I looked down briefly at the jeans and soft gray sweatshirt I had thrown on that morning because Saturdays were the only days I allowed myself to dress comfortably after a long workweek.
Apparently that made me invisible.
“I’ve been here for twelve years,” I said calmly.
She waved her hand dismissively.
“Housekeepers always exaggerate how long they’ve worked somewhere,” she replied. “Just tell Richard I’m waiting in the living room.”
She dropped onto the sofa.
Then she casually placed her feet on the coffee table that Richard and I had purchased together during the first year of our marriage, a piece of furniture we had spent an entire weekend refinishing by hand because we could not afford to replace it at the time.
“Could you bring me some water?” she called toward the kitchen. “With lemon. And please don’t put too much ice in it.”
I walked into the kitchen and filled a glass.
When I returned, the water contained no lemon and an excessive amount of ice.
