“It’s Mary, isn’t it? Or Mara?”
“Marta, sir.”
“Right. I’ve been reviewing my father’s affairs. Meet me in the study in ten minutes.”
He walked away before I could respond. Mr. Whitaker had once promised that I would always be cared for, but I had assumed he was merely comforting an aging housekeeper. I straightened my apron and entered the study, where Julian stood behind his father’s desk, tapping a white envelope against his palm.
“I’ll be brief. We no longer require your services.”
“I don’t understand. Your father said I would always have a place here.”
“My father is dead.”
His words struck harder than I expected. He pushed the envelope across the desk.
“There are four hundred dollars inside. One week of severance. More than most housekeepers would receive.”
“My position?”
“You are an employee, Marta, not family. I want you gone by sundown.”
Eighteen years of meals, medicine, lonely holidays, and late-night conversations had been reduced to four hundred dollars. I asked whether I could take the small radio I kept in the pantry. Julian said I could remove anything that truly belonged to me. Near the window hung a framed photograph of the mansion at sunset. Mr. Whitaker had given it to me years earlier.
“He told me I could have that picture.”
Julian barely looked at it.
“That cheap thing? Take it and leave.”
I pressed the frame against my chest, unaware that it contained the one thing that would protect me. Upstairs, I folded my apron, packed the radio, and wrapped the photograph in a dish towel. Miguel, the gardener, saw me leaving through the side door.
“Where are you going?”
“To my daughter’s house. Julian dismissed me.”
“He can’t do that. Mr. Whitaker promised—”
Miguel stopped abruptly, as though he had nearly revealed something. I told him Julian could do whatever he wished now and boarded the bus. Forty minutes later, I arrived at my daughter’s apartment. Danny was completing his homework at the kitchen table.
“Abuela, why are you home on a Tuesday?”
“I’m tired, mijo. Finish your math.”
“Are you all right?”
“I will be.”
I placed the photograph on the windowsill and began thinking about finding another job.
