Page 62 of Halstead House

She turned to him. “That will be all, Stanley. I’ll let you know if I need your services again tonight, or if my daughter is willing to handle my transportation needs.”

Stanley simply tipped his head and walked back down the front steps to a black sedan that was idling at the curb. I said nothing in response to Mother’s cloaked barb but took the moment to look her over. I hadn’t been away from her long enough for there to be any real changes in her, yet my eyes did their best to evaluate how she was doing. As I had long been the overseer of her happiness, it was a habit I fell immediately back into. Measuring her, taking stock, trying to determine what she needed from me.

“Please, come in, Mother,” I said when she turned back to me. She offered a polite nod and smile in return, and an odd mixture of happiness in seeing her and fear over what it meant warred inside of me. This duality of feeling was something I only felt around her.

She stepped through the door, and I watched with interest as her gaze swung high and low, left and right as she took in what was before her. I knew her well enough to know that she was surprised by the grandeur of the place. It had certainly impressed me with its classic style, well-kept decor, and soaring heights—and I’d been seeing pictures of it for years. Mother had never wanted to see pictures or hear stories. For all intents and purposes, this was her first glimpse of the place.

I also knew her well enough to know she’d never admit to being awed. If it had been any other mansion, anywhere else in the world, she would have taken a delighted breath and told me what a beautiful place it was. Not here.

“Well,” Mother sniffed, “it’s pretty much what I’d expected.” Her eyes finally turned to me, and she perused my outfit from tip to toe. “You don’t look any different.”

I blinked, unsure of how to respond. “Did you honestly think I would?”

“I don’t know what to think about you.”

She turned away from me again, gliding further into the home and toward the formal parlor. It was an elegant room, and I wasn’t sure I wanted her tainting it with her reviews.

“Would you like a tour?” I asked.

Her eyebrows raised. “The public tour, or the family tour?”

I put a practiced smile on. “The family tour, of course.”

“Very well. Show me what’s got you so enamored of the place, because at this point, I simply don’t see the appeal.”

“We’ll see some of the staff as we go around, and I’d like to introduce you to them.” I chewed on my bottom lip as I worked up the courage to say what I felt needed to be said. She pursed her lips impatiently. “Please be kind to them, Mother. I know you’re upset with me, but they are good people and deserve to be respected.”

A manicured hand flew straight to her chest as her eyes widened. “I don’t know what type of person you think I am, Grace, but I assure you I need no such warning. I don’t go around belittling honest, hard-working members of society.”

Normally that was true. Mother was polite and respectful even if she was never kind. However, these weren’t normal circumstances, and I had a feeling part of her goal in coming was to make me pay for leaving her. She’d take her shots where she could find them.

Having made my request, I moved on. “Are you ready?”

On a typical public tour I would have strolled casually, sharing tidbits about the home’s history or funny anecdotes about the family. Mother received the speed-walking tour. We covered the first floor in record time, yet I found myself pausing outside of the kitchen where I knew Chef Lou would be busy working on dinner preparations. Ana’s office and the housekeeping area were nearby as well. We’d been lucky so far to not see anyone else. It was go time yet again.

“Well, Grace?” Mother was breathing down my neck as my hand hung in mid-air, reaching toward the swinging door but not quite pushing it open.

“Sorry, Mother. Uh, this is the kitchen. Our chef will most likely be working on dinner at this point in the day.” I pushed the door and stepped in, heart in my throat.

Sure enough, Chef Lou was chopping vegetables at one counter while steam rose from a pot on the stove. He was humming lightly to himself. Steven was sitting at the kitchen table flipping through a magazine, the remnants of a crumbly tart crust on his plate.

“Good afternoon, everyone, if I may have a moment?” I called in a clipped, detached, professional tone. I wanted nothing of our warm camaraderie to show in front of Mother. It worked. The two men looked up but extended no greeting. “This is my mother, Mrs. Lillian Burke. She’s here to visit for a couple of days, so I’m giving her a tour of the house. Mother, this is Steven. He’s the official tour guide.”

Steven smiled at her in his easy tour-guide way. “Welcome, Mrs. Burke. I hope you’ll enjoy your stay.”

“Why is he not giving me the tour?” Mother asked.

Steven jumped in seamlessly. “Grace thought you’d enjoy a more personal touch this afternoon, ma’am. But if she leaves anything out, you let me know and I’ll make sure to step in.”

Mother gave him a tight smile and turned her gaze to Chef Lou. “And this is?” she asked.

“Mother, this is our chef, Lou. He cooks us three meals a day and handles the catering for any events. His food is always delicious.”

“How nice that must be to have someone handle all your meals.” Mother offered him a nod.

“How do you do, Mademoiselle?” Chef Lou turned to her and smiled, his accent thick.

I groaned inwardly as Mother’s smile warmed a bit and she threw out a string of words in French. Dang French. Mother was fluent, having studied abroad in her youth, and I should have told him to lose the accent today. His eyes grew wide, but he said nothing in return.

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