Dark Intentions - Charlotte Byrd Page 0,49
it's Lina, my mom's faithful housekeeper, who has been with her since I was a little kid. She's older now, but still wears her hair in a tight bun and has the same no-nonsense expression on her face.
She has worked here since moving from Brazil in her early thirties, leaving behind her baby with her parents and sending the majority of her paycheck back to give them a better life.
"Your mom is asking for you,” Lina says in a very slight accent.
In addition to speaking Portuguese, she's also fluent in German, English, and Spanish, having studied linguistics at university.
Someone from the outside might wonder why she has been a housekeeper for so many years, but I think it’s because Mom is very generous and loyal.
When it comes to people she likes, Mom likes to provide. She doesn’t expect her to work long hours and she isn’t particularly picky. Plus Lina gets to live in the one-bedroom cottage just across the meadow for free, and that kind of accommodations would go for about three grand a month in the winter, and who knows how much during the high season.
Over the years, Lina and Mom have become close friends. They even have an informal book club on Thursday nights, discussing the latest Oprah recommendations.
I give Lina a smile and a hug when I approach her and ask her about Tanya, her daughter, who's now living in New York City and trying to be an actress.
Lina rolls her eyes, slightly annoyed.
"I did not come to this country to have my daughter try to become a Broadway star. She's not even in Los Angeles, trying to get onto a soap opera, which would have steady work."
“Well, you remember you took her to all those plays and musicals when she was a kid?”
“Yes, to show her culture,” she says, throwing her hands in the air, "not to encourage her to become an artist or, God forbid, an actress.”
I laugh and she laughs as well. She's only half serious.
Secretly, I think that she's proud that her daughter would risk so much in pursuit of her dreams. It reminds me a lot of what her mother did coming all the way to New England from a small, poor village in Brazil, but it’s not my place to point this out.
I return back to the dining room where Mom has had more than a few cocktails and is suddenly acting very friendly with Marguerite.
"You know you're going to have to get a bigger apartment. I mean, one bedroom with a baby? That's pretty much as close to hell as you can get.”
Marguerite smiles and laughs. “Actually it's a two bedroom.”
Mom narrows her eyes.
"No, it's not. The other is Lincoln's office.”
"Well, yes, but technically we have a bedroom and another bedroom that we've converted to his office, but it's not going to be that way for long.”
"And where's Lincoln going to work when he's home?" Mom asks.
”We are hoping that he can take some time off and you know, really be there for the baby the first year.”
Mom glares at Lincoln who shrugs his shoulders and looks away.
"And you're okay with this?” she asks.
Lincoln looks torn and needs a way out.
"Listen, Mom, we can talk about all of this later, let's just celebrate,” I say. “There’s going to be a baby in the family, a little grandchild. I mean, how exciting is that? I can't wait to meet my niece or nephew. Do you know what it's going to be yet?"
They shake their heads.
"What does that mean?" I ask. "Do you know and not telling, or do you actually not know?"
"We don't know,” Lincoln says. "We want it to be a surprise.”
Mom rolls her eyes and drinks the last of her wine quickly filling it back up. "You know, in my day we couldn't wait to figure out what we would have in order to decorate the rooms properly and everything else that goes into setting up for the baby’s arrival. And now you have all of these medical tests at your service and you could find out the sex at like what… ten weeks? Twelve weeks? Who knows? And you're not taking advantage. That's just... I don't know.”
"Isn't it a little romantic?" Marguerite asks. "I mean, there are so few surprises left in the world.”
Mom leans over the table, just a little bit, holding her fork and knife properly in each hand. She looks like she's about to say something nice. I hold my breath.
And she says, “In