Chapter 4 - Teresa's Companion
Delaney took the job.
Not because Damon wanted her to.
He clearly did not.
Not because Teresa's salary was generous.
It was.
She took it because three afternoons a week at Lake Forest paid almost what she made from six restaurant shifts, which meant she could stop working doubles and sleep more than five hours at a time.
She negotiated anyway.
"No gifts."
Teresa rolled her eyes.
"No secret debt payments."
Damon looked offended.
"I said I wouldn't."
"No apartment upgrades."
"Wasn't planning one."
"No car."
"I don't give cars to employees."
"Good."
"No people following me home."
Damon paused.
Delaney pointed.
"That pause is why you're on the list."
"Security is nonnegotiable while the threat is active."
"Then they stay across the street."
"Half a block."
"Across."
"Half."
Teresa said, "Children, please."
They compromised at one building away.
Delaney's official title was personal companion.
The actual work was stranger.
Some days Teresa wanted to read.
Some days she wanted Delaney to walk with her through the greenhouse.
Some days she remembered everything.
On those days, she was formidable.
She knew shipping law, property holdings, names of judges, birthdays of cooks, the market value of lakefront land, and which city councilman had once cheated at poker.
Other days, she forgot the year.
Delaney learned not to announce it.
"Is my husband coming home?" Teresa asked once.
Damon's father had been dead for seven years.
Delaney sat beside her.
"Tell me about him."
Teresa smiled.
"He sang terribly."
"That sounds serious."
"He knew every Sinatra song and none of the notes."
They spent twenty minutes laughing.
Later, Damon found Delaney alone in the library.
"What did you say to her?"
"About what?"
"She asked for my father."
Delaney stiffened, expecting criticism.
Instead Damon looked tired.
"I heard her laughing."
"Oh."
"What did you say?"
"I asked what he was like."
Damon looked toward the closed sitting-room door.
"Most people correct her."
"Does that help?"
"No."
"Then why?"
"Because the truth matters."
"So does the feeling underneath the question."
Damon's gaze settled on her.
"Where did you learn this?"
"My mother."
"She had dementia?"
"No. Cancer. Morphine. Fear."
The room quieted.
Damon leaned against the bookshelves.
"I'm sorry."
"Thank you."
They were getting better at not fighting.
Not good.
Better.
Three weeks passed.
Delaney's life changed in small ways first.
She slept.
She bought groceries.
She paid the electric bill before the warning notice arrived.
She sent two hundred dollars to Mercy General and watched the balance drop for the first time in months.
Ten thousand eight hundred thirty-seven dollars.
Still enormous.
But moving.
At Bellucci's, coworkers teased her about the "mystery rich grandmother."
Delaney gave them nothing.
At Lake Forest, Teresa gave her everything.
Stories about Damon as a child.
How he hated thunderstorms but pretended not to.
How he once broke another boy's nose for mocking Frank's accent.
How his father trained him to treat fear like debt: something that grew if ignored.
"He was serious at eight," Teresa said.
"He is serious now."
"You make him less serious."
Delaney laughed.
"I make him annoyed."
"Same muscle."
Damon entered the greenhouse at that exact moment.
"I can hear you."
Teresa smiled innocently.
"Good."
Then came the pills.
Delaney noticed them because of color.
Teresa took three medications after lunch.
Two white.
One pale blue.
On Thursday, the blue pill was green.
Delaney held the cup.
"Did this change?"
The nurse, Celeste, glanced over.
"Generic substitution."
"Which medication?"
Celeste named it.
Delaney looked at the label.
The printed description still said blue tablet.
"Why is it green?"
Celeste's face tightened.
"Pharmacies change manufacturers."
"Then why doesn't the label match?"
Damon entered before the nurse answered.
"What happened?"
Celeste spoke quickly.
"Miss Whitfield is questioning medication administration."
"Yes," Delaney said. "Because this pill is the wrong color."
Damon took the cup.
His expression changed.
"Frank."
Frank appeared as if summoned through the walls.
"Lock the medication room."
Celeste went pale.
"Mr. Bianchi, this is unnecessary."
"Then you'll be inconvenienced for ten minutes."
Teresa watched them all.
Confused.
Delaney sat beside her.
"It's okay."
Damon looked at the medication bottle.
Then at Celeste.
"When did this prescription arrive?"
"Tuesday."
"From where?"
"Our usual pharmacy."
Frank was already on the phone.
Within twenty minutes, the pharmacy confirmed no manufacturer change.
The bottle label was genuine.
The pills inside were not.
Celeste began crying.
"I didn't do anything."
Damon's face became frighteningly still.
"Nobody said you did."
"You think I switched them."
"I think my mother nearly froze to death after a medication change no doctor ordered."
Delaney looked at Teresa.
Her hands had begun trembling.
Not from confusion.
Fear.
"Enough," Delaney said.
Damon turned.
"Take this somewhere else."
For a second, she thought he would object.
Then he looked at his mother.
He nodded.
Frank escorted Celeste out.
Damon followed.
That night, Delaney stayed until Teresa fell asleep.
At eleven, she found Damon in the kitchen.
Not the formal kitchen.
The working one.
He stood alone beside a steel counter, sleeves rolled up, staring at a printed security report.
"Did Celeste do it?"
"We don't know."
"Who had access?"
"Four people."
"Vincent?"
Damon looked up sharply.
"Why did you say his name?"
"Because his men asked about me after your mother disappeared."
"Frank told you too much."
"Frank told me enough."
Damon put down the report.
"My uncle believes my mother should transfer her voting shares into a family trust he controls."
"And she refuses."
"Repeatedly."
"So making her look incompetent helps him."
Damon's eyes darkened.
"You're getting too close to things you don't understand."
Delaney felt her temper rise.
"Then explain them."
"No."
"Fine. Then don't say I'm too close when your family dragged me through the gates."
He stepped nearer.
"I am trying to keep you alive."
She stared.
"That sentence would work better if you didn't sound angry at me for it."
Damon exhaled.
Some of the hardness left him.
"You're right."
Delaney blinked.
"Do that again."
"What?"
"Admit I'm right."
"Don't ruin it."
She almost smiled.
Then Damon said, "The pills are being tested."
"And Celeste?"
"Suspended from the house, protected until we know whether she's involved."
"Protected?"
"If Vincent did this, anyone useful to the truth is in danger."
Delaney looked down at her chapped hands.
"What am I?"
Damon answered too quickly.
"Useful."
The word hurt more than it should have.
He saw it.
"That's not what I meant."
"It's fine."
"No."
Delaney looked up.
His voice was quieter.
"You're the person who noticed what everyone paid to notice missed."
The kitchen seemed smaller.
Damon held her gaze.
"That makes you dangerous to whoever did this."
The lights flickered.
Once.
May you like
Twice.
Then the entire mansion went dark.
