The Help (Kings of Linwood Academy, #1)(5)
He does the double handshake thing again, clasping hers between both of his. “Of course. Celeste spoke very highly of you.”
Before he leaves, he shows me around the corner to my room. The service entrance door is nestled into the corner where two hallways meet, and my room is several yards past that. The room is huge—obviously it wasn’t intended for servants to sleep in—and as Mr. Black noted, the laundry room is right next to it. There’s even a door that leads from the bedroom to the laundry room, although I’m not quite sure why. All I know is, he just gave my mom the perfect excuse to assign me laundry duty.
I chuckle under my breath, rolling my eyes. Thanks a lot, dude.
A second later, Mom raps gently on the half-closed bedroom door and pokes her head inside. “Hey, kiddo. Want to help me unload the truck?”
Heaving a breath, I stand from where I was testing out the bed. The mattress is soft and bouncy, just how I like, and what I really want to do is put on my pajamas and curl up under the covers. But we only have a few hours of daylight left, and until we unpack our shit, I don’t even have any pajamas to change into.
“Yeah. Let’s do it. Home, sweet home.”
There’s no sign of either Lincoln or his mom in the house as we unload our boxes and bags from the moving truck. It doesn’t take long—we sold or donated all our furniture, and neither of us own a whole lot. It’s mostly clothes, books, and other day-to-day necessities.
That night, I sleep like a damn baby swaddled in the softest sheets known to mankind. Usually I have a hard time sleeping in new places, and I would’ve thought that would be especially true in this massive, overwhelming house. But tucked away in the northwest corner, around the corner from my mom’s little makeshift apartment, I feel safe and cozy. I can almost imagine the rest of the house doesn’t exist.
There are some guest bedrooms on the first floor, but everyone who lives here sleeps on the second. Mr. and Mrs. Black share the master bedroom, which has an attached sitting room and two gargantuan walk-in closets and takes up almost the entire east wing of the house. Lincoln’s room is on the south side of the house, around the corner and down the hallway from mine—Mr. Black pointed it out to us on the tour. I can only assume Lincoln was inside of it at the time, glaring at the thick wood as we walked past.
I can tell Mom’s a little nervous about starting work, but she makes a point to peruse the house more thoroughly the next day. She was joking when we first arrived, but she made a good point—if we’re scared to touch anything here, we’ll be the shittiest housekeepers ever.
Despite the glowing recommendation from her old high school friend Celeste Barker, my mom isn’t exactly an expert housekeeper or anything. She cleaned houses through an agency for about a year when I was fifteen, and I helped whenever I wasn’t at school. Celeste putting in a good word for my mom was more about throwing her a bone than about her actual qualifications.
Apparently, they were good friends in high school, but life circumstances sent them spinning in very different directions after that. My mom got pregnant with me the year she graduated, and my dad split a year later. Celeste married some hotshot lawyer and ended up working as an interior decorator in Fox Hills. They reconnected on social media randomly a while ago, and I think Celeste felt a little bad to see where my mom had ended up.
I sort of hate that it was pity that got us here, but, hey—my mom’s not dumb enough to turn down a life-changing opportunity because of pride.
And this could be life changing.
With this kind of job—this kind of money—we could finally crawl out of the hole of debt we’ve been living in for years.
Without conscious thought, my fingertips reach up to brush against the port scar on my chest. I can’t even feel it through the fabric of my shirt, but I know it’s there.
“Low? You okay, honey?”
I jerk in surprise, turning toward the bedroom door to see Mom’s head poking through the crack.
“Yeah.” I smile, letting out a breath. “Fine. You unpacked?”
She shrugs as she pushes the door open wider and leans against the frame. “Good enough for now. And I already know I packed a bunch of shit I should’ve just gotten rid of. Ah, well. I’ll just keep it for another ten years and then decide what to do with it.”
I smirk, tugging my long hair over my shoulder. “Good call.”
“Hey, I’m about to sit down and chat with Mr. Black, get the lay of the land here. You can come if you want, but if you don’t—”
“Option number two,” I say quickly.
I’m perfectly happy to help my mom with the cleaning duties, but if she handles the meetings with the head of the household, I’ll be even happier. Mr. Black seems nice enough, but he still oozes privilege and power, and it makes me a little jittery to be near him. To be near anyone in this family, really. I have to assume that feeling will go away at some point—we’re all living together now, for fuck’s sake—but I’m not in any hurry to force it.
“Yeah, I thought so.”
She smiles at me, and for a second, her expression grows painfully wistful. After everything she’s done for me—the insane hours she worked, the massive debt she took on, the days and weeks of taking care of me through chemo after my cancer diagnosis—sometimes I think she should hate me. Resent me.