“Do you do this with all of your employees?” I ask, sweeping my hand around the room and down to the fancy pink gown I’m wearing. “Dress them up and sit them at your table?”
She laughs. “No, of course not.”
“But I am your employee, right? Rita mentioned that I was your guest, and now I’m confused. Was she mistaken, or am I?”
She hums in thought. “Well let’s fix that then. I’m afraid you might not fit perfectly into one single category. I’ve told you I’d like you to be my companion. During the summer season, I have various functions I need to attend, and I’d like you to come along with me to those. I’ll expect you to dine with me in the evenings as well—”
“That doesn’t sound like work.”
She laughs. “Doesn’t it? My grandson would disagree with you. Okay, how about this? In addition to those duties, if I have any errands or pressing matters I don’t think my staff can handle, I’ll bring them to you. This is all new for me as well. I’m afraid we’ll have to learn together. Now, tell me, do you plan on staying?”
“I was still undecided this afternoon, but now I can’t see any other option. I think the telephone in my room is broken so I couldn’t call my manager at Holly Home to tell her I won’t be back for my shift tonight. There’s no way I still have a job there.”
She frowns. “You should have asked someone for help. The phone system here is set up for dialing in-house. You simply press the extension for the department you’re trying to reach. 0 for housekeeping, 1 for the kitchen, and so on. You have to press 9 before you place an outgoing call.”
Right. I figured it was something like that and I should have asked someone for help, but I didn’t. And maybe that was on purpose, a subconscious way to force the decision in one direction rather than the other.
“I can put in a call to your boss and put her mind at ease if you insist on going back to work there.”
The idea depresses me more than I care to admit.
“Or you can stay on here,” she adds, her words taking on an uplifting tone.
I peer at her skeptically and press my earlier question. “As your employee or your guest?”
“How about for the time being, we just say both,” she replies as Collins returns, carefully holding two bowls of soup. They’re filled nearly to the brim and liable to overflow so I shoot to my feet to help him, but Cornelia tuts.
“Maren, sit down. Collins is serving the first course.”
And so begins my “work” at Rosethorn.
Any time I try to lift a finger during dinner, I’m told it’s not my place. I try to make my bed in the morning—after the most blissful night of sleep I’ve ever had—and Patricia tells me it’d be best if I let her do it. Then she proceeds to remake my bed before freshening up the rest of the room while I sit awkwardly on the settee. I go down into the kitchen to attempt to make my own breakfast and the chef uses a rolling pin to shoo me out. I’m not allowed to help clean up. I can’t set the table or take out the trash.
It completely boggles my mind.
Why does Cornelia actually want me here? I haven’t been the least bit helpful. In fact, I’ve been a burden. These people have to wait on me hand and foot even when I insist it’s not necessary. Rita dotes on me constantly, helping me dress for dinner the next day and curling my hair again. Patricia launders my clothes and keeps my room impeccably clean.
They’re all extremely kind, but also reverent, as if I’m not one of them, even though Cornelia promises me I am. It’s slightly unsettling. I’m not meant to be the person being waited on. I’m used to doing the waiting.
During tea on Thursday, Cornelia slides a packet of paper in front of me.
“Just a bit of pesky business. Our lawyers insist that all of our employees sign a non-disclosure agreement,” she explains, and I don’t hesitate to sign.
There’s also an I-9 form and a W-4 form. Or was it a W-2? I don’t know the difference. I sign my name where she tells me to on a dozen different documents then sigh with relief when Rita enters the drawing room carrying the tea tray. I want to stand and help her, but Cornelia’s reproachful stare makes it clear I should stay right where I am and let her do her job.
“Tell me about where you lived before you came here,” Cornelia says after Rita leaves us, adding a cube of sugar to her cup before swirling it around with her small spoon, never once touching the sides. Meanwhile, when I stir my tea, I bang my spoon so many times even I wince. “I know it was a group home.”