My feet feel heavy as I approach the Davidsons' house. I drag them over to the front porch.
My fingers shake. I splay them flat on my lap to keep them from exposing my anxiety.
Strings of fairy lights flicker on the porch and ceiling beams; the chandeliers blaze brighter than usual.
My throat aches with rawness—and I know it's not from the delicious smell of roasted meat and sweet frosting oozing through the half-open kitchen windows I can spot from outside.
I breathe, urging my body to stop trembling and schooling my features to stay calm.
My gaze fixes on the foot rug beneath my feet. There's no use picking up the spare key when Mrs. Davidson is already home.
Inhaling one more time, I settle for a knock.
My knuckles tap against the wooden door twice.
"Harley, dear, go check who it is; it might be the plumber."
Oh boy. The measly breakfast I had this morning tosses in my stomach as I feel shame's wicked grasp.
I hadn't been at home yesterday when the plumber came, as instructed.
The click of the door spikes my nerves.
It opens to reveal little Harley, dressed to the moon for her birthday party.
A pang of guilt settles in my gut.
More so by the frown and tiny pout she gives me…it screams, It's all your fault.
My lips part to apologize, but Mrs. Davidson's query halts me.
"Who is it, Harley?"
Harley's frown hardens. "It's the housekeeper," she shouts back in her tiny voice.
My chest tightens. She normally calls me Aunty Housekeeper.
However, the dull ache subsides when I hear Mrs. Davidson approaching.
She regards me with a neutral glare—her usual.
But well, it's tricky. I prefer she scowl, hiss, snap…anything. At least then, I can know what goes through her mind.
"Come in." It might as well sound like she's merely selecting a breakfast choice.
I follow her in, my fingers twitching by my sides.
"Harley, go get the balloons upstairs, will you?" she lets the words fall like velvet, then watches little Harley race away.
But I don't let that deceive me. I'm in deep trouble.
"I can explain—" I summon courage, attempting to make the situation clear. But a single extension of her palm toward me mutes me.
"Hold it," she orders, her uplifted arm falling back to her side.
God! If I wanted to die before, then now I just want to vanish. Completely out of this world, with no single trace.
"I warned you not to mess this up like you always do," Mrs. Davidson utters, sounding resigned.
Her words land like a punch to the gut.
"I promise…this time I can explain." Tears stain my eyes as I try to convince her to hear me out.
"You always have an excuse to give." The usual kindness she carries is nowhere to be seen.
"You keep doing this, Evelyn—bailing out of work before you can finish it, running back with pitiful excuses later on." She rages.
I bristle, fixing my eyes on my toes. My throat burns.
Hearing my name called twice in a day…obviously isn't a good sign.
"Is it because I'm too gullible for you? I keep giving you chances each and every time."
She's so angry. I've messed up again, and this time I barely have an explanation to give.
I'm fed up myself.
"You take my kindness for granted, Evelyn. That has consequences."
I lift my head, staring at her face—void of the familiarity I'm so used to from her. She's a kind boss.
"I'm sorry." My voice comes out strangled—a cocktail of panic and sorrow.
She leans on silence.
By my side, my palms are damp with sweat. The deafening silence makes my heart rattle in my ribcage as I await my verdict.
"Evelyn, if your family issues are keeping you from concentrating on your job, I suggest you attend to them instead."
She walks away.
My mind shuts off, muting everything around me as I struggle to process what just happened.
And when I do, it hits me like a meteorite.
I've just been fired.
I've just been fired!
But I need this job.
A hollow ache…a pressure in my chest casts a weight on my ribs and suddenly breathing feels painful.
Agony claws through my skin, scattering my thoughts. My hands tremble as I feel the world closing in. My mind sprints with dreadful possibilities, yet my body stumbles behind.
My breathing is shallow; I hear blood swooshing in my ears.
I feel everything at once, and that overwhelming urge to break down attacks me again.
But I won't—I can't—give in.
Accepting my fate, I breathe and sulk out of the Davidsons' house.
I don't look back as I take the lane of the fenced pavement and disappear.
It's dangerous, I know. But still, I turn off my phone, falling with my back onto the worn-out mattress in the tiny, cramped enclosure that is my bedroom.
I stare dead at the mossy ceiling with signs of water stains. I thought I'd make enough money to fix the leakages by the end of the month—but oh well.
I shut my eyes against the world, drowning away life's demands as I just…be.
I don't know how long I do that for, but I jerk awake to the shrill ringing of Aunt Maya's evening alarm reminder.
Before I'd got her a phone, it was what she used to navigate her time and schedules—she still does. Old habits die hard.
However, she's at the hospital tending to my dying father, or else she'd have been fretting about missing the evening Mass.
The evening Mass!
Perhaps I'll find solace in God's presence?
I'm not big on religion, but at this point, I have no choice.
Things have crumbled beyond repair. I have less than 24 hours to make a decision about getting married to the Pennsylvania millionaire.
So yeah, the church is my only restitution now.
Grabbing my cashmere scarf and switching into something more decent, I race for St. Augustine Grove.
If only I knew how my life was going to crumble more than it ever had, that night.