Page 37 of The Maid

“For you,” she says. “You earned it.”

“What? This is a lot of money, Giselle.”

“I never tipped you yesterday. Consider this your tip.”

“But I never finished cleaning the suite yesterday.”

“That’s not your fault. You just keep that. And let’s pretend this conversation never happened.”

I, for one, will never be able to forget this conversation, but I don’t say that out loud.

She stands and turns to the door, but then stops and faces me. “One more thing, Molly. I’ve got a favor to ask of you.”

I immediately wonder if this will involve ironing or laundry, so I’m surprised by what comes next.

“Do you think you might be able to get into our suite still? It’s cordoned off right now. But I left something in there, something I desperately need back. I tucked it up in the bathroom fan.”

That explains it, the clunky sound I heard yesterday when she was in the bathroom, showering.

“What is it you want me to retrieve?”

“My gun,” she says, her voice neutral and calm. “I’m at risk, Molly. I’m vulnerable now that Mr. Black is gone. Everyone wants a piece of me. I need protection.”

“I see,” I reply. But in truth, this request produces raging anxiety. I feel my throat closing. I feel the world tilt around me. I think of Mr. Snow’s advice—“When a guest asks for something above and beyond, consider it a challenge. Don’t dismiss it. Rise to meet it!”

“I’ll do my best,” I say, but the words catch. “To retrieve your…item.” I stand in front of her, at attention.

“Bless your heart, Molly Maid,” she says, throwing her arms around me again. “Don’t believe what anyone says. You’re not a freak. Or a robot. And I’ll never forget this as long as I live. You’ll see. I swear, I won’t forget.”

She rushes over to the front door, retrieves her glossy high heels from the closet, and slips them on. She’s left her teacup behind on the table rather than carrying it to the kitchen as Gran would have. She has not, however, forgotten her yellow purse, which she slings over her shoulder. She opens my front door, blows me a kiss, and waves goodbye.

A thought occurs to me.

“Wait,” I say. She’s down the hall, nearly at the stairs. “Giselle, how did you know where to find me? How did you get my home address?”

She turns around. “Oh,” she says. “Someone at the hotel gave it to me.”

“Who?” I ask.

She squints. “Hmm…. Can’t quite remember. But don’t worry. I won’t bug you all the time or anything. And thanks, Molly. For the tea. For the talk. For being you.”

And with that she flicks her sunglasses down, pulls open the broken fire door, and leaves.

My alarm clock rings the next morning. It’s the sound of a rooster crowing. Even all these months later, I hear Gran’s feet padding down the hallway, the gentle rap of her knuckles on my door.

Rise and shine, my girl! It’s a new day.Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle as she busies herself in the kitchen making us English Breakfast tea and crumpets with marmalade.

But no, it isn’t real. It’s only a memory. I push the button on my alarm to stop the crowing and immediately check my phone just in case Rodney texted me overnight. Messages: nil.

I put my two feet flat on the parquet floor. No matter. I will go to work today. I will see Rodney there. I will take the temperature of our relationship. I will move things forward. I will help Giselle because she’s a friend who needs me. I will know just what to do.

I stretch and get out of bed. Before doing anything else, I pull off all the sheets and the quilt to make the bed properly.

If you’re going to do something, do it right.

Very true, Gran. I start with the top sheet, snapping it crisply and replacing it on the bed. Tuck, tuck. Hospital corners. Next, I sort Gran’squilt, smoothing it neatly, pointing the star north as always. I fluff up the pillows, placing them against the headboard at a regimented forty-five-degree angle, two plump hillocks with crochet fringe.

I go to the kitchen and prepare my own crumpets and tea. I notice the grating sound of my teeth against the crust every time I take a bite. Why is it that when Gran was alive I never heard the horrible sounds I make?

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