Chương 5
The hotel room was beige and smelled faintly of bleach. Clara locked the door, fastened the chain, pushed a chair beneath the handle, and sat on the floor beside the bed.
For twenty minutes she did nothing.
Then she called her mother.
Rose Wynn answered on the fourth ring with the television playing loudly in the background.
“You know it’s after ten.”
“I know.”
“Something happened.”
Clara leaned her head against the mattress.
“What makes you say that?”
“You call on Sundays. Today is Thursday.”
Clara closed her eyes.
Her mother had lived at Greenhaven Assisted Living for eighteen months after a small stroke left her right hand unreliable. She could walk, dress herself, and defeat most of the staff at gin rummy, but she forgot medication and once left a saucepan burning until the fire department arrived. Clara paid the portion of the monthly fee not covered by Rose’s savings.
“I had an argument at work.”
“With the rich woman?”
“No.”
“The rich grandson.”
Clara opened her eyes.
“You remember him?”
“I remember everybody you say doesn’t matter.”
The television volume dropped.
“What did he do?”
Clara looked at the chair under the door handle.
“He hit me.”
Her mother was silent.
Not shocked. Not confused. Silent in a way that carried a history neither of them liked discussing.
“Where are you?” Rose asked.
“At a hotel.”
“Did you call the police?”
“Margaret did.”
“Did you tell them?”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
“Good.”
Clara felt anger rise with no useful destination.
“That’s all?”
“What should I say?”
“I don’t know.”
“I can say I’m sorry.”
“Don’t.”
“I can say I wish I was there.”
“You can’t be.”
“I know.”
Rose breathed into the phone.
“When your father hit me,” she said, “I used to get angry at people who noticed. It felt like they had taken something from me.”
Clara pressed her thumb into the carpet.
“I’m not you.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“He isn’t my husband.”
“No.”
“It happened twice.”
“All right.”
“I wasn’t trapped.”
Rose waited.
Clara looked around the hotel room, at the suitcase she had packed because a man had told her what she was allowed to take from the place where she lived.
“I’m tired,” she said.
“Then sleep.”
After the call, Clara turned on her phone.
Julian had sent three messages.
The first said Margaret was confused.
The second said he was trying to protect the family.
The third said Clara should consider how an accusation against him would affect her career.
She took screenshots, emailed them to herself, and placed the phone facedown.
She did not sleep.
At seven the next morning, someone knocked.
Clara froze beside the bathroom sink.
The knock came again.
“Ms. Wynn?” a man called. “Hotel management.”
She did not answer.
Her phone rang from the front desk. The manager explained that a courier had delivered an envelope addressed to her. They could hold it downstairs.
Clara waited an hour before collecting it.
Inside was a letter from a law firm representing Julian. The letter instructed her to preserve all Mercer property and refrain from making defamatory statements. It also informed her that her access to certain family accounts and records had been unauthorized.
Clara had never accessed a Mercer account.
At the bottom, in language both polite and unmistakable, the firm reserved Julian’s right to seek damages.
She called Margaret.
Margaret answered immediately.
“He sent a lawyer’s letter.”
“I know. I received one too.”
“What does yours say?”
“That I assaulted him, interfered with his residence, and am being manipulated by an employee who has developed an unhealthy interest in my personal affairs.”
Clara sat on the edge of the hotel bed.
“You need to tell them I never accessed anything.”
“I have.”
“They won’t believe you.”
“They may not.”
“Your answer shouldn’t be ‘they may not.’”
“What answer would you prefer?”
Clara stood and began pacing.
“I don’t know. Something useful.”
Margaret was quiet.
“I have called my attorney,” she said. “She is reviewing the situation. She can recommend someone independent for you.”
“I can’t afford that.”
“I can.”
“No.”
“Clara, this is not the moment to defend your pride.”
“And it’s not the moment for you to own my side of the story.”
Margaret inhaled slowly.
“You are right.”
The agreement made Clara angrier.
“I have to go.”
“Where?”
“To work.”
“You are not coming back to the house today.”
“You don’t get to suspend me.”
“I was going to say you are not required to come back.”
“That sounds the same when you control the paycheck.”
Margaret did not respond.
Clara stopped beside the window. Cars moved through the hotel parking lot. A woman in scrubs drank coffee behind the wheel of a dented sedan.
“Will I be paid?” Clara asked.
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“As long as you need.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“Three months under the terms of our agreement. Longer if we decide together that the agreement should continue.”
Clara had forgotten the three-month termination clause. Margaret had insisted on it because she disliked employers who treated private teachers as disposable.
“Fine,” Clara said.
“It is not fine.”
“No. It isn’t.”
After they hung up, Clara placed the lawyer’s letter beside Julian’s statement on the desk. The two documents seemed to argue with each other. One claimed she had entered the family’s affairs without permission. The other demanded she enter them by declaring Margaret incompetent.
She called the number on the victim-services card.
The advocate who answered was named Lena Ortiz. She did not sound surprised by anything. She helped Clara file for a temporary order prohibiting Julian from contacting her and explained that, because they were not intimate partners or family members, the process differed from a domestic-violence order. The courthouse clerk might redirect the application depending on local procedure. Lena repeated three times that paperwork could be slow and imperfect.
“Will it keep him away?” Clara asked.
May you like
“It gives police something clearer to enforce if he violates it.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
