At least out here, there’s a lot of room to pace, so I don’t have to worry about waking up Finn, who easily sleeps through the night. Guess the quiet agrees with him.
*
Exhausted, I begin tackling the list that Catrine left for me, having to stop frequently to play with Finn or give him a bottle. I move his playpen into each new room I clean. It’s a bit of a pain taking it up and down, but I’m not about to complain. Catrine texted that she’ll be later than she thought, which sucks because there’s one room I don’t want to clean—Slade’s bedroom. That seems much more private than, say, vacuuming the rug.
I wait until Finn goes down for a nap, attach the monitor to the waistband of my jeans, then head to the other side of the house. Rustic double doors lead inside the only bedroom over here. The kind of doors you’d imagine leading to a secret garden, but it’s more likely a garden of sin.
My hand lands on a real glass knob like you’d see in an old house. It’s cool under my fingertips. I push open the door, and even though it’s the middle of the day, the room is dark. I reach for the light switch, and even that doesn’t fully illuminate the room. The walls are a deep gray, the wood floors just as dark, and the fact that the curtains are drawn isn’t helping matters.
Everything about this room screams that a man lives here. And not just any man but a man with something to hide. Chills run down my spine, and goose bumps cover my skin as I step across the room, anxious to pull the curtains back to fill the space with light and scare back the shadows.
The curtains are heavy and huge, stretching all the way from the floor to the ceiling, which is at least twenty feet high. It actually takes some effort to pull them open, but when I do, the entire room transforms, and the view—nothing but trees and sky—is magnificent. Why would he ever close these curtains? I could stand here for hours just staring, but I don’t. There’s work to be done.
Catrine told me if his bed is made, he doesn’t want the sheets changed. Lucky for me, it’s neatly made today. Cleaning someone’s house is a little bit like snooping. It’s like they give you permission to be nosy as long as it’s disguised as dusting. It gives you the excuse to look at pictures, pick up mementos, perhaps see a note lying around or a prescription bottle, but I don’t find any of those things. Nothing in here tells me anything about Slade Turner, not even what books he likes to read. Nothing.
Perhaps under the bed? I take my job very seriously, and that would entail sweeping under the bed. But I strike out there, too. Not even a dust bunny with a secret to tell.
“Hello, hello, hello?” Catrine’s voice chimes through the house.
“In here,” I call out.
She walks in, looking adorable in her maternity jeans and T-shirt. “I’m so sorry I’m late.”
“No worries. How are you and Chewie?”
Before she can answer, I hear Finn start to cry through the baby monitor. “Crap, I probably woke him with my yelling,” Catrine says. “Sorry. I’ll go get him.”
“You sure?”
“I need the practice,” she says, already heading out the door.
“Please grab his bottle from the fridge!” I yell out, unsure if she heard me.
When she comes back in, she’s got Finn cradled in her arms with the bottle in his mouth. “How am I doing?” she asks, doing a little twirl. “You know, I’ve never fed a baby. How is it that I’m having a baby but never actually fed, changed, or bathed one?”
“You’re a natural,” I say. “Somehow, you just figure it all out.”
“I don’t know how you do it all alone,” she says. “I’m so scared, and I have Jon.”
“It’s amazing what you can do when you don’t have a choice.”
I can see the curiosity in her eyes. She wants to know about Finn’s dad. Who is he? Is he in the picture? Why did he leave? The questions are like cartoon bubbles over her head. I always did love bursting people’s bubbles, so I say, “Only room left to clean is the master bathroom. You want to clean the toilet, or should I?”
Honestly, there is no way I’d let her bend over to scrub the tub, shower, or toilet, but it got her off topic, which is what I wanted. She holds Finn while I do the cleaning, and we just chat. It’s nice and distracts me from the fact that I’m cleaning all the places that Slade uses when he’s naked. Plus, Catrine is the type of person who, as soon as you meet, you just know that the two of you will be friends. She’s honest and funny, and we hit it off. And as with any two women, you put them in a room together, and within an hour, you’ll know everything from her menstrual cycle to her celebrity crush. Hers is Dwayne Johnson. Mine is Henry Cavill. And since she’s pregnant, her cycle is a non-issue at the moment.
That becomes our pattern over the next few days. I do a lot of work, and she does a lot of directing, which is the way it should be. I need to learn, and she needs to say goodbye to this job. Plus, she’s great with Finn, which helps me out a lot. By the time Friday afternoon rolls around, I’m feeling good about everything. The only problem is I can’t fall asleep here. Every night it’s the same. I watch the Cooking Channel, then I turn off the Cooking Channel. I toss and turn for a couple of hours, then I turn the Cooking Channel back on. I’ve tried sleeping in different rooms, and I’ve tried sleeping with the television on as background noise, but nothing works.
I’m not settled. I’ve been here almost a week, so I should be settled. The job is going well, and Finn is happy. Catrine and I are becoming good friends, and I’m sure that will continue even after she leaves, but I can’t relax into my new life. Too many secrets and lies from my past are waiting to sneak up and bite me in the butt, I guess.
Slade hasn’t called me again. That’s one part of the job I haven’t taken over for Catrine. He calls and texts her, but not a peep to me since he called on my new phone. I have to wonder if I insulted him when I didn’t accept the computer and tablet. They were gone the next day. I guess Catrine took care of them.
Catrine says he’s only calling her because she’s working on some event for him. Her last big project before she leaves—the opening of a golf course or something. Still, I wonder if it’s more than that.
The last order of business before the weekend is to pay the guys who help with the horses and manage the stables. The main man is an older gentleman who looks like he could’ve played the part of Robert Redford in The Horse Whisperer. And the fact that his name is Tom, just like the character in the movie, only adds to the fun. His helper is his grandson, Clay, who works here in the summer and around his school schedule during the school year. He’s about eighteen and does all the grunt work, like cleaning the stables. I think it’s just the sweetest thing seeing granddad and grandson working together. Tom oversees a couple of other guys, too, but Catrine says they don’t ever come up to the house. She really only sees them on payday or if she takes a stroll.
Catrine hands the envelopes with their checks to Tom, who’s latching a stable door. “He’s beautiful,” I say, admiring the horse’s shiny coat. His eyes look almost black, his mane thick and dark.
“You’ve got good taste,” Tom says. “Whiskey is a fine stallion.”