After I\u2019d organized the container drawer, a mess of orphaned tops and bottoms, I recommended that Tammy toss all the plastic and replace it with glass. I researched where to buy it and sent her the link. She loved the initiative. That was the problem with their old housekeeper, she\u2019d said. \u201cShe did the bare minimum, and even then, it was half-hearted.\u201d I laughed because that\u2019s what my mother had said about me. My modus operandi, as she\u2019d called it, my whole view of the world, my dad jabbed, was a cross between half-assed and half-hearted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Every week, I cleaned out something that wasn\u2019t on the original checklist. I reorganized the linen closet, the basement shelves full of Christmas decorations and old paint cans, the kids\u2019 closets full of broken hangers and candy wrappers. Until I found the note pinned to the fridge, asking me to remove all the food from the freezer and please prepare meals with anything that appeared \u201cready to die\u201d and then another note the following week, \u201cCan you check the ceiling fans in the kids\u2019 rooms?\u201d Who did she think she was?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
They\u2019d been paying me generously and I liked impressing them, but when she started listing things, the extra favours that once garnered surprise and gratitude, and the occasional twenty-dollar bill, had become part of the job.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I was watching YouTube videos sitting on their daughter Chelsey\u2019s unmade bed when the idea came to me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Unscrew the mounting bracket behind the bookshelves in Chelsey\u2019s bedroom. Move books from the bottom to the top shelf.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Fifteen minutes before Tammy returns from Yoga, pull down shelf and crawl beneath the rubble of snow globes and books.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Scream for help when the front door opens.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Limp down the stairs and rest on the sofa for an hour until Joe gets home from work.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Refuse to visit the doctor, refuse to call the cleaning service, refuse to initiate any sort of paper trail because Tammy and Joe may not find another housekeeper willing to work in such an unsafe environment. The bookshelf hadn\u2019t been installed properly. Call the contractor. No. Don\u2019t call anyone, I\u2019m fine, totally fine. I\u2019ll be fine. Just let me rest.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n It worked. I couldn\u2019t believe it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I texted Tammy during my first shift after the accident.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I hate laundry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I haven\u2019t folded a pair of Joe\u2019s boxers in two years. Haven\u2019t cleaned out a drawer. Now I work the half-hearted bare minimum and still get paid $40 more than they\u2019d originally agreed for a six-hour day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n On Wednesdays, I clean Chuck and Bob\u2019s condo. They pay me $200 for four hours of cleaning. Last year, a finishing nail mysteriously<\/em> appeared out of the freshly installed hardwood floors. I sat in the emergency for eight hours to get a tetanus shot because I\u2019d forgotten to consider the real implications of putting a nail through my foot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n On Fridays, I work for Nancy and Geoffrey, and I have no plans for a workplace injury. They never expect anything from me. I walk around their house every week for five hours with a dust cloth and a half-filled bucket of tepid soapy water, and they pay me $150.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I\u2019d been trying to fill my Thursdays for a few months, but none of the clients worked out. When my boss Tatyana recommended Hugh, I worried that another divorced man who works from home, whose kids visited on the weekends, meant that I\u2019d have to wash his dishes and pick up dirty clothes from the floor. I do not like touching dirty underwear. I\u2019d rather sweep them into a bin. Cleaning up before I get down to cleaning up takes up a lot of time. I told Tatyana that I\u2019d do a three-clean test-run.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Turns out Hugh is not your average divorced dad. Hugh spends an hour on the stationary bicycle in the morning and when he finishes eating his lunch, he cleans his own dishes. Hugh dresses in a suit and tie every day. Hugh has a place for everything. Every shelf is built-in, the hardwood floors pristine, the cleaning supplies environmentally friendly, which means I could drink them and still not be able to claim exposure to toxins. It means he\u2019d know if anything had been moved or modified, if anything went missing. It was the easiest job ever, but without an opportunity to make it even easier, it started to feel like hard work.<\/p>\n\n\n\n After a few cleans, I called my boss.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I told Joe a couple of months ago that it was triggering to go into Chelsey\u2019s room and clean the same shelf they\u2019d re-secured to the wall. Now, they\u2019re complaining about me<\/em>?<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cGood morning. Sorry.\u201d I tuck the phone into my back pocket after ending the call with Tatyana.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThat\u2019s okay. I\u2019m not one of those employers who cares about that. You can talk on the phone all day, if you want.\u201d Hugh sips his smoothie, rubbing the back of his neck and stretching his shoulder muscles.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019m almost done here.\u201d I roll the last pair of socks and toss it into the laundry basket. \u201cDo you want me to put this away?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo that\u2019s fine. I was wondering if you could do two days next week?\u201d \u201cI\u2019d like the refrigerator cleaned out, and the stove. Is that too much?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Here we go. I knew this was too good to be true. It\u2019s been two months. I guess this is where it starts. All the cleaners probably quit when his nit-pickiness jumped into high gear. He doesn\u2019t know I\u2019m wily. I\u2019ll find a way of getting out of things like cleaning the stove<\/em>. I hate cleaning the stove more than I hate folding his fifty-dollar-boxers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSure. No problem,\u201d I say, \u201cMy hourly goes up a bit for jobs like that, but don\u2019t tell Tatyana. She\u2019ll take a cut and it\u2019s not like she\u2019s doing the work.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI completely understand.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIf you want me to clean the basement, let me know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The basement might be where I\u2019ll find my workplace injury.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI hire a special cleaner for that.\u201d Weird. He appears nervous and embarrassed about the basement.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI can always add it to my regular day. Tatyana doesn\u2019t need to know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThanks for the offer.\u201d He tugs at the tie and unbuttons the top of his shirt. He\u2019s got the body of a marathon runner, lean and a bit gaunt. Not my type, as if he\u2019d ever consider a woman like me. I\u2019m a solid size 14 but occasionally squeeze myself into a size 12 and this guy wears small boxer briefs under a 38 Tall suit.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI noticed the kids\u2019 rooms haven\u2019t been slept in.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He stares at me for a few minutes because of course it\u2019s none of my business but I\u2019d rather not wash and change clean sheets on two twin beds pushed against the walls.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cTheir mother moved to Montreal,\u201d he says, \u201cThey\u2019ll come live with me in the summer.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n If there\u2019s going to be two teenagers here all<\/em> summer, I will not be doing their laundry. I\u2019ve got a few months to figure out how to get out of this.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cTatyana mentioned your family lives in, Florida, is it?\u201d I don\u2019t usually care about family history, but it\u2019s always weird to think about an American moving here, to a bungalow in Etobicoke.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCleveland, actually.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCool. Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNever been.\u201d He untucks his shirt and removes his belt. For a second I think he\u2019s going to undress in front of me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cParents still alive?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBoth still working.\u201d His abdomen is a topographical map of manly perfection.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My parents still live in our seven-bedroom house in Rothesay, New Brunswick. When I stopped going to school, they threatened to board me at Netherwood for high school, I forged another one of my mother\u2019s cheques and moved to Toronto with ten grand. I called them from Montreal. They said that I\u2019d never see a penny from the trust until I paid them back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat about you, Marina? Parents? siblings?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhy do you ask?\u201d What the hell business is it of his what my brothers are doing right now. Would it help him to know they blocked me on Instagram?<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI just like to know what ties people to the world, you know,\u201d Hugh says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat does that mean?\u201d I ask. He steps into the laundry room and exits wearing running shorts and a t-shirt. It\u2019s the middle of March, probably 5 degrees outside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cFamily is everything, right? Without family, even if they\u2019re friends who are like family, what do we have to keep us here?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou mean, alive? Like family is what keeps us from leaping off a bridge.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI guess so. Existentially, we\u2019re here to matter to other people, to make other people feel like they matter.\u201d His earnest smile as he slowly says, matter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I am not in the mood for a conversation about why I don\u2019t matter to anyone. I\u2019ve already missed my streetcar. \u201cI thought I was here to clean your house.\u201d I smile right back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He reaches inside his shorts to adjust himself before he pulls his ankle up to his butt to stretch his quads. \u201cI just mean, why are we here?\u201d He reaches for the smoothie on the kitchen counter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOn the planet?\u201d I pucker my lips while he drinks the liquified grass.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHuman beings? Why are we here? You should know, I\u2019m an atheist,\u201d he says, \u201cSorry if you believe in God.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI don\u2019t believe in God.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I don\u2019t believe in anything, I want to say, but this guy clearly believes in something, and I don\u2019t want to hear what it is.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cGod is a waste of time, and real unhappiness exists with or without him.\u201d He swallows the last of the grass.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI don\u2019t know. Tat believes in God, goes to church and everything, and I\u2019ve never known anyone happier than her.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI bet that\u2019s not true.\u201d He swings his leg down, shaking his foot around before pulling up the other ankle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019m not close with my family.\u201d I don\u2019t know why I say it, but it\u2019s like he\u2019s a priest or something. The words fall out of me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI didn\u2019t think so. You\u2019ve only got an Instagram account, where you have six followers and<\/p>\n\n\n\n you\u2019re following nobody. You might be the only 26-year-old without social media.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n How does he know all this? \u201cI just watch YouTube and TikTok.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI couldn\u2019t find, Marina, DelRay is it? Not on TikTok.\u201d he says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My TikTok links back to my real name. Why is this guy looking me up?<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019m on there,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat\u2019s your name?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cPardon?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOn TikTok. What\u2019s your handle?\u201d He tosses out the words like he doesn\u2019t care about the answer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI don\u2019t really want the people I work with to see, my personal life.\u201d I carry the laundry basket to his bedroom, and he follows me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI can put that away.\u201d He stretches his neck by pulling his face into his armpit.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019ve gotta go. See you next week.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCan you come on Monday?\u201d he asks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Does he know that\u2019s my day off? That I never work Mondays?<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCan I let you know?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019d rather know now. Otherwise, I have to hire somebody else.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Somebody else? Is this why people quit because he tells them they have to work two days or be replaced? Because he starts stalking them on social media like some kind of psycho?<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSure. See you Monday.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cGreat.\u201d He leaves before me, and I watch him out the living room window as he jogs across the street.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I immediately go through his drawers looking for something to steal. If I can\u2019t figure out a plausible workplace injury, I\u2019m going to leave here today with something. The remote control to the television! Brilliant. He\u2019ll come home after his run and want to turn on the news or sports or whatever he watches, and he won\u2019t be able to. I go out to the living room and open the skinny drawers in the wall-to-wall cabinet searching for the clicker. I get down on my hands and knees and reach under the sectional, waving back and forth like a windshield wiper. Finally, I check behind the wall-mounted screen and there it is, attached to the back of the television with Velcro. Of course, he\u2019d have it in a spot where he\u2019d never lose it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Instead of that, I take the Miyabi chef\u2019s knife. It fits diagonally in my fanny pack.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Before I have my shoes tied, the front door opens.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou still here?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYa, sorry. I forgot to vacuum the carpets in the kids\u2019 rooms.\u201d A believable excuse given I\u2019m sweating from searching for the remote and those rooms never get dirty.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He knows I\u2019m lying. It\u2019s the same face my dad had any time I came home drunk or high.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCan I show you something?\u201d He removes his t-shirt and opens the door to the basement.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI honestly have to run. I\u2019ve got a date with a friend.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI know that\u2019s not true. Corinna.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCorinna?\u201d I swallow my birth name like it\u2019s an entire supermarket dinner roll. Maybe he didn\u2019t say it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI know you have no friends. I know you go home every day and watch pirated television shows on your laptop. I know your other clients, Tammy and Joe, have been trying to figure out a way to fire you and that Nancy and Geoff feel sorry for you. What did Geoff say? He said watching you walk around their house like an idiot toddler is their way of paying it forward. Charity. They have another cleaner who comes on Saturdays to clean what you didn\u2019t clean. Charles and Robert are afraid of you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAfraid of me<\/em>?\u201d I turn the fanny pack around and rest my hand on the zipper.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes. Robert thinks you might be a bit.\u201d Hugh circles the side of his head with his index finger.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThey think I\u2019m crazy?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou don\u2019t leave a good impression on people.\u201d Hugh removes his shorts. As he turns toward the bedroom, I lunge for the front door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I\u2019m fiddling with the lock when he comes up behind me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI can\u2019t open the door.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt\u2019s locked from the inside,\u201d he says, \u201cCome with me.\u201d He grips my hands and drags me to the top of the basement stairs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I open my fanny pack, but I know there\u2019s no way I can get a good swing from this angle, and I know psychopaths, if you hurt them, they just get mad, and all this, whatever he has planned for me, will be worse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019m just like you,\u201d I say. Like if he knows that I\u2019m a bad person, a schemer, a fucking liar<\/em>, as my mother once called me, maybe Hugh will let me go. What pleasure will he get from murdering me? I have nobody who\u2019ll care I\u2019m dead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Hugh doesn\u2019t hear me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt\u2019s not about how you live or how you die, but how you will be remembered.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Is he suggesting that my life will only have meaning now as a murder victim?<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHo-leee, shit.\u201d An entire wall in the basement is covered in photos of me, drone shots of me walking on my street, paparazzi style photos of me drinking coffee on the bench across from the park. I\u2019d started watching the nannies with the kids, keeping them on their toes with a few photos here and there. There are screenshots of the stupid TikTok videos I made cleaning everything with baking soda and vinegar. I thought I could make some money, pay back my parents, go home for Christmas.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHow does this make you feel?\u201d Hugh asks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLike you\u2019re a psycho who\u2019s going to kill me, but for some weird reason wants me to see how big a loser I am first.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThat\u2019s not what\u2019s happening here.\u201d He places me in a rolling office chair and pushes me to a big screen. He lifts a remote control, and it comes to life. I see my birth certificate, a picture of my mom crying with a bloody-freshly-birthed version of me on her chest, a photo of my dad crying, staring down at a swaddled baby. Me. The images that come across the screen are all of me at various stages of my life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDo you see this girl?\u201d An image of me at thirteen. Mr. Paterson, the vice-principal thought it was a good idea to create a board of shame and any student who acted out \u2013 or who accidentally<\/em> tripped the most popular girl in school throwing her into the open door of a school bus causing her to lose two of the front teeth that her parents had paid thousands to straighten \u2013 had their photo taken in front of a height indicator he\u2019d painted on the wall in his office. That mugshot had been pinned to the corkboard in the front foyer of the school for two years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cShe looks cool,\u201d I say. I doubt my sarcasm is going to get me anywhere today. I laugh because maybe Mr. Paterson was right. One of these days, young lady, that smart mouth of yours is going land you in a heap of trouble. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat\u2019s so funny, CoCo<\/em>?\u201d Hugh says it like he knows the truth, like he knows what\u2019ll happen when I hear it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDon\u2019t call me that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI just need your attention.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019m Marina. Not CoCo.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Hugh sits in another rolling office chair and pulls himself close to me. My hands are shaking because this is it, this is my only chance. I feel it. I push my chair back and reach inside the fanny pack.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He doesn\u2019t see it coming because he\u2019s now focused on a yellow file folder. More photos, more proof of the half-assed, half-hearted life I lived before coming to Toronto. Do I tell Hugh I\u2019m a worthless piece of shit who won\u2019t be missed by anybody? Does that matter? He\u2019ll probably send Tatyana a text message from my phone saying that I quit and he\u2019ll have added another body to his count.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He grips his neck. The blood comes out like the fountain at the park, and I can\u2019t believe I actually got him in the good spot. The jugular.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHoly shit.\u201d I run up the stairs. He\u2019s gargling words and stumbling after me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I lock the basement door. At the sink, I clean the knife. I spray it with bleach cleaner.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI have to take this with me, what am I doing?\u201d I should call the cops. I know I should call the cops. But I\u2019m freaking out. I put the knife back in my fanny pack. At least it\u2019s clean. They won\u2019t find evidence of it. I remove the Swiffer mop from the front hall closet and spray and wipe the floors around the basement door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I finally stop running at the park. On the bench, catching my breath, which I think is probably still in that basement because it takes so long, I worry I might pass out and one of the nannies will find me here, the knife in my pack. I need to throw it in the creek. He was going to kill me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I open my phone, press 9-1-1, and look at the clean knife on my lap. I breathe in and out through my nose. I\u2019m afraid if I open my mouth, I might scream. I drop my phone and pick it up. I need to call Tatyana. I can\u2019t get my fingers on the right icons.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Finally.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cTat. What the actual fuck?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMarina. What\u2019s wrong? Is it Hugh?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOh. My Gawd.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Why did I call Tatyana? I can\u2019t tell her I just killed a client. I can\u2019t be the one to tell her that there might be more bodies buried in his bungalow basement.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat\u2019s going on?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWho else worked for Hugh?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWho worked and then quit?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cShannell, Halina, and Isa. Why?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I have their numbers. I hang up and call Shannell. The number has been disconnected. I call Halina. It rings. I\u2019m about to hang up when someone answers. They don\u2019t say hello. Does Hugh have Halina\u2019s phone? Is he still alive in that basement? I hang up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In my apartment, I pack up my clothes. I wrap my Beatrix Potter cup and a musical Peter Rabbit. There are shelves of these figurines at home in New Brunswick. These were the only two pieces I packed ten years ago. I want to go home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My phone rings. It\u2019s Halina\u2019s phone number, but I know it\u2019s not her. I ignore it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n At Union Station, I have my backpack, the fanny pack with the knife still inside, and my mother\u2019s rolling suitcase. My phone pings. Why do I still have my phone?<\/p>\n\n\n\n A text message:<\/p>\n\n\n\n Damn.<\/p>\n\n\n\n How does she know that? I attach a thumbs up to her comment. Is this Hugh? Is he still alive?<\/p>\n\n\n\n The train pulls into the station. I call her phone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat do you mean he paid for Isa to fly home?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHe\u2019s a philanthropist. Like a billionaire,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhy does he live in a bungalow in Long Branch?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHe sold some tech business, Shannell said he became a certified life coach, a spiritual guru or something. He researched the hell out of me. Knew my middle name and the name of my elementary school teachers. Freaked me out a bit.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cFor sure. That would freak me out, too. Psycho killer stuff.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cRight. Anyway. He told me I should be a lawyer, and guess what? I hired a tutor to write my LCATS and I passed. I\u2019m applying to law schools. And the kicker? He\u2019s going to pay for it. I don\u2019t even have to pay him back.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHe\u2019s going<\/em> to pay for it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYa.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHe didn\u2019t give you the money yet?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I cling to the hope that he\u2019s still a psycho killer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo. I didn\u2019t want the money up front like Isa. He gave me a choice. Get paid monthly, and have my tuition covered, or take a hundred grand.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cShit.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cShit what?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHalina, I have to go. My train\u2019s here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Instead of getting on the train to Montreal, I walk downstairs and head over to the Lakeshore West platform.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A woman wearing a chef\u2019s jacket stands on Hugh\u2019s lawn screaming into the phone, \u201cHe\u2019s dead.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The front door is open, and the woman walks along the sidewalk like if she moves farther away from the house, Hugh won\u2019t be dead. She\u2019ll be looking for her knife. I leave my stuff behind a tree and walk up to the front door and straight through like I\u2019m supposed to be there. I disappear downstairs and just as I get to the bottom step, I hear someone say, \u201cCorinna?\u201d The chef knows about me?<\/p>\n\n\n\n I step over Hugh\u2019s body and lift the file folder. I just need to find out what he had planned. What future had he chosen for me? The chef grips my shoulder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Who am I? Who am I supposed to be? What did he see that might be worth anything?<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2013 end \u2013<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" After I\u2019d organized the container drawer, a mess of orphaned tops and bottoms, I recommended that Tammy toss all the plastic and replace it with glass. I researched where to buy it and sent her the link. She loved the initiative. That was the problem with their old housekeeper, she\u2019d said. \u201cShe did the bare […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":43,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_editorskit_title_hidden":false,"_editorskit_reading_time":0,"_editorskit_is_block_options_detached":false,"_editorskit_block_options_position":"{}","_themeisle_gutenberg_block_has_review":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[],"art_contributors":[],"literary_contributors":[472],"class_list":["post-6061","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","literary_contributors-gadsby-alison"],"acf":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/novusliterary.com\/2025-archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6061","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/novusliterary.com\/2025-archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/novusliterary.com\/2025-archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/novusliterary.com\/2025-archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/43"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/novusliterary.com\/2025-archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=6061"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/novusliterary.com\/2025-archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6061\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6062,"href":"https:\/\/novusliterary.com\/2025-archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6061\/revisions\/6062"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/novusliterary.com\/2025-archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=6061"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/novusliterary.com\/2025-archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=6061"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/novusliterary.com\/2025-archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=6061"},{"taxonomy":"art_contributors","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/novusliterary.com\/2025-archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/art_contributors?post=6061"},{"taxonomy":"literary_contributors","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/novusliterary.com\/2025-archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/literary_contributors?post=6061"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}\n
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\u201cTwo days?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n
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