Cover

Title Page

Dedication

For Madaline Holahan and Gloria Fidee

Thank you for the Love, Support,
and Enduring Example

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Epigraph

“Knowing your own darkness is the best mehod for dealing with the darknesses of other people.”

—Carl Jung, psychiatrist and founder
of analytical psychology, letter to
Kendig B. Cully, September 25, 1937

PART ONE

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

OKSANA

The Walkers were hiding. Oksana tried not to take it personally as she hauled her vacuum down a narrow staircase to their finished basement. Clients liked to pretend she was invisible. They avoided eye contact with the jowly blonde whom no one would believe was only forty if they’d asked, treating her like a product that disappeared toilet rings and eliminated carpet stains rather than a person who scrubbed and wiped and hauled, who’d escaped a military invasion and mortar shells to start her own American business. Life’s unfairness was less embarrassing that way, she figured.

Celebrities were frequently the worst, often refusing to remain in the same room once she appeared. But the Walkers had always been different, acknowledging her biweekly presence with warm smiles and casual inquiries about her health and family. Oksana knew that they didn’t expect her to answer too honestly or at any length. Even so, the effort at polite conversation had been something, providing tidbits with which to regale starstruck friends or, once or twice, sell to gossip rags. Melissa Walker Bathes Skin in Snail Mucus. Nate Walker’s New Gig: Stay-at-Home Dad.

Oksana stepped off the wooden stair onto the white marble floor. She carted the unwieldy vacuum another several feet to a patchwork cowhide carpet, which was surprisingly easy to care for despite its undoubtedly exorbitant price tag. A single pass with the Dyson typically did the trick, as long as there weren’t any real stains.

The vacuum’s various attachments clattered as she set it down. Oksana unwound the cord and began dragging it toward the socket tucked beneath the open staircase, wondering which floor the family was holing up on. It was the pandemic making everyone extra cautious, she told herself. If the Walkers had suspected her of leaking that headline about Mr. Walker’s lack of employment, they would have fired her already.

Then again, maybe not. The pandemic had made people desperate to retain their small circle of previously vetted people, even when it became clear those relationships weren’t working out. Maybe she’d simply been grandfathered in.

Oksana crouched to the outlet. A merlot-colored mark shone on the tile in front of her. She dropped the vacuum cord and crawled toward it, pulling a wet wipe packet from her back pocket. Red wine stained everything, even seemingly hard surfaces, and the basement floor was honed, making it more porous than the shiny stone version. To prevent a permanent mark, she’d probably have needed to treat the marble yesterday.