Page 136 of The Housekeeper

Chapter Fifty-three

A famous poetonce christened April “the cruellest month.” As I recall from my university courses in English literature, April was considered cruel because, unlike winter, which had “kept us warm” by “covering the earth in forgetful snow,” April’s thaw not only laid bare the dormant rot below, it unearthed a fresh hope—of renewal, of change, of brighter days ahead—that was ultimately doomed to disappoint.

In my case, it was less a question of unrealized hopes than it was overwhelming regret for what I had done, the constant fear of my ill-advised affair being exposed, the pervasive dread that things were about to get worse.

So, despite my concerns for my father’s welfare, I chose the coward’s way out and decided that the best thing for me to do was to lie low, to keep my thoughts and reservations to myself, and not to rock the boat in any way. What difference did it make if Elyse was only after my father’s money, if she ultimately inherited everything, if Tracy and I received nothing? It was our father’s money and he was entitled to do whatever he wished with it. As long as he was happy, I reasoned, who were we to interfere?

My mother will continue to make your father a very happyman for as long as she’s able to tolerate his rather autocratic ways,my former lover had said.

And when thoserather autocratic wayswere no longer tolerable, I found myself wondering, uncomfortably aware of the implicit threat those words carried—what happened then?

My thoughts drifted back to Tracy’s earlier speculation that Elyse had played a part in our mother’s death, that her fatal tumble down the stairs might not have been an accident at all.

Was it possible?

Was our father in danger now as well?

And if so, was there anything I could do about it?

These questions occupied my every waking hour, kept me tossing and turning each night. Still, I continued to keep these thoughts to myself. I consoled myself with the knowledge that my marriage was back on track, my relationship with my sister, while strained, was relatively stable—helped no doubt by Roger/Andrew’s continued absence—and even my relationship with my father, while decidedly chilly, had settled into a cordial formality. I called weekly; we spoke briefly; Elyse continued to tolerate hisrather autocratic ways.

Don’t go looking for trouble,I told myself, mindful of the Alcoholics Anonymous prayer:God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

This was one of the things I couldn’t change.

At least that’s what I continued telling myself throughout that most cruel of months.

And then it was May.

It had been almost a year since that first fateful meeting with Elyse. So much had changed. My mother was dead. I was an adulteress. The woman I’d hired as a housekeeper was now, quite literally, the keeper of the house.

“Knock, knock,” I heard a voice say, accompanied by a tapping of knuckles on my open office door.

I looked up to see Stephanie Pickering, resplendent in a tomato-red blazer, white silk shirt, and black pants.

“Someone’s deep in thought,” she said. “I’ve been standing here for five minutes.”

“Sorry,” I apologized, motioning her inside. “What’s up?”

“I just wanted to thank you,” she said, pulling out one of the chairs in front of my desk and sitting down, crossing one leg over the other to reveal a pair of bright red Louboutins with skinny, sky-high heels.

“For what?”

“I just got a call from your father. It seems they’re interested in selling the house after all.”

“What?”

“You look surprised.”

“What?” I said again, my go-to question whenever I didn’t know what else to say.

“Sorry. I just assumed you had something to do with his change of heart, that you must have said something to convince him…”

“I’m sorry,” I apologized again. “My father told you he’s considering selling the house?”

“Asked me if that client I had was still interested. Of course, I had to tell him that ship had unfortunately sailed, but that I was quite certain I’d have another buyer for him in no time. I’m going over there this afternoon to have another look-around, and I’m taking a few of the other agents with me, so we can come up with the best price. Oh, dear,” she added. “I can see you’re upset.”

I shook my head, not sure what I was.