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Chapter 10

A week later, I come down to the living room and find Nina holding a full garbage bag. My first thought is: Oh God, what now?

In only a week of living with the Winchesters, Ifeel like I’ve been here for years. No, centuries. Nina’s moods are wildly unpredictable. At one moment, she’s hugging me and telling me how much she appreciates having me here. In the next, she’s berating me for not completing some task she never even told me about. She’s flighty, to say the least. And Cecelia is a total brat, who clearly resents my presence here. If I had any other options, I would quit.

But I don’t, so I don’t.

The only member of the family who isn’t completely intolerable is Andrew. He is not around much, but my few interactions with him have been… uneventful. And at this point, I’m thrilled with uneventful. Truthfully, I feel sorry for Andrew sometimes. It can’t be easy being married to Nina.

I hover at the entrance to the living room, trying to figure out what Nina could possibly be doing with a garbage bag. Does she want me to sort the garbage from now on, alphabetically and by color and odor? Have I purchased some sort of unacceptable garbage bag and now I need to re-bag the garbage? I can’t even begin to guess.

“Millie!” she calls out.

My stomach clenches. I have a feeling I’m about to figure out what she wants me to do with the garbage. “Yes?”

She waves me over to her – I try to walk over like I’m not being led to my execution. It’s not easy.

“Is there something wrong?” I ask.

Nina picks up the heavy garbage bag and drops it on her gorgeous leather sofa. I grimace, wanting to warn her not to get garbage all over the expensive leather material.

“I just went through my closet,” she says. “And unfortunately, a few of my dresses have gotten a tad too small. So I’ve collected them in this bag. Would you be a dear and take this to a donation bin?”

Is that it? That’s not so bad. “Of course. No problem.”

“Actually…” Nina takes a step back, her eyes raking over me. “What size are you?”

“Um, six?”

Her face lights up. “Oh, that’s perfect! These dresses are all size six or eight.”

Six or eight? Nina looks like she’s at least a size fourteen. She must not have cleared out her closet in a while. “Oh…”

“You should take them,” she says. “You don’t have any nice clothes”

I flinch at her statement, although she’s right. I don’t have any nice clothing. “I’m not sure if I should…”

“Of course you should!” She thrusts the bag in my direction. “They would look amazing on you. I insist!”

I accept the bag from her and nudge it open. There’s a little white dress on top and I pull it out. It looks incredibly expensive and the material is so soft, I want to bathe in it. She’s right. This would look amazing on me – it would look amazing on anyone. If I do decide to get out there and start dating again, it would be nice to have some decent clothing. Even if it is all white.

“Okay,” I agree. “Thank you so much. This is so generous of you.”

“You’re very welcome! I hope you enjoy them!”

“And if you ever decide you want it back, just let me know.”

When she throws back her head and laughs, her double chin wobbles. “I don’t think I’m going to drop any dress sizes anytime soon. Especially since Andy and I are having a baby.”

My mouth falls open. “You’re pregnant?”

I’m not sure if Nina being pregnant is a good or bad thing. Although that would explain her moodiness. But she shakes her head. “Not yet. We’ve been trying for a bit, but no luck. But we’re both really eager to have a baby, and we’ve got an appointment with a specialist soon. So I would guess in the next year or so, there will be another little one in the house.”

I’m not sure how to respond. “Um… congratulations?”

“Thank you.” She beams at me. “Anyway, please enjoy the clothes, Millie. Also, I have something else for you.” She fishes around in her white purse and pulls out a key. “You wanted a key to your room, didn’t you?”

“Thank you.” After that first night, when I woke up in terror thinking I was locked in the room, I haven’t given that much thought to the lock on the door. I have noticed the door sticks a bit, but nobody is sneaking up to my room and locking me in there – not that the key would help if I were inside. But I pocket the key. It might be good to lock the door when I leave the room. Nina seems like somebody who might snoop. Also, this seems like a good time to bring up another of my concerns. “One other thing. The window in the room doesn’t open. It seems like it’s painted shut.”

“Is it?” Nina sounds like she finds this to be a Part icularly uninteresting piece of information.

“It’s a fire hazard³⁴, probably.”

She looks down at her nails and frowns at one where the white paint is chipped. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, I’m not sure, but… I mean, the room should have a window that opens, shouldn’t it? It does get awfully stuffy up there.”

It doesn’t actually get stuffy – the attic is drafty, if anything. But I’ll say what I have to if it means getting the window fixed. I hate the idea of the only window in the room being painted shut.

“I’ll have somebody take a look at it then,” she says in a way that makes me think she is absolutely never going to get somebody to take a look at it and I will never have a window that opens. She glances down at the garbage bag. “Millie, I’m happy to give you my clothes but please don’t leave that garbage bag lying around our living room. It’s bad manners.”

“Oh, sorry,” I mumble.

And then she sighs like she just doesn’t know what to do with me.

Chapter 11

“Millie!” Nina’s voice sounds frantic on the other line. “I need you to pick up Cecelia from school!”

I’ve got a pile of laundry balanced in my arms, and my cell phone is between my shoulder and my ear. I always pick up immediately when Nina calls, no matter what I’m doing. Because if I don’t, she will call over and over (and over) until I do.

“Sure, no problem,” I say.

“Oh, thank you!” Nina gushes. “You’re such a dear! Just grab her from the Winter Academy at 2:45! You’re the best, Millie!”

Before I can ask any other questions, like where I’m supposed to meet Cecelia or the address of the Winter Academy, Nina has hung up. As I remove the phone wedged under my ear, I feel a jolt of panic when I see the time. I’ve got less than fifteen minutes to figure out where this school is and retrieve my employer’s daughter. Laundry is going to have to wait.

I type the name of the school into Google as I sprint down the stairs. Nothing comes up. The closest school by that name is in Wisconsin, and even though Nina makes some odd requests, I doubt she expects me to pick her daughter up in Wisconsin in fifteen minutes. I call Nina back, but naturally, she doesn’t pick up. Neither does Andy when I try him.

Great.

While I pace across the kitchen, trying to figure out what to do next, I notice a piece of paper stuck to the refrigerator with a magnet. It’s a school holiday schedule. From the Windsor Academy.

She said Winter. Winter Academy. I’m sure of it. Didn’t she?

I don’t have time to wonder if Nina told me the wrong name or if she doesn’t know the name of the school her daughter attends, where she is also vice president of the PTA. Thankfully, there’s an address on the flier, so I know exactly where to go. And I’ve only got ten minutes to get there.

The Winchesters live in a town that boasts some of the best public schools in the country but Cecelia goes to private school, because of course she does. The Windsor Academy is a huge elegant structure with lots of ivory columns, dark brown bricks, and ivy running along the walls that makes me feel like I’m picking Cecelia up at Hogwarts³⁵ or something unreal like that. One other thing I wish Nina had warned me about was the parking situation at pick-up time. It is an absolute nightmare. I have to drive around for several minutes searching for a spot, and I finally squeeze in between a Mercedes and a Rolls-Royce. I’m scared somebody might tow my dented Nissan just on principle.

Given how little time I had to get to the school, I’m huffing and puffing as I sprint to the entrance. And naturally, there are five separate entrances. Which one will Cecelia be coming out of? There’s no indication where I should go. I try calling Nina again, but once more, the call goes to voicemail. Where is she? It’s none of my business, but the woman doesn’t have a job and I do all the chores. What could she be doing with herself?

After questioning several irritable parents, I ascertain that Cecelia will be coming out of the very last entrance on the right side of the school. But just because I am determined not to screw this up, I approach two immaculately dressed women chatting by the door and ask, “Is this the exit for the fourth graders?”

“Yes, it is.” The thinner of the two women – a brunette with the most perfectly shaped eyebrows I’ve ever seen— looks me up and down. “Who are you looking for?”

I squirm under her gaze. “Cecelia Winchester.”

The two women exchange knowing looks. “You must be the new maid Nina hired,” the shorter woman – a redhead— says.

“Housekeeper,” I correct her, although I don’t know why. Nina can call me whatever she wants.

The brunette snickers at my comment, but doesn’t say anything about it. “So how is it so far working there?”

She’s digging for dirt. Good luck with that – I’m not going to give her any. “It’s great.”

The women exchange looks again. “So Nina isn’t driving you crazy?” the redhead asks me.

“What do you mean?” I say carefully. I don’t want to gossip with these harpies, but at the same time, I’m curious about Nina.

“Nina is just a bit… high strung,” the brunette says.

“Nina is nuts,” the redhead pipes up. “Literally.”

I suck in a breath³⁶. “What?”

The brunette elbows the redhead hard enough to make her gasp. “Nothing. She’s just joking around.”

At that moment, the doors to the school swing open and children pour out. If there were any chance to get more information out of these two women, the chance is gone as they both move in the direction of their own fourth graders. But I can’t stop thinking about what they said.

I spot Cecelia’s pale blond hair near the entrance. Even though most of the other kids are wearing jeans and T-shirts, she’s wearing another lacy dress, this one a pale sea green. She sticks out like a sore thumb. I have no problem keeping her in my sight as I move toward her.

“Cecelia!” I wave my arm frantically as I get closer. “I’m here to pick you up!”

Cecelia looks at me like she would much rather get into the back of the van of some bearded homeless man than go home with me. She shakes her head and turns away from me.

“Cecelia!” I say, more sharply. “Come on. Your mom said I should pick you up.”

She turns back to look at me, and her eyes say she thinks I’m a moron. “No, she didn’t. Sophia’s mother is picking me up and taking me to karate.”

Before I can protest, a woman in her forties wearing yoga pants and a pullover comes over and rests her hand on Cecelia’s shoulder. “Ready for karate, girls?”

I blink up at the woman. She does not appear to be a kidnapper. But there’s obviously been some misunderstanding. Nina called me and told me to pick up Cecelia. She was very clear about it. Well, except for the Part where she told me the wrong school. But other than that, she was very clear.

“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 health³⁷ 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: haloperidol³⁸. 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 psychosis³⁹.

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. “Ciao⁴¹,” 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…?”

“Acqua⁴²,” he says.

I nod vigorously. “Yes. That.”

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

Enzo strides over to me and gratefully takes the water glass. He drains half of it in what looks like a single gulp. He lets out a sigh and wipes his lips with the back of his hand. “Grazie.”

“You’re welcome.” I smile up at him. “So, um, have you worked for the Winchesters for a long time?” He looks at me blankly. “I mean, have you… Do you work here… many years?”

He takes another swig from the water glass. He’s emptied nearly three-quarters of it. When it’s gone, he’s going to go back to work – I don’t have much time. “Tre anni⁴³,” he says finally. Then adds in his heavily accented English, “Three year.”

“And, uh…” I squeeze my hands together. “Nina Winchester… Do you…”

He frowns at me. But it’s not a blank look, like he doesn’t understand me. He looks like he’s waiting to hear what I’m going to say. Maybe he understands English better than he can speak it.

“Do you…” I start again. “Do you think that Nina is… I mean, do you like her?”

Enzo narrows his eyes at me. He takes another long drink from the water glass, then shoves it back into my hand. Without another word, he goes back to the hole he was digging, picks up his shovel, and gets back to work.

I open my mouth to try again, but then I shut it. When I first came here, Enzo was trying to warn me about something, but Nina opened the door before he could say anything. And obviously, he’s changed his mind. Whatever Enzo knows or thinks, he isn’t going to tell me. At least not now.