The Charm Bracelet

The black sports car

Last night puzzled me. As mom and I cleaned I found it hard not to mention it. My curiosity finally nudged me to breach the topic. 

"Mom, were you walking around last night?" I asked, aiming for a nonchalant tone as we both folded laundry. 

She glanced up, confusion knitting her brows as she meticulously folded a flower-patterned blouse. 

"No, why?" she said

I hesitated for a moment, my mind replaying the eerie footsteps from the night before.

"I thought I heard someone walking. Must have been a dream," I downplayed the unease I felt. I didn't want to alarm her, but the truth lingered in the air.

Her response was casual, almost dismissive.

"Oh, well, it probably was Mr. Luxington. His office is the last door."

I froze, the mention of his name sending a shiver down my spine.

"Excuse me?" I said, stopping mid-fold. Her hands continued their meticulous dance with the laundry. 

"Yes, his office is at the end of the hall."

My mind raced. The imitating door down the hall from me was his door!

"When did he tell you?" I asked 

"I remember he mentioned it on the phone awhile back."

I must have looked confused because she stopped folding. 

"Something wrong?" she asked.

"No." I said flatly. I was starting to get anxious. I swiftly redirected the conversation, steering it away from the mysterious nocturnal wanderings and onto the more mundane matters of the day. "So, what's on the agenda for today?" I inquired, attempting to shift our focus.

We settled on tackling the seven bathrooms scattered throughout the house. It seemed like a manageable feat, especially since two of them belonged to my mother and me. We were accustomed to keeping our personal spaces tidy but cleaning them wasn't a regular part of our routine. The grandeur of the house created the illusion of perpetual cleanliness to the naked eye. It was a place where elegance masked the everyday dust and occasional dirt that could accumulate. In the beginning, we found ourselves searching for signs of grime, unsure of what exactly needed cleaning. The house was already immaculate. We had to train our eyes to spot the subtle hints of dust and the occasional lurking dirt. It was a comical challenge, spending the first few days peering into corners and inspecting surfaces for any hint of imperfection. Over time, our eyes became adept at spotting hidden dust bunnies in the most unexpected places, turning what seemed like an already pristine home into a canvas for our meticulous cleaning rituals. We made a little game out of it; we would split up to clean then at the end of the day we would count just how many things we cleaned that looked neglected. 

Mom always had a keen eye for details. I took the superficial approach to cleaning. I cleaned the mirrors, dusted off the countertops and disinfected the kitchen when Lucindo was done cooking. Mom on the other hand took the deep clean approach. She took the small vacuum attachments to clean between the couch cushions, then walked over to the lampshades to clean those. I must admit, we cleaned but, it didn't seem necessary.

 I sometimes got bored and would stare out the bay window upstairs, it looked down at the property and quickly becoming fascinating. There was a garage that was diagonally positioned away from the house. From afar it didn't look like a garage, more of a guest house, but when looking from the window that faced the back of the house there were three large garage doors connecting to a gray cobblestone driveway that looped around and exited the front of the house. I tried to see through the small black framed window on the side, no light was on, and it was hard to make out anything. 

Throughout the day we would smell Lucindos cooking, he would start cooking two hours prior to when he wanted to serve. For breakfast and lunch, he would simply work nonstop, leave for a period, and come back with brown grocery bags in hand. An assortment of fresh vegetables, fruit, poultry, eggs, oils. The pantry was stocked daily. Lucindo's cooking became our unofficial timekeeper. His culinary creations marked the passage of the day, acting as a clock. The challenge of adjusting to a new time zone was softened by the rhythmic predictability of his meal preparations. It also ushered the setting sun, which set irrationally early for my liking.

If we finished cleaning early, we would lounge, go to the courtyard if it wasn't unbearably cold and relax. We always took advantage of the sun being out, as most days were cloudy. 

A creme wicker set of modular furniture placed strategically facing the lake off in the distance. Mom took her sunglasses and propped them on her head making her hair look voluminous. The sun made her hair look as if there were highlights. Her body placed lackadaisical in the chair. It was a breezy sixty degrees, but the sun made it feel tolerable. I had on a thick creme sweater that kept the wind from giving me a slight chill. We stayed quiet, just letting the sun hit us. I immersed myself in the world of my book, the words transporting me to another time and place. Occasionally, I'd lift my gaze, allowing my eyes to drink in the beauty of the scenery that surrounded our new residence. The serenity of the moment was interrupted by the distant hum of an approaching car. The driveway, winding down the hill and through imposing iron gates, served as the entrance and exit to our secluded haven. The sound of tires on gravel grew louder, and soon, a sleek black sports car came into view. Instinctively, I assumed it was Mr. Luxington, the one whose wanderings had sparked my imagination. 

I set my book down with deliberate slowness, allowing it to rest in my lap. The air seemed to vibrate with anticipation as the car gracefully navigated the descent. I couldn't help but wonder about the man behind the wheel, a mysterious presence whose very arrival seemed to cast a subtle spell over the tranquil landscape.

I thought back to last night. Had he really been in the house this whole time and not come out to meet us? It was as if he was a recluse, never emerging from his office. We hadn't even seen him come out to eat. The whole thing felt strange to me, but from what I had been told, he was just busy. I guess that made sense.

I looked to Mom to see if she noticed the car, but she had fallen asleep. I closed my book fully, my mind racing with questions. Slowly, I saw the car make its way through until disappearing.

So, it was him last night.

As the car faded from view, I couldn't help but wonder who was this man?