Maybe tonight...
That's the thought bouncing around my mind all day as I sweep, mop, dust, do dishes, laundry, change bedding, and even move some of Mr. Baxter's old books from the basement to the attic. But as the day goes on and it's nearing my time to go home, my optimism starts fading along with the sun.
With a heavy sigh, I trudge to the back washroom to scrub my hands and pack up my bag, when I hear the sound of footsteps behind me. I turn and see Mr. Baxter enter the room behind me, still wearing his suit from the office.
"Nothing like a hard day's work, eh?" He smirks.
Like you'd know. That's what I'd like to say. Mr. Baxter is somewhere in his mid-50s and hasn't "worked" a day in his life. He's one of the three sons of the Baxter family, one of those dynasty families like the
