Chapter 3 - THE VASE I BROKE
Elena Alvarez.
Housekeeping.
Forty-two hours scheduled.
Thirty-nine approved.
Three unpaid.
Beside several dates were handwritten notes.
Late.
Uniform.
Break overage.
Damage.
“What is ‘damage’?”
Harland adjusted his cuff.
“She broke a vase.”
“Which one?”
“The porcelain piece in the east sitting room.”
I knew exactly which vase he meant.
Because I had broken it.
Three months earlier, during a late-night call.
I had knocked it off a table and told Harland to throw the pieces away.
“Elena didn’t break that vase.”
“I believe she did.”
“I broke it.”
For the first time, uncertainty entered his expression.
The deduction was $180.
I kept reading.
Shoes.
Cleaning supplies.
Transportation.
Uniform replacement.
“Employees pay for cleaning products?”
“Occasionally there are shared costs.”
“Since when?”
He hesitated.
Enough.
“Nora, we’re going to see your mother.”
Harland stepped forward.
“I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“I didn’t ask.”
Nora slid off her chair still carrying my stained shirt.
I gently took it.
“But the ink,” she whispered.
“I own other shirts.”
She looked amazed.
“Lots?”
“Too many.”
A tiny smile appeared.
At the door Harland said:
“There are always two sides to employment disputes.”
I looked at Nora.
“This isn’t an employment dispute.”
“What would you call it?”
“A reason to start asking questions.”
The staff apartments stood behind the old carriage house.
I had renovated them twelve years earlier and offered them as housing to employees who needed it.
I remembered choosing windows.
Approving kitchens.
Writing checks.
Then handing responsibility to management and almost never returning.
Nora had to skip to keep up with me.
I slowed down.
At apartment four she pushed the door open.
“Mama?”
Elena was lying under a blanket.
Her forehead shone with fever.
When she saw me, she tried to stand.
“Mr. Luca?”
Nora ran to her.
Elena immediately touched her swollen hands.
“What happened?”
“Mr. Luca found me.”
Elena’s face went white.
Then she looked at me and said the words I was beginning to hate hearing inside my own house.
“I’m sorry.”
Not hello.
Not what happened.
I’m sorry.
And when I told her Nora was safe, Elena gave me a look that said she believed the real danger hadn’t arrived yet.
May you like
It had.
She thought it was me.
