The Housekeeper

by Natalie Barelli

She looks at me with something like pity, hands laced together. “All right, let me know if there’s anything I can do, okay? And of course don’t worry about the shirts. I’ll get it organized.”

  She has one foot out the door when she turns around and says, “And when you have a moment, your Social Security number?” And I swear I see the trace of a smile.

  * * *

  I’m woken by Mia crying; it’s coming through the receiver next to my head. It’s so strident, it jolts me out of bed and I run upstairs in my bare feet.

  She’s in her crib, her little face purple from screaming. She’s kicked her blankets off, and when I put my hand on her head, I find she’s burning. I pick her up and walk her, gently bouncing her, but she doesn’t calm down. I don’t understand why Hannah isn’t here. I put her back in the crib, whispering promises—I’ll be right back, I’m not going far, I’ll just go and get Mommy—and tiptoe into Hannah’s room and stand next to her bed. I remember then that Harvey is away overnight and it’s just Hannah. She has a pillow over her head. For a moment I wonder if she’s dead.

  I raise a corner. “Hannah?”

  “What?” she mumbles.

  “It’s Mia.”

  She pulls the pillow off her head but doesn’t open her eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” Her voice is thick, and I wonder if she’s been drinking.

  “She’s got a fever.”

  I expect her to get up now, but instead she mumbles, “There’s some baby Tylenol in the bathroom.” She still hasn’t opened her eyes, and now she drags the pillow back over her head. I consider pressing down on it with both hands for a few seconds, maybe even a minute, see if that’ll get her attention. Then I shake the thought out of my head, because the leap between me thinking of doing something and actually doing it isn’t so much a leap as a stumble.

  Mia’s one-piece sleeper is damp from her sweat. I take it off, change her into a clean diaper and a lighter T-shirt, then I find the thermometer. Her temperature is 100°F exactly. I bring her downstairs to my room so I can look up on my phone whether I should call a doctor or not. I give her some Tylenol, and after some Googling, I decide to wait. I close my door to keep her out of the draft, and we sit on my bed—me leaning against the wall, rocking her slowly in my arms. I try to remember what my mother sang to me when I was little, but nothing comes up. All I can think of is the theme song to Orange Is the New Black, so I sing that. Mia watches me with eyes wide open—not even blinking—and just as I decide that is not a good sign, her eyelids close like one of those old-fashioned dolls. Only her little chest is heaving with the aftermath of her sobs.

  “You’re better now?” I ask. I take her temperature again, but I can tell she’s cooled down. 98.5°F. “Okay, that’s great.”

  Every time I stop talking or singing, her eyes open again and her little face crumples, so I keep talking. I ask her what she wants to do when she grows up. I throw out a few options. “Race car driver? Astronaut?” But these are all very dangerous occupations, so I instruct her not to even think about it. Instead I suggest president because they have lots of bodyguards.

  Her eyes snap open, and I sense it, too. Like a shift in the air, the flutter of a wing. I turn to the door. The light underneath is interrupted by a dark patch. A shadow. I squint, trying to figure out what it is, and then it moves, making my heart explode.

  “Is someone there?” I say. Mia is still warm and fluttery, so I leave her on the bed, one pillow on either side of her. The shape is gone. I open the door slowly and peer outside.

  “Is someone there?” I whisper again, my heart pounding behind my ears.

  Mia has gone back to sleep, a little bubble of sound popping from her lips. I go out into the corridor and close the door behind me.

  I move silently, quickly, and when I get to the bottom of the stairs, I see something, a fleeting shadow. I think I’m going to be sick. I remember Hannah telling me about a night not unlike this one, when she found a lamp left on, even though she could swear it was off. She insisted Diane had been there that night. Was if she was right?

  I ball my hands into fists as I slowly go up the stairs. I reach Hannah’s room without running into any burglars and go inside. She’s asleep, or pretending to be, because the covers are different than they were before, like she’s thrown them off and put them back on hastily. I’m tempted to pull them off violently, like a magician revealing his assistant who was there all the time, and in one piece.

  I bend down and peer at her face. Her mouth is slightly opened, and I feel her breath on my chin.

  “What the fuck do you want, Hannah?” I whisper.

  * * *

  When I get back downstairs I have to rest against the door and let my heart slow down, get my breath back. I check Mia’s temperature again; it’s down to 98°.

  I have some vodka in the drawer, and I’m about to take a swig straight from the bottle, just to calm my nerves, but my eyes fall on Mia and I put the bottle back untouched. I’m pondering whether to take her back upstairs and put her in her own bed or keep her here with me when something catches my eye by the foot of my bed. I crouch down on all fours to pick it up. I turn it around in the palm of my hand. It’s a pill, dark red, with the letter A followed by a tilde etched onto it. I have no idea where this pill came from, but I’m fairly sure it’s not from me, so I guess it might be left over from when Diane was here. I pop it inside an empty candy wrapper and slip it in the top drawer.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I’ve thought about it all night, and I think I know why she didn’t come into my room. She must have come to see about Mia, then realized everything was fine—I was on top of it, so to speak—and she may as well go back to bed before I realized she was there. By the time I came up, it would have been ridiculous and embarrassing to admit any of it.

  But this morning I am waiting for her to say something, because Mia slept with me all night, and I barely closed my eyes. She’s awake now, back in her crib, and has no temperature anymore. She flashes a happy smile at me and does that thing she does with her hands, lifting them in the air and wriggling her fingers. I grab one hand and kiss it. She laughs. She tastes of milk.

  Hannah walks in, still in her silk pajamas, smiling. “Good morning, Louise. Did you sleep well?”

  I have to say, I’m impressed. It takes a certain discipline to look so sincere, so totally sure of yourself, even though you know you’ve been caught. Sometimes I think Hannah is made of steel.

  “Not really. Mia was not well, as you know. I stayed up all night with her.”

  “Oh God, you should have woken me!”

  I tilt my head and look at her. “I did, I tried.”

  “Really? I don’t remember. You couldn’t have tried very hard. What was wrong with her?”

  I squint at her. “She had a fever. You told me to give her some baby Tylenol. I did.”

  “Oh, thank you. I don’t know why I don’t remember any of it.” She laughs, and I’m thinking, because you’re batshit crazy, I’d say.

  Then later she says, “I’m going out this evening. With Eryn.” She puts a hand up. “I know… don’t say anything. You don’t think I should trust her. But I still don’t believe she had anything to do with it. We’re having dinner, then we’re going to a show. I haven’t told anyone else, so if there’s a shocking Instagram post of me snorting cocaine tomorrow, I’ll know you were right!” she laughs. I just pull my lips away from my teeth in what I hope is an approximation of a smile.

  “Anyway, if you’re going out this morning, would you get more baby Tylenol from the pharmacy? There wasn’t a lot left to begin with.”

  I manage not to tell her to fuck off, so that’s good.

  * * *

  At the pharmacy, I pull out the tablet I found under my bed. I show it to the woman behind the counter, can you tell what this is? I ask. She says she has to get the pharmacist. I drum my fingers on the counter and wait. She then returns with a thin woman in a white lab coat and glasses. I
show her the tablet, which she sets down on the counter.

  “Where did you get it?” she asks.

  “I found it, in my bedroom. I can’t remember what it is. Can you tell?”

  “Zolpidem Tartrate. Brand name Ambien. Controlled release. You have a prescription for this?”

  Ambien. “That’s a sleeping tablet, right?” I put my hand out for it, but she doesn’t give it back.

  “It’s a sedative, yes. Was there anything else?”

  “No, thank you.”

  * * *

  Hannah is having her bath, so I get my phone ready to take a photo and take the notebook out of its hiding place.

  I’m on the floor, on my knees, and suddenly I hear her. She’s out of the bath and I was so engrossed in what I was reading I forgot to listen. I quickly take photos of the pages and shove the journal back in the cavity. I could walk out, empty-handed, pretend I was tidying something, whatever. I could hide behind the coats. Or I could kill myself, right here and now.

  But then I hear the taps again and I know she’s back in her bathroom, so I hurry out of the room, my heart clattering, and back in my bedroom, I sit on my bed and check the photos I took.

  * * *

  I’m really, really worried. Last night, I woke up in the middle of the night and went to check on Mia, but as soon as I entered the nursery, I knew something was wrong. I leaned over her crib and she wasn’t there. I can never describe what that felt like, seeing the crib empty like that. It’s the most frightening thing in the world. I cried out and ran downstairs to wake Louise, and there was Mia, asleep on Louise’s bed. I almost fainted with relief. When I asked Louise what she was doing there, she mumbled something about Mia being sick. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” Surely I should be woken if Mia is sick. She made up excuses that made no sense, like Mia had a temperature. But when I picked her up, she was fine. Just asleep. I took her out of there immediately because that’s the other thing, her room is like a pigsty. I know that technically, it’s her room, and I wouldn’t want to intrude on her privacy, but this was just too much. Dirty underwear on the floor, I even spotted a bottle of vodka poking out from under the bed. It wouldn’t surprise me if it was one of Harvey’s.

  This morning I woke up woozy and sick. I had a shower cold enough to make my teeth chatter. But it’s better than a hot shower, which would leave me even worse, slow and confused. I try not to look at myself in the mirror, but how can I avoid them? There are too many of them. I’m so pale, I’m grey. I have dark rings tinged with purple under my eyes even though I sleep all the time. I know that today is Monday, and that I should check with Louise when my next doctor’s appointment is. She said she’d organized it, then I ask her about it and she says she already told me. But she hasn’t! Has she? Is it me who’s going crazy? She brought me tea again this morning, even though she knows I prefer coffee. But she says I can’t have coffee, that’s what the doctor said. I don’t understand why. And anyway, when did the doctor say that?

  I took the cup downstairs and put it in the dishwasher. The coffee machine was almost pulsating to me from the counter. Just one, it said. What harm could one little cup of coffee do? It didn’t have to be strong, it would help me focus. I did it, threw caution to the wind. Even just smelling the aroma made my heart flutter, but that’s okay. Just little sips. With a bit of luck, I finished it before Louise returned. I know she means well, but I wasn’t in the mood to be scolded.

  I’m going to tell Dr. Malone when I see her next. She’ll know what to do. Because I’m frightened. Really frightened. I don’t know if it’s me or her. Is it normal to wake up in terror that your baby is about to—what, be taken? Be sick? Die?

  Maybe she’ll think I’ve got that thing, what is it again? Postpartum… I can’t think anymore. My brain, it’s not working as it should. If I tell her that I’m scared someone is going to hurt Mia, what will she do? Will she tell someone? Will they take her away from me?

  No, surely not. And anyway, Mia is fine. It’s me who’s turned into a zombie version of myself. It’s me who’s afraid of the dark, afraid of my own shadow, afraid of the phone ringing. Afraid of a knock on the door.

  Afraid of what Louise might do to all of us. Mia, Harvey, me.

  Louise wants to hurt all of us. She won’t give up until she hurts us all.

  I throw my phone on the floor and it lands on a discarded pair of jeans. It doesn’t even break.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  That’s it. I can’t waste any more time. She’s crazy. And dangerous. I should have seen this before. I should have done what I set out to do as soon as I got here. Now I think I didn’t try hard enough with Harvey. Like an idiot I got caught up in seeing her up close. I wanted her to suffer. I ended up playing stupid games at her expense, like the Instagram post and the scary phone calls. I was being petty, and petty has landed me in deep shit. Now it’s me that’s being played, but I don’t know how or why, and it’s scaring me. If she’s going to use me to hurt her family, I need something to stop her. I should have tried harder, but that doesn’t mean I can’t get it done now.

  Hannah leaves for her date with Eryn, and I’m on my own. I slip into Harvey’s study, quickly assess the room. The best view of the desk is from the shelf behind the door, and that’s where I position my cell. I’ll get it down as soon as he gets home. There’s a photo of Hannah on the desk, in a simple silver frame. She’s standing on a beach, her hair blown by the wind. I put it facedown. Upstairs, I check on Mia, then get changed into my special lacy bra and panties—the ones balled up at the back of the drawer—and my black uniform. It used to be tighter on me, but now there’s at least an inch of loose fabric around my waist. I unbutton the top, down to below my breasts so there’s no misunderstanding this time. I also undo some buttons at the bottom so that when I walk you can see most of my thigh. I wonder what Dominic would say if he saw me like this. Not much, probably—he’d be too busy tearing my clothes off.

  What else? Mascara. I’m not used to putting it on, and some of it smudges on the corner of my eyelid, but it gives me a kind of slutty look, so I match it on the other side. I finish the look with a quick swipe of red lipstick.

  By the time Harvey comes home, I’m ready. I’m in the kitchen, leaning against the breakfast island. He calls out hello, but I don’t reply. He drops his keys on the console table and takes the elevator upstairs. I glance at the video monitor and watch him walk into the nursery. He doesn’t stay long, maybe five minutes, then silence. I begin to worry. I won’t have another opportunity like this, just Harvey and me alone in the house, and I don’t want Hannah to come home and find me dolled up like this. God knows what she’ll think. The truth, most likely.

  Finally, he comes back downstairs, and I let out a breath of relief. I am already in his office and I set the video to record, then I lean against the wall opposite with both hands behind my back.

  He doesn’t see me at first. He sets his leather bag on the desk and walks around to his big leather chair.

  “Jesus! Louise?” he blurts. He adjusts his glasses.

  I smile sweetly, innocently, but not too much. “Hello, Mr. Carter.” I walk up to him slowly, making sure to display as much leg as possible. I play with the top buttons of my blouse, but my eyes never leave his, and when I reach him, I place my hand flat on his chest, then take his tie and pull him up, playfully.

  “I’ve been looking forward to this, so much,” I whisper.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You’ll see.”

  We’re at the front of his desk now. I know from the sound of his breathing that everything is going to be fine. I get on my knees, already undoing the buckle of his belt. “I’ve missed you, Mr. Carter. I’ve been thinking about you. Every night.”

  “Louise…”

  I slowly unzip his pants.

  “Louise! Enough,” he snaps. He pulls me up and fumbles with his zipper.

  I cup my hand over his. “No, don’t.” I put the tip of my tongue on
the side of his neck. I can taste his sweat. “We’re going to have so much fun…” I whisper.

  “That’s enough,” he says again. He holds me at arm’s length now. “I love my wife.”

  I let out a laugh, like a bark, and try to get closer to him, but he won’t let me. “It has nothing to do with your wife. Or love.” This is not going the way I wanted, and I can’t let go. I need this moment to happen. I need this on tape. It’s my whole fucking plan, right there, and I’m groping for him but he is pushing me away, and there are hands everywhere flapping at each other.

  “Come on, let me, I want you,” I whine, as if this scene is anything other than pathetic and desperate.

  Suddenly he has both hands firmly on my shoulders and he shouts, “Stop!”

  So I slap him.

  He puts his hand over his cheek, his glasses askew and a stunned look on his face.

  I clasp my hand over my mouth. “I—I’m sorry. Oh my God.” I start to cry, both hands over my eyes. Great big racking sobs that make my whole body shake.

  He pats my shoulder softly. “Come on now. Enough of that.” Without meaning to, I start to lean into him. I let myself go and with my face still hidden behind both hands, I rest my forehead against his chest. He smells faintly of aftershave, something spicy and old-fashioned. I have an overwhelming longing to be held.

  “It’s all right. There’s no need to cry. I don’t know why you did that, or what happened to you, but it’s not like that anymore. You’re safe here. You never have to do anything like this. Never. You understand?”

  I nod frantically. I’m sorry, I say. I say it over and over. “I’m a terrible person,” I cry.

  He pats my back. “No, you’re not. Don’t say that. Never say that, you hear?” It’s awkward and warm and reassuring and cringeworthy all at the same time.