The house stood up a hill upon a long stretch of a red paved driveway. Wide, green trees guarded the driveway which opened up into a large stretch of perfectly landscaped lawn. I was hunching up in the backseat, my arms holding onto the passenger headrest as I gazed through the front window. I could see workers in the front yard—a man pushing a lawn mower over the grass, a woman knelt near a flowerbed with white gloves on her hands, a man carrying a bag of mulch across the circle driveway.
But the house itself was the main attraction. The colonial magnitude of it was striking, with its ivory face and pristinely white French windows. I could spot a few palm trees towering from the sides of the house, and a few of the upper windows had flowered leaves hanging down from the sills. The remaining sunlight of the evening blended through the trees and struck the house in golden specks and sparkles. The closer we got, the bigger the house seemed. Right when it looked like it ended, you could see another chunk or block or circle of architecture.
I wasn't sure if I was just delirious from being in the car for so long, but when Neil drove the car into the circle driveway, it felt as if the house loomed upwards all at once and stretched over me protectively. A few of the windows where the setting sun did not reach had golden light emanating comfortably from them. It felt like I was being driven into the mouth of paradise.
"Boy, oh boy," Neil sighed as he parked near the front steps and turned the engine off. "What a drive, huh?"
"Thank you, Neil," I told him sincerely. "You've been a very great driver."
"Well, chauffeuring is my job, Miss Becca," he said before stepping out of the car. I had already opened my door, desperate to feel my feet touch the ground, and when he saw that I was getting out myself, he jogged quickly over to open my door wider and offer a hand to me.
Smiling sheepishly, I took his hand and stepped out. The ground felt shaky underneath my feet, my body still in belief that I was in a moving car. My knees wobbled as my blood rushed down my body, and I hadn't realized how close I was to falling right over until Neil rushed to wrap an arm around me.
"Steady there, Miss," Neil chuckled, struggling to hold me up while not being too offensive in the way he touched me. "Long trips can take a toll on the balance."
"Sorry," I whispered, giving an airy laugh that sounded a little wheezy. I took a deep breath, clutching Neil's arm, and looked around me. Seeing the house from the car felt a bit like watching a movie. Now, standing in front of it, unembraced by the vehicle and standing in the open Californian air whose humidity was quite different from Louisianan humidity, felt quite like stepping into a movie screen.
"No worries, Miss Becca. Come on, let's get you into the house. I'll bring your bags in after."
With Neil's steady arm keeping me balanced, I walked with him like a newborn calf up the many red brick steps leading to the front porch which was upholstered by ivory columns.
"I'm very sorry," I said again, feeling my face heat in embarrassment at the fact that Neil had to help me up the steps as if I was a shaky old woman.
"You don't need to apologize, Miss Becca," he laughed gently. "You've just been halfway across the country. Who's to say walking in Louisiana is the same as walking in California?"
I couldn't help but chuckle at his remark which I knew was a way of gently mocking and comforting me at the same time. I was feeling quite disoriented—my head was pounding, and my heart felt weak in my chest. It felt like a dream where you are trying to run but keep getting failed by your own legs, and you only feel halfway conscious.
When we got to the front door, Neil opened it and helped me inside. My shoes met a black and white checkered marble floor, and when I lifted my eyes, I saw a golden chandelier twinkling above me. The entry hall was bordered by a grand staircase that squared the ceiling, and the walls were such a clean shade of white that I felt I would stain them by touching them. It felt awfully silent in the house, and when I glanced back outside, I saw that the sun had finally disappeared and introduced nighttime, although there was still a light orange streak in the lower half of the sky.
Now that I was inside, Neil gently removed his arm from me so that he could go get my bags. I felt the urge to hold back onto him, to not have him leave me alone in this bewilderingly large and fancy house. I must have had a lingering grip on his arm because he stopped and turned back towards me, taking my hand in his and patting the back of my palm. "Mr. Donnelley will be down any moment. I'll be right back with your bags."
He gave me that fatherly smile that I recognized in Neil. It was comforting and handsome, and it made me feel a little bit better as he released my hand and went back outside to the car.
When I heard the sound of footsteps on the staircase directly above my head, I gasped a little in fright. I felt like an alien standing on a foreign planet as I awaited the person to arrive down the stairs, following the sounds with my eyes as the footsteps turned the corner of the staircase and began to descend down the flight right beside me.
My eyes finally saw the figure of a very tall and filled-out man practically jogging down the staircase. Suddenly, I started picking at my clothes, making sure my dress was neat and my hair was tidy, that I did not have mustard anywhere on me from the sandwiches that Neil and I ate for dinner in the car. Once I felt slightly reassured, I folded my hands at my front and watched the man come down the last few steps, his hand holding onto the rail as his feet made contact with the marble floor and he swung around to face me.
I wasn't sure if I had expected to see a Greek god, but this man's face looked very normal to me. His blonde hair was combed over to the side, and although his face looked clean and strong, there was a little chubbiness to him. He was wearing a dark brown suit that fit loosely on his tall body, and he looked like he was an older version of all the football players Georgia had introduced me to in college.
"Rebecca Hayes?" he called out my name in a boomingly loud voice that echoed sharply off the walls and into my ears. The sound made my back straighten.
"Yes," I answered, my hands fiddling as I tried to decide the best way to meet the man who I assumed was now my boss.
"Martin Donnelley," he grinned widely at me, and as he started walking towards me, I realized just how tall he was. I also noticed that while most of his suit was a little loose on him, the fabric of his blazer was stretched tightly over his broad shoulders, threatening to rip. "It's such a pleasure to finally meet you."
He outstretched his hand to me, and I took it. I nearly fell over from the strength with which this man's large hand consumed and shook my smaller one. I matched his teethy grin, squeezing his hand that felt like it could break mine right off my arm.
"Peter told me so many good things about you, how you are the best student he's ever had. I heard you got one of the most prestigious scholarships to the university. I'm so very thrilled to have you here with us—Neil's getting your bags right—Oh, there he is! I hope he treated you well on the drive—must have been such a long drive. You hungry? We already had dinner, but if you're hungry, we can get you something made real quick. Oh, there's Neil."
Mr. Donnelley had spoken so fast all while still violently shaking my hand that my head started to feel dizzy. I just kept the same grin on my face and nodded in unison with his words before he finally let me go and walked past me to the door. Even the air that whooshed around him as he walked felt like a sharp breeze blowing in my hair.
"You get her dinner, Neil?" Mr. Donnelley asked as Neil struggled to fit through the front door as he carried my bags which were stuffed full, which really wasn't that much considering it was everything I owned.
"Yes, sir, we had sandwiches in Nevada," Neil said with a sigh as Mr. Donnelley took my bags from the driver who now looked pathetically small standing next to the man whose head was one inch from hitting the doorway.
"Good, good," Mr. Donnelley said as he carried my bags with ease. "Rebecca, I'll show you up to your room. It's quite late, and the little kids are already asleep, and Jo—oh well, she's out somewhere—I honestly have no idea where. Kate's in the bath, and she'll be getting to bed soon, too. You can meet them all in the morning—hope you're content with just me for tonight—you're probably awfully tired from the drive—oh!"
He was already walking me up the stairs, on which I was struggling to keep up with him due to my feeble knees. He suddenly stopped walking and turned to me, and my face nearly bumped into the back of his thighs.
"You aren't allergic to cats or dogs or anything, right? We got a dog, Max, and a cat, Ebony."
I shook my head. "No, not allergic." I wanted to get a few words in before he started talking again. "Also, you can call me Becca."
"Great," he grinned, and I noticed that perhaps he was quite handsome and that he had a very youthful energy for being what I assumed to be a 40-something-year old man. "You can call me Marty."
He continued practically jogging up the stairs, and I tried my hardest to keep up with him as we cornered the staircase. I saw that the square that was above my head was a mezzanine that viewed the living room downstairs. From the flash that I saw as I jogged to keep up with Marty, it was quite luxurious.
After another flight of stairs, we were finally walking down a large hallway that had a couple hallways splitting off from it. "I hope you like your room. It's our best guest bedroom. It's got its own bathroom and everything. And it has a balcony, too—with these real nice lace curtains. I love pretty curtains. They really add something special to a room, don't you think?" He turned his head to look at me while still walking, his jawline just as big as his shoulder.
"Oh, yes," I nodded and smiled, trying to catch my breath. "I love curtains."
"Good!" He said and turned around, and suddenly he stopped and opened a door, walking right in.
I jogged in right behind him, only realizing that this was my bedroom when I walked in and saw Marty had finally stopped running and stood by the door of the room, looking around it with a grin.
My eyes widened as I looked at the room. It was bigger than the classrooms in high school. A large bed sat on an elevated part of the room. The dusky orange comforter and cream-colored sheets were perfectly made and tucked in on the bed that looked like it could hold four people at once. Down the little step that led to a sunken part of the floor was a large desk that also served as a vanity. In the corner of the room sat a cushioned white chair. The walls were white, and right across from the door were two French doors that led to the balcony, a set of curtains pulled open halfway over the doors. The lighting was cozy and dim, a tall lamp turned on in the corner and another one sitting on the desk. There was another door to the left of the room, and through it I could see a gorgeous little bathroom with a bathtub.
"If you don't like it, we could go look at some of the other bedrooms—"
"No, it's perfect," I told him with a small chuckle. Elation rose in my chest at the mere beauty of this room with its neo-classic, Western style. "I love it. Thank you."
Marty seemed to sigh in relief as he set my bags down on the bed. I remembered what Dr. Marlar had told me about Mr. Donnelley 'wanting the best' and 'getting the best.' Apparently, this man was one of the best businessmen in the oil industry, and although it was apparent by the obvious wealth that dripped from the house in grandiosity, he seemed like a very cheerful and slightly clumsy man. I was expecting a stone-cold businessman like the ones in the movies who always had a look of judgment and spoke slowly and measured their every move. This man had accidentally put my bag a little too far on the end of the bed, causing it to tumble to the floor, and he mumbled a giggly, "Whoops, sorry," as he picked it back up and set it on the bed. I wondered if he was such a successful man merely because he talked people's heads off so much that they just gave him what he wanted to get him to shut up.
I took a few steps farther into the room to look around more. Marty just stood there looking at me with a smile before asking, "How old did you say you were?"
Turning to him, I didn't remember ever telling him myself how old I was, but I answered anyways. "Twenty-one."
He nodded as if he already knew that. "My eldest daughter Jo—she's twenty-two. I'd love to say you'd get along, being so close in age and all, but Jo—she's..." His smile kind of formed into an open-mouthed straight line as he shrugged. "She's difficult. But Holly will absolutely love you. She's our youngest. Judd's the middle kid, and he can be sweet when he needs to be." He laughed again, and I gave a small smile. I wasn't quite sure what to say—I was exhausted from the trip and also incredibly overwhelmed from everything. Marty seemed to pick up on this.
"Well, I will let you get settled in and rested up. I know you've had a very long couple of days. If you need anything, just ring a bell, and Flo will come running. Goodnight, Becca."
"G-Goodnight," I said, and he was already out of the door and closed it. Ring a bell, I wondered. My eyes caught sight of a little bell on the wall beside the door—was that to call a maid? The idea made me feel a little nauseous. I would hate to be the person who has to come running when a bell is rung.
I desired to take a shower, but I felt like if I stood any longer, I would just fall over. Not bothering to move my bags away from the end of the bed, I crawled onto the tall and incredibly soft bed, my body sinking into the mattress. My face hit the pillows and sleep almost immediately took over me. My last thought before falling asleep was Mama. I wondered what she was doing. I imagined her eating dinner in our tiny house in Louisiana, completely alone and silent besides the sound of the TV that she kept on constantly those days. I imagined her in her nightgown, washing her face. I imagined her crawling into her tiny bed and turning the lights off, sleeping all alone in the dark and silent house.