My life seemed to be spinning out of control and I felt numb. I seemed to be sleepwalking through the next two weeks. High school graduation came and went—and then I found myself hustled on a train bound for Newton, Massachusetts which was a wealthy suburb of Boston.

“Maybe it won’t be so bad,” Leon had said to me on the phone the night before I left. “You’ll be earning some money and get away from your mother and her boyfriend.” He tried to sound optimistic.

"She just wants me out of the way," I had replied, feeling very much unwanted.



Just before the train passed into Massachusetts, he sent me a text.

“Good luck. Read your email tonight, okay? Leon.”

“Okay,” I texted back as the loud speaker announced my stop.

The train pulled into the Newton station about three pm. I was to take a taxi to 28 Cabot Lane.

When my suitcase on wheels was given to me by the porter, I pulled it behind me down the ramp to the street. Several cabs stood in the road and I walked up to one.

A dark man with dreadlocks who reminded me a lot of Leon sat in the driver’s seat.

“Can you drive me to 28 Cabot Lane?” I inquired as he put my case in the trunk and closed the door behind me.

He nodded drove down the road. He turned on some Ska music and didn’t say much to me.

I don’t remember anything else—the trip was about 10 or so minutes. We pulled up in front of a large brick house in a very neat and quiet neighborhood. There wasn’t much in the way of landscaping around the house but Mr. Hunt had told me his cousins just bought the house recently.



“Thank you,” I said, handing the fare and a five dollar tip to the driver who set my case on the end of the driveway.

“Okay, Miss. Thank you.”

He drove off and I pulled my case up to the front door. I wondered if I was allowed to use the front door. Maybe I’d have to use some back door like in Downton Abbey. I could only imagine these cousins were like Mr. Hunt and didn’t think I was going to be able to handle that for three months.



I knocked on the door, expecting a severe butler or housekeeper to open the door. Instead there was a thin, dark haired woman of about thirty. She looked tired but had pleasant features.

“Yes?" she asked warily, perhaps expecting a door to door religious missionary or girl scout selling cookies.

"I'm Laura."

"Oh, yes, come in."