And he walked away down the hall.
Grace was waiting in the kitchen, standing by the counter with a glass of cold water, trying very hard to look like she had not been listening.
“Well?” she whispered the moment Rebecca came in.
“He said I can start Monday,” Rebecca said.
Grace pressed both hands together and looked up at the ceiling. “Thank God.”
Then she put the glass of water in Rebecca’s hand. “Drink. You looked nervous.”
“I wasn’t nervous,” Rebecca said, and then took a long sip of water.
Grace laughed quietly. “Come. Let me show you everything before he hears us talking and comes out.”
They moved through the house room by room, Grace explaining each one in a low, efficient voice, the way someone passes on something they have spent years learning.
The kitchen first. “He has his eggs scrambled. Not wet, not dry. In the middle. 2 minutes on the heat after you turn it down, then off. Brown toast, not white. Orange juice in a glass, not a cup.”
She opened a cabinet and pointed to where each thing lived. “Every single thing goes back exactly where it came from. He knows if it doesn’t.”
Rebecca listened, looked, and said nothing, taking it all in.