Chapter 7
He parked my chair beside the bed the way I liked it, brakes toward me so I could reach them. Not pushed flush against the wall the way she left it.
The suite was quiet after the foyer. Cool air again, but not the blue light from the chandelier. This was the soft lamp by my bed, the one with the linen shade I'd had since our old house. My cane rested across my lap. I kept both hands on it.
My son crouched beside the nightstand. The top drawer was open a half inch where I'd left it that afternoon.
"Your phone's here, Mom," he said.
He picked it up. The screen stayed black when he pressed the side button. He pressed and held it. Nothing.
"It's dead," he said. He looked at the cord on the nightstand. Or where the cord should have been. There was a pale circle in the dust where the white brick had sat. The outlet beside the bed was empty.
He checked the drawer. He lifted the little notepad I kept for numbers, the reading glasses, the hand lotion. He reached behind the lamp.
"No charger," he said. He said it more to himself than to me. "You always keep it right here."
I nodded. My throat was dry from crying in the foyer. "She moved it this morning," I said. My voice was low. "She said I wouldn't need it tonight. She said she'd charge it for me."
He stood up slowly. The woman in the gold gown was still in the doorway. She hadn't come in past the rug. Her arms were crossed, but she was holding a small shape against her side. Her purse, the gold clutch from the event. She hadn't set it down.
My son glanced at her. "Where's her charger?"
She gave a small shrug. "I put it somewhere safe. She keeps dropping it behind the bed. I didn't want it to get lost before the cleaners came through."
That wasn't true. I felt the lie sit in the room. I didn't answer it right away. I looked at the other piece of furniture I could see from my chair, the low dresser against the far wall. On it sat the white weekly medication box with the days of the week raised on each lid. It had a clear plastic lockbox over it now. I hadn't seen that box before tonight.
My son saw me looking. He walked to the dresser. He tried the lid of the lockbox. It didn't lift. A small brass keyhole was on the front.
He turned. "What's this?"
The blonde adjusted her clutch. "It's for safety," she said quickly. "The housekeeper was leaving it open. I told you we needed to be careful with the dosages. I have the key. It's more organized this way."
My son looked at me. "Mom?"
I kept my hands on my cane. I could feel my heart beating too fast. "The maid had a key," I said. "On the blue ribbon. She left it in the top drawer of the dresser so I could see it. I could ask her when I needed it."
"That was not secure," the blonde said from the doorway. Her voice had that thin, reasonable tone. "Anyone could have taken it."
My son tried the lockbox again, as if it might have opened the second time. It didn't. He put his hand on the dresser and didn't say anything for a few seconds. The lamp hummed.
I looked at the dresser, then at the empty outlet, then at the gold clutch in her hand. The shape inside it was rectangular. The edge pressed against the satin.
"Would you call her back?" I asked my son. My voice shook a little and I paused to breathe. "Not the doctor. Not anyone outside. Just her."
He frowned. "The maid?"
I nodded. "I want her to see the drawer. And the box."
The blonde took a step forward onto the rug. "I don't think we need to bring her back in here tonight. She's off for the evening. We can sort all this in the morning. You're overtired."
My son didn't look at her. He looked at me. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," I said. "Please."
He pulled his phone from his suit pocket. He had to step toward the window to get a better signal, away from the doorway. He found the number under House Staff and pressed call. He kept his eyes on me while it rang.
"It's me," he said when she answered. "Can you come back to the suite? Yes, now. Mom's asking for you."
He hung up. The blonde exhaled through her nose. She didn't leave, but she didn't come closer either. She stood with her clutch held tight against her ribs.
We waited. The clock over my bed ticked. I could hear my own breathing and the soft rub of my cardigan against the chair. After a minute I heard quick, low heels in the hall.
The maid knocked once and opened the door just enough. Her hair was still in its bun, her black dress straight, though she'd taken off the apron. She saw me in the chair and came right to my side. She didn't touch the chair without asking. She knelt so her face was level with mine.
"You alright?" she whispered.
I put one hand over hers for a second. "The drawer," I said quietly.
My son pointed to the dresser. "The charger is gone. And this box is locked."
The maid stood and went to the dresser. She opened the top drawer where her blue ribbon key used to be. It was empty. She looked at the lockbox and touched the keyhole.
"My key is gone," she said to my son. Her voice was steady, but her hands were tight together. "I kept it right here. She told me at five she would keep it now."
All three of them looked at the woman in the gold gown.
My son held out his hand. "Can I have it?"
For a few seconds she didn't move. Then she opened the clutch with a sharp click. She took out the small brass key first and placed it on his palm. Then she reached in again and pulled out the white charging brick with the cord wrapped around it. She set it beside the key. The cord had my little piece of tape on it where I'd marked it with my initials.
My son looked down at both objects in his hand. He plugged the brick into the outlet beside my bed and connected my phone. The screen lit up with the empty battery symbol, then the faint chime.
He handed the brass key to the maid without a word. She unlocked the clear box and lifted it off. The weekly medication box underneath was untouched, lids closed. She set the clear box to the side and left the small key on the dresser where I could see it.
May you like
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. The maid stepped back to my chair and rested her hand lightly on the arm, not the handles.
The woman in the gold gown stood in the doorway with her empty clutch, watching us from a half step outside the room.
