Earning Her Keep (Price of Love)

She stands up in a huff. I hear a jacket zipper, the clatter of a purse. From the corner of my eye, I watch her pay her bill and storm out, away from the bus station, shoving her headphones into her ears as she stomps into the icy rain.

I glance over my shoulder.

A piece of notebook paper with a phone number on it is halfway sits half-crumpled on the tabletop. I push up onto my knees, lean over the back of the seat, grab it off the table and smooth it flat. It’s a 309 area code. I don’t know what that means, exactly, but the girl was planning to take a bus somewhere. And Judith’s area code was 708. So all that tells me that wherever it is, it’s away from here.

And that’s good enough for me.

The only other thing on the paper is three words.

Earn your keep.

I swallow and think that’s what I’ve been doing my entire life. Shouldn’t be a problem.

From my garbage bag, I take out a dollar and ask the waitress for change. Then I take the paper to the sticky old payphone in the back by the bathrooms, press in the numbers and listen to the ringtone whir in my ear.

The line clicks over on the second ring. “Philipe Residence,” answers a stern female voice.

My heart is pounding so hard that I feel like it’s going to spring out of my chest.

I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and then say, in my most confident voice, “Hello. My name is Emily, I’m calling about the housekeeping job. Can I get your address one more time?”

* * *

Stark County is far enough away from the city that plants grow wild on the sides of the highway and I can see the stars. Finally. It takes me forever to get to the address I have in my hand, first on the bus, then in a taxi. But every mile I put between me and my old life gives me more courage to find something better, to make my way in the world.

The taxi lets me out in the circular driveway, and I pay the driver with a big chunk of my crumpled savings. Even though the sky is still spitting slivers of ice, I turn my face up and marvel at the building. It’s just so beautiful. Such lines and proportion. This isn’t a house. It’s a palace.

I make my way up the stone walkway, past a fountain drained for the winter. I’ve never been in a place like this. It’s huge, opulent, made of stone and brick. Every detail is careful and perfect. All I’ve known until now is windows that are painted shut and vinyl siding that grows mold every August.

Moonlight dances off the huge, sparkling windows. Here and there, the warm light from indoors peeks through big thick curtains. And then…

One floor up, I notice one of the curtains shift slightly, revealing a man standing with his arms crossed. His forearms are thick and muscular, his dress shirt rolled up and unbuttoned. His eyes are dark and broody.

For a long instant, he looks down at me and I look up at him.

With my heart pounding.

Because he isn’t just handsome. He’s breathtaking.

But just as quickly as he opened the curtain, he flicks it shut and vanishes.

I blink myself back to reality and make my way to the front door, still clutching my trash bag.

I grab hold of the big metal knocker shaped like a lion’s head, and wait. Before long, the click-click of sensible shoes comes closer. Not the man I saw upstairs, no. A woman, definitely. And a woman who means business for sure.

The door swings open. A stern-faced elderly lady stands there with her hands on her hips, looking mildly irritated. She’s dressed simply, but elegantly, in a black dress with a gray apron. “Where did you call from? Why didn’t you tell me you were going to be here so late? I assumed—”

“I’m so sorry,” I say, wiping my half-frozen, dripping nose with my mitten and putting on my best, most apologetic smile. “I’m Emily. I got here as fast as I could.”

She studies me for a moment.

“My name is Ethel,” she snaps, not softening one bit. “We expected you hours ago. I thought when you called you must be almost here. This is not what I call starting off on the right foot, Emily.”

She says my new name like it leaves a foul taste in her mouth.

I make a move to reach out my snot-smudged mitten to shake her hand, but stop myself in the nick of time. Instead, I give her what I guess is kind of a curtsy. Maybe. Seems to fit the place, even if I do feel kind of silly.

“Do you understand the terms of this position, Emily?” Ethel asks, standing firm, enunciating my name again as if it’s sour.