What Remains (2 page)

Don’t panic.  Everything is going to be okay.  Take a moment to calm down and regroup.  It’s not the end of the world
. 

Somehow, she always managed to keep her head above water.  At least this time there wasn’t four other mouths to feed.  She had plenty of money to get her through until she found another job and a room to rent.  Plus, grad school would start in just two months and she would get her stipend.

“I understand.  It was careless of me to not call.  I’m very sorry to have wasted so much of your time.  Good night.”

In the act of pulling the phone away from her ear to end the call, Mr. Richards’ voice appeared again.

“Ms. Maguire, do you want this job or not?”

Quickly placing the cell back up to her ear, hope returned, giving her the courage to answer.

“Yes, sir, I do.  Very much.”

“You seem ready to give it up without much thought.”

“To be honest, sir, you seem like a man who isn’t easily swayed by groveling or feminine hysterics.”

Several moments went by with no response.  Perhaps she had insulted him, or maybe her initial assessment of him was correct and he felt no need to
contradict it and prove her wrong.  Whatever was the cause of the lull in the conversation, it made Tessa uneasy, and she was anxious to either get on with it, or end it all together.

“My concern, Ms. Maguire, is that I need someone I can count on.  Your negligence has given me some reservations about your commitment.  And to be quite honest, I doubt seriously after speaking with you, whether you’re what I’m looking for in an employee entrusted to manage my household.”

Well, if all this man wanted was to keep her on the line so he could berate her, he was going to be very disappointed.  Tessa would have all night to do that to herself.

“I appreciate your honesty, sir. 
Again, good night.”

It may have not been the boldest way to tell him to kiss her behind, but it felt good all the same.  Ending the call, Tessa calmly laid the phone beside her on the pillow and covered her eyes with her forearm.  Unfortunately, there would be no sleeping tonight.  She had a lot of things to work out before the sun came up and found her unemployed and homeless.

With barely enough time to give thought to what her next steps would be, the phone rang once more.  It was Mr. Richards.

“Hello,” she answered, struggling to keep her voice steady.

“I have to leave for work at six: thirty.  I’ll leave the key with my gardener.  He usually arrives around seven.”

“No, no…I’ll be there by five
: thirty so we can meet.”

This rollercoaster of hope and disappointment was really starting to make her dizzy.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir.
  Very sure.  That way you’ll at least have an opportunity to meet me before you fire me again.”

“Fair enough
.”

“Good night, Mr. Richards.  I’ll see you soon.”

“Good night,” he grumbled.

Tessa closed her phone and rolled to one side, flipping through the pictures of her children that were stored in it.  A single tear formed and rolled down over the bridge of her nose onto the pillow.  The prospect of disappointing them was even more frightening than working for a man like Mr. Richards.  True, she may not be the most reliable person he could have hired, but how much maturity did a housekeeper really need as long as they could reach the sink and run a washing machine?

Even if by chance it did somehow work out, she would only have to be there a semester or two.  Surely she could deal with his arrogance for that long.  It would be a necessary sacrifice she was willing to make for her future.

All those years of struggling as a single mother and full-time student would actually amount to something besides guilt over not being there for them, not providing enough, not being the emotionally steadfast mother in the white SUV and velour jumpsuits who baked cupcakes for the class and helped with homework; the sort of mom who tucked them into bed every night after a well-balanced meal straight from the pages of a Rachel Ray cook book.  Instead they got one or two hours a day with overstressed woman constantly rushing between classes and work to fix beanie weenies and ramen noodles for dinner, a mom who wore holey jeans and a
hoodie as she rolled up late to PTO meetings and basketball games in a beat up economy car with a bumper sticker that read,
Honk If You Love Milton
.

Yet, despite the trials and tribulations they endured as a single parent family, she considered those years the jewels in her crown, the treasures of her life.  It hadn’t been the same since her last child, Lynn, had left to attend college a year ago.  The painful silence that came afterward was spent watching old black and white movies and crying herself to sleep just before dawn, only to wake up after a few hours to numbly head to a job she hated.  The loneliness and loss of self that comes with an empty nest had taken their toll on Tessa.  She found
herself sinking into a state of apathy that tore away everything that ever mattered to her.

Somehow she had worked her way through it and managed to resurface to the land of the living.  The acceptance into the graduate program at UMass had been a huge catalyst for her rebound, as well as the job offer from Mr. Richards as a live-in maid.  The way everything just sort of fell into her lap led Tessa to believe the opportunity had been divinely sanctioned.  So with renewed vigor, she cleaned up her act; lost the weight she had gained from her nightly visits with Ben and Jerry, and listened to hours of motivational tapes until she felt brain-washed enough to be passionate about life again.

It was indeed time to let her children go pursue their own dreams without concerns for their mother weighing heavy on them.  Tessa was determined to piece together some semblance of a future without them.  She owed it to them for sticking by her side through everything, and never complaining.

Finally, feeling her eyes close from sheer exhaustion, she reminded herself now was not the time to wallow in regret.  Four-thirty would be here soon, and in just a few short hours she would meet this
Vlad the Impaler and face whatever was to come.

Chapter Two

Arriving
at five: thirty precisely, Tessa Maguire was thankful she had left early.  The rural two-lane road twisted and turned, making it difficult to maneuver in the dense early morning fog.  Twice she had passed the entrance to the estate assuming it was a cemetery because of the gothic iron fence that seemed to go on forever, and the dramatic gates that were obviously locked and flanked by massive stone gargoyles.  Finally on the third pass, she decided to take a chance and pulled up to what looked like the entrance to purgatory, and found an ornate brass plate embedded in the masonry with the words, Collins’ Estate.  A call box was directly beneath it.

Rolling down her window and pushing the button marked ‘call’, Tessa held her breath and waited for someone to answer.  Although a voice never
appeared, after several moments, a loud buzzing sound was heard, and she watched as the gates rolled back and she spiritually prepared herself for the attack that was surely forth coming from a pair of hell hounds.  They never appeared. 

In the rearview mirror, Tessa watched them close behind her, which was a little unnerving.  Her trusty Volkswagen had gotten her out of a lot of tough spots, but there was no way it could burst through an iron gate if the need arose. 

The long drive paved with cobblestone winded up a hill lined with ancient trees whose limbs appeared more like knarred fingers as the landscaping lights highlighted them through the mist and the darkness of early dawn.

It truly was the perfect setting for a Horace Walpole novel, she mused, trying to find anything to keep her mind off the anxiety that was mounting.  It was easy to imagine a young heroine held captive high in a hidden tower by a mad protagonist, which might be exactly her fate if their first conversation was any indication.  Okay, she may not be held captive, but forced into indentured servitude was a definite possibility.  Snickering at the thought, Tessa grinned at her over-active imagination.  Things were never as bad as she had a tendency to make them out to be.  Hopefully, it would be the case this time, although she was harboring some pretty serious misgivings. 

Eventually, the driveway ended in front of what looked like a four car garage, although the fog hid everything beyond the forth bay.  Turning off the lights and shutting off the engine, she chose to sit quietly for a few seconds to try and convince herself that there was nothing to be nervous about.  Still, questions continued to pop into her mind.

What would Mr. Richards think of her?  Obviously he was a man of great wealth.  Would he judge her merely on the condition of her aesthetically challenged car, or the fact that everything she owned could be shoved into it?  She was a woman of a certain age now, who should have had her financial affairs in order; a home of her own, a shiny new vehicle, at the height of a career with a nice fat 401K.  Yes, he would judge her; there was no sense in trying to sugar coat things, because she judged herself.

As soon as she forced her body out of the car, Tessa was met by her two imagined hell hounds that turned out to be two very large, and very sweet Chesapeake Bay retrievers, who immediately began vying for her attention.  Her hands were covered with saliva and dog hair before an inpatient baritone voice called out through the mist and ordered them to sit.  It was her new employer; she recognized the disdain in his voice.  The dogs obeyed immediately and so willingly that she couldn’t help but to kneel down and compliment them on their good manners.

“Such good boys,” she cooed, scratching behind their ears as they moistened her cheeks with big wet kisses.  “What fine gentlemen you are, indeed…”

It wasn’t until Mr. Richards appeared that Tessa stood and wiped both hands on the legs of her jeans.  Extending her palm, she smiled and greeted him.

“Good morning, sir.”

Standing at least six-two, he was much more intimidating than she had hoped.  It was also obvious that he took the time to work out and keep fit, which was the second strike against, his dismal personality being the first.  The third strike came quickly when he refused to accept her hand, so she let drop slowly to her side.  Instead of displaying any semblance of politeness, he stood there staring down at her without even a word of greeting.  But he didn’t have to say anything.  The agitation in his expression said it all.

“I did say five
: thirty, didn’t I?” she tried again.

With only a nod as a response, he turned and started walking toward the house that once in view turned out to be the largest, most opulent English Tudor mansion she had ever seen.  How many rooms were there beneath the slated roof and behind the stained glass windows?  Whatever the exact number, it would definitely be a full time job taking care of it.  Perhaps a certain degree of maturity was required for a job that size. 

Dang.  She was screwed.

What did he do again?  Oh yes, something to do with international finance, his mother had mentioned in one of their conversations.  Undoubtedly, managing other people’s investments and money laundering paid quite well.

Inside the kitchen of the massive home was warm and smelled of coffee and burning logs from the fireplace that stood behind an antique table with intricately carved legs and tapestry upholstered parson chairs.  Though it was dimly lit at the moment, she could see the gleam on the expanse of granite that spread along the top of oak cabinetry. It was a beautiful kitchen to be sure, but much too large to be in someone’s home, it belonged in a hotel and capable of producing enough food to feed hundreds of guests with its industrial size stainless steel appliances. 

Although she had never been known for her culinary skills, Tessa found herself impressed, and drawn to the heavy Wolfe gas stove that took center stage, flanked on one side by six feet of white marble, and on the other by a mammoth chopping block.  Above them hung an array of gourmet pots and pans of all shapes and sizes.  They were serious tools for a serious cook, for sure, and she prayed that her limited repertoire of recipes didn’t
seal her already questionable fate.