We’ll Meet Again Someday

“Hello, my name is Riana Brennan. I’m calling about the ad for a live-in housekeeper.” “Hi, Riana. I’m James Abbington,” came the masculine reply at the other end of the line. “We’re looking for a possible live-in housekeeper.” “That’s great. How large is your family?” “It’s just my wife and me and our teenage daughter. We’ve actually got a guesthouse on our property. It’s very small, but we thought it might be a good idea to rent it out to someone who wouldn’t mind cleaning this place and doing other jobs related to home care. Instead of paying them or having them pay us, we thought we’d give them free room and board in exchange for their services. We’d also provide all the necessary supplies, and of course, Wi-Fi is available. They’d only have to pay for their own food and whatever else they wanted.” “That sounds like that would be a great deal.” “What else would you be willing to do besides keeping the house clean for us? Would you be willing to handle laundry or cooking or anything like that?” “Sure thing, James. I’ll admit I’m not the greatest cook on earth, but YouTube makes a great teacher.” The two chuckled. “I’d love to see the place,” Riana said. “When can you stop by for an interview?” “Anytime.” “Do you know where Sereta Lane is in Phoenix?” “Yes, I do.” “Can you come to the house now?” “I sure can.” “Oh, good. I’ll see you soon, then.” Riana disconnected the call. Abbington. Why did that name sound vaguely familiar? About ten minutes later, Riana’s cab was pulling into the Abbingtons’ driveway. She paid and thanked the driver, then stepped out of the vehicle. The strange and foreign driver backed out of the driveway in a hurry, almost as if relieved to be rid of her. Nice house, she thought to herself. It was a large, two-story stucco house in an upscale subdivision. A man, whom she assumed to be Mr. Abbington, waited at the screen door in a police uniform. “Hi,” he said as Riana approached the house. “You don’t have a car?” “No, sir,” Riana replied as she stepped through the door that James held open for her. “But between my bike and the buses, I do just fine. Saves money and keeps me in shape.” “Good for you.” “So, I see you’re a police officer.” “A detention officer, actually, at one of the local jails. I had the misfortune of having to work graves last night.” Riana sized James up. She liked him. He was soft-spoken and had an easygoing demeanor that put her at ease. He was of average height and weight, with brown hair and eyes, and appeared to be in his mid-forties. “James Abbington,” he said, extending a hand toward the lovely woman before him. He thought she was certainly a change from the frumps he and his wife had been interviewing over the last few days—not that it mattered, as opposed to how well they could do what needed to be done. Riana shook his hand and smiled just as a teenage girl entered the room. The girl was pleasant yet plain-looking, with light hair and eyes. She was dressed in casual attire consisting of a T-shirt and shorts. Her hair fell a few inches below her shoulders in slight waves. She was petite, but not as petite as Riana. “This is our daughter, Emma,” James said. “Hi, Emma,” Riana said. “Hello,” Emma said in a somewhat shy voice. Then, “Wow, you have really long hair.” Riana reached behind her for the long black braid that nearly covered her buttocks. “Yeah, I guess I do,” she smiled. She then surveyed the house. “This is beautiful, from what I can see from here.” “Thanks. We like it,” James said. “Hopefully, cleaning won’t be too much of an ordeal. Emma’s mother gets on her about keeping her room together most of the time.” Emma smiled, rolled her eyes, and said, “More like all of the time. But yeah, it looks like a war zone at times.” “I remember what that was like,” Riana said with a smile. “How many bedrooms are there, Mr. Abbington?” “James. Call me James. Three bedrooms.” Riana’s eyes fell upon the large wedding portrait at the far end of the living room. James’s blond, light-eyed bride appeared to be slender and close to him in height, though Riana couldn’t see any significant detail from where she stood. “It’ll be a while before my wife, Audra, gets in,” James said, “but if you’d like a tour of the house and to check the guesthouse out, we can do that now.” “I’d like that,” Riana said. “My wife and I will make our decision sometime over the next few days.” Yet barely an hour later, Riana, James, and his fourteen-year-old daughter were returning from Riana’s friend’s house, his SUV packed with some of Riana’s belongings. Riana hoped that James’s wife, whom he hadn’t spoken much of, would be just as friendly.