Amanda had opened the door the past four Wednesdays with a smile and a proper greeting. If she lasted two more weeks, she’d beat this year’s record. Four more weeks, and she’d be the three-year champion. My family’s inability to retain household help wasn’t a secret. Five years ago, my mother’s longtime maid and confidant Eloise retired to Florida. My normally unflappable mother hadn’t handled the exodus well, and since, the Collins household had seen an ever-changing rotation of maids in a seemingly endless quest to fill Eloise’s perfect shoes. Extrawide white oxfords, if I recall correctly. My mother, Susanna Marie Kaiser-Collins—of the Philadelphia Kaisers, by the way—didn’t or couldn’t comprehend that her failure to find good help had more to do with how much she missed Eloise than it did actual housework and a pleasant demeanor. I’d tried to explain this emotional-connection concept to her about three years ago, but that conversation had gone downhill almost as quickly as Introductions.
