Hayes Estate Not My World

The second I step into the Hayes estate, I know I don't belong. This isn't my world, with the tall gates, the new security cameras, the nicely manicured grass that's as broad as any street I've ever lived on, and the air that's so fresh and clean and expensive that it's never been tainted by city smog.

I make my feet walk forward, and I grasp my bag firmly. It's just another job in a long line of jobs. That's all. It doesn't matter that my palms are damp and that I have this sinking sensation of dread. I just have to teach the kid, get my money, and leave.

The door opens before I can knock.

To my surprise, Leo Hayes is extremely tall. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and powerful. He looks exactly like the ex-military personnel in his file, wearing a clean black shirt with sleeves rolled up to show veins mapping down his forearms. His face is unreadable as he examines me with dark, assessing eyes.

"You're late." His voice is low, with a hint of impatience.

Great. Five seconds in, and he already doesn't like me. "I had trouble finding the place." A lie. The estate is impossible to miss, but I'm not going to apologize for taking a moment outside to breathe.

He moves aside, motioning for me to come in. "I don't like people being late. If you need this work, you'll be punctual."

I bit my tongue. I need the money. I can deal with a tough boss.

The interior of the house is as immaculate as I'd imagined. There are marble floors and floor-to-ceiling windows that lead out to a garden that undoubtedly contains a pool. But the house is not what I'm anxious about. It's the silence that scares me.

Then I see him.

Matteo.

He's smaller than I expected for a six-year-old, sitting on the plush white couch, clutching a stuffed wolf. His dark curls fall over his forehead, half-covering his solemn brown eyes. He looks at me unblinking.

"Matteo," Leo says, his voice less harsh than before. "This is Miss Richson. She's your new teacher."

No answer.

I crouch down to his level, smiling a little. "Hello, Matteo. You can call me Ella."

He said nothing.

Leo turns, crossing his arms. "He won't answer. Don't take it personally."

I don't. Silence is something I'm familiar with. Like. I can relate to the ache of carrying a burden of words inside of you so tightly that you're afraid it's going to break you.

I glance across at the grand piano in the corner of the room. It's lovely, glossy black, sitting there like a silent promise, reminding me of everything that I have lost.

I look back at Matteo. "Are you a music lover?"

Nothing, but his fingers clench on the plush wolf.

Softly, I say to him, "You don't need to talk." "Just listen."

I stand, crossing the room to the piano. My fingers linger over the keys for a moment too long. I haven't played in years. Not since…

No.

I took a deep breath and applied pressure. The introductory notes of Clair de Lune fill the room, gentle and familiar. It should be reassuring, but my hands shake. Though I attempted to ignore them, memories rushed in. It is not for me. It's for him, I calmed myself.

Matteo's gaze is on my hands when I get the nerve to glance over at him. There was a shift in his eyes.

Perhaps, after all, silence is more powerful than words.

I don't trust her.

It's not just that she was late. It's not that she hesitated before playing, as though she was stepping on broken glass instead of a piano key. It's the look in her eyes, as though she knows what it's like to be lost.

And I cannot have that around Matteo.

I watch as she finishes the piece, slowly raising her fingers as if she's afraid the music will pull her back in. Matteo is still staring at her with wide eyes.

That's more of a reaction than I've seen in months. It may not be a complete waste of time.

There are two classes a week. Each one lasts an hour. Do not ask personal questions; no unnecessary conversation outside of the class. Although I cannot afford to make a mistake, my voice comes out louder than I intended.

Ella looks at me, her eyes not readable. "Understood."

I don't believe her.

I know runners. I know individuals with ghosts that they will not discuss. She is one of them.

And the one thing Matteo doesn't need is somebody who won't stick around.

It was quiet in the first lesson.

Matteo listens, though he doesn't speak or provide anything more than suspicious looks. I notice it in the way his small fingers clench on the stuffed wolf as I go over the basics of our lesson. Leo leans to the side, a silent figure watching our every move, arms crossed as though expecting me to make a mistake.

I don't.

I keep my tone gentle but firm, not wishing to push too much. I know kids like Matteo. Kids who've built walls so high they've forgotten what it's like to allow someone in. I'm not going to force him to speak. If I've learned anything in my life, it's that silence doesn't always mean no. It is sometimes survival.

A full hour later, Matteo is still curled up in his corner with his eyes half closed when I rise to collect my belongings. He appears fatigued, as if existing is too much work. My chest constricted, but I said nothing. I do not belong here.

Leo walks with me to the door.

"He was not pushed by you." There is a hint of approval in his voice, but it is mixed with suspicion.

I raise my shoulder. "I failed to see the point."

His eyes narrow. "You've handled kids like him before?"

I could fabricate it. Tell him I do; make myself sound more capable. But I feel Leo would look right through it.

"No," I admit. "But I do know what it's like not to feel like talking."

There's a gaze across his face—too fast for me to catch. He nods once. "Same time next week."

I step outside, breathing in the cool, unfamiliar air, and tell myself I don't feel a tug in my chest as the door closes behind me.

She surprised me.

I expected resistance or a too-loud voice trying to drag Matteo out of his silence. Instead, she played music. She left him alone. And somehow, she managed to get more of a response out of him than I have in weeks.

But I don't trust her.

People like Ella don't wind up in a place like this for nothing. She was too at home in her despair. Like someone used to being on the outside looking in.

And I cannot afford to let her get too close.

Matteo needs stability. He needs someone who will not leave him once things get difficult. And I have no way of knowing if Ella Richson is that kind of person.

I glance across to the couch where Matteo is seated, staring at the piano.

Maybe, just for now, I can let her stay.

I exhale slowly, my fingers suspended over the keys of the piano even after the last note fades into the vast silence of the Hayes estate. The weight of Leo's stare presses against my skin, gauging and assessing. I already know what he's thinking.

He doesn't trust me.

Nevertheless, Matteo…

The small boy still clutches his stuffed wolf, his fingers white-knuckled on its worn fur. His brown eyes gazed at the piano down to me and then fell again. He has not spoken a single word, but I feel it—the slight shift, the change barely noticed.

Music does that. It reaches places words can't.

I push back from the piano, unfolding my spine before I turn to Leo again. "Would you like to review a lesson plan with me?" I am professional, even despite the tension vibrating between us.

Leo looks at me for a while, his jaw tight. Then he exhales sharply. "Okay. Let's talk in my office."

I nod and turn back to Matteo, kneeling to his level again. "I'll see you next time, okay?" I say gently, but I don't expect a reply.

Matteo remains silent.