46. Martha
Martha
I’ll admit, things might have gotten out of hand.
But what you have to understand is this: the darkness isn’t a place for anyone to live. And I guess I don’t mind saying now that the cat is out of the bag … I’d had enough.
Enough of the waiting.
Enough of the scraps and fragments of life.
Enough biding my time while Nicola lived her life with Ben and Emmy.
And do you know what really irked me? It was the ingratitude Nicola had for her life. For her perfectly imperfect life. Her job, her house, and her doting husband, who—yes, okay—had a little problem with money.
She wasn’t exactly giving up, but she wasn’t thriving either.
The migraines. The pills. The suicidal thoughts. The depression. It was all so boring.
And maybe I’d grown a little tired of her martyrdom.
So, I thought to myself that I’d take something from her. Just a little something. Her sense of safety. Her entitlement to life. I thought I’d mix things up a bit, show her how grateful she should be for her family, her freedom, her life.
She would never thank me. I knew that. Of course. I didn’t do it for thanks.
I had no idea the car coming through that stop sign would be a Rolls-Royce or that the driver would reverse and run from the scene. That Ben would die so violently or that Emmy would get caught up in the clutches of that day.
That was the accident.
I’d only meant to stir things up a bit. Get Nicola to wake up.
And did you, Nicola? Did you?
No. If anything, you went deeper into sleeping through your life. Medicating your way through, claiming migraines and pain and grief and loneliness, blah, blah, blah. Isn’t it all so tedious?
So yeah. Things didn’t exactly pan out as I had hoped. And that’s on me.
Granted, I had Nicola’s best interest in mind. But truth be told, when I felt her slipping away again into despair and depression, it became clear that maybe Nicola didn’t even deserve the life I had given her.
She took everything for granted, including me.
I’ve been a bad Martha, you could say. But I don’t regret anything, including my penchant for doing away with unacceptable men.
Nicola’s father.
Ben.
And of course, there is one more.
Useless, half-formed, undeserving of life, the lot of them.
The best way to end a person is through their weaknesses so that death becomes the only inevitability. Weaken, weaken, then snap. Just when they are nicely bowed and ready.
The lullaby I used to sing to Nicola to put her to sleep after her father had been raging went something like that.
Hush, little baby, don’t say a word.
Mama’s gonna find you a mockingbird.
And if that mockingbird don’t sing,
She’ll snap its neck and drown it in the bathroom sink.
It was always my song. My words. My voice. I drove her to live, live, live, and she never appreciated it. My sacrifices. My love. My giving.
Back in the car, I can barely start the engine before Emmy is asking, “What’s happening? Can my mom come home tomorrow after this?”
“Yes,” I tell her. “Just like we planned.”
She smiles excitedly and buckles her seat belt. She turns to me, and suddenly I’m in her arms. “Thank you, Martha.”
I feel my body tense and shrug her off. “It’s fine,” I tell her. “You don’t have to thank me.”
“Yes,” she says. “I do. Before you got here, everything was a mess, and I knew my mom wasn’t happy. But now, it’s like there’s hope again.”
My spine tingles. Nicola can hear this. How can she hear it? Because Emmy has that ability to draw her forth, draw her out. That’s why it’s best to keep Emmy quiet.
“Okay, okay, enough with the sentimental bullshit.”
Emmy smiles, and I step on the gas. I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket and take a quick glance. Nubia again, wanting to know what’s going on. I throw the phone to Emmy. “Here. Tell her I can’t talk. That I’m sick or something.”
“You want me to lie?”
I catch Emmy’s eyes. “Yeah. Obviously. You really want Nubia caught up in all of this?”
Emmy shakes her head. “I guess you’re right.”
Outside, the wind blows in the trees, and the night sky clouds over with mist from the ocean.
Nicola is thudding against my skull now.
I feel her anger, her rage starting to burst forth, a volcano erupting.
It seeps through, stronger than I would have imagined.
I wasn’t counting on her finding out about Ben quite yet.
I need her to be quiet and good for just a little longer.
We stop at Pick Up Stix, and Emmy runs in for an ironic bag of Chinese takeout.
All the while I sit, listening to Nicola’s screams. I thump my head quietly against the headrest, then the window.
Finally, I pinch at the back of my skull until the little sore begins to bleed, my own flesh—our flesh—in my fingertips.
“Enough,” I whisper to her. “It’s as good as done now.”