Ten Minutes to Leave

Oliver Grant waited by the service door with a thick envelope tucked under his arm. He didn’t look at Clara’s wet shoes or the water dripping from her skirt onto the rubber mat. He adjusted his silk tie with two fingers and rocked back from heel to toe on the clean linoleum.

“Per protocol, your access badge has been suspended,” Oliver said. He held out the packet. “You’re to gather your personal items and vacate the grounds within ten minutes.”

Clara’s left jaw burned like raw grease on a hot skillet. She swallowed, tasting salt and old pool chlorine. “Mr. Whitlock struck me, Oliver.”

“It was deemed necessary to stabilize the situation,” Oliver said. His eyes stayed fixed on the doorframe above her head. “There is an agreement inside. A standard mutual non-disclosure and release of liability. A formal separation check will follow once signed.”

“He hit me because Lily went into the water.”

“The incident report reflects gross failure of supervision,” Oliver said. He pushed the envelope into the crook of her elbow. “Do not contact the family. Do not return to the residence. If you attempt to communicate with Mr. or Mrs. Whitlock, security will have you removed.”

Clara didn’t drop the packet. She stepped past him through the heavy fire door and out onto the service gravel, clutching the soaked cardboard box she had snatched off the flagstones before they locked the patio sliders. The lavender ribbon hung limp and gray against the wet paper. The paint inside—the purple butterfly she had helped Lily press with a kitchen sponge yesterday morning—was ruined by chlorinated water. Cold fabric soaked through her canvas tote, pressing wet cloth against her ribs.

In the driver’s seat of her 2011 Civic, she turned the rearview mirror toward her face. Four pale red streaks ran from the hinge of her jaw down to her neck. The skin was already puffing thick near her ear where Graham’s ring had caught her flesh. She touched the swelling with two fingers, wincing as the heat spiked through her back teeth.

“He hit me,” she said to the glass. Her voice sounded thin, like someone else talking in a cold room.

She pulled out through the security gate without tapping her card. The guard in the booth didn’t look up from his monitor.