We talked for hours. Suzanne had held my hand and sworn to me it was going to be okay. She told me to go home and we would figure this out together. I cried with relief, believing my nightmare was finally over.
But when I got home, Andy was waiting for me.
Apparently, every time I made a new friend, Andy sought out that friend. He sat down with them and clued them in to my history of mental health problems. He told them what I had tried to do years earlier. And he told them if they had any reason for concern to call him immediately. Because I might be having another episode.
Unbeknownst to me, Suzanne had slipped away briefly during our conversation, under the guise of needing the bathroom, and she called Andy. She warned him that I was having delusions again. So when I came home, he was ready for me. It was another two-month stay at Clearview, where I discovered at least one of the directors was a golfing buddy of his father.
When I got out, Suzanne apologized profusely. I was just worried about you, Nina. I’m so glad you got help. I forgave her, of course. She was tricked the same way I was. But it was never the same between us again after that. And I was never able to trust anyone ever again.
“So I’ll see you Friday, right?” Suzanne says. “At the school play.”
“Sure,” I say. “What time does it start again?”
Suzanne doesn’t answer me, suddenly distracted by something.
“Does it start at seven?” I press her.
“Mm-hmm,” she says.
I glance over her shoulder to see what has grabbed her attention. I roll my eyes when I figure it out. It’s Enzo, the local landscaper who we hired to work on our yard a couple of months ago. He does a good job—always works hard and never makes excuses—and he’s admittedly pretty easy on the eyes. But it’s crazy the way everyone who comes to our house when he’s working slobbers over him and then suddenly remembers they have some yard work they need done.
“Wow,” Suzanne breathes. “I heard your yard guy was hot, but damn.”
I roll my eyes. “He just works on our lawn—that’s it. He doesn’t even speak English.”
“I’m okay with that,” Suzanne says. “Hell, that might be a plus.”
She won’t let up until I hand over Enzo’s phone number. Not that I mind. He seems like a nice enough guy, and I’m glad he’s getting some extra business. Even if it’s only because he’s hot, and not because of what he does.
When I get out of the car and pass through the gates, Enzo looks up from his hedge clippers and waves his hand in greeting. “Ciao, Se?ora.”
I return his smile. “Ciao, Enzo.”
I like Enzo. Even though he doesn’t speak any English, he seems like a kind person—you can just tell. He plants all these beautiful flowers in our yard. Cece sometimes watches him, and when she asks him about the flowers, he patiently points to them and says their names. She repeats the names, and he nods and smiles. A few times she asked if she could help him, and he looked at me and asked, “Is okay?” When I agreed, he gave her a job to do in the flower bed, even though it probably slowed him down.
He has tattoos all over his upper arms, mostly concealed by his shirt. One time when I was watching him work, I saw the name Antonia etched in a heart on his biceps. It made me wonder who Antonia was. I’m pretty sure Enzo isn’t married.
There’s something about him. If only he spoke English, I feel like I could confide in him. That he might be the one person who would believe me. Who might actually help me.
I stand there, watching him clip our hedges. I haven’t worked since the day I moved in here—Andy won’t let me. I miss it. Enzo would understand. I know he would. Too bad he doesn’t speak any English. But in a way, that makes it easier to confide in him. Sometimes I feel like if I don’t say the words out loud, I’m going to lose my mind for real.
“My husband is a monster,” I say aloud. “He tortures me. He holds me hostage in the attic.”
Enzo’s shoulders stiffen. He lowers his clippers, his brow furrowed. “Se?ora… Nina…”
My stomach turns to ice. Why did I say that? I should never have said those words. It’s just that I knew he wouldn’t understand me, and I felt like I needed to tell somebody who wouldn’t rat me out to Andy. I thought it would be safe to tell Enzo. After all, he doesn’t even know English. But when I look into his dark eyes, there’s understanding there.
“Never mind,” I say quickly.
He takes a step toward me, and I shake my head, backing away. I made a huge mistake. Now I’m probably going to have to fire Enzo.