She'd had the dream after her second night at Murphy Maids, the day she met Lisa, Wendy's office manager.

In the dream, she walked down the hall at work, talking to Wendy when Lisa stepped out of her office, dressed in black and white horizontal stripes, wearing a black mask like a thief. Lisa asked a few questions about one account and then disappeared back into her office. Rosie woke, knowing there was something going on with Lisa. Oftentimes, her dreams were indecipherable or took weeks to work out, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to come to the conclusion that Lisa was stealing somehow.

That had been months ago.

It was like she’d turned the volume off, Max and Wendy sitting there, just staring at her.

“Thank you, dear,” Grandma Murphy sighed.

“Wait? What?” Max asked, his handsome face contorted in confusion.

Wendy was staring at her. “She what?”

"I think..." Rosie rubbed her face, trying to articulate what she wanted to say.

“You know,” Mrs. Murphy corrected. “You and I both know.”

“Lisa’s been stealing money from the business."

“How?” Wendy asked, sounding dazed. “When?” After a second, she added. “How do you know? How did I miss it? I check the books all the time.”

All their attention was on her, and Rosie tried not to avert her eyes in shame.

“A while ago, I had to go back and check an invoice I’d left at the Leland and Brown office. Their office manager asked me some random question about the check number they wrote or something, so when I got back to the office I checked their file for the invoice. But when I checked, it wasn’t there.”

“What do you mean, it wasn’t there?” Max asked. “Like, it wasn’t in the file?”

“There was no record of the invoice at all. The only reason I had the invoice number was because their office manager gave me a copy of it. She thought I’d be able to tell her the check number and she could fix her records. But I couldn’t find the invoice.”

“What does that have to do with Lisa?” Wendy asked. “She goes over the books with me step by step, every month.”

“You did tell me last month something wasn’t adding up. That you thought with more clients, you’d be making more money.”

“Yeah, but I assumed it was more supplies being used and more staff eating up the money.” They both looked back at her.

“I’ve dropped one invoice a week off at Leland and Brown, but in the file, it looks like we only bill them biweekly.”

“Maybe she filed them somewhere else.” Wendy sounded hopeful. “Maybe we just don’t understand her filing system.”

It got worse. Embarrassed, Rosie hesitated to tell Wendy how sure she was that Lisa had been stealing, because she hated for them to see what an awful person she was. She didn’t want to hurt Wendy. She’d never wish her business to fail or for her to get caught up in something like this, but more than any of that, she was always looking out for herself. She’d learned that getting involved backfired on a person, every time. Telling the truth had only ever hurt her. It had come back to bite her every time.

“The office manager for Leland Brown made me copies of their checks eventually, when I told her I couldn’t find the invoices. She found her check numbers, but I couldn’t find the invoices. She was really nice about the whole thing.”

“How long ago was this?” Max asked.

Rosie took a deep breath, knowing how this was going to play out.

"A month."

Wendy reared back as though she’d been slapped. “Why didn’t you come to me sooner?”

She didn’t have an explanation that would appease her boss, her reasons completely self-serving. She held up her hands in a gesture that screamed, I don’t know. “I didn’t think it was my business.”

“It was my business!  How could you not tell me?”

“I’m sorry.”

“But what about the money?” Max asked. “Where’s the money going? If there are no invoices to Leland Brown in our records, what happens to the checks when they pay?”

She had to do this. She just had to tell them the truth and get the hell out of there.

“She deposits them into her own bank account.”

Wendy lost it then, standing from the table, knocking the mugs over and sending coffee cascading across the table. Max tried to steady her. Rosie stood and took a step away.

“I can’t believe it,” Wendy ranted. “I can’t believe she did this to me. I trusted her. And the bank isn't supposed to...” She turned her narrowed eyes to Rosie. “I trusted you. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. All this time.” She threw her hands out. “I’m so stupid. I thought we were friends.”

Max grabbed her arm then. “Don’t,” he told her. “Don’t say things you’re going to regret. Let’s get to the bottom of this thing with Lisa first, then you can figure everything else out. I’ll take you over to the office and we’ll go over things with a fine-tooth comb.”

“I wouldn’t even know where to start.” Wendy angrily swiped a tear that leaked out of the corner of her eye.

“We’ll figure it out,” Max told her confidently.

“You should start by checking the schedules for the last few months and making sure all the invoices for all the jobs are there.”

“I think you’ve helped enough, Rosie.” Wendy was furious, and she had every right to be.

Knowing she didn’t belong there anymore, Rosie dismissed herself from the table and made a hasty exit, and neither of them tried to stop her. When she was outside, she walked around the corner of Wendy’s building and waited. Five minutes later, she watched as Max led Wendy to her car and they drove away.

“I’m sorry that turned out the way it did, dear.” Mrs. Murphy sounded sad. “She needed to know. I’m sure she’ll come around.”

Rosie shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.” She pushed herself from the shadow she was hiding in and headed back to Wendy’s door.

“What are you doing?” Grandma Murphy asked.

“Cleaning up the mess Wendy made cooking dinner. Seems like the least I can do, doesn’t it?”

“This wasn’t your fault, Rosie,” the older woman told her as she searched for Wendy’s spare key. She found it hidden under a plant.

She shrugged again as she unlocked the door. “It doesn’t really matter whose fault it is, does it?” she asked. “I tried to tell you. The truth’s never done me any favors. I don’t see why it would change now.”

She let herself into Wendy’s apartment, which she realized was a complete violation. But Wendy had gone out of her way to do something nice for her and she’d ruined it. The least she could do was clean up some of the physical mess she’d made.

* * *

It always surprised Rosie how dark it could be at night. The dark you experience when you’re in your home with your eyes closed isn’t the same as the all-encompassing dark of night.

Rosie had spent two hours scrubbing dishes and countertops in Wendy’s condo. She’d made sure all the dishes were washed and put away. The leftovers were in Tupperware and in the fridge. The tablecloth Wendy had spilled coffee on was hand-washed and drying in the bathroom. The floors were swept and there was no trace of the ill-fated dinner other than the smell that lingered in the air.

She’d taken the seven forty-five bus the two miles to her stop and was walking the remaining mile to the camper. Mrs. Murphy had disappeared shortly after she’d started cleaning, Rosie assumed to watch over Wendy and Max at the office.

What would she do now? Would she have to get a new job? Would she have to move to a new town? Get a new name? That seemed extreme, though it wasn't completely far-fetched.

It was the betrayed look on Wendy’s face that haunted her. The look that screamed ‘I thought I knew you better than this.' Was this what she’d become? Someone who lived every second of her life for self-preservation? Someone who couldn’t be trusted to protect anyone but herself? She shook her head in the darkness. That was what she’d learned. How did you unlearn lessons that had been drilled into you over and over again?

She didn’t even know why she was thinking along those lines. Why would she change? Because she wanted to be friends with Wendy and Max? Friends betrayed you. Friends left you. Friends died. What was the point? When she looked back on her life, she couldn’t count one single person that had stayed with her. Not her mother, not Butch. Certainly not Erin. She’d changed schools too many times to make real friends, and frankly, she’d been too weird. Kids didn’t want to hang out with other kids that talked about ghosts and death all the time, and parents didn’t want those kids around either.

She was happy to see the string of lights outside of her camper and trudged her way inside. She didn’t bother turning any lights on, just got ready for bed in the dark. She used some wipes to take off the little makeup she wore and changed into a t-shirt and pajama shorts. Nine o’clock was too early for her to go to sleep but being in her own space was calming and she didn’t mind just lying there for a while.

She considered what she would do when it was time for her to go to work in a few days. Would she just show up and work her shift as if nothing had happened? As if she hadn’t betrayed the one person that had tried to be nice to her. Would she skip out and quit? Try to find a new job in this town? She liked Jacob’s Beach, more than anywhere else she’d been in the last few years. Where would she go if she left? How would she get there? What, of her meager possessions, would she be able to bring?

She tossed and turned, trying to ignore the rising tension she felt at the prospect of starting over somewhere new. Maybe, wherever it was, she’d learn to keep her head down and stay out of other people’s business. It would have never worked here, she realized. She’d never had a chance. How could she have given Wendy the cold shoulder she would have needed to keep her distance? How could she have acted indifferent toward her? Wendy made being nice too easy, and she wasn't someone that was going to mind her own business. She was going to pry and want to know everything.

Late that night, Rosie fell into a fitful sleep full of dreams that echoed her past. Snippets of her time with Butch and Erin, the looks Erin used to shoot Butch when she talked about the dead. She saw Lainey Kinsley, playing in the grassy yard across the street. Memories flashed of a time with her mom, after the incarceration, dim and terrifying. The dark of the closet, the smell of burning flesh and the haunting sight of her mother’s crazed eyes looming above her. But this time, instead of choking the life out of her, her mother spoke.

"She's coming for you, Happy." Her eyes lit up with the kind of glee that only comes with madness. "Better hang on, because she's coming."

Her eyes popped open, and it was all gone. The memories and dreams vanished, and she was back in her sunny little trailer. Gizmo was meowing loudly at the door, ready to make his morning excursion around the woods. She threw the covers back and stood, her hair falling forward across her face. She pushed it back, keeping her forearm above her eyes to block the morning sun, and opened the door to let the cat out.

“Good morning.”

She jumped at the sound of a man's voice, letting out a startled scream.

Max stood quickly, holding out his hands. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I thought you saw me.”

Without a word she turned to go back into the camper.

“Uh,” he said uncertainly. “Are you gonna come back out?”

She sighed, her heart still racing. “Yeah, just give me a sec.”

Closing the door behind her, she took a few deep breaths. He’d scared the crap out of her!  What was he doing here? Suddenly, she remembered the events of the previous night, and going back out there seemed like a terrible idea. What if he’d come to tell her she was fired?

“You know,” she turned and yelled through the door, “I think, on second thought, I’m just gonna stay in here.”

“You wanna talk through the door?”

His voice seemed closer, like he was standing on the other side of the door.

“What’s there to talk about?” she asked.

“Seriously?” He rapped on the door. “I’ll just stay out here until you come out.”

“He gets his persistence from me.” Grandma Murphy appeared behind her, inside the camper.

“Oh, Jesus,” Rosie muttered. “I'll be right out.”

She threw a bra and sweatshirt on, then put her hair up. Grabbing her sunglasses, she slid them on and opened the door to face the music.

Max was still standing there, just a few steps from the door, waiting for her while looking casually handsome in the mid-morning sun, his brown hair damp. His eyes, golden in the sun, still smiled at her, even after everything that happened the night before.

“How mad is she?” Rosie asked. Might as well rip the band aid off.

“On a scale of one to ten?” He made a face and flipped his hand over a few times. “I’d give it a six or seven.”

“Did she send you to fire me?” She couldn’t hold his gaze then. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked down at her bare feet.

“What? Rosie, No.” He sounded genuinely shocked. “No one’s firing you. Wendy’s not going to fire you.”

She wanted to ask why Wendy wouldn't fire her but didn’t dare. Seemed too self-loathing, even for her.

“Why’d you come, then?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I felt bad about what happened last night. And even though Wendy’s pissed right now, she’d be more pissed if something happened to you and no one bothered to check in with you. I wanted to make sure you got home okay. I told you I’d bring you home, and I didn’t. I’ve been stewing about it all night.”

“All good,” she assured him, taking a step back. “Thanks for checking.” Behind him Gizmo came flying out of the woods like he was being chased by the devil. His meow like something out of a horror movie.

“What in the-” Max mumbled, watching as the cat flew into trailer.

What he didn’t see was his big dopey dog, loping after Gizmo like it was having the time of its afterlife.

“Listen, Max. I appreciate you checking in on me. I got home fine,” she brushed him off. “I’ll see you around.”

She turned and took a step back into the camper, but Max grabbed her arm to stop her.

“Wait, that’s it?” He laughed.

She turned to face him and he let her go. “Did you want something else?”

He stepped toward her, a move that put him in her personal space as he stood in front of her.

“I brought you coffee.” He motioned with his head to the Adirondack chairs. It was hard to look away from his face. She wasn’t sure if it was the way he was looking at her or how close he was standing throwing her for a loop. When she looked, she saw there was a coffee cup at each of the chairs. “Come have coffee with me for a minute before I have to go to work.” He took a step back and motioned for her to go ahead of him.

She did, and they both settled into the same chairs they’d sat in just yesterday. Before everything went to shit.

“Why didn’t you tell her?” Max asked.

She sighed, knowing the conversation was inevitable. “Honestly?”

“No lie to me,” he joked.

Rosie shrugged. “I didn’t think it was my business.”

“Why wouldn’t it be your business? You guys are friends.”

She shrugged again, sure that trying to distinguish between boss and friends was misplaced.

“Wouldn’t you want to know if someone was coming here and stealing from you when you weren’t around?”

“Listen,” she told him. “I get it. I screwed up. I was trying to keep our relationship professional, and when I wasn’t paying attention, we became friends. I didn’t mean for that to happen.” She let out a sigh and dropped her head to the back of the chair. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“It’s probably hard for you to understand, but Wendy’s worked so hard to get where she is. She’s had a few bad relationships, plus this thing with Lisa now and you. Trust is a real issue with her.”

Rosie was still stuck on the first part. “Why would it be hard for me to understand how hard she’s worked?”

“I just mean,” his words faltered.

“What?”

“She’s built a business from the ground up. She’s worked really hard. That’s all.”

“That’s not what you were going to say,” she accused.

He sighed.

She knew what he was trying to tell her. “What you’re saying is I wouldn’t understand hard work. I get it.”

“No.” He waved her off. “I’m sure you know how to work hard. I’m just trying to tell you,”

“That Wendy worked harder,” she clarified.

He didn’t answer.

“Guess you’ve got me pegged.” She stood quickly without looking at him. “It was nice of you to check up on me, but I can take care of myself.”

“Rosie,” he started to say.

“Thanks for the coffee.” Without looking at him again she went into the camper and shut the door, leaving the still steaming cup on the arm of her chair.

It was a few minutes before she heard Max start his truck and go away.

Didn’t know what hard work was? She wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or cry. She’d put on such a good show, Max had no idea who or what she was. He literally had no clue she was just some junkie’s crazy kid, born and bred on the streets. She’d started a new life from nothing, not even a set of her own clothes. She bet he had no idea how much hard work that took.

It took her a second to ask herself why she'd want him to see her for who she really was anyway, or why she cared that he’d gotten her all wrong. She was just some kid no one missed. Happy Bancroft was nobody. It would do everyone good to keep it that way.