Tess taps her watch.
“Right. I better get changed and get to work,” I tell Sabrina as I tear my gaze away from her and reluctantly jog back to the house. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you get a new pair of sandals.”
“Thank you.”
“I suggest you go get changed as well!”
“I will!”
Deal
Sabrina
What a mess.
I frown as I lift my uniform, having already changed into another, staring at the stains that the soil in the lawn, the sprinkler and Zombie all caused in one moment of chaos.
What was up with that dog? I thought he was going to gobble me up. Thank goodness Randall pulled him off me.
Suddenly, I remember the image of Randall in his soaked shirt and jeans, the cotton and denim clinging to him like a second skin and showing off all his bulges and curves.
All his bulges? Not really. I did not see that.
Shit. What am I thinking? It’s bad enough that I’m fantasizing about his muscles. Now, I’m thinking about that, too.
I shake my head, clearing the image.
At least Zombie likes me now, though there’s no guarantee David will feel the same.
Sighing, I put my dress into the machine. I just hope the stains come off. I only have seven sets of uniform, after all, the last two a blouse and a pair of pants for trips. And I work seven days a week.
As I’m trying to figure out the machine, Lucy enters, a pile of laundry in her arms.
“Sabrina?” Her brown eyes grow wide when she sees me. “What are you doing here?”
“Washing my uniform,” I tell her. “At least, that was my intention.”
Lucy sets down the curtains on the bench. “You’re not supposed to do any washing, you know. You could have just left your clothes there in the hamper in your bathroom.”
“I know, but I was afraid that if I didn’t wash this uniform at once, it would be harder for the stains to come off.”
“Stains, huh?” Lucy gives me a suspicious look.
I blush as I realize what she’s talking about. “Not that kind of stains. I was out in the lawn and Zombie jumped on me and then the sprinklers turned on so…”
“I see.” She stands beside me and looks at my uniform. “Mud stains do get harder to remove the longer you leave them.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Which detergent did you use?”
I point to the box on my right.
“That’s fine.” She puts down the lid of the machine. “Now, you just set the knob like this and turn this dial and press this and that and – there, it should be all set.”
True enough, the machine starts whirring.
I smile at her. “Thanks. You’re a lifesaver.”
Lucy shakes her head. “Nope. I’m just a maid.”
She sits down on the bench and starts separating the white curtains from the dark ones.
“How long have you been working here?”
“Four years. My friend recommended me as her replacement when she had to leave because she got pregnant.”
“Oh.” I put a maroon curtain into the dark pile. “Wow. I can’t believe you’ve been here so long.”
“Sometimes, neither can I,” she confesses. “Sometimes, I feel like I’ve been here forever and that I’ll be stuck here forever like Mrs. Wilson.” She glances at the door, as if worried that the housekeeper might suddenly show up but she doesn’t. “That makes me a little sad but then I think of how much money I’m earning, plus the living quarters are really nice. Mr. Brewster is fair and all the other maids are nice, too, so all in all, it’s not such a bad deal. I’m sure some people have it worse.”
I nod, remembering the hardships I went through while I was trying to earn money as a singer and, of course, while I was trapped in Vince’s house.
“You’re right. It’s not so bad.”
“How about you?” Lucy asks, throwing a beige curtain into the light pile. “How long have you been a nanny?”
I pause. Do I make something up or do I tell her the truth?
“I just started actually,” I say, deciding there’s no harm in the latter. “Just this year.”
“Really?” Lucy looks surprised. “I thought of that because you look so young but then, you seem so professional.”
“Thank you.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-two.” Again, no harm in saying my real age just as there is no sense in hiding it.
“You really are young, younger than me. I’m twenty-five, and I’m the second youngest maid here. Amy is younger by just a year. I don’t know who the oldest is but I think it’s Carmen.” She glances at the door again.
“Well, if you’re not going to work hard when you’re young, when will you?”
Lucy smiles. “Why did you decide to be a nanny, though?”
“It just seemed right.”
Now, that’s a lie. The truth is more like it’s my only option.
“You like kids?”
“Yup.”
“David is a handful, though. He’s always been.”
That brings me to the question I’ve been wanting to ask.
“Lucy, can I ask you something?”
“Sorry, but I don’t know if Mr. Brewster is seeing anyone right now or what kind of things Mr. Brewster likes,” Lucy says as she kneels in front of the dark pile, now separating the thin fabrics from the thick ones. “I mean, I know he likes to work out and to…”
“Stop,” I interrupt her, raising a hand. “I’m not going to ask about that.”
“Oh.” Lucy looks at me. “Sorry. I just thought you were interested in Mr. Brewster, too.”
Well, I am but…
Wait. I am?
I shake my head.
“So, what’s your question?”
Right.
“You’re saying all the previous nannies were interested in Ra… Mr. Brewster?”
“Not all but many of them were. I guess he is kind of hot, if you were into that bulky type. I’m not.”
I understand. Some women prefer lean men and others big men. I thought I was one of the former but I guess I’m one of the latter? Or is it because Vince was lean?
Focus, Sabrina.
“So, none of them really cared about David?” I ask.
“Some of them did,” Lucy answers. “Some of them adored him. They just adored his father more.”
I touch my chin. “I see.”
“Then there were those who adored him but couldn’t stand him, what with all his pranks and insults. That kid has claws, I tell you.”
“I know.”
“Did he play a prank on you yet?”
“No. Something tells me he has other plans.”
Lucy snickers. “You bet.”
“But he did throw me a few choice words last night.”
“Yet, you don’t seem affected at all.”
“No,” I agree. “Maybe because a part of me knows he doesn’t mean them. He’s just lashing out although I don’t know the reason why.”
“Who knows what that kid thinks?”
Lucy grabs the pile of dark, thick curtains, one of which falls out of her arms. I pick it up and help her stuff the curtains into one of the front-loader washing machines.
“Actually, I was hoping you could tell me,” I say after the load has been stuffed inside, standing up.
“Me?” Lucy looks puzzled. “I’m just a maid here, remember?”
“But you watch over him in between nannies, right?”