“It’s worth a try if you don’t want her to leave,” he says.
Leave? I can’t have Ms. Austinleaving. I imagine her sleeping in her car again, trying to find another job, and it fills me with rage.
Fine. Then I’ll apologize if that’s what it takes.
eleven
. . .
peony
“Fuck you, Mr. Edgewood,” I mutter to myself as I return to my room, slamming the door closed behind me. Tears still hang heavy in my eyes, and I blink and rub my face to get rid of them. I don’t need to be crying over that asshole. He doesn’t deserve it.
I take both books he lent me and throw them out into the hall, causing the pages to crumple and bend. Then I snatch up the pajamas and shove them into the garbage can.
It’s pointless and stupid, but it helps me vent some of the fury in my heart so all that’s left is regret. Regret that I ever saw Mr. Edgewood last night in the kitchen and reacted the way I did. Regret that I bothered to try to please him.
I’m pathetic, and all for a man I’ve never properly met. Or rather, a monster.
It may only be eight o’clock, but I don’t care. I crawl intobed and bury my head under the covers, angry and embarrassed.
I shouldn’t have thrown a fit in front of Kellen. I know it’ll get back to Mr. Edgewood that he got under my skin.
Eventually, it all fades into a sort of emptiness, a hollow feeling in my belly.
The first thing Andy did was isolate me from my friends. He alienated them one at a time until they wouldn’t even call me anymore. Then he chipped away at Dad, until Dad wanted nothing to do with me, either.
I never got tobelong. Even when I tried to make friends around the trailer park, Andy scared them off. Only the mechanic and his wife Mandy stayed friends with us, but that’s because Andy owed them money.
I didn’t realize then that he wanted me to have no connections, nothing to anchor me so he could bind me to him completely. So I could never fight back.
Yesterday, I had started to feel like I belonged here, like maybe I had forged some new roots after Andy. I felt like myself, playing with ingredients and techniques, testing and combining flavors, ready to watch someone enjoy it like my chef heart craved.
But that was silly, immensely silly, on my part. I will never belong here.
The next morning, I wake up before dawn because I went to bed so early and get right to putting on my work clothes. There’s one thing I know how to do and do well, and it’s work. This is how I’ll distract myself from the miserable ache in my chest.
I start on the bottom floor of the east wing, which housesthe utility room, laundry room, and a great big storage space. This will take me most of the day to clean, given that it’s actually all in use.
First, I clear off all the shelves and clean them, then swipe the dust off every bottle of cleaner and chemical. Next is the floor, it takes a good hour just to get the concrete clean again. Then I work my way around the corners, scraping off every cobweb and spraying the spider repellent I found in a box.
That’s when I realize it’s lunchtime. Grumbling, I abandon my project and head back to the kitchen.
Fine. If Mr. Edgewood doesn’t appreciate my cooking, why bother?
I grab a loaf of bread and slap mayo on one side, then fold up some deli ham and deli cheese that I think Kellen keeps for himself. I squeeze them between two pieces of slathered bread and hurl the sandwich onto a plate. When Kellen arrives, he gives the meal I’ve assembled for Mr. Edgewood a sidelong glance.
“Is that for him?”
I just nod. With a thoughtfulhmmbut no objection, he takes the plate away. Then I make a simple salad for myself and devour it, following it up with a protein shake I find in the pantry.
Before I can go back to work, Kellen appears with the empty plate.
“Thought you might want to see this,” he says, setting it down in front of me. On the plate is a note.
Please accept my deepest apologies, Ms. Austin. I should have attended your dinner last night. It was a mistake, and I hope that you’ll forgive me.
-R
