Chapter 2

Henry’s shoulders relaxed, and he let out a long breath as his father exited the room. He got up and crept to his bedroom door, watching as Tank descended the winding staircase. His father paused to pick up his metal briefcase from its place in the foyer, slipped the Wall Street Journalunder his arm, and then headed outside.

The sound of the Lexus starting up in the drive let Henry know it was safe to go back in his room and return to Craigslist, where he could ponder such an outrageous position as “General Kitchen Help.”

* * * *

In the kitchen, their housekeeper, Maxine, was making herself some breakfast. Henry paused to watch the woman who’d been a part of the Applebys’ daily life since he was a little boy. She was what his mother would call “pleasingly plump,” with broad shoulders—like a linebacker, his dad joked—and even wider hips. She didn’t wear a uniform but always came to work dressed the same: black polyester slacks and a polyblend loose-fitting top, usually floral-patterned. Her hair, once a startling shade of red, had dulled over the years and was now shot through with gray. Still, it was a riot of curls, and Henry thought that a few extra pounds or gray hairs could not diminish the vibrant beauty he saw in their housekeeper.

He watched as she cracked eggs one-handed into a bowl, whisked them, then added a few torn basil leaves, some grated cheese, and a handful of cherry tomatoes, cut in half. She poured the egg mixture into a pan Henry knew would be coated with a thick layer of melted butter.

“I know you’re watchin’ me, kid. That’s why I made enough for two.”

Maxine turned and bestowed upon him one of her trademark grins. The gap in her front teeth made her look impish. The one thing that never aged about Maxine was her smile. It had the ability to illuminate a room and made Henry feel warm all over, loved. The smile he gave in return bore no relation, he thought, to the sheepish grin he must have given his father moments ago.

“Thanks, Maxine. You have to show me how you do that sometime.”

“This? This is nothin’. Tomorrow you can cook for us. Just don’t let Mr. Appleby see.” She laughed.

It was like a donkey’s bray, and Henry giggled, a little boy again. But she was right. His father would have ridiculed him, at best, if he saw his son cooking in the kitchen. Cooking was work for the help when they were at home or for kitchen staff when they went out to a restaurant or to their country club.

Maxine finished up with the eggs in short order, jerking the frying pan rapidly toward her over and over until, like magic, a perfectly rolled omelet appeared. She pulled down a couple of plates from the cabinet, loaded them up, and handed one to Henry. They sat on stools at the kitchen’s marble-topped island to eat. “You want some toast with that?” Maxine asked after a while. “Just take me a minute. I got sourdough.”

“Nah, I’m good.” Henry went back to eating. Maxine had been with the family since Henry was eight years old and was kind of like a mother. Unlike his own mom, though, this was a woman with whom he could talk and share secrets, knowing she would never pass judgment.

“You’re kinda tight-lipped this morning,” Maxine said once they’d finished their amazing eggs. They were soft, buttery, and silky, unlike any other Henry had ever had. There was something delicate about their texture, yet the taste was a melding of layers: sweet herb, acidic tomato, salty Parmigiano-Reggiano. Henry swore Maxine threw a little handful of magic into everything she cooked.

“Just thinking about all I have to do today.”

“Right.” Maxine covered her mouth as she belched. “What’s on youragenda? Wait. Don’t tell me. The beach with Kade? A bike ride along the Green Bay Trail? Maybe head out to Old Orchard, charge up your dad’s Visa at Nordstrom?” She winked. “Get somethin’ for me. I could use a new pair of shoes. Size ten. Kitten heels. I like red.” She giggled.

At the mention of Kade, Henry’s thoughts went dark. He hadn’t spoken to his best friend since the night of Henry’s graduation party ten days ago—but who was counting? What had happened between them on the beach after all the guests left was something Henry had been at first gleeful about, but as time wore on with no calls, texts, or e-mails from Kade, Henry had begun to worry he had pushed things too far and maybe lost his best friend. Yet he could still recall the satiny feel of Kade’s skin against his own, the seawater-sweet taste of his come.