“That doesn’t help.”
“No.”
She reached into her pocket.
“Take this.”
She handed me an envelope.
I didn’t open it.
“What is it?”
“Your first week’s salary.”
“I worked two hours.”
“Mr. Bennett pays caregivers weekly in advance.”
My hands trembled.
“How much?”
“Five thousand dollars.”
I stared at her.
I thought I had misheard.
“Five thousand?”
“Yes.”
I nearly dropped the envelope.
That was more money than I had earned in three months at my old cleaning job.
“Why?”
“Because no one stays.”
I thought of Brandon.
Medicine.
Food.
Heat.
Rent.
I closed my fingers around the envelope.
“Am I fired?”
Mrs. Alvarez looked upstairs.
“I don’t know.”
I went home.
The first thing I did was take Brandon to an urgent care clinic.
He had pneumonia.
