24. Nicola
Nicola
I roll over, prying myself off the sticky, damp sheets.
There’s a whiff of sour body odor, makeup, and hairspray.
Downstairs, the sounds of voices and Scotch’s high-pitched bark stir me, but my head is like blurred video, static and unfocused.
One thought, though, is very clear in my mind: Martha was here again last night.
My head thumps wildly. Eyes focusing, I zero in on a small glass of water and two pain pills that the bitch must have left out for me.
Downstairs, a familiar voice rises, and it takes me a minute to place it.
For a weird split second, I feel like I’ve entered an alternate reality where Martha has doubled my body and come out to terrorize me, but I know that’s impossible and that she’s away now. I’m here. I’m in control.
I stumble out of bed, left side weak and dragging slightly.
It’s an effort to pull on some clothes that smell reasonably clean.
My head aches. I need to get my pills. Today.
I remember the slip of paper Dr. Constance gave me—the number to call for medication—and search everywhere, but it’s gone.
Immediately, I know: Martha threw it away.
I take the stairs gently, the nerves in my leg raw, my spine aching. Whatever Martha is doing, she’s forgetting that I’VE BEEN HIT BY A CAR.
Can you hear that, eh, Martha? WE WERE HIT BY A CAR, YOU IGNORANT COW, SO TAKE IT EASY!
I think this as loudly as I can as I go down the stairs one at a time until I hit the landing, where Scotch greets me with a brush of his head against my legs.
A pang of guilt gnaws at me as I remember how long it’s been since I’ve paid him much attention.
I stoop and stroke his back, and he thanks me with a wag of his tail.
Emmy’s taking care of him. Another pang of guilt seizes me. Who is taking care of Emmy?
I’m on the landing collecting myself when it quickly comes back to me like a rushing breeze carrying debris and dirt.
Martha taking over. Martha meeting Emmy.
Martha taking my medication. Martha doling out pain pills, one at a time.
Martha pushing me inside the restaurant so I could see him up close. So I could know for sure.
Good. Now you’re awake again, Martha taunts from within.
I hear the voice downstairs again and finally place it, out of context. I thought I wouldn’t see her again. In fact, I was sure of it. Now, here she is in my kitchen instead of the Whitmore, looking oddly at ease, as though it were her kitchen and not mine. Nubia.
“What are you doing here?”
She looks me up and down. “Woman, you look like shit. And nice to see you, too. Thank you very much.” I notice her new uniform, her freshly manicured nails, and her haircut.
“What’s going on?” I ask again.
Nubia turns to Emmy, who lowers her gaze a little.
I sense something is deeply wrong. “Aww, I guess your mom isn’t happy to see me.
Just because they fired your ass doesn’t mean I don’t love you!
” She points to the counter. “Look, I made breakfast and everything. There’s Eggos, hash browns, and sausages.
And that is huevos rancheros. Eat up, princess, and then, my God, you need to take a shower because you stink, chiquitita. ”
I sit at the barstool where Emmy is making me a plate of food. My eyes must be huge and wild. “You cooked all of this?”
“Bingo, mama. Not the Eggos, though. Those came from a box. But still. Eat. It’s getting cold.”
I start cutting into the food and shake my head in disbelief. “So, what are you doing here, exactly?”
“I called Nubia,” Emmy says, her cheeks full of food. “After last night. I was a little worried about you.”
Nubia looks at me, her eyes serious. “Emmy says you had some kind of a breakdown.”
I almost spit out my food. “What?” I cough. “She said what?”
Last night is a fog. My eyes close, trying to recall, but everything is hazy. The questions. The sudden rage. Martha.
“She said you started acting really weird, calling yourself Martha?”
“No. That isn’t right,” I say. “Probably a side effect of my medication. You know it causes mood disturbances.”
“This didn’t seem like a mood disturbance,” Emmy says.
“Well, it’s over now, and it won’t happen again.”
Nubia shakes her head. “I don’t want to say it.”
“Say it, Nubia.”
“I really prefer not to, Nic, okay?” She crosses herself and whispers something in Spanish.
Emmy sighs, exasperated. “I was worried you were going to do something crazy, okay?”
“Jesus Christ. Have you both lost your minds? I’m fine. It was just a bad moment. That’s all. Christ!”
Nubia crosses herself again. “Don’t say Christ.”
“This is ridiculous. I wasn’t feeling well, so I took some extra meds. They made me a little loopy. Okay? Now, can we end this?”
That’s the best lying I’ve heard you do. You’re even starting to sound like me, Nicola.
I feel the itch at the back of my neck. If they weren’t watching me so intently, I’d scratch Martha. I’d scratch her hard to make her shut up and keep quiet. She can be a real bitch.
Nubia takes another bite. “Fine, if you say so. But I’m coming back in a few days to check on you. I have to get to work. I got promoted. Guess who replaced Esther?!”
“Congratulations!” Emmy and I say in unison.
“Thanks,” Nubia says and gulps down her coffee. The mug she borrowed says Mother knows best! on it and has a picture of me with a wooden spoon from a Christmas long ago, when Emmy was in diapers. It used to be my favorite. Now it just creeps me out.
Nubia eyes me. Then Emmy. “If this Martha shit happens again, you call me, you understand? Don’t hesitate.” She hugs me, then Emmy. “You’ve been through a lot. So, if shit gets weird around here sometimes, well … that’s to be expected.”
Emmy smiles. “Mom never told me you were so cool.”
“That’s because I was your mom’s boss, and bosses are never cool.”
“Huh. Right.” Emmy says thoughtfully. “Well, maybe you can just be her friend now?”
Nubia narrows her eyes and makes her laid-back, too-cool-for-school face. “I’ll think about it.”
After we finish eating, Nubia heads out, and Emmy goes upstairs to take a shower, leaving Scotch and me alone.
Outside, the sun is dappling through the clouds, making the day a mix of hazy and bright.
I let Scotch out for the bathroom and wave goodbye to Nubia as she heads to her car, the same gray Honda, despite the promotion.
Cheapskates, Martha intones inside of me.
They don’t know talent when they see it. She’s a tough cookie, deserves better.
I scratch my neck and pinch the skin with my nails until Martha stops talking.
Relax, Nic. I like her, Martha whispers, a little quieter this time. She seems like a good friend to us.
“To me,” I tell her. “She’s my friend, okay? My life. My kid. My friend.”
Like I said, relax. Soon, everything will be taken care of, and you’ll be thanking me.
“Thanking you? Yeah. Right.”
I hear footsteps on the stairs behind me and turn around. “Mom? Who are you talking to?”
“No one, honey. I’m not talking to anyone at all.”
Emmy looks away and heads back upstairs.
Around noon, my cell phone rings. It’s a local number I don’t recognize, but I answer anyway.
“Hello?”
“Hi, may I speak with Martha, please?”
My heart beats faster and faster. I stand up from the sofa where Scotch and I were sitting and start pacing the living room. He jumps up to attention, studying me carefully, his ears raised in anticipation. “She’s not available right now. What’s this about?”
“Oh, yes. I’m calling regarding her job application. I’d like her to come in for an interview.”
My insides feel liquid, and I collapse onto the sofa. “I’m sorry. That’s not possible. Martha has gone away.”
“Oh, that’s a shame. Do you know when she’ll be back?”
“She’s not coming back for a while.”
Her voice is at my back, creeping forward. Let me speak, Nicola.
“Really? She sounded like she really wanted the job in her letter.”
“Her letter?” What letter?
Let me speak. We need this.
Nausea. My stomach rolls like a ship over an ocean wave, and my hands grasp the edge of the sofa, dirty and frayed from Scotch sitting on one side.
In an instant, my eyes seem to take in multiple details at once: the stale rental unit’s cheap carpet, the dusty furniture, paint peeling on the far wall by the kitchen.
“Are you sure there’s no possible way I could get a hold of her, like a cell phone number or something?”
“No.” My neck prickles hot and cold. There’s a flicker of her inside me, then closer, nearer, up under my skin like a splinter. Her voice is hot inside my ear: Don’t you dare blow this for us.
“I really need to hire someone soon. It’s urgent.” Her voice is faded, but I recognize something in it. A sort of loosely veiled desperation.
“She can’t talk to you right now.”
“Well, if you could give her my details, perhaps she can call me back? My name is Bambi.”
My blood curdles with her words: It’s her. Remember?
I can’t stop my body shaking. A thick, cold sweat forms under my arms, around my breasts, and over my brow. I drop the phone onto our stained carpet, the room spinning.
“Hello? Are you still there? Hello?”
I feel Martha inside me, powerful and deliberate. She reaches down and collects the phone. Let me, Nicola.
“No! Stop!” My own voice is small, an echo inside my head.
I’m in a cavern of myself while Martha is out there.
Her voice wraps around my vocal cords. She speaks like I used to once, or like I imagine myself in a dream—some other, better, stronger version of me.
I’m sinking within now, drowning in quicksand.
All around me, the world disappears. The blackness consumes me, and I start to fade away.