by Robyn Carr
“Tempting though, ain’t it?” Brazil said.
“It is,” Emma said.
“Look the other way, Emma,” Riley said. “Anything else on your mind?”
She shook her head.
“I’m glad it’s going well for you. Makenna tells me you’re doing a very good job.”
“Thank you,” she said. “The team does a very good job. They’re good girls. Women.”
“That’s all I have for you,” Riley said. “I just wanted to check in with you. And here’s your check,” she added, handing Emma an envelope. “From now on Brazil will have your pay deposited in your account and Nick will give you the stub showing your deductions. Welcome aboard.”
“Thanks,” she said. And took her leave.
* * *
Emma had been in touch with Adam every day without fail. On those few nights they weren’t together, they talked on the phone. Tonight Emma was going to Adam’s house for dinner. When she was there, which had only been twice so far, she put her car in his garage so that if Riley drove by she wouldn’t see it. When she arrived, he was busy in the kitchen, slicing and dicing, garlic being sautéed in the pan on the stove.
“It already smells wonderful.”
“I have something to tell you,” he said. “My mother asked me if I happened to have a phone number for you. She’s planning to call you. I gave her the number. I hope you’re okay with that.”
“Will she tell Riley?” Emma asked.
“You can ask her not to, Emma. I don’t think Riley finding out we’re seeing each other will be as much of a problem as you think.”
“It will be a problem for her, I guarantee it.”
“I hope you’re wrong, but we’ll do things your way. My mother wants to see you. She knows Riley has your number and she didn’t ask her.”
“I don’t know what’s going to piss her off more—us being together or hiding it from her.”
* * *
Every time Emma’s phone rang, she jumped. She looked at the caller ID and it was either Adam or Lyle. Then on Wednesday while she was working, her phone vibrated in her pocket and she didn’t dare answer it, even though the home owners were not home. When they took their break between houses, she listened to the message.
“Emma, it’s June Kerrigan. Adam gave me your number and I’ve been looking for a time I could ask you to dinner when it would be just us so we could talk, catch up with no interference from eavesdroppers or others. Maddie is having a sleepover Friday night so her mother will have to stay home with them. How I got out of sleepover duty, I’ll never know, but finally the house is my own. Can you come to dinner? At about six? When you were a little girl you loved my fried spaghetti—it was your favorite and your little feelings were hurt if we had it without you. If I make fried spaghetti, will you come? I think I’ve waited long enough!”
Tears came to her eyes and she sniffed loudly enough that Shawna turned from the front seat and asked, “You okay, girl?”
“Yes, sorry. I just got the sweetest message from an old friend...”
“It your birthday or something?” Shawna asked.
“No,” she said, laughing. “She’s going to make my favorite dish from when I was a little girl—fried spaghetti with pesto, black olives and pepperoni.”
And both women oohed and ahhed.
On Friday afternoon, immediately after work, she went to the flower shop. She’d called Lyle and asked him if he’d make a Christmas centerpiece for her to give to someone special. When she got to the flower shop the guys were both there. With the holidays upon them, they were keeping the shop open a little later and Lyle hadn’t gotten around to her centerpiece.
“Who’s getting my masterpiece?” Lyle asked.
“You have to promise not to tell,” she said. “June called me and invited me to dinner, just the two of us. Adam gave her my cell number.”
“Adam?” Lyle and Ethan said in unison.
“Yes, Adam—and you have to keep him a secret, too. It started out that he was a very nice and helpful friend. You know, a little glass of wine, a cell number in case I needed a hand with anything, lunch at a vineyard bistro, then...”
They were leaning toward her. “Then...?”
“It got a little...you know...romantic.”
“OMG, she’s doing Adam, the love of my life,” Ethan said, swooning into Lyle.
“Get a grip,” Lyle said. “He’s straighter than my hair.”
“He actually is,” Emma said. “Could you get on my page here? I’m reuniting with June tonight and I need a centerpiece. A lovely centerpiece. One that says I’m grateful for everything, for accepting me without questioning about Richard’s crimes, for missing me, for welcoming me back, for still loving me.”
“I’ve had a crush on Adam since the first day I met him,” Ethan said.
She looked at Lyle. “What’s going on here? Is Adam his hall pass?”
“It’s completely meaningless,” Lyle said. “Adam couldn’t be less interested in Ethan. Come on back to the playroom, Emmie. You can supervise my creation.”
“I’d love that,” she said.
“And why are we keeping Adam and June secret?” Lyle asked.
“Riley is my boss and until Riley invites me to join her and the family, I’m staying back. She’s keeping me at arm’s length. Maybe someday, but not someday soon. But I so miss June.”
“Understandable. Take your time. And tell me all about the job,” he said.
“I told you,” she said, finding a seat on a stool.
“Not really,” he said, digging around for the tools of his profession—clippers, tape, scissors, foam, wire. “You did some groaning and whining about how exhausted you were but no details.”
“We’re not supposed to talk about details—the client, I am told, has an expectation of privacy.”
“You aren’t supposed to name them, Emmie, but you can tell tales to a person you can trust. That’s me.” He grinned. Then he stepped into the refrigerator and gathered up some stems, fern and baby’s breath. “What’s it like?”
“It’s the hardest work I’ve ever done—and remember, I helped decorate a seventy-thousand square foot department store for holidays, on my feet, lifting and hauling and climbing for sixteen hours a day. I was a lot younger then, too. It’s the hardest I’ve worked and I’m learning that to work for Riley is to get the best pay available for cleaners. Apparently clients cancel their contracts all the time and get cheaper cleaners but, because Riley and her two bulldogs, Makenna and Nick, keep everyone’s standards really high, they end up returning and paying the money to get the good work. We do good work,” she said, giving her head a shake. “Wow, do we do good work. And fast. I am appalled to note that there are so many jobs that pay better and have far less impact on the quality of life for a family. Families,” she added. “You get a feeling for what family life is like in a house right away, which homes are run by the kids who have every possession imaginable and others don’t even have family games. There are houses we clean where the wife hovers and inspects and says, ‘My husband likes it this way or that way,’ and houses I’ve cleaned four times and have yet to meet a home owner. You can pick out their nesting spot right away, the places that are used—a favorite chair, desk in the office, bathroom counter. We have one client who lies on the sofa watching TV until we get to that room, then she shifts to the bedroom. She eats all day and I’ve never seen her dressed in anything but loungewear. Some kids’ rooms have awards and pennants and group pictures, some show no sign of any siblings or friendships or group activities. Some children’s rooms are very, very sad.”
“What makes a sad room?” he asked while he laid out a sheet of paper, placing baby’s breath on it. The little ball inside the spray paint can bounced when Lyle shook it and with a quick, deft hand, he painted the baby�
��s breath red.
“That’s amazing, what you just did there,” she said.
“Christmas colors. What’s a sad room?”
“Well, there’s a teenager’s room that’s so pristine it hurts. It’s like a ghost room, but someone lives in it—there’s evidence of living—trash in the bin, books moved, linens slept in, laundry in the hamper, towels in the bath have been used. When I moved the desk blotter to dust I saw something carved in the wood, something her mother would never see because her mother works long hours and doesn’t clean or look at her daughter’s things. She carved, I miss her every day. I assume she carved it. They’re rich. They wouldn’t have purchased a damaged piece of furniture.”
“Wow,” Lyle said, stopping his arranging. “Who do you think?”
“I don’t know,” Emma said. “Could be a sibling. There are no other children’s rooms or family pictures anywhere. Maybe a friend? Grandmother? I have no idea. And you know what else, Lyle? I never realized this when I had help of my own but I realize it now. We’re invisible. I always thought of myself as very tidy but now I wonder if I prepared for the cleaning staff—did I wipe the bathroom mirror? Clean the sink? Flush? Because now I see that some people don’t.”
“Ew,” he said. “I certainly know I do those things.”
“I think I did. I hope I did. But a hard truth for me is—I don’t know the names of the ladies who cleaned our apartment. They changed regularly. But still...”
“My God, you’re learning volumes about yourself. About people you don’t know.”
“It’s humbling,” she said.
“Are you humbled by who you are? Or who you were?”
“Both,” she said.
* * *
She was so nervous. Anxious and nervous. She carried her centerpiece up the walk to June’s front door and knocked. The door opened immediately and there she stood, looking only a little older.
“Emma! At last,” June cried, embracing her at once.
Emma was left to balance the centerpiece in one hand and return the hug with the other.
“How I’ve missed you,” June said. “I thought of you, prayed for you, hoped you’d come back to us. It’s been so long.”
Emma closed her eyes against tears. June’s skin on her cheek was so soft, just as she remembered. She smelled faintly of Ivory soap, something so basic, clean and memorable. And she could smell clean sheets—June used to iron the pillowcases, and the smell of hot linen that filled the room gave Emma such comfort. The arms that held her were the same, just strong enough but not overwhelming. June knew just how to cradle a person.
“June,” she whispered.
June backed away a bit and looked at her. “You’ve held up so well,” she said, wiping Emma’s cheeks with her thumb. “Shall we stand here in the doorway and cry or will you come in?”
“I’ve been so excited and so nervous,” Emma said.
“Now, stop that,” June said with a little laugh. “From the very first day we knew each other we knew we’d be friends. Close friends.”
“This is for you,” Emma said.
“Ah, our Lyle hasn’t lost his touch at all, has he? He’s getting even better. Thank you, it’s so beautiful. Come in, come in.”
There was a small noise, a little whine, and Emma looked down to see the oddest-looking dog.
“Emma, this is Beatrice. She’s staying with me for a while until she can recover from her last owner. She’s a rescue and I’m afraid she was quite mistreated. I’m a foster mother for the animal shelter. Beatrice was once very beautiful and will be again after a little love and attention.”
“She’s so sweet,” Emma said, reaching out.
But Beatrice just skittered away, going back to her bed in the kitchen.
“She usually needs a little time to get used to new faces, new smells.” June carried the centerpiece into the kitchen where she had the table set with two places, candles and wineglasses. She put the flowers in the middle.
“Speaking of new smells... I haven’t had fried spaghetti in so long. Since I was last at your house, I think.”
“It’s ready and in the warmer,” June said. “We’re going to light the candles, have a glass of wine and just talk for a while. Are you starving? I made us some crab rolls, just a little snack.”
June busied herself getting the rolls, the wine, lighting the candles, then she sat down in the place next to Emma. She lifted her glass. “To your return, darling Emma.”
Emma burst into tears.
It took her a moment and a couple of napkins to compose herself. June was the nearest thing to a mother she’d had and whether she’d admitted it to herself or not, she’d been afraid she’d never be reunited with her.
“Riley might not be okay with our private party,” Emma finally said with a hiccup of emotion.
“Well, Riley’s stubborn sometimes, but that’s all right. Her pride and stubbornness probably got her through the tough times. She’s a good woman. She’s also logical and usually comes around eventually. And—I haven’t mentioned this to her but not because I’m keeping secrets. Because she’d want to be here. And we need this time. I want you to tell me everything.”
“Oh, June, you don’t want to—”
“Yes, yes, I do. We always had the most important talks. About the hardest things, too. Tell me, Emma, did you love him?” she asked in a soft voice.
“I did,” she said in a whisper. “I thought I was the luckiest girl in the world. In the universe. Richard was sophisticated and smart. He treated me as if I was some kind of precious gift. I loved him. I didn’t think he was capable of doing anything terrible, of hurting people.” She shook her head. “A couple of times I was selfish or demanding or complaining and he would just frown and say, ‘Emma, Emma, this childish behavior doesn’t suit your image at all. Don’t you know how powerful you are? How many people watch you?’ If I asked for something he would just say, ‘Of course.’ I thought he was kind. A few times I overheard him say things that were mean or harsh and if I questioned him he’d say he was sorry I had to hear that, that sometimes in business he had to be strong. Firm.”
“Things like what, Emma?”
“Once I heard him on the phone, saying something like, ‘That old bastard doesn’t know what to do with his money anyway—he’ll never miss it. Push on him a little bit harder and if you need me to, I’ll call on him.’ When I questioned him he said one of his clients was questioning his investment strategy, that he’d brought in more money in six months than the client’s last broker had brought in over six years. And of course, he was sorry I’d seen him in such a negative light. June, he was so nice. Everyone loved Richard.”
“You never knew what was happening,” June said.
“But I did,” she said in a secretive whisper. “I wouldn’t let myself believe it. He had this PR person, Andrea. She’d worked with him for a long time before we got married. If he was having a relationship with her, why would he marry me? But they were together often. Sometimes she traveled with us. Sometimes with him—it was work. But I saw looks between them. Reckless, steamy looks. So I asked my husband—was he involved with Andrea? And he did what he did best—he calmed my worries, reassured me, said that was absurd. And later, much later, I learned Andrea was his mistress all along. Andrea was the one to tell him, ‘It’s time to marry for your image.’ I wonder if he married me because I was too stupid to see what was in front of my face.”
“No, no,” June said. “He must have been that good at fooling people.”
“But I let him fool me.”
“What happened, Emma? What caused it to unravel?”
“The perfect storm. A couple of big clients didn’t get good returns on their money and pulled out. There were flaws in the statements. Rich people have lots of CPAs running around, double-checki
ng everything, and Richard made a few mistakes. Not mistakes—irregularities. There was a banking and investment corporation crisis and people were pulling their money out everywhere—no one wanted to be the last one holding the bag. Richard’s funds were not insured or guaranteed. People were losing money everywhere else but not with Richard. Investments across the board were crashing like crazy, but not Richard’s. A reporter from the Washington Post started sniffing around, angry and paranoid investors complained to the SEC, an investigation began...” She shrugged helplessly. “And I began to see a whole new Richard.”
“Oh, Emma, was it terrible?”
“It was terrible,” she said. “Want to know why I stayed? Why I went to court? Because it was the only way I was going to find out the truth. He wasn’t going to tell me. I was making assumptions, I was guessing, I was reading the papers, financial journals, watching the news—and they got so many facts about me wrong, I couldn’t be sure they were getting facts about him right. But at the trial there was evidence. I wanted to know who he was and what he’d done. I probably should have left. But I wanted to know.”
June straightened. “That’s what I would have done.”
“You would?”
“Absolutely. Ignorance isn’t really a happy place, it just seems like it for a while. I would have wanted to know.”
“He thought he was a god, June,” she whispered. “He thought he could do anything to anyone, that he was the most important person alive. He used people, lied to people, laughed at them.”
“Emma, what was it like to be rich?” she asked.
“It was isolating,” Emma said. “Most of the time I felt like I was just visiting my own life. Then I’d remember, I was hired to play a part—the part of the great Richard Compton’s wife. I’d always wonder how many others were pretending to be who they were. When you have a big pile of money, it should mean security. Safety. It didn’t. All our friends were rich and they worried about having the most, spending the most, trying to figure out how it could make them the best. They trusted no one. You know that silly saying, he who dies with the most toys wins? I think for a lot of people it’s actually true.”