Chapter 1 - The Water at Eleven
The bucket struck my shoulder before Daniel reached the last stair. Gray water slid down my wig, beneath the collar of the black maid dress, and onto the marble floor I had spent thirty years preserving. Vanessa Cole released the metal handle and laughed as if humiliating an old housekeeper were a private joke staged for her amusement. Above us, the chandelier trembled with Daniel's footsteps. “You look disgusting,” she said. “Someone had to wash the filth off you.” I wiped my glasses with the white apron I had bought at a church thrift store. My thumb found the recorder inside my pocket, but Vanessa's reaction unsettled me. She didn't glance toward the staircase or the front door. She stared directly at my hand, as though she had been waiting for me to reach for something. “Daniel,” I called. “Come down here, please.” Her smile tightened. Then she stepped between me and the hall mirror, blocking my reflection from his view. When my son appeared in his black suit, she produced tears with frightening speed. “This woman threatened me and tried to steal from me.” Daniel looked first at the bucket, then at Vanessa, and finally at me. I removed the glasses. My dark wig followed, heavy with dirty water. His fingers closed around the banister. “Mom?” Vanessa didn't look embarrassed. She looked betrayed. That distinction stayed with me long after the water stopped dripping. Behind him, the clock struck eleven, each note landing between us like a question none of us answered. Not yet.
