The Maid (Molly the Maid, #1)

by Nita Prose

In real life, the actions you take can change the results, from sad to happy, from disappointing to satisfactory, from wrong to right.

I’ve been called many a thing in my quarter century, and what I’ve learned is that the common expression about sticks and stones is backward: sticks and stones often hurt far less than words.

I walked in briskly to show that I am a woman with confidence and a sense of purpose. “I’ve arrived,” I said.

😁

We’re all entitled to a bad day now and again, I heard Gran say in my head. But when they are all bad days, with no pleasant ones, then it’s time to reconsider things.

I consider what it is the detective really wants to know and what I’m prepared to divulge.

Yes. I thought she might have been covering for Giselle. Or tempted to.

I knew the etiquette for this, which was a relief. When someone compliments you, you’re supposed to thank them. And when they do something kind for you—even if you didn’t want them to—you’re supposed to thank them.

Monday, floors and chores. Tuesday, deep cleaning to give meaning. Wednesday, bath and kitchen. Thursday, dust we must. Friday, wash-and-dry day. Saturday, wild card. Sunday, shop and chop.

“Dios te bendiga,”

“Molly,” he whispers. “That man. Mr. Black? He was powerful. Too powerful. Who will be the boss now?” “The boss is Mr. Snow,” I say. He looks at me strangely. “Is he? Is he really?”

And if I’ve learned anything about the way money works, it’s that it magnetizes toward those born with it, leaving those who need it most without.

Very interesting perspective.

There’s a sharp clip to his consonants that reminds me of Cheryl when she’s up to something unsanitary.

😂

I feel the prick of tears that I do not need right now. Good things come to those who work hard. Clean conscience, clean life. Gran always comes to my rescue.

That’s the trouble with pain. It’s as contagious as a disease. It spreads from the person who first endured it to those who love them most. Truth isn’t always the highest ideal; sometimes it must be sacrificed to stop the spread of pain to those you love. Even children know this intuitively.

Not sure u agree but another interesting perspective.

I am all a muddle, even here, in the peace of my own home.

Every year as Mother’s Day drew near, Gran would begin her thrice-daily peregrinations to our mailbox. She was hoping there’d be a card from my mother. In the early years, cards appeared, signed in shaky scrawl. Gran would be so happy. “She’s still in there somewhere, my little girl,” she’d say.

😭

“Vile and evil are composed of the same letters. One begets the other.”

Everything will be okay in the end. If it’s not okay, it’s not the end.

“It said, ‘Ask Molly the Maid. She’ll tell you. I didn’t do it. Rodney and Charles = BFFs.’ ”

🤣

I’m not sure of the proper etiquette for saying goodbye to two people who have just saved you from life in prison.

But there are also the small actions, like the brown paper bag lunches he prepares for me, which I pick up from the kitchen at precisely noon each workday.

🥹