did.
Maybe they were some sort of hyper-fertile family. It was possible. She could tell Elizabeth that it wasn’t her fault, it was biology. That would go over well.
Cleo hated when people were mad at her. She couldn’t stand to disappoint anyone. The thought of Elizabeth and Max’s family being so thoroughly disappointed in her made it hard to breathe.
Elizabeth used to always tell her she needed a thicker skin. “Not everyone is going to like what you do all the time,” she’d say. “Sometimes you have to say, screw you, and do it anyway.”
Senior year in high school, Cleo had decided not to play soccer. It had gotten to be too much, and she liked her other activities better, so it only made sense. She was sleepless for weeks, knowing that she’d have to tell the team, knowing that the girls and the coach were going to be disappointed in her. She hated disappointing people.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Cleo,” Elizabeth had said. “This is your life. You’re the one that has to live with the decision you make, not anyone else. Just remember that. What you do in life is yours and it doesn’t matter what other people want from you.”
It was sort of funny, actually, that for the first time in her life, Cleo was going to take Elizabeth’s advice, that for once she was going to do something that was going to make everyone around her angry as all hell. She repeated Elizabeth’s words to herself every night. What you do in life is yours.
Cleo thought that maybe when she told Elizabeth, she could point out how ironic it all was, how she was finally doing just what Elizabeth suggested. “That’s the thing about giving advice,” she could say. “It might come back to haunt you.”
CHAPTER 11
Martha’s new job smelled like death. Or actually, it smelled like dying, which was worse. Death was at least clinical and final. Dying lingered. It was urine-stained couch cushions and shirts with drool on them. It was labored breathing and fake cheery voices that tried to distract the patient from the fact that this was it—his life was coming to a close.
Her first day, Martha showed up to find Jaz scrubbing the wood floor in the den with Pine-Sol. “Just a little accident,” she said. Her voice was pleasant and no-nonsense, the kind of voice you would use when dealing with a child, to let them know that accidents happen, but they’re nobody’s fault, and it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.
Mr. Cranston sat in his chair and stared straight ahead, not acknowledging Martha or Jaz’s comment. Martha, unsure of what to do, stood in the corner and folded her arms across her stomach. “Accidents happen every day,” she’d said. Then she wanted to die, because Mr. Cranston gave her an accusing look that meant he thought that either she was a moron or she was against him.
“Mr. Cranston loves to read his papers first thing,” Jaz said. She wrung out her rag into the bucket. “Why don’t you go grab those for him—they’re by the front door—and go ahead and put them in the sitting room? When we’re done here, I’ll show you how to get breakfast ready.”
Martha nodded and almost ran from the room to the front of the house, where she picked up the Wall Street Journal, the New York Times, and the Philadelphia Inquirer. She was so grateful to get out of that room, that she almost hit her head when she opened the door.
When they met in the kitchen, Jaz told her not to get overwhelmed. “I’m going to be here with you for a couple of weeks until you get it down. Any questions you have, you just ask. I’m not going anywhere, so there’s no reason to get nervous, okay?”
Martha nodded and swallowed. Ever since her stupid comment about accidents happening every day, she felt like she might start crying. But Jaz was kind. And for that, she was very grateful.
“Okay, now. First thing you’ll do when you get here in the morning is make breakfast. It’s the only meal you’ll have to make, but he’s pretty particular about it. He has the same thing every day—two soft-boiled eggs and a piece of whole wheat toast. He used to have bacon too, but that ended about five years ago, when his cholesterol went through the roof. Every once in a while he can still have it, but don’t let him fool you into thinking that he