Page 20 of The Housemaid
“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. I pick up Cecelia every single Wednesday and take the girls to karate. Nina didn’t mention a change in plans. Maybeyougot 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 agirlhere 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 I checked.” After another pause, Rachel laughs. “I knowexactlywhat you mean. It’ssohard 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. (Orwithher—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.
TWELVE
Even though I had resigned myself to minding my own business about Nina’s mental health history, I can’t help but wonder. I work for this woman. Ilive withthis 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 alotof 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. 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.
