The Interview
The third bus smells like wet newspaper and someone's fast food regret, and Lila presses her forehead to the window glass, watching the city change its mind about itself. Cracked sidewalks give way to swept ones. Chain-link fences become wrought iron. Somewhere between her neighborhood and this one, the trash cans started hiding behind hedges instead of sitting out on the curb like everyone else's business.
She counts the coins in her coat pocket again, not because the number will have changed but because her fingers need something to do besides shake. Four quarters, three dimes, a nickel that's gone green at the edges. Enough for the ride home, if she's careful, if she doesn't buy coffee to steady her nerves, if the universe decides to be kind for once instead of charging her double for everything, the way it usually does.
*My last job ended amicably,* she rehearses under her breath, watching her reflection mouth the words back at her in the window. *Mutual decision. We both felt it was time.*
The truth is uglier. The truth involves a man named Donald Pierce who decided that paying his nanny was optional once his divorce lawyers got expensive, and a six-year-old named Max who…
