CHAPTER 10
Emma
My eyes open naturally. No alarm clock. No phone. No fighting neighbors and slamming doors and/or police sirens.
They just open.
I’m confused. Because I’m totally refreshed. I’ve gotten enough sleep. Holy crap, I don’t remember the last time that’s happened to me.
Maybe it never has.
Then I remember where I am.
I’m snuggled under a French duvet—my first—the kind of comforter I’ve only seen in the pages of fancy catalogs. I rub my hands along the huge open surface along my sides. This bed is as big as a swimming pool. The sheets are cool, soft but crisp at the same time. And clean!
I pull the sheets and comforter to my face and inhale the miracle of expensive laundry detergent, dryer sheets, and fabric softener… it’s almost too nice.
I could live in this bed. I could stay in this bed until I was an old lady drawing my last breath. I never want to leave this bed. How can I organize my life so that I never have to leave this soft, safe paradise?
I look around me. I’ve hit the jackpot. I’ve got a beautiful bedroom with the best mattress ever invented. Who knew there were beds like this? I could have gone my whole life without sleeping in a bed like this and never even been aware of what I was missing.
I raise my arms out from under the covers and stretch. Aside from a slight ache in my muscles from yesterday’s walking, I feel great! The sun peeks in through the curtains, and the day is full of possibilities. Sure, Mr. MacLaine wasn’t thrilled to hire me, but I know I can win him over.
I’ll be the best housekeeper he didn’t know he needed.
I’ll clean his house from top to bottom and make it run like a well-oiled machine of domestic bliss.
And I’ll be Jasmine’s best friend. I’ll play Barbie and Ken with her until we’ve run out of ideas for beach vacations and fancy dress-up dances.
I’ll do whatever I have to in order to keep this going.
I know a damn good thing when I see it.
I roll out of bed, let my bare feet hit the clean carpet, and open the curtains. I’m treated to a spectacular view of the ranch, of the other homes and a large barn. Behind all of that is a wide meadow and the huge mountains beyond. It’s prettier than a TV travel documentary or a postcard.
I wasn’t far off the mark last night—this really is a real-life Yellowstone, only the people are nicer.
And maybe even richer. It’s true that I haven’t met everyone, but from what I’ve seen, this isn’t a family that wants to murder each other so that they can have all the power and wealth, like the television family. This family seems to love each other.
I have to pee, and I can’t wait to pee in my new bathroom.
It’s like a spa, even though I’ve never been to a spa, and I don’t have any idea what a spa might look like.
The closest I ever got to a spa was trying to find the ladies’ room in the lobby of Reno’s Atlantis Hotel.
A security guard stopped me and told me to leave. Not asked, ordered.
And now… I turn on the bathroom light and step inside. There’s marble everywhere. Marble and glass and gleaming copper and rich wood. I look up to see a large skylight that sprinkles sunshine everywhere.
I don’t need a shower this morning, not technically.
I took one last night—hot, hot water shooting out of six different shower heads with a function for steam, which I didn’t even know was possible.
I didn’t have to spin around to get wet everywhere!
I used the pristine white washcloths and towels I found folded up in a basket.
I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed until the exhaustion hit me so hard that I couldn't stand up any longer.
No wonder I slept so well. I was clean. Safe. Warm. And all those things at the same time.
Safe.
Yes, I’m repeating myself. But I want to. Because I can.
I.
Am.
Safe.
I look at the huge walk-in shower and then at the deep soaking tub. I need to choose one, since I can’t lounge in the bathroom all day. But it’s not an easy decision. I settle on the shower, only because I know if I get in that tub, I’ll never get out.
And I need to get to work. If I don’t get to work, I don’t get to stay.
That’s when I finally think to find out what time it is. And when I check my phone, I almost cry. It’s nine o’clock.
I’ve overslept.
I throw a dirty look at the perfect bed, because it’s to blame. That bed is going to get me fired before I start!
I brush my teeth, slip on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt, make my bed, and run downstairs to get to work. No makeup. I don’t even brush my hair. As I race down the steps, I pull my hair up on top of my head and twist it to stay in place.
I’ll find a bread bag tie or something in the kitchen that I can use to keep it off my face while I clean.
Jasmine meets me at the bottom of the stairs with a wide, welcoming grin. “Daddy told me not to wake you, so I’ve been real quiet while I waited. Do you want Cap’n Crunch? I saved you some.”
“I should get to work.”
I smell something burning. I look around nervously for Finn. I don’t know where they keep the fire extinguisher, and that should have been the first thing I did last night. Safety is always the first thing you ask about on a new job.
Actually, I should have asked about the coffee situation last night, too. Because right now, I would happily kill someone for a cup of coffee. I drink a lot of coffee, as a rule. I can’t work without coffee. Maybe this morning will be another first for me.
“You can start in the kitchen,” Jasmine tells me, her voice a whisper. “My dad decided to make breakfast. It’s a big mess, and I don’t think he knows how to work the stove. He knows how to work the toaster, but he told me there’s no toaster pastries today because he’s cooking.”
She takes my hand and tugs me toward the kitchen. I stop in the archway, my mouth falling open. For two reasons.
First, it looks like an explosion has just ripped through here. Maybe multiple explosions. Like the entire Big Lots housewares section has just blown up.
The second reason is because Mr. MacLaine is standing at the stove, his back to me. He’s wearing just a T-shirt and a pair of underwear. I think they’re called boxer briefs. I think I might keel over.
Jasmine squeezes my hand.
He spins around, holding a spatula at chest level. Sweat’s dripping down his face. I think I see pancake batter in his hair. Smoke billows from a small frying pan on the gas burner.
“Oh.”
As soon as that lame statement escapes my mouth, I clamp it shut. I don’t want to say anything else, because it’s going to be super stupid, whatever it is. And probably embarrassing.
I try very hard not to look at his underwear.
“I hope you’re hungry, because I’m cooking,” he says. He glances at the frying pan, and he wipes his forehead with the back of his hand.
“I think Emma wants Cap’n Crunch,” Jasmine says. I want to high-five her for her smart diplomacy, but I hold back.
“Why would…?” Finn glances at the burned mess in the frying pan. “Right.”
“Hey, Jasmine. How about I make coffee while you get the cereal?”
She smiles at me, as if we’ve just shared a sweet victory. We’re brothers in arms—sisters in arms. Walking around the kitchen’s massive island, I head toward the coffee machine.
Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look.
The boxer briefs are black, to match the dusting of hair on his legs. I’ve seen men’s underwear ads in glossy magazines, and Mr. MacLaine fills out his briefs better than any male model I’ve ever seen.
I turn on the faucet to fill the coffee pot with water, feeling the heat spread all over my face and neck. I’m probably bright red. Again. I try to avert my eyes, but my eyes aren’t cooperating. They’re determined to look again, because I have to be seeing things, surely. That can’t possibly be…
“Uh…” He mumbles. He turns off the burner and sprints around the island to the other side so his bottom half is no longer in view. “I lost my pants this morning. I mean, my brother Cal took my pants.”
“He took your pants,” I repeat, inserting a coffee filter and filling it up with a dark, fine grind. Because what else am I supposed to say? What kind of brother would take someone’s pants and not give him something else to wear? Even a robe or something, for crying out loud!
“Because he was naked,” my new boss says. “See, we kidnapped him, and he was standing there in the dirt right in the middle of snake country, so he needed pants. He’s leaving for his honeymoon today, so…”
I power on the coffeemaker, turn from the countertop, and smile politely.
He looks down at himself. “I guess I need pants, too. You know what? I’m going to get dressed and then I’m going to leave because I have work to do.”
“I have work to do, too,” I say, glancing at the mess he’s made. “I’ll get the house ship-shape by the time you get back.”
He nods absentmindedly.
“Come on, Jasmine. You can spend the day with Aunt Phyllis,” he says.
“I want to stay with Emma!”
“Go upstairs and get your stuff, please.”
It sounds like a command. His tone of voice leaves no room for discussion, and Jasmine does what she’s told.
And yet he’s not being mean. The way he spoke was firm but loving. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard a dad talk to his kid like that.
When Jasmine leaves, I decide to tackle the dishes, but Mr. MacLaine doesn’t move. I know he’s going to do the talk with me. I don’t know what exactly he’s going to say, but I know it’s the talk. I’ve had too many jobs not to recognize a boss who’s having second thoughts about hiring me.
“I don’t want you alone with Jasmine until the background check is done,” he says.
I nod, not looking at him. I’ve never had a background check before, but I pretend I’m cool with it and it happens every day.
“And I wrote up some rules.”
I turn around to see him open a drawer and pull out some papers that have been typed up and stapled together. He hands them to me across the kitchen island counter, careful not to give me an eyeful again.
The list is long. There are so many rules that I’ll never remember them all. I may have to separate the pages and tape them to the front of the refrigerator to keep track.
I do a quick scan of the numbered items and notice stuff about not touching things and not opening drawers. It’ll be kind of hard to put away the clean silverware and folded clothes without opening drawers, but sure, you’re the boss.
I agree to the rules. I know that as soon as he sees the quality of my work, he’ll loosen up. I’m used to bad bosses. I’ve had a lot of them.
“Okay, then,” he says, but he doesn’t move. The coffee machine starts to gurgle and spurt, breaking through the silence.
I glance up to see his face shadowed with worry. I know his wife died many years ago, but this looks like a man who’s carrying around a lot of hurt and pain that’s still fresh. “It’ll be okay, Mr. MacLaine.”
Did I really just say that to my boss? I did. I said it because I think he needs to hear it.
“It’ll be okay,” he repeats.
We lock eyes. I stand straighter. My face goes hot again, and my body follows. As we stare at each other from opposite sides of the island, I feel a sudden rush of energy coming off of him. And that’s when the craziest thought lands with a thud in my brain.
I think my boss is going to kiss me.
Actually, I know he’s going to kiss me.
But I’m wrong.
He turns and marches out of the kitchen. I fall back against the kitchen cabinets and catch my breath, staring at his boxer-briefed backside as he walks away.
When he’s out of sight, I bend over and put my head between my knees.