“You didn't thunder, Mom. You didn't need to."

“Thanks, honey." She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. He suffered the gesture, rolling his eyes.

“Listen, no one knows how long this is going to take. So you might as well go on home. I'll see you tonight.

As for you," she said, eying her former intern.

“I'll see you at the cookout on Sunday, right?"

"I suppose so," Jeremy replied.

“I don't want to think about what you'll say about me if I dare blow it off!"

The next day was warm and cloudless. The sun shone brightly in a sky of robins-egg blue, and a soft breeze carried the smell of growing things.

May was a beautiful time in northern Illinois. The trees were in full bloom, the grass green and lush, and the choking humidity of July and

August had not yet descended on the region.

Maria Ochoa parked in the Wainwright's driveway around one o'clock and looked at the house covetously through the cracked windshield of her car. Someday, she swore. Someday I will live in a house Like this. I will not always be the orphan girl from Honduras, cleaning up after others. I will find a good man and he will provide for me. And I will take care of him and have his babies.

But for today, Maria, I think you must clean. With a sigh, she opened the trunk of her car and pulled out the open-lidded case which held her cleaning supplies. Rags and polish for the furniture. Various cleaners for the counter-tops and the tile in the bathrooms. Paper towels and scrub pads and heavy rubber gloves to protect her hands from the harsh solvents. Luckily, the Wainwrights provided the larger pieces of cleaning equipment, such as the vacuum, so she did not have to drive around in the big van today.

She opened the front door with the key and stepped into the dim foyer.

To her eyes, the house had seemed unbelievably luxurious the first time she had seen it, nearly three years ago. But by now, she was used to the casual wealth which the Wainwrights had access to.

Sweep and mop the downstairs first, she thought, setting down her cleaning case in the kitchen. And start the Laundry. Then I will vacuum and clean the bathrooms. Then upstairs. Then the basement. She opened the hall closet and pulled out a broom, dustpan, mop, and bucket. Ina few moments, she was sweeping the hard stone flags of the kitchen floor, her body repeating the motions it had made thousands of times, her mind elsewhere. The dark gray of her uniform clung to her body, but her calves were bare, and the air in the house was comfortably cool.

She had finished the kitchen and was sweeping the polished hardwood floor of the dining room when she heard a soft voice behind her.

“Hello, Maria."

She turned quickly, startled. Rachel Wainwright stood a few steps away, holding a glass of water.

“Senora Wainwright! I'm sorry. I did not know you were at home.”

“And why should you?" the older woman smiled. "It's easy to get lost in this barn of ours. Heck, sometimes the only way I have of knowing if the kids are here is if their cars are in the garage."