Four
1333 Words
Dinner in the staff dining room is quiet. People eat and leave. That suits me. The twenty-two thousand five hundred dollars sitting in my account matters more than any acquaintance I’ll ever need. I finish, rinse my plate, and go looking for Zara.
Mrs. Chen is nowhere in sight, so I check the ground floor first. The foyer is empty. The sitting rooms are dark. Outside, the light is already fading and it's snowing.
I don't find her.
Back in my room, I give up on being productive and crawl into bed with my phone and a bag of chips. I fall asleep without trying.
For the first time in months, I sleep through the night. No neighbor's TV blaring through paper-thin walls, no sirens, no waking up at 3 AM in a panic about which bill I forgot to pay.
Just sleep.
My alarm goes off at five. I'm already awake.
Years of opening shifts and early cleaning gigs trained my body to wake up at this hour whether I want to or not.
I shower, pull on the black uniform Mrs. Chen left for me, and head downstairs. The staff area hums quietly. Someone argues in Spanish near the ovens. Trays clatter. Coffee brews.
Mrs. Chen stands by the coffee station with a clipboard.
"Morning," I say.
She looks up. "Miss Bennett."
"I’m looking for Zara. Which floor is she on?"
"Second floor, east wing. End room." She checks something off. “Breakfast is at eight.”
“I'll be there.”
I walk past hallways I didn't see yesterday, rooms with closed doors.
The door at the end of the hall is cracked open. I knock once and push it wider.
Zara’s room is large and neat. Pink walls. A canopy bed. Toys lined up instead of scattered.
There's a middle aged woman standing by the bed, trying to coax Zara toward the bathroom.
"Come on, sweetheart, you need to brush your teeth or they'll get all yucky and fall out."
Zara sits on the edge of the bed, unmoving. Then she looks up and sees me. Surprise flickers across her face.
"Lisa?"
I smile. "Hey, Zara."
The woman turns. She's brittle-looking, with tight lines around her mouth and sharp eyes. An ID badge hangs from her shirt.
“And you are?”
“Lisa. I’m here to help with Zara.”
She doesn’t take the hand I offer. “That never lasts.”
“I’m here for twelve days,” I say. “Then I’m gone.”
She studies me. “I’m Patricia. Zara’s nanny. I don’t need help.”
I glance at Zara, who's watching us.
"Mr. Montgomery thinks otherwise," I say.
Patricia glares at me, but she doesn't argue. She turns back to Zara. "Go brush your teeth."
Zara doesn't move.
I sit beside her. "Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep okay?”
Zara nods.
"You work here now? What about your coat check?"
I laugh. "That job was way too hard on my poor feet. This one's better."
Zara doesn't smile, but there's a flicker of interest in her eyes.
Patricia is seething quietly.
"So," I say, "what are your plans today? Christmas is in six days. That's exciting, right?"
Zara doesn't respond.
"Want to pick out what you're wearing today?"
Zara slides off the bed and goes to her closet. She comes back with a green dress.
“That’s not appropriate,” Patricia says. “Breakfast comes first.”
I glance at the dress. "As long as it makes her happy," I say quietly to Patricia. "That's the goal, right?"
Patricia's face twists into something ugly. She reaches for Zara.
"Don't touch me," Zara snaps. "Lisa, help me."
I give Patricia an apologetic look. "Sorry."
Patricia turns and walks out, slamming the door behind her.
Zara hands me the dress.
"Alright. Let's get you into this."
I'm chatty while I help her. She shows me her room, points out her favorite stuffed animals, tells me about the dollhouse in the corner that she doesn't really play with anymore.
When she's dressed, there's a knock.
“Breakfast,” Patricia says from the doorway.
"I want Lisa to take me," Zara says.
Patricia hesitates, then nods.
"Fine."
Zara takes my hand and pulls me toward the door.
As we walk through the hallways, I lean down and whisper, "Who's going to be there?"
At the dining room entrance, she points.
"The one at the head is Grandma Vivienne. That's Grandpa Douglas at the other end. That's Uncle Gabe by the side. And that's Natasha, his wife."
I take it in.
The woman at the head of the table is ice-cold elegance in perfectly coiffed hair. The man at the foot looks tired, like he's already checked out of whatever's about to happen.
The young man who I assume is Omarion's brother is lean but has sharp eyes as he's the first to see us. His wife is on her phone.
Zara walks forward and climbs into her high chair.
"Good morning, darling," Zara's grandmother says. "How did you sleep?"
Zara says nothing.
Her grandmother's smile thins. "If you keep this up, you're going to grow into a very rude young lady."
"She's a child," her grandfather says quietly.
His wife ignores him.
Mrs. Chen appears beside me and snaps her fingers. "Coffee."
Right.
I grab the coffee pot from the sideboard and follow another server, keeping my head down. I don't make eye contact with anyone.
Zara's voice cuts through the quiet. "Will you sit with us, Lisa?"
Omarion's brother looks up. "Who's Lisa?"
"My friend," Zara says.
Every eye in the room turns to me.
I'm pouring tea when Omarion walks in. The stills. He sits down across from his mother and glances at me. His face gives nothing away.
I turn to leave.
"Papa," Zara says, "can Lisa have breakfast with us?"
"No," his grandmother says immediately. She looks at me with disdain. "Leave."
"Sit," Omarion says.
I stop. "Sir?"
"You're here for Zara. Sit with her."
His mother stiffens. "Absolutely not ?"
"I hired her." Omarion's voice is calm. "Zara likes her."
His brother leans back in his chair.
“This isn’t a table for servants.”
I look at Omarion, waiting for him to correct it.
He doesn't.
"I'm not a servant," I say. "“I’m temporary help. Twelve days.”
His brother smirks. "Where did this happen?"
I hesitate.
"Go on," he says.
"Coat check," I say.
He laughs.
"Even worse."
"Do you have a problem with that, Gabe?" Omarion's voice is annoyed now.
Gabe’s smile fades. "No. Nothing, brother."
The word ‘brother’ sounds bitter. I sit down next to Zara. The meal is tense. I don't enjoy a single bite.
Zara pushes her berries aside.
“You don’t like them?” I whisper.
She shakes her head. "No," she says.
“Same. Eat one anyway.”
She considers this, then picks one up and eats it, makes a face. I smile.
After breakfast, I escape as fast as I can. Patricia bumps my shoulder in the hall.
“You’re temporary,” she says. “Don’t forget that.”
I roll my eyes and walk away.
The rest of the morning, I stay with Zara. We play in her room, read books, draw pictures. She's quiet but engaged.
Later, I find Mrs. Chen in the kitchen.
"Can I ask you something?"
She doesn't look up from the inventory sheet she's marking. "What?"
"What happened to Zara's mother?"
Mrs. Chen pauses, then looks up. "She died."
Nothing else.
“Anything special happening soon?”
“Family events. Guests. Christmas.”
I nod.
Zara appears in the doorway, looking for me.
Mrs. Chen watches her, then looks at me. “Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.”“I’m not doing anything,” I say. “She just likes me.”
Mrs. Chen doesn’t answer.
The silence settles heavy in my chest, and I don’t know why it bothers me so much.
- Writer
