Over twenty years ago…

“And you are aware that it’s a live-in position?” the woman opposite me asked.

My heart sank. I really needed this job. Up until that one little condition, I’d been so hopeful.

“I have a teenage daughter,” I told her. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

“Wait,” she requested, as I got up to leave. “Another bedroom can be arranged, if that’s the only problem. The school bus stops near the bottom of the driveway. And there are several other teenagers in the neighbourhood.”

I sat back down. “Can you tell me a little more about the area? We’ve only been in New York a short time and I’m not even really sure where Sleepyside is.”

Margery Trask nodded and began to describe a place so perfect it couldn’t possibly be real. Plenty of space and sunshine and bluebirds flying over the rainbow. I may have made that last part up. Because if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is.

“If that sounds suitable, I’d like to offer you a six-week trial,” she concluded.

I pretended to consider carefully. As if I had any choice but to take it.

“Yes, I think that sounds just fine, thanks,” I answered, after what I thought was the right amount of time. “When will I start?”

“As soon as you can.” She sounded a little apologetic. As if she was inconveniencing me. “Tomorrow would be perfect, but I will certainly understand if you need more time.”

I tried to glance at my watch, but it wasn’t on my wrist. I bit back the curse I wanted to use. Now was not the time to show that side of me – whatever time it actually was.

“It’s just a little after eleven,” she informed me.

“Thank you.” I tried to smile, but couldn’t quite manage it. “I think we can be packed in a couple of hours. If I’m cooking breakfast in the morning, I’ll need to travel there tonight. Is there a train?”

“Yes,” she answered, looking relieved. “But the chauffeur is picking me up at five. You’re both most welcome to ride with me and we can stop on the way for something to eat. If that time is not suitable, I can change it.”

“No, no. Five is plenty of time,” I told her. “Will I meet you here?”

She looked surprised, but there was no way I wanted her to see the dump where we were staying.

“We can collect you.” Then her expression changed just a little and I knew that she knew. “Or you can meet us at the Wheelers’ apartment building if you prefer.”

I told her that I preferred not to give extra trouble. She handed over the address and I signed the contract after pretending to read it.

“I look forward to seeing you at five, Mrs. Mason.” She smiled and we both stood up. “Thank you for your time.”

“Thank you, Miss Trask,” I answered, not knowing what else to say. “And please, call me Connie.”

She told me to call her Marge and we shook hands and I left with a bundle of papers in my hand and a kind of dread filling my chest.

Don’t get me wrong. I was happy to actually have a job. More than happy. And happy we’d have a better place to live – because anywhere would be better than where we were. I just couldn’t quite imagine Kimberly being happy about us moving again so soon. Not after I dragged her what she insisted was halfway across the country on a moment’s notice. It wasn’t either of those things, but who was I to argue?

Kimberly is my daughter, by the way. Fourteen years old. Pretty, in an awkward kind of way, if I do say so myself. And a born cynic. Or, at least, it seems that way sometimes. Life hasn’t treated either of us well.

I rode the subway and made it back to the cheap motel without one single wrong turn. The first day we were here, I thought I’d never find the place again and that the few bits and pieces I’d salvaged of our old life were lost forever. In the two weeks since then, I’ve learned to find my way around.

“It’s just me,” I called, as I opened the door and went inside. “I’ve got some news.”

She scowled and continued to stare at the television, which was playing a repeat of a sitcom from about ten years ago. It might have been Who’s The Boss? I flicked the off button and the screen went blank.

“I was watching that,” she protested.

I rolled my eyes. “You’ve seen it before.” She didn’t argue with that, so I knew I was right. “I’ve got a job. For six weeks, anyway. We’ll see, after that. And I have to start tomorrow, early.”

She started shaking her head slowly. “You’re taking us somewhere else, aren’t you?”

“I really need this job,” I told her, as gently as I could. “And the place sounded really nice.”

This time, she rolled her eyes. She’s her mother’s daughter.

“He’s probably lying to you.”

I shrugged. “She might have been. But I’ve got enough money for two more days here and after that we’d be out on the streets. It’s the first genuine job offer I’ve had. I don’t have a choice.”

She looked down, still frowning, then she nodded. “Fine. What do I have to do?”

I took a look around the room. “We need to pack. Then, we need to get to this address by five this afternoon.”

I handed her the paper and she reached for the crumpled, old tourist map she’d snitched from somewhere. After a minute or so, she traced the route we’d need to take. If I’m honest, this is how I learned to navigate New York City. My daughter is a whole lot better with maps than I am.

She switched the television back on. “Packing will take about ten minutes. I’m watching the rest of this first.”

I felt my shoulders sag a little. She wasn’t far wrong.

At quarter to five, the two of us walked along the street towards my new employers’ apartment building and I started feeling more anxious by the minute. I mean, sure, the office building where my interview was held was fancy. But that didn’t mean much, did it? Only now, it started to occur to me just how rich people would have to be to employ a live-in cook.

We found the right building just before ten to the hour and Marge was waiting for us in the lobby. She smiled a greeting, but I saw the surprise in her face when she saw Kimberly. Because, at first glance, we don’t look much alike. My hair is dark brown and stick-straight. Hers is the richest auburn and wavy. She hates it, but I’ve always loved it.

“You’re here in good time,” she greeted, as the doorman let us in. “Is that all the luggage you have?”

I nodded. “We’re travelling light until we have a permanent base.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie. Marge was tactful enough to accept it, but I could see that she’d guessed that I had nothing else to my name.

I introduced my daughter and Marge talked to her about school and sport and I don’t know what else while we waited. The woman sure has a way with teenagers. I can hardly get that girl to string a whole sentence together.

At about thirty seconds to five, she took us outside and almost at once a big, dark blue car pulled up. She didn’t wait for the chauffeur, but stowed our bags herself. Then she got in the front passenger seat and let Kimberly and me share the back.

“Tom, I’d like you to meet Connie Mason and her daughter Kimberly.” Marge looked over her shoulder to us. “This is Tom Delanoy. He and his wife both work at Manor House. You’ll meet Celia when we arrive.”

“Speaking of Celia, she asked me to tell you that everything is ready,” Tom commented. “The two rooms are made up and the staff sitting room is nice and clean and she’s even gotten in some groceries.”

“That is extremely helpful,” Marge told him, then turned to me. “I’m afraid that our last cook left the kitchen in a state that it should never be in. Tomorrow, I’d like you to do an inventory of the pantry and we’ll get it completely restocked. And we’ll find someone to show Kimberly around, because I’m sure she would find that very dull.”

But my girl doesn’t like being foisted off on strangers. I saw her chin rise a little.

“I don’t need to be babysat.”

Marge smiled. “No, of course you don’t. I meant someone your own age. The Wheelers’ daughter Honey is about the same age as you. I expect she will offer when she meets you this evening. If she doesn’t, there are several others around and it shouldn’t take long to find someone you’d be comfortable with.”

Comfortable? With my employer’s daughter? The one that I’d just decided must be fabulously wealthy? Oh, no. Now, that was something that I’d just have to put my foot down about. There was no way that my Kimberly should be mixing with the rich people. The last thing I need right now is for her to get in with the wrong crowd.

I don’t know if Marge saw my face. Maybe she noticed and was being tactful again, or maybe she didn’t. Either way, she started talking to the chauffeur about something else and left us in peace. Kimberly looked out the window with that little frown she sometimes has. I don’t know if she was thinking the same thing I was; probably not. But she wasn’t happy about all this.

Eventually, we arrived at the house – or would you call it a mansion? Whatever it was, it was big and white and just about surrounded by trees. I felt like I’d never seen so many trees all at once. I’ve always been a city girl and I never did have money to travel.

“Kitchen door?” the chauffeur asked, when we’d almost reached the top of the steep driveway.

Marge nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

He took the turning to the right and pulled up near the back corner of the house where a large turn-around had been built, big enough for a delivery truck. The whole area was screened so that the family wouldn’t ever need to see this place. We got out and Marge started unloading our luggage.

“I’ll show you to your rooms first,” she explained, “then, if you would like to, I can show you the kitchen.”

“Thanks,” I answered, as I grabbed as much as I could.

We went inside and up some stairs, right to the top of the house. And that’s when I started hoping that I’d keep this job when the six weeks were up. Because the staff quarters here were nice. Not fancy or anything. But clean and comfortable and so quiet after New York. And did I mention fully air-conditioned?

I let Kimberly choose one of the rooms and I took the other. The third bedroom up there was unused at the moment, Marge explained, but there might be someone moving into it soon. Down the end of the hall was a little sitting room with a window that looked out on still more trees. At the opposite end was a bathroom for us to share.

“When you’re ready, come downstairs and find me,” she told me.

I thanked her again and waited until she’d gone.

“What do you think, so far?” I asked Kimberly.

She heaved a sigh. “I feel like we’ve been sent to live in someone’s secret attic.”

I shook my head. “It’s not like you’ve been locked in here. And school goes back in about a week.”

She gave me that look. You know the one.

“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

This time, I was the one to sigh. “I know you didn’t want to move, but I didn’t have a whole lot of choice. Your father made pretty sure of that.”

I didn’t want to remind her of that part. I know it hurt her to find out just how much debt he’d racked up, how much of our life was lived on borrowed money that he could never afford to repay. He’d stolen everything of value I’d ever owned to try to keep his own head above water. He’d gambled away every penny and he wasn’t even sorry that we were paying the price for his problem. He still didn’t even admit that he had a problem.

“But this is a new life for us,” I went on. “We don’t have to worry about the debt collectors any more. They’re not our debts.”

I really hoped that last part was true. I was a little vague on the legalities of pursuing someone’s estranged wife for their debts. And who’s to say some of it wasn’t done in my name?

“So let’s get unpacked. I want to see where I’ll be working.”

She wandered off to her room, but I doubt that she actually unpacked. I arranged my things in the closet and drawers. There was plenty of room to spare and it took hardly any time at all.

“I’m going downstairs now,” I called to Kimberly, then headed for the stairs.

The door on the left, I remembered, was the one we came in by. I turned to the right and walked through a room with a big, plain table with chairs all around – servant’s dining hall, maybe? Beyond that was the kitchen, I could see, but I didn’t see Marge anywhere. A door opened while I was still thinking about what to do and she came through it.

Next thing I know, she’s showing me the huge chalkboard planner I’d have to consult to know how many I’m cooking for and going through the preferences of every single member of the household. And I find myself thinking this is going to be a whole lot more complicated than I thought.

While we were going over the kitchen – and Marge was apologising to me for its state; seriously, this is the best kitchen I’ve ever been in and she wants to apologise? – Kimberly peeks in. She looked curious, but a bit uncertain, too. Marge invited her in and she slunk around the edges of the room, not really daring to touch anything.

And then the swing door opened.

“I really don’t think there is,” a teenage girl was saying to someone behind her, “but there’s no harm in looking, is there?”

“I don’t know,” a teenage boy answered. “Knowing the last cook, there might be anything in there.”

One look at him and I knew there were worse things than Kimberly socialising with the rich people. Because I knew somehow that this boy had a past. And he was right here, in my kitchen. Well, it would be my kitchen. From tomorrow.

A whole crowd of teenagers came in and most of them thought that what the dark-haired boy had said was pretty funny.

“Oh, Miss Trask!” the first girl cried out. “You found a new cook. Oh, that’s wonderful.”

“This is Mrs. Mason and her daughter Kimberly,” Marge told them.

“Call me Connie,” I corrected, maybe just a bit too firmly. I didn’t want to be reminded of Archie every time someone spoke to me, but they didn’t need to know that.

Marge nodded and began introducing the hoard of teenagers. She started with the daughter of the house, then went on to three siblings who lived in the house just down the hill, a pretty dark-haired girl from somewhere close by and finished up with the boy who’d spoken first. The more I saw of him the less I liked.

“Where’s Jim?” she asked at the end.

“He’ll be here soon,” the first girl – Honey – answered. “He was just talking to Tom about something to do with the brakes on the station wagon. We were thinking of going to Bear Mountain for a picnic tomorrow, but we won’t if the brakes aren’t right.” She turned to my daughter. “If we do go, would you like to come with us?”

Kimberly looked stunned for a moment, then blurted out, “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

I’d have to talk to her about this later, I decided.

Honey told me, in a rambling kind of way, how glad she was to meet us and how good it was that we’d come. Then she and the whole gang started poking through the refrigerator. Marge went back to showing me around, but I kept getting distracted by the conversation behind me.

“Ugh! What is that?” the blonde girl asked.

“It tasted terrible the first time we had it and that must have been more than a week ago,” Honey commented. “I don’t think anyone will mind if I throw it out.”

And then the rich girl started scraping out the dish. I didn’t know rich people did that kind of thing. In fact, what was I even here for, if they did the work themselves?

“There really isn’t anything in here.” The blonde girl closed the refrigerator. “Let’s try the pantry instead.”

That moment, the swing door opened again and I began to understand that maybe that look she got when she first met Marge wasn’t because Kimberly didn’t look much like me. Because the teenage boy who came in had hair even redder than hers. Marge introduced him, but she didn’t explain why he had a different surname to the rest of the family. Maybe rich people have blended families too?

“Saved from certain starvation!” the blond boy called out, clutching something dramatically to his chest.

“I don’t think you were actually going to starve, Mart,” the older brother told him. “Not after the three hamburgers you ate earlier.”

Honey went straight to the right place and pulled out a big pan. And then the rich girl started popping corn on the stove. Again, why am I here?

Marge led me back to the dining room, but Kimberly got drawn into the conversation in the kitchen.

“She’ll be fine,” Marge told me, though I didn’t really believe her.

She made some comment about how responsible and hard-working they all were, but I wasn’t really listening.

“Now, just to go over what’s happening in the morning, you’ll need to have the staff breakfasts ready early because Regan, in particular, is an early riser.” She pointed to the chalkboard. “Do you remember how to read this?”

I nodded and counted out the breakfasts I’d need to have ready and the times they’d be served. “And early is no trouble. I’m an early riser, too.”

“Excellent.” She smiled at me and I wondered a little about my predecessor. “Is there anything else you need to know?”

“Not for the moment,” I answered, suddenly feeling weary. “I think I’ll make it an early night.”

She went back into the room she’d first come out of – an office, I think – and I took myself upstairs and off to bed. I never did hear Kimberly come up.

In the morning, I woke with the birds. So many birds. For a minute, I hardly knew where I was. I switched off the alarm before it rang and got started on the day. Kimberly wouldn’t wake for a long time, so I didn’t even peek in on her.

I’d made a plan for breakfast and I got started on it right away. It was a little difficult, working in an unfamiliar kitchen, but I really am a good cook and I made it work. I was within a minute or two of being ready to serve up when someone came in.

“Morning,” the man greeted. “Smells good.”

“Thanks,” I answered, not turning to look at him. “It’ll be ready in a minute.”

He retreated to the staff dining room and I finished up. I plated up a serving for each of us and popped the rest into the oven to keep warm. Then I picked up the two plates and carried them through.

I nearly dropped one of them when I saw him. Another redhead. Okay, so maybe that’s what that look meant.

He introduced himself and so did I. We didn’t talk much – he was pretty busy eating – but I did find out that he was the uncle of that boy I didn’t like when I met him the night before. Not that I told him that, of course.

But Regan didn’t ask probing questions and I appreciated that about him. I found him restful company while he was there. The minute he’d finished, though, he was off, carrying his own plate back to the kitchen.

Before I knew it, the rest of the staff started turning up and I was kept busy all the way up until the teenagers were due to eat – seven teenagers, because apparently they were having a house party.

“Four teenage-boy-sized breakfasts, please,” Celia asked, as she entered the room. “Here, let me help.”

She handled the plates like she’d been doing it all her life as we served up, then she carried all four out to the table at once. I felt pleased right then. It’s always easier to do your job when the people around you really know theirs.

“The girls are here, now,” she announced on her way back in. “They’re earlier than I expected.”

“Well, it’s all ready,” I told her, picking up three plates and beginning again.

“You’ll need four,” Celia pointed out.

I stopped. “What do you mean?”

Celia looked confused. “Honey, Trixie, Diana and Kimberly.”

“My Kimberly?” I shook my head. “No, she can’t eat out there in the main dining room. She should be back here in the kitchen.”

“But Honey invited her,” Celia told me, in a manner that I found gratingly gentle. “The Wheelers aren’t the kind of people who discriminate about money, or background, or any of those kinds of things.”

I wanted to say that maybe they should. But I held my tongue and picked up another plate. Celia carried those through as well and I began thinking about what would be next. I went and took a look at the chalkboard, which seemed a bit vague on details about who’d be in for lunch. That’s where Marge found me.

“Honey has asked for a packed picnic for eight,” she told me. “They’re going down to the lake for a swim before they go, so we probably have an hour and a half to get that ready. I think we might do lunch sacks for Tom and Regan at the same time, which will free the rest of us up to handle the mess in here.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Sounds like my kind of plan, though I didn’t say so.

Marge rearranged the magnets in the square for tonight’s dinner, which told who would be in. “Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler’s plans have changed and they won’t be back for dinner. And the teenagers will be at the Beldens’ tonight, so it will just be the staff.”

“I’ll fix a big pot of something,” I decided, thinking through the available ingredients.

Right then, Celia called me back to the kitchen to serve out second helpings for those hungry boys. After that, I got everything cleaned up and the lunches packed and we got down to business in getting the kitchen in order.

We ended up spending the whole day on it and even then we didn’t finish. Was I ever glad when lunchtime came that I’d pre-made lunches for Marge, Celia and me when I did everyone else’s. Most of the time I was too busy to think about anything other than what I was doing, but every so often my mind would stray after Kimberly and what she might be doing.

She poked her head into the kitchen around dusk, while I was giving the pot a stir.

“Is it okay if I go to the Beldens’ tonight?” she asked me, looking deferential on the surface, but defiant underneath.

I really wanted to just say no. I wanted that so much. But she’s all I’ve got left. And what if she went anyway? What if she didn’t, but resented me for it and made up her stubborn little mind to get even further into this group of completely inappropriate friends?

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” I asked. “They’re not just inviting you to be polite?”

“They’re not like that at all!”

I don’t think I believed her. But I said, “Oh, all right,” in that resigned tone of voice that mothers use when they don’t really want to agree, but don’t have a good enough reason to stand firm.

“Thanks!” she called, while practically dancing out of the room.

I wish I had that much energy.

The next day started out the same way, except that I did look in on Kimberly and made sure she was sleeping in her own bed. I probably shouldn’t have, but I stopped and watched her sleep for a minute or so, wondering how to handle the situation we found ourselves in. Then it was downstairs to make the breakfasts, to share a table with Regan while I ate mine, to consult with Marge on the plans for the day and to finish off the cleaning up.

Just before I started on lunch, I got my first surprise of the day. The swing door opened a crack and an elegantly dressed woman peeked inside. I stopped what I was doing and tried to look deferential or polite or something. I don’t know if it worked.

“May I come in?” the woman asked.

“Of course,” I answered. It was her house. Who was I to refuse?

She came right into the kitchen, looking like she had no idea what she was doing there, and we both introduced ourselves. Now that I could see all of her, she looked just like her daughter. But while her daughter knew where the pans were kept and how to turn on the burners, this woman didn’t seem to consider this a part of her own house.

“I just wanted to discuss with you the menu for Saturday,” she told me, but I thought that was probably an excuse – especially when she had no ideas of her own and just deferred to all of my suggestions.

Before she left, she brought up the thing she’d really come to discuss with me.

“Honey tells me you have a daughter just a little younger than her,” she mentioned, looking oh-so-casual.

Here we go, I thought to myself.

I nodded. “My Kimberly is fourteen.”

“I suppose she will go to school in Sleepyside?” She smiled a little tentatively. “We’ve been very pleased with the school, both for Jim and Honey. It’s been so much better for Honey to go there, than to her previous school. Jim graduated in June and he has done very well there, too.”

That kind of confused me, I’ll admit. I’d been expecting her to warn me off, but she seemed to be encouraging me to send Kimberly to the same school as Honey.

“That’s good to know,” I answered.

She smiled again and kind of floated out of the room. And I didn’t know what to think about her at all.

The second surprise of the day happened right after lunch, when a redheaded man pushed the door open and strode inside. Seriously? How many redheads can one house hold? I guessed right away who he must be. Unlike his wife, he acted like he was in charge.

“I thought I’d drop in, introduce myself, and tell you how much I enjoyed the dressing on the salad,” he told me, after telling me his name. “Did I taste fresh ginger?”

“Are you asking me to give away my secrets, Mr. Wheeler?” I asked him – then I lost my nerve and gave in before he reacted. “Yes, in fact, you did.”

“Delicious.” He smiled. “I even convinced my wife to try it, though she’s not so fond of ginger as I am. She said it was refreshing and I have to agree.”

“Thank you.”

I waited, wanting to get on with my dinner preparations, but not wanting to seem rude to my new employer. He seemed to be sizing me up.

“Are you happy with your job here, so far?” he asked.

I nodded. “So far, yes. The facilities here are excellent.”

He seemed to think that was only to be expected. Maybe it was, for him, but I’ve worked in some kitchens that would make you cringe.

“And will you and your daughter be happy living out here in the country?”

“I hope so.” I hesitated, wondering if this was when I’d get put in my place. “It seems like it’ll be a nice change.”

“Make sure you let Marge know if there are things you need but don’t have,” he told me. “And I mean you, personally, as well as in your job. It can take a bit of adjustment, not being able to just go to the store any time.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.”

Not that I had any money to spend in a store. But I guess once I got paid, I would.

He nodded and turned to leave, pausing at the door. “If either of you like horses, make sure you have a word with Regan about riding lessons.”

I opened my mouth to refuse that offer right off. There’s no way I could accept that. But before I could pull together my thoughts into words, he smiled disarmingly.

“It’s not entirely magnanimous of me,” he admitted. “When Jim and Brian leave for college, they won’t be around to exercise the horses and someone needs to take up the slack. I expect your daughter will enjoy riding with the other girls before or after school.”

“I’ll mention it to her,” I promised, though I didn’t tell him what I was going to mention.

He nodded again and that time he actually left. I stared after him for a minute, thinking hard. There was something here that I didn’t understand.

After that, I got on with the dinner preparations and the afternoon flew by. I sat down with a coffee late in the day, in that short break before it all got hectic again. I’d hardly taken a sip when the outside door flew open and hurried footsteps came my way.

Kimberly kind of slid to a stop when she saw me. I think she’d expected to find me busy in the kitchen and only half paying attention to whatever she said. She thinks I don’t know that she does that on purpose, but she’s wrong.

“Is it okay if I go to the movies tonight?” she asked me, scraping one foot against the floor in that nervous way she has when she thinks I’m going to say no.

I raised an eyebrow at her. “Using what money?”

“Oh. Well, everyone says there’s enough money in the Bob-White treasury to pay for my ticket as well.” Her expression turned pleading. “I can pay them back in a week or two.”

“Hold on a minute. In the what?”

“The Bob-White treasury,” she repeated. “It’s their club.”

Oh, great, I found myself thinking. The rich kids and the junior thug and the neighbourhood riff-raff have their own club. It gets better and better.

“We’re not taking charity–” I began, but she cut me off.

“It won’t be charity if I pay them back.” She gave me that look. The one where I’m supposed to see how unreasonable I’m being. “And anyway, the Bob-Whites earn all the money for their club themselves, so it’s not taking money from your employer.”

It might not be taking it from them directly, but I was pretty sure that’s where most of the money must have originally come from. But I didn’t say that. I was thinking, all over again, of how I couldn’t force her not to be friends with them, not if I wanted to keep my relationship with her.

“Oh, okay,” I told her. “But you have to find out how much it costs so you can pay it back. And you can’t stay out late.”

She grinned. “Thanks. And we won’t be late. We’re going to the early session because Diana has to be home by nine-thirty.”

I nodded approval, but kept my expression serious. “But you can’t keep on like this,” I told her. “You’re not going to be able to keep up with these kids, not in the long run.”

She shook her head. “They’re not like that. Most of them are like us.”

Now, that I did not believe.

“Really!” she added. She must have seen it in my face. “Sure, Honey has always been rich, but she’s the only one.”

“Her brother–” I stopped short, not quite knowing where I was going with that statement.

“Is adopted,” she informed me, tartly. “And only two years ago. He and Dan and Di all know what it’s like to not have enough. And actually, I think at least two of them had it a whole lot harder than we ever have.”

That explained a few things, but brought up a whole lot more questions in my mind. And it still didn’t reassure me about Dan. Especially when I saw the look on her face when she said his name. I know that look and it means nothing but trouble. Because if she developed a crush on the junior thug, we were doomed.

“That’s as may be,” I told her, “but I still think you need to be more careful.”

She nearly rolled her eyes at me, but remembered just in time that I’d just given her what she wanted.

“I’ll see you later,” she called back at me, as she pranced right back out the door.

I got back to my coffee. Before I’d finished, Marge came in and began telling me about the teenagers’ plan for a movie and what that would mean for my dinner plans. Luckily, the meal I’d been working on would work equally well done in instalments as it would all at once. I got the feeling that every meal I planned should probably be like that, if the day and a half I’d worked so far were anything to go by.

“Kimberly just asked my permission to go with them,” I admitted, once she’d done talking.

She gave me a rather stern look and I knew she’d read the subtext I hadn’t meant to include.

“There’s no need to discourage her from forming a friendship with Honey,” she informed me. “The Wheelers have found an enormous improvement in Honey’s health and well-being since they allowed her to live a more normal life. Mixing with a wide range of people her own age is a big part of that. They will have no objection at all to her befriending Kimberly.”

That was me told. I nodded, not knowing quite what to say. Her face softened.

“I do understand that in other places you might have worked your employers may have had different expectations, but here there are no distinctions made about money or background.”

I nodded again, thinking about my employer before last, who treated me like part of the kitchen equipment and never once acknowledged that I had a life outside of work.

I drained my coffee cup and stood up. “Well, thanks for telling me. I need to get moving if they want to eat early.”

She smiled. “I’m glad that it won’t ruin your plans. You may want to bear in mind that these kind of changes happen frequently.”

“Yeah, I’d already come to that conclusion.” I smiled back at her. “But it’s nothing that I can’t handle.”

“Good. I’ll leave you to it.”

Once the dishes were put away, I switched off the kitchen light and trudged up all those stairs to the top floor. I stood in front of the outlet to the air conditioner for a minute, letting the cool air blow right into my hot face. Then I picked up the novel I’d been reading and dropped into the most comfortable arm chair.

Instead of opening the book, I closed my eyes for a moment and tried to let go of the work day. Celia had brought back compliments, both times dinner had been served. That was gratifying and hopefully meant I was on the right track.

I let out a long breath and started reading.

My head was starting to droop by the time I heard Kimberly’s footsteps thundering up the stairs. No, thundering is an exaggeration. The stairs are carpeted – no doubt to reduce unwanted noise – but I could still hear her clearly for the last half a flight.

“I’m home!” she called, the full length of the corridor.

“Hush!” I scolded as she came into the room.

She pulled a face as she came into the room, which clearly showed that she’d just realised what she’d done.

“Did you have a good time?” I asked her.

She nodded. “I liked the movie and we went to a place called Wimpy’s afterwards for milkshakes and Mart and Dan ate fries. Why do boys eat so much?”

“Because they’re growing.”

She didn’t look very interested in the growth habits of boys and immediately changed the subject.

“In the morning, I’m having a riding lesson with Regan and then we’re going to the lake for a swim.” She leaned against the doorway, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

I cursed internally. I never did have that talk with her about the whole horse thing. Too late now, by the looks of things.

“Nothing,” I lied. “Just thinking about what I have to do tomorrow.”

She seemed to accept that.

“You look tired,” she told me. “Maybe you should go to bed.”

I would, now that she was home. But I didn’t tell that I’d waited up specially. Instead, I heaved myself to my feet.

“Good idea. See you in the morning.”

She smiled. “Good night.”

I got ready for bed and then lay in the darkness, worrying about her. But even my concerns about her new friendships weren’t enough to keep me awake for long. The day had been long and strenuous. Pretty soon, I slept.

“Morning,” Regan greeted, as I set down his plate in the place he always sat.

I’d learned by now right when he would arrive and had his food ready on the dot. I greeted him in return and sat down, too.

“Just how I like it,” he commented, with a jab at the crispy bacon.

I smiled. “There’s a list in the kitchen that says so.”

He shrugged while chewing a mouthful. “Of the half-dozen cooks who’ve been here since that list went up, I think you’re the second who actually took notice of it.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. Most of the time, I’d worked in commercial settings and if you didn’t cook things the way the customer wanted them, they’d probably send them back. Or worse.

“How long have you worked here?” I asked.

He looked surprised at the question. “Here? Just over two years. That’s when the Wheelers bought the house. Before that, I looked after their horses where they were boarded.”

“And they’ve gone through six cooks in that time?”

He snorted. “No. They’ve gone through six since that list went up, maybe a year ago. It was supposed to stop them serving up things that no one wanted to eat.”

I almost dropped my fork. “You’re telling me, the cooks who’ve been here would deliberately cook food that the people they were serving wouldn’t like?”

“Could be.” He shrugged again and took another mouthful of bacon and eggs.

He didn’t seem to be very surprised by this, but I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Was that the real reason why they went through so many, or was it an excuse to keep sacking people? Maybe my concerns about Kimberly were distracting me from the concerns I should have for myself.

“They’ll give you a fair chance,” he told me, in a low voice. “They’re decent people. And it’s a good place to work.”

Was I that easy to read? That was the second time in as many days that someone knew just what I was thinking when I didn’t mean them to.

“I just don’t understand how they’ve gone through so many cooks,” I told him. “It doesn’t make sense to me. Especially since it seems like the rest of the staff have been here a long time.”

He took his time answering, staring down at his nearly-empty plate. “I guess it’s just that none of them have been the right fit, so far. I think you could fit in, if you want to.”

This time, I did drop my fork. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He chewed his last mouthful thoughtfully, not at all worried by my sharp tone.

“Whatever’s in your past – and I’m not asking – you can have a second chance here,” he told me, at last. “But you need to believe that you can; both you and your daughter.”

“She doesn’t have any trouble believing in second chances,” I answered, a bit bitterly, I’ll admit. I picked up the fork again and finished the last of my meal.

He stood up, but he didn’t pick up his plate or move away. “Some things are easier to believe when you’re young. But I meant that you need to believe that she can have a second chance.”

“Are you telling me how to raise my daughter?” I asked him.

He picked up the plate and started carrying it into the kitchen. “Hell, no. I don’t know the first thing about that.”

I grabbed my plate and followed him. “Then, what?”

He stopped by the sink, not looking at me. “Just take it from someone who’s been down and has fought their way back up again. It’s possible to start again.”

“Does everyone in this whole town have a story of redemption?” I blurted out.

He looked back at me and laughed. “Not unless you count Trixie’s being saved from boredom.”

“Kimberly would have liked that a few times lately,” I admitted. “Before we came here. Since we arrived, she hasn’t had time to be bored.”

He nodded and turned to leave. In the doorway, he stopped.

“I know you don’t trust my nephew. I’m not asking you to – trust him, or don’t; that’s your choice.” He didn’t seem to notice my wince. “I’m just suggesting you keep an open mind when it comes to the teenagers. They’ll probably surprise you.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” I told his retreating back.

Now what was that supposed to mean? Whatever it was about, I didn’t have time to think right now. I had work to do, so I did it.

The next time I saw Kimberly was just as I was preparing lunch. Honey Wheeler raced into the kitchen with her two friends – and my daughter – trailing along behind. She started out by smiling very politely and I felt like it could only go downhill from there. I wasn’t wrong.

“Connie, would it possibly be possible for Kimberly to come with us – I mean, with Trixie and Di and me – to visit an old lady who lives near here, who hasn’t been feeling well and she’s always so kind to us and we thought we could go and help her with her housework, so that she doesn’t have to do it herself, oh, and could we possibly also make ourselves some sandwiches to eat on the way, because none of the boys are able to drive us over there, which means, of course, that we’ll have to walk there?”

I stared at her. She wanted me to let her take my daughter to help an old lady with her housework? And she wanted to make sandwiches? Herself. She, whose family has their own cook and maids and who know what else?

“Mrs. Vanderpoel is the most darling old lady,” Honey continued on, apparently taking my stunned silence for disapproval, instead of utter disbelief, “and she’s always been so much help to the Bob-Whites and her house isn’t all that far from here, though it’s probably not so good to walk there when there’s lots of snow, but that isn’t a problem right now, on account of it being summer, but anyway, we thought she would appreciate us helping her, instead of her helping us, like it usually is, and will that be all right?”

“Sure,” I told her, glancing at Kimberly and seeing the guarded look on her face. “But you don’t need to make sandwiches. I’ve got plenty of food ready.”

Honey’s face broke into smiles. “Thank you, so much! Can we help you with anything?”

I shook my head as I pulled out some lunch bags. “No, I’ve got everything under control. But Kimberly, you might like to go and change your shirt.”

She looked down at the dusty marks on it and grimaced. I started packing some lunches for them as she tore up the stairs to her room. Lucky I’d made a whole lot more than I thought I needed. But that seemed to be one of the keys to working here. And I knew that leftovers of my lunch slice would still be good and tasty tomorrow. I was dropping a piece of fruit into each bag as my daughter returned.

“Here you go, girls.” I handed each of them a bag. “Is that everything you need?”

“Yes, thank you,” Honey answered and the other three echoed their thanks. “Sorry to be so much trouble.”

“No trouble at all,” I told them.

“See?” I heard Kimberly say, before the door swung shut behind the last of them. “I told you she’d have food for us.”

Now I was really wondering about previous cooks. But I shook my head and plated up the lunch slice with a side salad – which I hadn’t bothered to give the girls – and put the matter out of my mind.

That evening when the kitchen was clean, I sat down to read another chapter or two of my book. I’d hardly read half a page when Kimberly came in, obviously wanting a conversation. I tucked the bookmark in and set the book down on the side table beside me.

“I was wondering something,” she began, once she had my full attention. “You remember, when we lived in Milwaukee, what Dad used to say about that old lady who lived upstairs?”

I really tried not to cringe, but I didn’t quite manage it. “Which particular thing about her?”

She looked away. “That she was only after our money.”

I sighed. According to Archie, everyone was only after our money – the government, the church, the charities, the beggar on the street-corner, the school, our bosses, some random guy he met in a bar. No matter who they were, that was always the only thing they wanted. Maybe Archie thought that way because he was only after more and more money.

“I never thought that was right,” I told her.

But I didn’t tell her that it had never occurred to me to wonder what she did want from us. Because she talked to us any time she saw us. And we tried to avoid her because of it.

“The lady we went to see today reminded me of her a little,” Kimberly told me. “But she was really interesting to talk to. And she really didn’t need very much help, but we helped her anyway and she was really pleased that we did.”

I nodded. And waited. There was something more that she wanted to say. I could just tell.

“Trixie says that life is about helping other people.” She frowned down at her lap. “She says that no matter how little we have, we can always help someone else.”

And I think that was the moment when I started thinking that maybe she hadn’t fallen in with the wrong crowd. Maybe she’d fallen in with the right crowd. Because that was a lesson I could never teach her. It was a lesson I needed someone to re-teach me. Sure, the whole world wanted something. And I had so little that there was nothing to spare – but was that true?

I could spare a kind word, or a smile. I could give someone the benefit of the doubt. I could treat people with courtesy. None of those things cost me anything, but they could give back more than their face-value.

In that moment, I felt ashamed of the things I’d withheld, even though they were within my power to give. I felt ashamed of how much of Archie’s worldview had bled into mine, how much his greed, selfishness and addiction had taken away the person that I used to be. Because, once upon a time, I’d been generous with my time and my money. Before Archie twisted me to suit his own purposes.

“That’s a really noble sentiment,” I told her, suddenly finding tears in my eyes. “And maybe, after everything that happened, it’s what we need to hear.”

Next thing I know, she was hugging me, just like she did when she was little. We both cried a little – for what we’d lost, and for what we’d found. And I think we both resolved, right then, to be a little kinder, a little more generous, a little less like the victims of a penniless gambling addict who claimed to care about us but showed that he didn’t. Because we’d found our new beginning.

Twenty-five years have passed since that day, but I can still remember how that moment felt, as if it had just happened. And it wasn’t just an illusion – that really was our new beginning. After that, we fitted right in, just as if we’d always been there. I didn’t even have to finish the six weeks’ probation before my appointment became permanent.

Over the months that followed, I got to know and love those teenagers. They wandered in and out of my kitchen. I packed them picnics in the summer and Thermos flasks of soup in the winter. They taught me things I should have known. And I taught them recipes.

I did come to trust all of them – even Dan. No, especially Dan. Though, it did come as something of a shock when I found out about the mysteries, because somehow no one had mentioned that when they were telling me how good those kids were.

They were good kids. And they’re good adults now. Even though my work for the Wheelers came to a natural end long ago, I still see them. Because we became part of that extended family. It was the thing that we both needed, far more than I needed that job. It was our very own Sleepyside tale of redemption. And that’s something that everyone should get a chance to have.

The End

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