Chapter 1

I awoke abruptly. I had been sleepingcontently when I had slipped into a dream that had really freaked me out. Thirty-seven years old and I was still waking up petrified from a little nightmare. In the nightmare, I had been sliding across a long, checkered floor and my clothes had blown off me just before I slid off the edge of the floor and began to plummet downward, into a never-ending pit of pitch darkness. I hated those dreams, where it actually did feel like you were falling off your bed and then you wake up so suddenly it gets your heart pounding in your chest. My flimsey sheet was entwined around my body and was making me drown in gallons of sweat. At least I had a fan right beside me turned up high.

Liam's side of the bed was empty. He must've slept on the couch again. I turned over and drifted off once again.

I ended up dragging myself out of bed at noon, and I nearly flipped when I had looked at the clock on my nightstand. It was Sunday, but I still couldn't stand sleeping in late and lounging around the house all day. I definitely didn't take advantage of the Holy Sabbath day. I've always been like that, even as a lazy, unmotivated teenager.

When I got downstairs, our house maid/cook, Kim, was walking by and stopped to narrow her eyes at me suspiciously. I didn't know what it was with her. She seemed to hold a permanent grudge against me, from the day she timidly handed me her resume and I hired her, till now. She was all right with Liam, and fabulous with our 13-year-old daughter, Danielle. The first time Danielle met Kim this bond just blossomed between them.

I entered the kitchen and Danielle looked at me in bewilderment. "You slept in this late?"

"I really need to start setting my alarm on the weekends. I can't get into this habit, not to mention I hate it." I began to rummage through the fridge for the eggs to prepare my breakfast, when Kim entered the kitchen hurriedly and ushered me out of her way, glaring as she did so. "You don't have to make my breakfast today. It's Sunday."

"It is my job," she said sharply. "And I intend to do it."

"You're not religious then, are you?" I asked quizzically.

She turned on me sharply and cocked her eye brow at me. "And what permits you to ask such a personal question?"

"Well," I said, "religious people usually don't work on the Holy Sabbath day."

"I was at one point. But not anymore." She turned back to the fridge and I knew that there was no point in questioning her any further. She was very tenacious. She pulled out the eggs from the fridge and set them on the counter.

"Kim," Danielle piped up, as if just realizing she was there, "I have to write a ten-page opinion piece for English and I only have three pages done. Wanna help me?"

I didn't get offended anymore if Danielle chose to ask Kim to help her with her homework rather than me. They were extremely close and I was never much of a help anyways.

"Of course," Kim replied cheerily. "What do you have to write about?"

"The Merchant of Venice," Danielle said dully. "Damn Shakespeare. We have to write an opinon piece about whether we think Shylock is the villain or victim."

I scoffed as I poured myself a glass of low pulp orange juice. "Ugh, I hated doing God-damned poetry and Shakespearean crap."

Kim turned her narrowed ebony eyes on me once again and said sharply, "Never use the Lord's name in vain."

She had me utterly confounded. She had just finished telling me she wasn't religious anymore, so what was it to her if I used the Lord's name vainly? Now, usually Kim never intimidated me, half the time it seemed like I intimidated her. But I cowered and shifted uncomfortably under her hard gaze. I sipped my juice and shifted my eyes elsewhere.

Danielle looked awkward. "Okay, thanks. But later, I don't feel like it right now."

"Must you always procrastinate things until Sunday night?" I asked.

She shrugged and Kim scowled. "As if you weren't a lazy teenager yourself. Or should I sa..." She turned away and shook her head. "Never mind."

I was confused again. She dared to presume to tell me I was a lazy teenager? She hadn't even known me then, she had no idea what type of student I had been. As a matter of fact, I had been a top student. Everything I had handed in had been done with much effort and handed in on time. But according to her I was a procrastinator?

I stood up and stared her right back, making my eyes as hard as two emerald gemstones. She stared back, and we both just stood there for several moments staring each other down. I didn't know what it was that disturbed her so, but I had had enough. Whatever it was she was condemning me of with those accusative, apprehensive eyes, she was going to have to confront me about it. I was not to be made a coward by the person who cooks my meals.