Page 21 of The Housemaid
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 itorganic?”
“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 I can’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 notingestingit. 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’mnotwatching 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.
And that’s justoneof 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.
THIRTEEN
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, I wave my hand and say, “Hola!”
That may have been Spanish again.
Enzo looks up from the hole he was digging. There’s an amused expression on his lips. “Ciao,” he says.
“Ciao,” I correct myself, vowing to get it right next time.
He has a vee of 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.
