Chapter 10 - Day Shift Eyes
The break room smelled like bleach and old coffee that morning. I pushed the laundry cart in with my good arm and tried not to lean on it too hard. Light duty meant folded towels, restocked carts, no vacuuming, no lifting. My clinic note was folded in my purse in my locker, and my shoes squeaked on the tile.
Teresa was already there with Dana from day shift. They stopped talking when I came in. Not all the way. Just enough that I heard the tail end of it.
“Twice,” Teresa said. “Sheets off the master twice in one night. You ever seen that?”
I kept folding. My hands were shaking a little and I hated that they could see it.
Marta was at the microwave with her back to us. She didn’t turn around.
“Morning,” I said.
Teresa looked at my uniform. Same gray short-sleeve with black trim, same black pants, washed and back on. “That the one from the dryer?” she asked. “Heard your uniform went in the dryer at two a.m.”
My throat went dry. “No,” I said. “This is my regular one.”
Dana laughed under her breath. “So you weren’t in the master bedroom?”
I felt the cart handle cold under my palm. I made myself let go of it so I wouldn’t grip it. “I was sick last night,” I said. “I got dizzy on shift.”
“That’s not what Marco said,” Teresa said. She pulled a chair out and sat down like she had time. “Marco said the night sheet bag was heavy. Like a full change. And then Elena said she put a fresh set on this morning. So that’s twice. People don’t change clean sheets twice unless something happened.”
Nothing happened. The words were right there and I couldn’t say them without sounding guilty. I thought about that big bed with the white sheets and the dark frame, how I’d woken up barefoot on top of them, how Mr. Russo had stayed on his side in his unbuttoned shirt and handed me that short glass of water. I thought about how no one would believe that version.
Marta finally turned. “You guys doing inventory on sheets now?” She set her container down hard enough that the lid popped. “We got twelve checkouts today. You want to count laundry or you want to work?”
Teresa didn’t back off. “We’re just asking. If she was up there, she should say. Before the supervisor hears it different.”
“I was up there,” I said.
Silence. The microwave beeped behind Marta and nobody moved.
“I got sick in the hallway,” I said. My voice sounded thin. “I threw up. I couldn’t stand up straight. Mr. Russo let me sit down in there because the floor was cold. That’s it.”
Dana raised her eyebrows. “In his bed?”
I felt heat climb up my neck. “I fell asleep. I didn’t mean to. He woke me up and told me to leave.”
Teresa exchanged a look with Dana. “And he washed your uniform?”
“No,” I said. “I don’t know what went in the dryer. It wasn’t mine.”
Marta cut in, loud. “Okay. Break’s over.” She nodded at the door. “Teresa, Mrs. Bell in 412 needs towels. Dana, you got the third floor.”
They didn’t move right away. Teresa stood slow, pushing her chair back. “I’m not trying to start trouble,” she said. “But you know how it looks. Girl in his room at night, sheets changed. People talk.”
“I know,” I said.
When they left, the room felt too quiet. The fluorescent light buzzed. Marta sat across from me and opened her lunch she wasn’t going to eat.
“You told them too much,” she said.
“What was I supposed to say?”
“Nothing. ‘No’ would’ve been good.” She studied my face. “You look like hell, by the way.”
“I went to urgent care this morning,” I said. “Before shift. They said it was dehydration and a stomach bug. Gave me light duty.”
Marta nodded toward the lockers. “You got paper to prove that?”
I hesitated. The note was the only thing I had that made me feel solid. If I showed it around, it would get passed hand to hand until the words didn’t mean anything. If I didn’t show anyone, Teresa’s version would win.
“Show me,” Marta said quietly. “Just me.”
I went to my locker and got my purse. My hands were steadier when no one was watching. I pulled out the folded urgent care discharge sheet and handed it to her. She read it twice, lips moving a little over the doctor’s handwriting, the diagnosis, the stamp, the time — 7:42 a.m.
She let out a breath and handed it back. “Okay.”
“Okay what?”
“I believe you. You were sick.” She tucked a loose hair back under her cap. “But Chloe. If I’m going to keep covering for you when Teresa runs her mouth, I need to know what it costs me. If the supervisor asks me point-blank where you were, do I lie? Because I got two kids and I’m not losing hours for a story I don’t know all of.”
It wasn’t cruel the way she said it. It was practical. That made it harder.
“I’m not asking you to lie,” I said, and folded the note back into my purse. “If she asks, say I told you I was sick. That’s true. Don’t say anything about the bedroom. Please.”
Marta held my eyes for a long second, then nodded once. “For now.”
The door opened and Dana stuck her head back in for her phone she’d left on the table. She looked from me to Marta to my purse still open on the bench, and smiled a little too wide.
“Secrets?” she said.
“No,” Marta said. “Work.”
May you like
Dana took her phone and left, but she left the door open. Down the hall I could hear Teresa laughing with someone by the laundry chute, and I heard the word master again before the dryer buzzed and covered it.
I zipped my purse shut. Marta believed me. I held onto that. But the rest of the house still had its story, and it was already moving without me.
