Фрида Макфаден – The Housemaide / Горничная. Книга для чтения на английском языке (страница 11)

“Excuse me,” I say to the woman. “I work for the Winchesters and Nina asked me to pick up Cecelia today.”

The woman arches an eyebrow and places a recently manicured hand on her hip. “I don’t think so. Ipick up Cecelia every single Wednesday and take the girls to karate. Nina didn’t mention a change in plans. Maybe you got it wrong.”

“I didn’t,” I say, but my voice wavers.

The woman reaches into her Gucci purse and whips out her phone. “Let’s clear this up with Nina, shall we?”

I watch as the woman presses a button on her phone. She taps her long fingernails against her purse as she waits for Nina to pick up. “Hello, Nina? It’s Rachel.” She pauses. “Yes, well, there’s a girl here saying you told her to pick up Cecelia, but I explained to her that I take Cecelia to karate every Wednesday.” Another long pause as the woman, Rachel, nods.

“Right, that’s exactly what I told her. I’m so glad Ichecked.” After another pause, Rachel laughs. “Iknow exactly what you mean. It’s so hard to find somebody good.”

It’s not hard to imagine Nina’s end of the conversation.

“Well,” Rachel says. “Just as I thought. Nina says you got it mixed up. So I’m going to go ahead and take Cecelia to karate.”

And then to put the icing on the cake, Cecelia sticks her tongue out at me. But on the plus side, I don’t have to drive home with her.

I take out my own phone, checking for a message from Nina, retracting her request that I pick up Cecelia. There’s nothing. I shoot off a text to her:

A woman named Rachel just spoke with you and said you asked her to bring Cecelia to karate. So I’ll go home then?

Nina’s reply comes a second later:

Yes. Why on earth did you think I wanted you to pick up Cecelia?

Because you asked me to! My jaw twitches, but I can’t let it get to me. This is just how Nina is. And there are plenty of good things about working for her. (Or with her – ha!) She’s just a little flighty. A little eccentric.

Nina is nuts. Literally.

I can’t help but think back to what that nosy redhead said to me. What did she mean by that? Is Nina more than just an eccentric and demanding boss? Is there something else going on with her?

Maybe it’s better if I don’t know.

Chapter 12

Even though I had resigned myself to minding my own business about Nina’s mental health[37] history, Ican’t help but wonder. I work for this woman. I live with this woman.

And there’s something else strange about Nina. Like this morning as I’m cleaning the master bathroom, I can’t help but think nobody with good mental health could leave the bathroom in this sort of disorder – the towels on the floor, the toothpaste hugging the basin of the sink. I know depression can sometimes make people unmotivated to clean up. But Nina motivates herself enough to get out and about every day, wherever she goes.

The worst thing was finding a used tampon on the floor a few days ago. A used, bloody tampon. I wanted to throw up.

While I’m scrubbing the toothpaste and the globs of makeup adhered to the sink, my eyes stray to the medicine cabinet. If Nina’s actually “nuts,” she’s probably on medication, right? But I can’t look in the medicine cabinet. That would be a massive violation of trust.

But then again, it’s not like anyone would know if I took a look. Just a quick look.

I look out at the bedroom. Nobody is in there. I peek around the corner just to make absolutely sure. I’m alone. I go back into the bathroom and after a moment of hesitation, I nudge the medicine cabinet open.

Wow, there are a lot of medications in here.

I pick up one of the orange pill bottles. The name on it is Nina Winchester. I read off the name of the medication: haloperidol[38]. Whatever that is.

I start to pick up a second pill bottle when a voice floats down the hallway: “Millie? Are you in there?” Oh no.

I hastily stuff the bottle back in the cabinet and slam it shut. My heart is racing, and a cold sweat breaks out on my palms. I plaster a smile on my face just in time for Nina to burst into the bedroom, wearing a white sleeveless blouse and white jeans. She stops short when she sees me in the bathroom.

“What are you doing?” she asks me.

“I’m cleaning the bathroom.” I’m not looking at your medications, that’s for sure.

Nina squints at me, and for a moment, I’m certain she’s going to accuse me of going through the medicine cabinet. And I’m a horrible liar, so she’ll almost certainly know the truth. But then her eyes fall on the sink.

“How do you clean the sink?” she asks.

“Um.” I lift the spray bottle in my hand. “I use this sink cleaner.”

“Is it organic?”

“I…” I look at the bottle I picked up at the grocery store last week. “No. It isn’t.”

Nina’s face falls. “I really prefer organic cleaning products, Millie. They don’t have as many chemicals. You know what I mean?”

“Right…” I don’t say what I’m thinking, which is Ican’t believe a woman who is taking that many medications is concerned about a few chemicals in a cleaning product. I mean, yes, it’s in her sink, but she’s not ingesting it. It’s not going into her bloodstream.

“I just feel like…” She frowns. “You aren’t doing a good job getting the sink clean. Can I watch how you’re doing it? I’d like to see what you’re doing wrong.”

She wants to watch me clean her sink? “Okay…”

I spray more of the product in her sink and scrub at the porcelain until the toothpaste residue vanishes. I glance over at Nina, who is nodding thoughtfully.

“That’s fine,” she says. “I guess the real question is how are you cleaning the sink when I’m not watching you.”

“Um, the same?”

“Hmm. I highly doubt that.” She rolls her eyes. “Anyway, I don’t have time to supervise your cleaning all day. Try to make sure to do a thorough job this time.”

“Right,” I mutter. “Okay, I will.”

Nina wanders out of the bedroom to go to the spa, or a luncheon with her friends, or whatever the hell she does to fill her time, because she doesn’t have a job. I look back at the sink, which is now spotless. I get seized by the irrepressible urge to dunk her toothbrush in the toilet.

I don’t dunk her toothbrush in the toilet. But I do take out my phone and punch in the word “haloperidol.”

Several hits fill the screen. Haloperidol is an antipsychotic medication, used to treat schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, delirium, agitation, and acute psychosis[39].

And that’s just one of at least a dozen pill bottles. God knows what else is in there. Part of me is burning with shame that I looked in the first place. And Part of me is scared at what else I might find.

Chapter 13

I’m busy vacuuming the living room when the shadow goes by the window.

I wander over to the window, and sure enough, Enzo is working in the backyard today. As far as I can tell, he alternates houses from day to day, doing various gardening and landscaping tasks. Right now, he is digging at the flower bed in the front yard.

I grab an empty glass from the kitchen and fill it up with cold water. Then I head outside.

I’m not entirely sure what I hope to accomplish here. But ever since those two women talked about Nina being crazy (“literally”), I can’t stop thinking about it. And then I found that antipsychotic medication in her medicine cabinet. Far be it from me to judge Nina for having psychological problems – I met my fair share of women struggling with mental illness in prison – but it would be helpful information for me to know. Maybe I could even help her if I understood her better.

I remember how on my first day, Enzo seemed to be warning me about something. Nina is out of the house, Andrew is at work, and Cecelia is at school, so this seems like a perfect time to interrogate him. The only tiny complication is that he hardly speaks a word of English.

But it can’t hurt. And I’m sure he’s thirsty and will appreciate the water.

When I get outside, Enzo is busy digging a hole in the ground. He seems intensely focused on his task, even after I clear my throat loudly. Twice. Finally, Iwave my hand and say, “Hola![40]”

That may have been Spanish again.

Enzo looks up from the hole he was digging. There’s an amused expression on his lips. “Ciao[41],” he says.

“Ciao,” I correct myself, vowing to get it right next time.

He has sweat on his T-shirt, which is sticking to his skin and emphasizing every single muscle. And they’re not bodybuilder’s muscles – they are the firm muscles of a man who does manual labor for a living.

So I’m staring. So sue me.

I clear my throat again. “I brought you… um, water. How do you say…?”

“Acqua[42],” he says.

I nod vigorously. “Yes. That.”

See? We’re doing it. We’re communicating. This is going great.