Erin’s strange behaviour got me reeling; earlier she was drowning in sorrow, but now, hiding behind Mr. Clinton’s embrace, she turned into a sly fox. What is she up to? What is her agenda by feigning tears and giving me that smug look? No matter how hard I thought about it, I still couldn’t wrap my head around her true intentions.
I stared at her, my face contorted in disgust as her eyes were fixed on me, her smile never faltering.
After what seemed like forever in their embrace, Mr. Clinton pulled away, his hand rubbing her shoulders. “Now let’s get you home. On our way, you can explain what happened…” he said, his face filled with compassion. She nodded, sniveling, placing her gaze on the ground.
I rolled my eyes at her in disdain as I suppressed the urge to tear off her mask. What annoyed me the most was Mr. Clinton’s obliviousness. I wouldn’t blame him though; if she hadn’t revealed her true colours, I would have also fallen for her facade.
Mr. Clinton helped her get on her feet and guided her to the car.
I, on the other hand, leisurely opened the back seat for her to get in, hiding the disgust on my face.
But what she said next made me crack.
“No, I don’t want to sit in the back; I’m too scared to be alone there…” She shook her head vigorously like a psychiatric patient whose knot had been loosened from her brain.
My ruse expression fell, replaced by unsuppressed disgust. “What?” I spat, annoyance evident in my voice. “How is sitting in the back seat scary?”
“Sarah, just sit in the back; be sensible for once…” Mr. Clinton responded abruptly, his words like scolding, its harshness burning in my gut.
Morosely, I slumped into the back seat, watching him help her into the front seat. I crossed my arms, looking anywhere else but at them. It seemed Erin had found her way with him, in turn pushing me into a corner.
While I gazed out the window, eliminating the earlier events from my mind, Erin’s voice sounded soft and sweet.
“Thank you, Sarah…” Her face lit up in a smile, her eyes flicking with fake gratitude.
I was so tempted to curse at her but refrained because of the feisty man sitting in the driver’s seat. Feigning a smile, I replied curtly, “No problem, anytime…”
We arrived at the duplex, and I quickly hopped down, grabbed my purse, and fled from their presence, not wanting to take another glance at her ruse charade.
Upon getting inside, I was welcomed by the warm glow of the chandelier hanging above my head and the sweet smell of grilled chicken. Instantly, my mood shifted, my annoyance dissipated, leaving me wanting to savor the meal, which smelled so good.
Who could be cooking? Sometimes I think I am the only one who uses the kitchen. But that doesn’t seem to be the case now.
I was almost going into the kitchen as I traced the smell of chicken, but the sound of clinking glass called my attention to the dining room.
“I thought someone wanted to eat dinner…” Miss Ross said sarcastically, one hand on her waist while the other arranged the cutlery.
I smiled, walking towards her. “Good evening, Miss Ross. How was your day?”
“Hectic, with everyone getting on my nerves…” She replied, her expression a bit serious. “Now sit; let me serve you, darling…” She pulled out a chair with a warm smile.
Just then, Mr. Clinton and Erin walked in a short distance apart. Now I could see her clearly in the illuminated room. Her face was pale, her lips dry, with many strands of her hair tied up in a tangled knot. The hem of her dress rippled, bathed in mud and sweat.
I could have mistaken her for a witch if she showed up in my room in the middle of the night. I wondered what happened; she couldn’t have done this to herself, right?
“After missing work for days, you finally show up at dinner…” Miss Ross scoffed, fully asserting her. “You look terrible; go wash up before you make me puke.” She grimaced, waving her hand dismissively.
“You can use Sarah’s bathroom; the other rooms are locked up and probably need some cleaning…” Mr. Clinton said, gesturing towards the stairs.
Erin nodded sluggishly, dragging her feet along the ground.
“Is she okay?” Miss Ross peered at her, her face contorted.
“I don’t know; she hasn’t said anything yet. Hopefully, when she recovers… she seems to be in shock…” Mr. Clinton replied, settling into the chair while Miss Ross dished up his food.
Silently, I listened as he made baseless assumptions about her situation. Clearly, something was off with her, and it pains me he couldn’t see past her facade.
A few minutes later, she descended the stairs, her feet plunking on the floor with slow and steady movements.
I wondered what her next charade would be.
She appeared in the dining room looking all fresh and clean; a familiar smell wafted into my nostrils-the smell of my cologne, which Helen had purchased for me some time back.
She had the nerve to wear my perfume without permission. My lips twitched as I profoundly stared at her, gracefully sitting in her reserved space.
Quickly, I dismissed the annoyance and focused on the meal before me.
“So, Erin, what really happened?” Mr. Clinton started the conversation, dipping into his food.
I felt like excusing myself so I wouldn’t have to hear her pathetic story, one that would make us pity her.
“I was attacked by loan sharks,” she said, chuckling in between, as if embarrassed.
“That’s illegal and cruel…” Mr. Clinton remarked, feeling indignant on her behalf.
“Yeah, but I couldn’t pay off the loan when it passed the deadline. I told you my mother was ill the other day; well, she passed away a few days ago…” She said, her gaze falling to the ground.
Mr. Clinton’s expression turned sympathetic. “I’m sorry for your loss…”
“Oh dear, I’m so sorry…” Miss Ross chimed in, her gaze softening as she stroked her hand comfortingly. “That must have been hard for you…”
“Sorry…” I said so I wouldn’t feel left out. But inwardly, I kind of felt sorry for her, even though she is a freak.
“Is that the reason you missed work?” Mr. Clinton asked, his tone emphatic.
Erin slowly nodded, a grim smile spreading on her face.
My eyes narrowed, my mind recalling one of our conversations where she mentioned losing her mother. That was long before her absence from work.
Curious to clear my doubt, I asked, pretending to be oblivious, “When exactly did she die?”
She glanced at me morosely, digging into her food. “Two days ago…”
My eyes formed into a slit as I stared at her incredulously. Did she just lie, or had she lied to me the other day?
Contemplating her issue was making me exhausted, so I brushed it off before it gave me a headache.