Page 50 of The Surprise Play

Her bed is made, the cover pulled tight and crisp. Bet she does those special corner things my mom loves. She always insists that our housekeepers know how to make a bed properly.

“Imagine this is a luxury resort. I want the beds made the way you would if you worked there. And if you could fold the toilet paper into a little triangle, I’d love that too.”

I remember one housekeeper asked if she wanted a swan towel on the end of the bed each day as well, and Mom gave her a confused frown, totally missing the sarcastic quip and asking, “Why would I want a swan towel?”

Wincing behind my mother’s back, I made a face that had the housekeeper smiling, and then I winked at her before walking out of the room.

Our various housekeepers have been pretty accommodating over the years. Mom is always so warm and friendly, and she pays them really well, so the staff we’ve had have mostly been loyal and hardworking.

Satch places her bag down, and I bet it’s in the same spot it always goes. I grin and scan the movie posters on her wall. They’re all framed and are retro images from the ’50s and ’60s, I think.

Singin’ in the Rain,The Sound of Music,and Bye Bye Birdie.

I’ve heard of the first two, but I have no idea what that last one is.

Letting my bag slide off my shoulder, I dump it on her bed before pointing to the door behind me. “Open or shut?”

“Oh, uh…” She eyes the door, then the hallway beyond like she’s actually having to think about this.

Seriously?

“You can… shut it.” She spins away, pulling out her laptop and setting it up on her neat little desk.

It’s got hardly any clutter on it. Just a mug of pens and highlighters and a few books stacked in a neat pile.

Closing the blinds, she then reaches behind her desk and pulls out a stool. “Sorry, I don’t have two chairs.”

She indicates for me to take her plush office chair and goes to take a seat on the stool.

“No way,” I quickly tell her, grabbing her arm and making her stand back up again. “I’m taking the stool.”

She blinks, like the idea of taking her own chair hadn’t even occurred to her.

“This is your room,” I remind her, then start to smile. “You get to sit in your own chair.”

“But you’re my guest. You should have the nice chair.”

I make a “Pshh” sound and shake my head before shrugging my jacket off and dumping it beside my bag.

Satch watches me for a second, then slowly unbuttons her winter coat. She wrestles it off, then hangs it on the hook behind the door before pulling her cardigan straight and shuffling toward the desk.

Eyeing me one more time, she inches toward the stool, and I quickly sit on it before she can even think about being some kind of martyr for me.

Does she have any idea how much she’s helping me?

Like I’m gonna make her take the fucking stool.

“Sit down,” I softly coax her, adding in a smile while I open her laptop and get us back on track.

With a resigned little sigh, she takes a seat and starts reading what we were working on before she bolted to the bathroom.

I’m still confused by her behavior. And the fact that she tried to sneak off because I was flirting with somechick. And now I’m wondering why she’s giving me the impression that she has no friends.

Why wouldn’t someone want to hang with her? She’s smart, kind, thoughtful.

Sure, she doesn’t dress in the usual way… My eyes skim down her body, and I swear everything she’s wearing looks homemade.

Obviously sensing my perusal, she glances at me, and my eyes quickly jump to her laptop screen. “So… Ahab.”