“Javier, you know better than this.” Mrs. Hawthorn glared down at her grandson in the pool as she held my cover-up in her hand.
Oh, shit!
“Grandmother, stay out of my business. What I do with Sarina is none of your concern.”
“Ms. Atwood is our employee. She receives a paycheck with your name on it while you fulfill your need for pleasure with her. That makes Sarina nothing more than a paid whore. ”
I gasped, hearing the ugly accusation. My hand went over my lips to block the sound and my stomach tightened at the possible truth to her words. Maybe she was right.
“Watch your mouth. Don’t say that about Sarina. She does everything you wish. She’s your employee, not mine. I have nothing to do with her paycheck. And what goes on between us has nothing to do with you, either.” He got out of the pool, grabbing a towel from where he had left it in the chair.
“You’re just like your father in so many ways. Always impractical and reckless.”
“You threaten those words like they mean something bad. I love my father and admire him even if you do not.” He stopped directly in front of his grandmother as the anger blazed in his eyes. “And I’ll choose to believe that was not a backhanded insult toward my mother. Good night.”
I sunk into the shadows of the patio as he walked to the house. Mrs. Hawthorn followed behind, carrying my swimsuit cover-up in her fist. I took off in the opposite direction to my room.
Well, this was not good. Not good at all.
Summer
WHAT DOES A PERSON WEAR to meet a firing squad? I didn’t have much time to dwell on the thought. Throwing the blue sundress back on, I twisted my damp hair into a respectable bun and hoped the swollen redness of my lips disappeared before I got to her office.
I walked quickly down the dark hallway to the other side of the house. The shadows reached out and brushed my skin, making every nerve tingle. My heart beat violently in my chest. I struggled to breathe.
I might be having a panic attack.
I had to face Delsey Hawthorn after she’d called me a whore. She’d reminded me of what I’d forgotten: Sarina Atwood was only gold-plated silver who worked in a solid platinum house surrounded by diamonds. I didn’t really belong here. I wasn’t the same as them. And even worse, Mrs. Hawthorn thought I was trying to sleep my way to a better life instead of earning it.
She might just fire me tonight. I wanted to cry. But I wouldn’t let her see me weak. A strong person deserved to stay here. And I deserved this job.
Mrs. Hawthorn was already in the room when I reached the doorway. She had a gold robe wrapped around her body, but she still wore a full face of makeup with her eyebrows painted in high arches. Instead of sitting, she stood in front of the antique oak desk with her arms crossed and coral-colored lips pursed in contemplation.
I looked my boss directly in the eye, waiting for her to reprimand me with the same accusations she’d wielded toward her grandson. To get angry. To tell me to pack my bags and leave the estate. But she didn’t speak. Her lack of words proved to be more unnerving than if she had just slapped me with her jeweled hand. Not that she would hit me. At least I didn’t think she would hit me.
I did my best not to fidget. Only my eyes moved as I blinked. This was her game. A game of wills as she waited for me to break and I waited for her to end the uncomfortable silence, narrated by the ticking of the grandfather clock. I wondered if she had sensed my presence at the pool. If she had said those words to Javier, knowing I would hear every condescending syllable.
After two minutes passed, Mrs. Hawthorn tilted her chin and turned her attention to my desk on the other side of the room. “Ms. Atwood, please take a seat and stop gawking like a parrot in a cage.”
I finally let go of the breath I held in my lungs. The interrogation was over and I came out relatively unscathed. I still had my job. And she didn’t call me a whore to my face. I still had my dignity. At least a small fraction of it. Sitting down at my desk, we carried on as usual. She dictated her words while I frantically scribbled notes regarding the garden party and the speech she wished to deliver to the attendees.
Mrs. Hawthorn dismissed me an hour later. Getting up from my seat, I couldn’t wait to get out of the room, out of her presence. Just a few more feet and this uncomfortable evening would be over.
“Ms. Atwood, I believe you have forgotten something.”
I turned around, seeing her finger pointed at my swimsuit cover-up. The black fabric was folded neatly in the corner chair. My muscles tensed and I swallowed hard. Walking past her desk, I claimed the evidence, holding the robe in my hand.
“Thank you.” I choked out the words.
“It’s not very wise to leave your clothes by the pool, Ms. Atwood.”
Her expression remained stoic with the exception of the slight tilt to her lips. Some may not have noticed, but I was used to reading the hidden challenges made by this woman. Once again, she waited for my reaction. Her next move in the grand game of emotional chess.
“Yes, that’s very good advice.” My voice spoke of confidence while I clenched the fabric in my hand. “But you don’t have to worry. I won’t be swimming in the pool again.”
She stared at me a moment longer. “Yes, that would be wise. Swimming is not very becoming of ladies. Exposing your skin for everyone to see. Rather vulgar, don’t you think?”
Holding my stance, I nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m glad we agree. The pool is really something of a novelty here. Something we see but don’t touch.” The slits of her eyes narrowed and her head tilted to the side the way a bird would watch their prey.
“I understand.” I tried to swallow, but my throat felt like sand.
“Very well. You are dismissed. I will see you in the morning. Please be on time. We have Elmore’s doctor appointment.”
“Yes. I remember.”
She did a slight brush-off wave with her fingers in the air, indicating I needed to leave. I practically ran out the door. My feet moved at a brisk pace through the dark hallways until I was back in my room.
This was insane. She was insane. I was insane. I’d almost lost my job while her words left a humiliating stain, making me feel dirty.
Part of me hated her for it.
Part of me hated that she was right.
I was done with Javier. No more flirting. No more evenings in the pool. And absolutely no trips to his room. This couldn’t go any further between us.
The next morning as Elmore and I reached the silver Mercedes, I saw Mrs. Hawthorn perched in the center of the backseat with the posture of a regal, eccentric queen. She wore a small robin’s-egg-colored hat and her lips were pursed in disapproval. Ten minutes early was five minutes late. But I had a feeling my arrival time was irrelevant. It wouldn’t have mattered if I’d been sitting in the front seat since sunrise.
She was still punishing me. As I glanced in the rearview mirror, I felt the blinding heat of her reflection in her gaze. I hated the way she saw me now. I was tarnished in her eyes. And it bothered me more than I would admit to anyone. Others would not understand. But I wanted this woman to be impressed by my abilities here.
By me as a person.
Delsey Hawthorn was this enigma. At my old hotel, a ballroom bore her name. A few streets over, a park had a large hawk statue dedicated in her honor by the botanical society after her coordination of the Wisteria Spring Ball. And over the years, I remembered reading about her many lavish accomplishments in the city newspaper, seeing her picture listed time and time again in articles about her greatness.
Common people latched onto the mythical persona of celebrities all the time. They admired them from afar, feeling as if they knew everything about their lives based on the snippets splashed in the media. But even when she turned out to be a vile old woman in real life, her actions didn’t completely erase the years of admiration. I knew it was wrong to base any of my self-worth on Mrs. Hawthorn, but a deep part of me still sought her approval
. Even in the moments when she belittled my every action, I bore the comments and the insanity in hopes that one day I might rise to her praise.
“Ms. Atwood, are you waiting for the car to suddenly drive itself? Let’s go.” Her hand lifted up and she gave the carry-on motion with her finger as the sun glistened off her diamond rings.
“Sorry, Mrs. Hawthorn.”
We pulled forward. I still wasn’t comfortable driving the expensive car, and her watchful hawk eyes didn’t make the trips any more pleasant. But today we also had the old butler along for the ride to his doctor appointment. Under normal circumstances, an additional passenger would help the awkward situation. But it didn’t. Elmore was a rather quiet man and the exact opposite of his chatty wife Virginia.
The car went five miles per hour down the driveway—per her instruction. As the gate opened in front of us, I clicked the turn signal to pull out into the street. The Hawthorn estate was nestled in the middle of similar homes built in the early days of the city. But this place was by far the grandest.
As the car made the turn, I was faced with three people sitting in lawn chairs. They were camped in the street just a few feet off the sidewalk, where a car might park next to a curb. The people were not blocking traffic nor did they occupy a single piece of soil owned by the family.
As we got closer, a man and two women held up signs. One read Say No to Frack. Another had a picture of a brown hawk with the red circle-backslash symbol over the body. The last just said Frack You. My head whipped around, getting one last glimpse of the strangers.
“Ms. Atwood, unless Jesus has returned and is standing behind the car, I expect you to keep your eyes on the road.”
My fingers gripped the steering wheel and I turned my attention back to the street in front of me, seeing the sun glistening through the low-hanging trees. And then I dared the question. “Why are those people outside the house?”
She let out an annoyed snort. “I can’t fathom to guess what motivates people to do useless things. I don’t take anyone serious who thinks holding a sign in a street is the best use of their time in the middle of the day.”
Her words just heightened my curiosity. I wanted to ask more questions. There had to be a reason. Some motivation. I met her gaze in the rearview mirror, seeing her arched eyebrows. Mrs. Hawthorn gave me an irritated glare. And I kept my thoughts to myself.
The remaining trip to the doctor’s office was rather uneventful. I dropped Mrs. Hawthorn and Elmore off at the entrance. She gave me a list of items to get at the store before returning. I was also her personal shopper, which shouldn’t be that surprising—not that I could imagine the woman pushing a cart at Walmart filled with toothpaste and deodorant.
The last item on the list was a watermelon from the farmers market. I was afraid it would roll around in the trunk of the car, splattering red juice across the light-colored carpet in the Mercedes. Instead of chancing that catastrophe, I placed the melon in the floorboard of the backseat.
I pulled up at the doctor’s office. Elmore climbed in the passenger’s seat, but Mrs. Hawthorn froze when she opened the back door.
“Ms. Atwood.” Her voice held the familiar warning.
“Would you rather Elmore hold the watermelon? We don’t have many options.”
“Very well.” She let out a deep breath, getting in the back with her produce.
I laughed silently to myself as we drove down the street. Every time I glanced in the mirror, I swore she was glaring at the floor like a venomous snake was ready to strike her ankle.
But my smile disappeared as we reached the estate. At least a dozen protesters were standing in the street this time. The men and women waved their signs in the air as we waited for the gates to open. Anger and hatred poured from their stares. A few got close to the glass windows. One man with a long beard shouted at us, but I couldn’t understand his words.
“Ridiculous,” she muttered as her blue eyes met mine in the mirror. “This is nothing more than a fancy tantrum in the street. A person can wear nice clothes and carry a professionally created sign, but it doesn’t change the facts. They waste time instead of spending a productive day at work. Don’t you agree?”
I wasn’t sure if I agreed. I wasn’t sure of anything because the people outside the house were accomplishing something in my book. They were scaring me.
I gave Mrs. Hawthorn a brief nod. And Elmore muttered something under his breath. We drove through the small crowd. The signs reflected in the rearview mirror as the gate closed behind us. Parking by the side entrance, I let the two passengers out of the car and started unloading the items from the trunk.
“Ms. Atwood, please tell Mrs. Van Horn to serve my lunch in the library. I want a watermelon salad with tomatoes, cucumbers, and fresh mozzarella. Not the cut squares like last time.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And Ms. Atwood, I need you to fetch my mail, letter opener, and stationery. Leave it on the desk in the library. I will be tending to my own correspondence today and will not require your assistance. You are free to work on your own duties.”
Mrs. Hawthorn sometimes used the library as a second office, leaving me alone in the study. She still wrote letters to her friends as if email had never been invented. But this meant I would be free of her for the afternoon. I welcomed the separation. I needed a break from the tension.
I joined Brenda in the kitchen for lunch. As I ate another bite of my sandwich, I couldn’t shake my worried thoughts. Mrs. Hawthorn wasn’t the type to just forgive and forget. I had disappointed her. She saw me differently now.
I wished it didn’t bother me.
But that wasn’t the only concerning event to transpire that day. I looked out the window again, feeling a slight chill despite the summer heat. Even from this distance, I saw the strange people outside the fence with their angry signs.
Present Day
DELSEY PURSED HER LIPS TOGETHER. “I demand to know why you have barged uninvited into my home. Why are you here?”
What was she doing? This wasn’t some trivial matter. She couldn’t expect this man to hop at the bark of an intercom. Not like the rest of us.
“Why are we all here? Now that’s a very good question.” Blue came to stand in front of her. His voice flowed heavy with a southern accent, making each word twice as long. “How should I address you? Madam? Your majesty? That’s who you are, right? Sitting in your fuckin’ gold castle while the rest of us rot out there on the other side of the fence.”
He yanked the red bow tie from around his neck and tossed it on the floor. The collar of the white oxford shirt gaped slightly around the throat, revealing the edges of a dark-blue tattoo.
“You still haven’t answered my question.” She glared at him, tilting that proud chin high in the air.
“Your question?” His grin left an eerie aftertaste.
“Stop behaving like ungrateful, ill-mannered delinquents. You have my attention. Now I demand that you explain yourself.”
I closed my eyes for a brief moment, praying for Mrs. Hawthorn to shut up—just for once in her life.
“Lady, you really are one whacked-out bitch. I’ve got the power right now, but you still believe you’re the one in charge. I’d heard that about you. But fuck! I thought you’d have a little common sense. How hard is it to understand?” Blue motioned to the man in the camo mask. He stepped forward, pointing the semiautomatic at us. “You question me again, and he’ll light one of them up.”
The air weighed heavy with the energy radiating off the man. Fingers itchy on the trigger. His piercing eyes locked with mine before moving to the cook. My hands were cold and clammy, yet perspiration beaded up on my forehead.
I thought about my father in that moment. What he must have imagined in those last seconds before he died. Did he know it was the end? Or did it just happen? One minute he was here. And the next he was gone, oblivious to the fact that his vehicle crashed into a truck.
The bartender pressed his knee against
mine. I fought the urge to look at the man. This might be our end, and I was left to stare at only his boot. I touched his leg with my toes. It wasn’t much. But it was something to hold onto as the tip of the gun scanned from one person to the next.
I didn’t doubt the intruder’s threat. If Mrs. Hawthorn spoke again, one of us would be gone. And I knew that woman well. There was no way she could hold her tongue.
On the other side, I heard the cook humming Amazing Grace under her breath. It wasn’t loud. Her notes mixed in with the music coming from the sound system. But it was her version of a prayer. She thought this was the end too. I wanted to reach for her hand, but that wasn’t possible with the zip ties.
I needed to breathe. A shallow breath through my dry lips. And then release. We would all be okay. Just breathe. This would be over soon. They wouldn’t kill any of us. Just breathe. I said the lies as prayers. I needed something right then, or I would’ve lost my damn mind.
The men were everywhere. The guns. They were pointed at my face. It wouldn’t take much. A slight pull of the finger. Maybe on purpose. Or even an accidental slip.
My heart pounded in my chest until the physical pain made me gasp. I wanted to look down the row. I needed to take the risk. I needed to see Javier. Look into his eyes and feel a little of his goodness one last time before these crazy men killed us. Our time together was always destined to end. I just never thought it would be like this. That . . . that . . . we would die.
Laughter erupted from Blue. His teeth flashed white from behind his mask. “You should see your faces right now. This shit’s getting good.”
Summer
MY BREAK FROM MRS. HAWTHORN didn’t last for very long. She appeared in the study shortly after lunch, more agitated than before her timeout in the library. She paced across the floor of the office, huffing with every step.
My boss gave me a stare-down. I braced for another round of carefully constructed words of criticism or detailed instructions for unnecessary tasks. Instead, she marched out the office door and disappeared into a puff of smoke.
The Hawks_A Novel Page 9