Chapter 3 - THE HOUSE ON BEACON HILL
The next morning, I almost didn't go.
I stood outside Sullivan House for nearly five minutes.
The mansion occupied an entire corner of Beacon Hill.
Iron gates.
Stone walls.
Tall windows.
A garden hidden behind privacy hedges.
I looked down at my coat.
It wasn't expensive.
Neither were my shoes.
A man opened the gate.
“Ms. Carter?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Sullivan is expecting you.”
I almost turned around.
“I came to see Eleanor.”
“Yes.”
The man smiled faintly.
“That's what everyone says.”
Inside, everything was quiet.
Not cold.
Quiet.
There was a difference.
Eleanor was sitting near a window with her injured ankle elevated.
“You came.”
“You asked.”
“Good.”
She patted the chair beside her.
I sat.
She studied me.
“How old is your daughter?”
I froze.
“How did you—”
“You mentioned Ava at the bus shelter.”
“I did?”
“You did.”
I smiled.
“Eight.”
“What's she like?”
“Loud.”
Eleanor laughed.
“Good.”
“Stubborn.”
“Better.”
“Terrible at putting away socks.”
“Perfect.”
I laughed.
It was the first time I had laughed without forcing it in months.
Then Nathan entered.
He carried two cups of coffee.
He handed one to Eleanor.
Then looked at me.
“I remembered.”
“Remembered what?”
“You take yours black.”
I stared at him.
“How do you know?”
“My mother interrogated you yesterday.”
Eleanor smiled innocently.
Nathan placed a cup in front of me.
“There's something else.”
“What?”
“My mother wants you to work here.”
I nearly choked on the coffee.
“Excuse me?”
“She needs a temporary companion while she recovers.”
“I don't have medical training.”
“You don't need it.”
“I was a waitress.”
“I know.”
“Then why me?”
Eleanor answered.
“Because you don't treat me like money.”
I looked at her.
That sentence stayed with me.
Nathan leaned against the fireplace.
“The position pays well.”
“I don't want charity.”
“It isn't charity.”
“What is it?”
“A job.”
I considered it.
“How well?”
He named the salary.
I nearly dropped the cup.
“That can't be right.”
“It is.”
“For how long?”
“Three months.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
Nathan's expression softened.
“My mother trusts you.”
That answer surprised me.
I looked at Eleanor.
She nodded.
“I do.”
I accepted.
Not because Nathan was handsome.
Not because his house was beautiful.
Not because his salary could rescue me.
I accepted because I had looked into Eleanor's eyes the previous night and recognized something familiar.
Loneliness.
The kind that comes when people assume your money means you never need anyone.
My first week at the Sullivan house was surprisingly peaceful.
I cooked soup.
Helped Eleanor walk.
Read newspapers aloud.
We argued about television.
She became obsessed with Ava.
On Friday, Ava visited.
She walked into the library wearing her purple backpack and immediately said:
“Whoa.”
Eleanor laughed.
Nathan stood near the doorway.
Ava looked at him.
Then at me.
“Mom.”
“What?”
“Is he the boss?”
Nathan raised an eyebrow.
“Yes.”
Ava nodded seriously.
“You look grumpy.”
I closed my eyes.
Eleanor burst into laughter.
Nathan stared at my daughter for three seconds.
Then, unexpectedly, he smiled.
It transformed him.
Ava noticed.
“See?”
“What?”
“You can smile.”
Nathan looked at me.
I shrugged.
“She's observant.”
That evening, I watched them from the kitchen.
Nathan helped Ava build a small wooden puzzle.
He wasn't good at it.
Ava wasn't impressed.
“You're doing it wrong.”
“I've owned companies larger than this.”
“Doesn't mean you're good at puzzles.”
Nathan looked at me.
I laughed.
May you like
For the first time in years, my home didn't feel like the only place where I belonged.
And I didn't know yet that Nathan was beginning to feel the same way.
