Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Ella
“Where is it?” Mara shouts at me as I clean the dishes, forearms deep in foam, mentally noting that I have to leave in an hour if I do not want to miss the bus. Her steps come closer, repeating the question louder, as if I were deaf.
“Mother, I’m sure she didn’t steal it. Valeria had…” Emily intervenes from the back, her breathy, high-pitched voice defenseless against her mother. A hand clutches my shoulder, tearing me back as water splashes onto the large cream square tiles.
“Where are they? Huh?”
I sign quickly, “What are you looking for? I don’t understand.”
“You don’t under…” The slap hits my face like steel.
My face turns to the side, the motion unnatural, unusual.
Emily lets out a scream, silenced by her palm.
Mara does not often hit me. It is only when she is on the edge, which did not happen a lot back then but seems to happen more frequently nowadays.
If I had forgotten to iron her bed just the way she liked, slap.
If I did not tell her the nurse was coming for extra care one day, slap.
I never fought back, and I do not think I ever will.
Mom used to say, you cannot kill fire with fire.
And I am well aware that my height is not much against her top-model stature.
Besides, hitting her, or anyone, would feel like a black mark on my forehead, one I could never unsee in the mirror.
“My emeralds, idiot,” Mara snaps, wearing a cream strapless cocktail dress cinched at the waist and ending mid-thigh. “Where are they? Did you take them so you could play rich, huh? Talk.” She slaps me again, and it burns, tiny blood vessels bursting beneath my skin.
I sign fast, “On your dresser, next to your necklace. I cleaned them earlier. I’m so sorry you couldn’t find them.” Scanning me from head to toe, her jaw shifting to the side in disgust, she shakes her head as if I am the one attacking her.
“And you couldn’t just say it earlier? Look how much time I lost because of you,” she shouts, trying to slap me again.
But I step back on reflex, protecting myself with my forearm while Emily cries, “Ella!” Mara points her index finger at my nose and murmurs, “If I catch you stealing from me, I will make you regret the day you were born.” With a trembling shake, I nod and watch her leave in her silky, expensive dress, her hair curled perfectly over one shoulder, like royalty.
I exhale, touching my cheek to assess the damage.
“Ella.” Emily rushes to me, glancing at the living room and the hallway to see if Mara is still there.
At least Dad was sleeping soundly when I checked on him earlier.
I hope he did not hear this. “I’m…I’m so sorry, Ella,” Emily murmurs, her brows drawing together, palm over her mouth.
“Mother can be…you know. You didn’t do anything wrong.
It’s just… She’s trying to sell all our things, and you know how valuable those earrings are.
With all these men coming around now, she said it’s urgent for her to pay them or-” she fidgets, stumbling over her words, “-and Valeria keeps saying we should just do what she says until it’s over, but… ”
“Emily!” Mara shouts from the entryway. Selling her jewellery?
And what about those men? Emily shakes her head, her fingers fidgeting in front of her stomach.
Covered in a long formal purple dress, her hair slicked back with a pearl headband, she rushes to her mother, leaving me alone in the kitchen with water on the floor and a pulsing red cheek.
I rest my hip against the sink, closing my eyes.
I am back in Eastern Park. And he is looking at me like I am made of the rarest gems. He does not talk. He is just there, with me, and it seems that neither of us wants this moment to end.
I look back at the clock above the fridge.
It is almost time. Perhaps I will see him tonight.
Or perhaps I will not. Either way, I will keep this memory in my pocket and hold it when life gets too hard.
Like tonight. I will cherish it in my mind, as vanishing as it was, that for what seemed like two minutes of my life, I was happy.
* * *
Turns out, a red cheek is not that easy to hide when you are not wearing makeup.
And because I did not have time to find a scarf or a strategy to conceal it well, I get a few looks on the bus before I arrive at Ashford Building.
Ronny is there, like last week, lifting his hat as I step past the large transparent gates.
Waving at him, I hear him call from behind the counter, “Good evening, Miss Ella.”
I offer him a smile, enjoying the presence of someone kind around me.
“Wait for me!” Anja calls behind me, and I turn, watching her arrive in jeans and an I love the 2000s T-shirt with glitter and a dolphin, her natural curls disciplined into a high ponytail.
She winks at Ronny. “Looking good, Ron.” Then hugs me with one arm, the other holding a glossy leather handbag.
Ron does not reply, his lips parting in shock and what I gather is a slight appreciative bow.
Despite being around the same age, you can tell that Ronny is the kind of man who was born to enjoy silence, books, and black-and-white movies.
I point at her T-shirt and say silently, “Love it,” which most people can lip-read.
“Really? Got it secondhand. Look how the glitter makes my waist look so snatched, right?” She angles herself in two different directions so I can appreciate the motion of the sparkles, and I acquiesce, chuckling, because one, I truly love her shirt, and two, this is the most Anja thing she could have told me.
“How are the kids?” I sign, knowing she has been trying to learn a few sentences since we started working together, and that she is beginning to pick up on many words, which is really impressive for a beginner.
“Jessie’s having her birthday party next week.
Can you believe it, huh? She’s growing up so fast I want to smooch her little face and kiss it,” she says as we walk to the elevator, the doors opening.
“And Troy’s stealing my lipstick to draw on walls.
That…” She roars. “If my landlord sees it, I’m a dead woman, Ella. ”
“Have you tried bicarbonate? It can remove it if you let it sit long enough,” I sign, but she watches me with a wince.
“Sorry, I didn’t catch that.” I take out my phone, open my notes app, and write it down. “Oh, I’ll definitely give it a go. Thanks, Ella.” She pats my shoulder as I watch the floor numbers rise, my heart rate pulsing faster as we get closer to the thirty-second floor.
“What about you? Wait. What in the world is this?” She points at my cheek, and I cover it fast with my hand.
“Nothing,” I say silently. She removes my hand delicately.
“Uh, nothing? You mean like when my ex beat me and I had a black eye and told everyone at work I had fallen down the stairs? That sort of nothing?” she challenges me with an arched brow. I shrug in response.
“Is it at home?” she asks. I nod, because why should I hide things from Anja when she has always been honest with me?
“Want me to intervene? That’s not okay. No one has the right to hit you, Ella.
You get that, right?” I type, It was a misunderstanding, really.
I don’t think it’ll ever happen again. This time, I hate myself for lying to her, because I never want to do that, but sometimes you have to.
Because good people like Anja would go to the bottom of it to save me, and she already has enough on her plate.
“I’ll tell you what. If I see this on your face again, Ella, I’ll drive right up Fancy Road Mansion and give that stepmother of yours a piece of my mind.
You get me?” I hear the motherly side of her taking over our friendship.
Her kids are really lucky to have her. There is no doubt that anyone trying to hurt them would end up at the receiving end of Anja’s wrath.
All I can do is nod and mutter a silent thank you as the door opens.
“That’s me,” she says with a sigh. She steps out, her hand blocking the door, looking at me with a struggle in her eyes.
So I come closer and hug her, then lean back, saying, “I’m okay. Don’t worry,” as she reads my lips. She sighs, swallowing, lips pressed in deep thought.
“If you ever need… I have a fourth mattress at home. It wouldn’t be as grand as your house, but, you know, it’s there if you ever…
” She does not finish her sentence, and I offer her a smile, holding all the affection I have for her, bowing my head to show her I heard her clearly and will keep this option in the back of my mind.
If I had had a big sister, I wish it had been Anja.
“Thank you,” I say. She blows me a kiss as the doors close, my back finding the wall, my knuckles touching my cheek gently.
A dim sanguine light welcomes me to the thirty-second floor, its scent clinical and airy.
I step forward, catching any sound that could betray a presence.
Alas, it is only me. Why would he be here?
He is a CEO with most likely enormous responsibilities and better things to do than chat with a maid at nine pm.
A pang of disappointment hits my stomach, but I shake it off.
Today was already difficult enough, but it is not over.
I can still spin it around and finish on a high note, with a job well done and a good podcast. At this point, my ability to find joy is the only button I can control.
I would bet my life on the fact that even prisoners find paper-thin joy in watching the sunrise from their cell windows. If they do, then so can I.