell girl.
“My nephew was killed,” Cora says now. “By the police. They thought he was selling drugs.”
Ma’am Elizabeth stifles a gasp of shock. “Oh, Cora,” she says, clasping her hand.
“I had to run away because I spoke out and they came after me,” she continues, gripping Ma’am Elizabeth’s hand back. “That’s the short story, okay? I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
“And you don’t have to,” Ma’am Elizabeth says. Then a shadow of realization flickered in her eyes. “The backfiring of the motorcycle that day?”
“I thought it was a gunshot,” Cora says.
“Cora, why did you keep this to yourself? What you’ve been through—it’s horrific.” Ma’am Elizabeth’s expression hardens. “And Jacqueline. My goodness. She really thought that I was going to hold it against you? Whatever your nephew was involved in—and I’m sure he was innocent, Cora”—Ma’am Elizabeth’s eyes lower quickly as she says this—“it had nothing to do with you. I am so sorry for what my daughter put you through.”
“Ma’am, there is something else.” Cora takes a deep breath. “Jacqueline knew . . . Jacqueline got in touch with my former employers,” she says. “They are not so happy with me.”
“Because those men caused some trouble for them? Yes, I know. She told me just now.”
Cora straightens her back. So Jacqueline didn’t reveal everything. She didn’t tell Ma’am Elizabeth about what happened in those final moments as Cora tore through the house, searching for what the guards had been sniggering about privately, what Paolo told her to find. She had never seen the pictures of Mrs. Calvert until that moment when her hands pulled open the drawer. Those limbs, artfully arranged and pale against a dark backdrop, appeared one by one—arms, legs. Cora ignored the bare breasts and the smooth-shaven V between Mrs. Calvert’s legs, the way she looked at the camera with her mouth slightly open. They were there but she managed not to see them, just knew they existed.
Cora’s gaze lands on her packed suitcase. Let this be a confession, then. What Ma’am Elizabeth knows or doesn’t know makes no difference.
“My boss had some private photographs that she took for her husband. The previous maid came across them one day and told the guards about them after she left. I gave them to the guards.”
“Why?” Ma’am Elizabeth asks.
“To buy more time,” Cora says. “The guards were going to tell the police where I had gone if I did not do it. They told me where to find the photos. I think they wanted to use them for bribery later on or sell them to certain people, the Calverts’ . . . enemies?”
“Rivals,” Ma’am Elizabeth says. “Yes, I’m familiar with that sort of thing.” She regards Cora with a bit of wariness. “That’s really serious, Cora. It can ruin a person.”
Cora nods, once again looking at her suitcase. She could ask Angel to put her in touch with the people she’d had interviews with. Cora will keep her head down, do as she is told, and be able to stay away from Manila for a few more years.
“Why did you tell me?” Ma’am Elizabeth says softly.
“Ma’am?”
“You knew Jacqueline didn’t tell me about it. You told me anyway.”
Cora looks at Ma’am Elizabeth. “You should know from me. I don’t know if, later on, these things will come out, but if they do, then you need to know from me. You also need to know that I never looked through any of your personal things. I keep my employer’s life separate from mine.” She rises from the bed. It’s time to go. She decides that she won’t tell Ma’am Elizabeth about the pills. What purpose would it serve? Some betrayals are better left unmentioned. She doesn’t need to leave another family in ruins.
“So you’re going, then?” Ma’am Elizabeth says. “You’re really quitting?”
“I don’t do these things for a show,” Cora says. “If I continue to work for you, Jacqueline will be around.”
“She won’t be,” Ma’am Elizabeth says. “She’s not coming back.”
Cora thinks she has misheard Ma’am Elizabeth. “Ma’am, you can’t kick out your daughter—”
Ma’am Elizabeth chortles. “I didn’t kick her out, Cora, don’t worry. She and Hans are moving to London. He was offered a position there, but she didn’t want to go. The business proposal was her final effort to have something rooting her to Singapore. Something other than me, of course. She just told me that this was the push they needed. They leave the week after the wedding.” Ma’am Elizabeth smiles wryly.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry. I do not want to cause Jacqueline to move away.”
“It will be good for her,” Ma’am Elizabeth says, but her voice catches as she speaks. “I always thought my daughters needed to get out of Singapore and experience life someplace where they weren’t the heiresses of Lee’s Kopi. Of course, they still stay within their circles wherever they go.”
“So Jacqueline will be all right,” Cora says.
Ma’am Elizabeth’s eyes shimmer with tears. “Think about staying. Please,” she manages before walking out the door.
Looking around the empty room, Cora has the sensation of being back on her first day. What will I find here? she asked herself at the beginning of every job, already slightly weary at the thought of tiptoeing around the things she accidentally heard and the knowledge acquired from the corners of each home where secrets were nestled. In Ma’am Elizabeth’s house, it was different. She spoke to Cora and laid bare her regrets. Cora felt she was being dragged into knowing what she didn’t want to know, but the discoveries were inevitable: Ma’am Elizabeth didn’t want any secrets.
Cora starts to follow Ma’am Elizabeth but then turns for the kitchen to get her phone. She types quickly: You wouldn’t believe what just happened with Ma’am Elizabeth and her daughters. I need to talk . . .
She stops. The chat is clogged with unread messages, all from Angel. OH MY GOD starts the first one, followed by ARE YOU SEEING THIS??? and IT CAN’T BE REAL and AM I HALLUCINATING? The other messages are addressed directly to Donita:
HOW DID YOU DO THAT?
ARE YOU OKAY?
THE WHOLE COUNTRY IS GOING TO BE TALKING ABOUT YOU.
The next message is just a screenshot of a video. On the top left corner of the still is the blue-green sphere of the Asia News Network logo. At the bottom, some text is frozen in a red banner. breaking news is all Cora is able to make out, but it hardly registers. Because the main image, staring straight into the camera, is Donita.