She begged me not to tell her dad, but another housekeeper overheard the whole confession and told a pool attendant, who told everyone, and before I knew it I was shaking Paul’s hand and accepting a promotion. It was coded into Paul’s upbeat congratulations that the promotion hinged on my not making any waves. I’d keep to myself, and be sad in private, and it meant no more scrubbing wine stains out of carpets. Which was fine. Maybell Parrish doesn’t make waves. She doesn’t even make ripples.
