The Maid(83)

“My dear girl,” he says. “I think I’ve said quite enough already.”

“Did you know my mother too?” I ask him.

“Yes. Now, she was a true fly-by-night, I’m afraid. Your gran had me try to talk some sense into her when she shacked up with the wrong fellow. I went to see her, tried to pry her from the flophouse she was living in, but she wouldn’t listen. Your poor gran, the pain of that…of losing a child the way she did…” Mr. Preston’s eyes fill with tears. Charlotte grabs his hand.

“Your gran was so good, that she was,” Mr. Preston says. “When my Mary was struggling near the end, your gran came to her rescue.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Mary was in extreme pain and so was I. I sat by her bedside holding her hand, saying, ‘Please don’t go. Not yet.’ Flora watched it all, then drew me aside. She said, ‘Don’t you see? She won’t leave you until you tell her it’s time.’?”

That’s exactly what Gran would have said. I hear her words echo in my head. “Then what happened?” I ask.

“I told Mary I loved her and I did as Flora said. That’s all my wife needed to rest in peace.”

Mr. Preston can’t hold back his sobs any longer.

“You did the right thing, Dad,” Charlotte says. “Mom was suffering.”

“I always wanted to repay your gran, for showing me the way.”

“You have repaid her, Mr. Preston,” I say. “You’ve come to my aid, and Gran would be grateful.”

“Oh no, that’s not me,” Mr. Preston says. “That’s Charlotte.”

“No, Dad. You insisted on this. You convinced me we had to help this young maid you worked with. I think I’m starting to see why it was so important to you.”

“A friend in need is a friend indeed,” I say. “Gran thanks you. All of you. If she were here, she’d say it herself.”

With that, Mr. Preston stands, as does Charlotte. “Well, let’s not get too soggy then,” he says as he wipes his cheeks. “We best be going.”

“It’s been a long day,” Charlotte adds. “Juan Manuel, we brought your real overnight bag from your locker at the hotel. It’s by the front closet.”

“Thank you,” he says.

It strikes me suddenly, an urgent feeling. I don’t want them to leave. What if they walk out of my life and never come back? It’s not the first time that has happened. The thought puts me instantly on edge.

“Will I be seeing you again?” I ask. I can’t keep the anxiety out of my voice.

Mr. Preston chuckles. “Whether you like it or not, Molly.”

“You’ll be seeing us plenty,” Charlotte replies. “We have a case to prepare.”

“And besides the case, you’re stuck with us, Molly. You know, I’m old, and I’m a widower who’s become a bit set in my ways. It may seem odd, but this has been good for me. All of this. All of you. It feels like…”

“Family?” Juan Manuel suggests.

“Yes,” Mr. Preston says. “That’s exactly what it feels like.”

“You know,” Juan Manuel says, “in my family, the rule is that on Sundays, we all have dinner together. That’s the thing I miss the most from back home.”

“That’s easily remedied,” I say. “Charlotte, Mr. Preston, would you be so kind as to join us for dinner this Sunday?”

“I’ll cook!” Juan Manuel says. “You’ve probably never had real Mexican food, the kind my mother makes. I’ll make the Tour of Mexico. Oh, you’ll love it.”

Mr. Preston looks to Charlotte. She nods.

“We’ll bring dessert,” Mr. Preston says.

“And a bottle of champagne to celebrate,” Charlotte adds.

At the doorway, I stand and wait as Charlotte and Mr. Preston put on their shoes. I’m not sure of the proper etiquette for saying goodbye to two people who have just saved you from life in prison.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Mr. Preston says. “Give your ol’ friend a hug.”

I do as I’m told and am surprised by the sensation—I feel like Goldilocks hugging Papa Bear.

I hug Charlotte as well, and it’s pleasant but entirely different, like caressing the wing of a butterfly.

They leave arm in arm, and I close the door behind them. Juan Manuel stands in the entryway, shifting from foot to foot.

“Are you sure, Molly, that you’re okay with me staying here tonight?”

“Yes,” I say. “Just for tonight.” The words that follow cascade out of my mouth. “You’ll take my room, and I’ll take Gran’s room. I’ll change the sheets right now. I always bleach and iron my sheets and keep two pairs at the ready, and you can rest assured that the bathroom is sanitary and disinfected on a regular basis. And if you do require any extra amenities, such as a toothbrush or soap, I’m most certain that I—”

“Molly, it’s good. I’m fine. It’s okay.”

My verbal rush comes to a halt. “I’m not terribly good at this. I know how to treat guests at the hotel, but not in my own home.”

“You don’t have to treat me in any special way. I’ll just try to be clean and quiet, and to help out where I can. You like breakfast?”