The house was quiet. I made my way around, checking the doors and making sure the house was set for the night. I'd never been told to or assigned this task; I assumed it, as I had quite a few of my tasks. When I started, he had a list of tasks and duties. We walked through the house, room to room, going over the list, adding things, clarifying things. My previous job as a hotel housekeeper helped. I knew things to look for and had a standard to meet in doing them. Still, over time, there were other things that I picked up and assumed the responsibility of. Doing the rounds of the house for the evening was one of them.
The early spring evening was fading quickly into night. At the front door the only light left in the house came from the hall and his bedroom. He was reading, his habit after dinner. I turned the dead bolt slowly. As it clicked into place, I smiled in satisfaction. Ana, his daughter, would not be home until Sunday.
For the weekend, I was alone with him. I'd been waiting for this. Though quiet at dinner – he was quiet most of the time - he seemed in an upbeat mood. There had been some kidding from Ana as she said good bye and left. I feigned embarrassment. I thought he enjoyed the ribbing from his daughter. Tonight would be a good night I thought as turned from the door.
I turned off the hall lights and the built-in night lights came on, spreading their soft glow across the stone floor. I'd fallen in love with his house. It was simple, clean, sparsely decorated and very heavily influenced by the Asian aesthetic. I'd even come to terms with beautiful Shoji that separated the bedroom from the hall. He'd joked many times that I was taking his house from him. Maybe I was. It was my job to make sure his house ran as efficiently as I could make it. I guess I did think of it as mine.
He was a quiet and private man most of the time. Still, I enjoyed being around him. His kindness and gentleness was always around Ana and me. I was still getting use to it. Nothing would be said, and he expected no thank yous, but I would find some special, little thing done for me – quietly and privately.
Almost from the beginning I found myself curiously attracted to him. As I became more comfortable living with and working for him, I found that I was very concerned that what I did was perfect for him. He noticed too. I began to do small special things, just for him.
Over the last month or so, I caught myself now or then looking at him and wishing for him. I knew there was interest; I could see it in his eyes sometimes, particularly if Ana was not around. I did my best to let him know I'd accept. The time or moment never seemed to be there. Then Ana brought up this weekend school trip – thank you Ana! I hoped beyond hope that this weekend would be right.
I paused by his open door and looked into the semi-darkness of his room. From where I stood, I saw him from the side, legs stretched out on the hassock and head bent just a little as he read. The lamp between the chairs made a small circle of light around him.
"Are you going to stand in the hall all night or are you going to join me," he asked quietly with a little twist of sarcasm.
I smiled and checked my giggle, answering by walking into his room and around the other chair. I knew I couldn't have stayed watching him long. He had an uncanny ability to know whenever I was near.
He looked up as I came around the chair. "Is there something special I can do for you, dear?"
I smiled shyly and shook my head no. After the first week here, the only time I heard my name was if he needed to get my attention, or had something really important to say, otherwise, as with his daughter, I was dear – or love – depended on his mood. He motioned for me to sit. I slipped from my shoes and sat with my legs folded up under me leaning my elbow on the arm and resting my chin in my hand. He smiled at me, but with a bit of puzzlement in his eyes.
His expression changed slowly, like he was at a loss as what to do or say next. Not at all unusual for him, I'd seen him many times when he would just forget what he was saying mid-sentence, or not know what to say at all. Sometimes he just seemed uncomfortable around people. I'd gotten very use to it and it didn't bother me. He move and put his book aside.
"What are you thinking," he asked in a very low, soft whisper, as if afraid to disturb the night's quiet.
"Nothing really," I answered. "I'm not really thinking – feeling maybe, but not thinking, sir."
He chortled to himself, "Then, what are you feeling?"
"Contented," I paused, "and what a lucky young woman I am."
"Contented – lucky?"
"Yes sir."
"Okay . . ."
That comfortable feeling I often had around him started to envelope me. It was like a warm blanket that wrapped around my shoulders, a cloak that protected me, making me feel warm and loved. When I first started working for him I felt shy and hesitant around him. One night at dinner, just he and I, this feeling began to grow in me and around me, from then on I knew I was where I should be, doing what I should be doing.
"You're thinking too much."
