Page 31 of The Maid's Secret

“Rise and shine,mi amor!” he chimes as he pulls the covers back and plants kisses on my forehead. “Today’s an exciting, brand-new day!”

I attach myself to his positive energy, letting it propel me to my feet, but the moment I turn on my phone, it vibrates like a rattlesnake.

“Juan,” I say, as I take the phone to the kitchen. He’s bare-chested, wearing Gran’s old paisley apron and scrambling eggs for two as he does most mornings. “Look,” I say.

He sets his spatula down and takes my phone. My voicemail has filled to capacity, and there are hundreds of text messages from total strangers, not to mention more emails than I’ve ever received in my life.

“Madre mía,”says Juan. “Molly, you’re the It Girl.”

“What do we do?” I ask him.

“Keep calm and carry on,” he says.

“Right,” I say. But my response sounds hollow even to my own ears.

Juan and I get ready for work and are out the door before 8:00a.m. As we leave our building, we spot my gran-dad standing in the parking lot by his car. He waves us over.

“Mr.Preston?” Juan says. “What are you doing here?”

“Is everything okay?” I ask.

“Everything’s fine,” he replies. “Molly, I tried to call you.”

“Let me guess, my voicemail was full.”

“Precisely. I saw you on the TV last night. And Mr.Snow called to tell me what Cheryl did. That woman really is lower to the ground than a squirrel’s behind. Mr.Snow and I thought it best if I drove you both to work today rather than you walking.”

“Nonsense,” I say. “Juan and I walk to work every day. Why should today be any different?”

But the moment I say it, a local news van pulls into the parking lot. Juan sees it, too, and his eyes go wide.

“Car’s open,” says Mr.Preston. “Hop in.”

I jump in the front while Juan gets in the back. Gran-dad peels out of the parking lot before our belts are even buckled.

“I don’t understand,” I say once we’re halfway down the street. “Why does everyone want to talk to me so badly?”

“You’re a bit like the Fabergé,” my gran-dad says. “Suddenly, people see your value.”

“Wait till theHidden Treasuresepisode airs,” Juan says.

“They moved it forward to tena.m.today. The network’s been running ads nonstop,” Gran-dad says. “It’s bound to draw more attention to both of you, so be vigilant.”

“I have a funny feeling about all of this,” I say. It’s like an alarm in my belly, an unsettling agitation that won’t be ignored.

“Me, too,” says Juan.

“Listen, Molly,” Gran-dad says as we near the hotel, “I was watching you onstage yesterday when you opened your shoebox. And I meant to tell you I recognized some of your gran’s old things. I can shed light on them if you’d like.”

Leave it to Mr.Preston to detect my anxiety and attempt to distract me from it. “That’s very kind,” I say. “Maybe another time?”

“Of course,” my gran-dad replies. “Only when you’re ready.”

As we pull up to the hotel, Speedy lopes down the stairs and opens my door.

“Look who’s here! It’s Eminem-inem.”

I don’t have the bandwidth today for Speedy’s newfangled gibberish. “Do me a favor and speak English?” I plead.

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