Lorena

 

 

“Mommy, Mommy! Wake up!” comes the cry, piercing through muddled dreams of James’s kisses. I flail awake, eyes flying open to a room full of pale, snow-reflected sunlight.

 

“Unh,” I manage, and then shake off the cobwebs and look up at the pink-robed sprite bouncing at the side of my bed. She’s not scared; she’s excited. “What’s this about, sweetie? Did it snow again?”

 

“No, not yet! Come see the yard!” She grabs me by the hand, and for a moment I fear she’s going to try and drag me out of bed. But then she smiles and backs off. “Come on!”

 

I check my watch. Seven thirty. The light trickling in my window still has a faint tinge of peach-pink to it: dawn light. Ugh, it’s not even Christmas yet, I think as I sit up and rub my eyes. “All right, all right, just give me a minute.”

 

Whatever it is, she can barely wait long enough for me to put my hair back in a ponytail and throw on my robe and slippers. Now and again as she waits for me she runs back down the hall to a window facing the front of the house. Then she runs back to me, beaming because of whatever she’s seeing outside.

 

I didn’t sleep well. James left me hot and bothered, and a little ashamed of it. It feels like I’m doing something wrong by wanting someone other than Manny. But my heart seems to have already decided.

 

I want to be back in his arms. I want to feel his kiss again. Remembering the way he cupped my breast through the flannel of my nightgown makes me shiver and gasp and wish he were here again.

 

I shouldn’t be letting myself get distracted by this. Whatever has Cindy bouncing off the walls could be completely benign, or she could be misinterpreting something dangerous. Hastily, I walk after her down the hall, tying my robe around me as I go.

 

I look out the window … and do an immediate double take. For a moment, it genuinely looks like I am looking down at someone else’s front lawn.

 

The pair of flowering dogwoods that flank the front gate, the little spruce we cover with squirrel food, the old wrought-iron fence surrounding the property, the mailbox, the lamp … all of them are covered in garlands of fir branches, holly, mistletoe, and poinsettias. Several strings of solar lights wind through the decorations, still offering faint gold and white gleams.

 

I stare so long that my eyes start hurting, and then reach down and pinch myself through the sleeve of my robe. I’m definitely not dreaming. “What in the world?” I mumble breathlessly.

 

Once we’re both wrapped in coats and have proper shoes on, we go out onto the porch to look around at the unexpected decorations. The trees are trimmed. The squirrels are clustered around a new feeder, already filled, that has been fastened to the tree just across from my kitchen window.

 

Aluminum-framed deer with contours formed from strands of lights bob their heads in the grass, like they are grazing. A small generator rumbles away in a corner of the yard, keeping them going. There’s a stack of gas cans next to it, under a snow-spattered tarp that has blown aside partway to expose them.

 

Someone has even built a snowman. It is chunky and unrefined, clearly the work of someone who hasn’t built one in years. I can see the prints of huge gloved hands where the man who made it struggled with getting the head round and the carrot nose even.

 

“Who did this, Mommy? Was it Santa Claus?”

 

I know who it is right away. James mentioned a surprise. He’s wealthy, he likes me … he kissed me. He could pull this off, especially with a little help. And he actually has some reason to—at least if he’s not pulling off an elaborate hoax.

 

“No, Santa’s too busy at this time of year. But he does have some friends that help him out. I guess we’ll have to see who shows up to take credit.” I wink at her, and she giggles and wanders out across the yard to look at everything.

 

I haven’t had a man try to impress me in years. And this … brings quiet tears to my eyes as I watch my daughter toddle around happily in her own little wonderland. “It’s so beautiful,” I murmur.

 

I catch sight of someone watching us from across the street, and turn with a smile, expecting it to be James. My smile fades immediately, and I feel my delight in the moment deflate slightly as I see who is standing there.

 

Andrea Case stands beside a cute gold Porsche, wrapped in furs, with gold-rimmed sunglasses hiding her eyes. Her arms are folded, and her mouth is a line. I’d probably have recognized her from her attitude alone if I didn’t already know what she looked like. I know at once that she knows who did this as well—and that her presence here is a declaration of war.

 

She starts walking slowly across the street toward me. She would look more menacing if she wasn’t wobbling on stiletto heels on a just-plowed street, but I still don’t want Cindy to have to deal with whatever crap is about to come out of her mouth. I call out to my daughter to get her attention.

 

“Sweetie, if you want to keep playing in the snow, I need you to go put your scarf on.” Cindy has a favorite purple scarf that she got from the church last year, and I know mention of it will tear her away from the surprise. It will also take her a little digging to find.

 

Her face lights up and she nods, turning to amble inside. I help her up the steep front steps and she wanders over to the coat closet. I close the door behind her—and only then turn to face the woman glaring at me from just outside my gate.

 

“May I help you?” I say calmly as I walk down the stairs.

 

“Who are you?” she demands. “I just saw James drive away from here not half an hour ago. What interest does he have in you? Answer me!”

 

My heart starts pounding. I’ve endured a lot of scorn from rich city bitches like this one, who come up for weekend vacations with their big egos and nasty opinions. I’ve learned to keep the pain and humiliation deep in my aching chest, and wear a mask of polite indifference, like retail workers use. “If you’re talking about Mr. Norris,” I say in such an even tone that it startles her, “I’m being hired as his mother’s driver and assistant.”

 

She wilts slightly, her aggression melting enough that I can see the confusion behind it. “Then why would he do all of this?” She waves her hand around. “I saw him leave with that … overdressed mall Santa he was drinking with.” Her hand settles on the gate latch, as if she’s about to invite herself in.

 

I fold my arms across my chest as I come to stand firm on the other side of the gate. She’s got almost a foot of height on me and is obviously nasty and possibly violent. But if she thinks she’s stepping one foot closer to my home and my baby daughter, she’s out of her mind.

 

“He would do all of this because the man’s trying to get me to take on a high-needs client on short notice during the holidays, and he wants to make sure I’m willing to drop everything and help him out. Besides, I have a two year old. Without his help, she wouldn’t have much of a Christmas at all.”

 

I look her right in the eyes as I say this, and I do not look away. I feel sick inside, but she’s not rational and I can’t let her take control of this situation. I wish James was here to sort this out.

 

“Wait. You’re the new assistant he’s hiring for his mom?” Again, there’s more confusion in her voice than relief. “But you’re just the help. Why be nice to you at all? Clearly you need the money too much to turn down the job, regardless of the time of year.” She runs her hand over the aging iron of the gate and scoffs.

 

It’s like a kick in the stomach, but it only fuels my anger—and my resolve. “Because unlike most of you spoiled children who call yourselves elite, he actually gives a damn about people who aren’t doing as well as he is.”

 

She just scoffs again, her eyes widening, as if she’s astounded that I would be this stupid. “What do you even know about him? I can’t believe that even a Cinderella-wannabe like you would be this stupid!”

 

This time, the blow doesn’t fuel my anger—it smothers it as she talks. The cold starts to trickle in to replace it. Cold, hard reality that I’ve been trying to ignore since the moment James sat down at a small café table with me and Cindy. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“Well of course you don’t. He’s picked the most naive, desperate piece of ass he could find in this shithole town.”

 

My eyes narrow. “I think you’re the one misreading the situation between myself and Mr. Norris.” Inside, it feels like icy fingernails are digging at my heart. “All I am expecting out of Mr. Norris and his mother is a steady job.”

 

“And do you think that your work for his mother is all he’s expecting?” she snaps back, though with a bit less force. “I don’t think he picked you because you’re particularly qualified.”

 

I lift my chin. “Actually I’m a certified nursing assistant with years of experience as an attendant and driver.” Was a CNA, anyway. I had just gotten my license when Manny died, and the need to care for Cindy has made it impossible for me to commute for a real job. But it is still true, and I brandish it like a weapon as I continue to glare at Andrea.

 

“Oh,” she mumbles, suddenly looking slightly embarrassed. Then she takes a deep breath before speaking again with something almost like sympathy in her voice. “Well … look. Just keep in mind that he’s the kind of man who will toy with the help if she’s pretty enough and he’s bored. I’ve known him for a long time, and I know how easy it is for him to break hearts—whether he means it or not.”

 

The help. With those words, reality crashes back in on me, and I feel my heart sink into my boots. Of course.

 

Andrea might be a raging bitch with ulterior motives, and I’m not falling for this pseudo-caring persona she’s trying on me right now, but she does have a point. Sure, James might be genuinely attracted to me, but this whole time I haven’t understood why he’s been acting so nice to me. I can’t help but second-guess James in that moment. Is that all I am? Just some nobody that he can screw for fun?

 

I wish I could dismiss it, just to spite this woman who is standing here expecting me to crumble. But I have years of experience with New York classism. I can’t expect a Cinderella story; I can’t actually expect that James will save me from loneliness and poverty. All I can expect is a good job, and maybe a flattering bit of flirting.

 

His kiss last night confused the reality at hand and stoked my crush to a fever pitch. But it doesn’t mean he loves me. He barely knows me. He may well just want sex from someone who isn’t a complete ass.

 

And that’s all right, if he’s honest about it—as much as it might hurt me to give in, knowing that a little bit of sex is not all that I want from him. But … I have to protect myself, whether my physical relationship with James goes any further or not. And this woman’s reminder may be brutal, but it’s also … timely.

 

“They are hiring me for my skills,” I reply firmly, feeling like I’ve swallowed poison. “That is all that they are going to get.”

 

She turns and stalks away, a look of satisfaction on her face. “Good.”

 

I want to cry as I watch her leave. But instead, I lift my chin, put my smile back on, and walk back up my steps to take my daughter out to play in the yard.