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“Yourwishes,” I say. “What about Lenora’s?”
“They are one and the same.” Mrs. Baker sets down her glass and runs the pad of her finger around the rim. “Although it’s obvious you don’t approve of my methods.”
“I don’t.”
“Even if it’s for Miss Hope’s own good?”
“Is it?” I say. “You keep her a prisoner in her own house. She has no friends. No visitors. She only sees people who are paid to take care of her. You won’t even let her go outside, for God’s sake. Even inmates—literal prison inmates—are allowed to do that.”
“What if I did? What do you think she’d encounter? Hatred, that’s what. Judgment. Constant suspicion. The world is not a kind place for women accused of violence. You, of all people, should understand that. Don’t people judge you for what happened to your mother?”
Too stunned to stand, I finally sit. Not on the chair, but on the floor beside it. I land next to the fireplace. Heat from the crackling blaze inside it stings my skin. But nothing’s as hot as the shame that burns through me.
“How long have you known?” I say.
“Since before you arrived. Mr. Gurlain felt it was his duty to notify me.”
Of course he did. I have no doubt he also assumed it would kill my chances of working here—or anywhere, for that matter. What I don’t understand is why it didn’t work.
“If you knew, why did you let me come here?”
“Because I thought you and Miss Hope would be a good fit,” Mrs. Baker says. “And I was right. You understand her. In fact, you even like her.”
The comment throws me, mostly because I’m not certain I do. I like Lenora some of the time. Other times, she scares me. Or leaves me frustrated. Or fills me with pity, which then brings me back full circle into wanting to like her.
“It’s okay to admit it,” Mrs. Baker says. “Miss Hope can be very charming when it suits her needs. But let me make one thing clear—you’re nothing to her. I know you think you are. That you share a bond unique to her nurses. It’s not. She’s done this kind of thing before, going back decades. She’s smarter than she appears, as I’m sure you know. Some would even call her wily.”
I nod, for the description fits. Lenora uses silence and stillness to her advantage, concealing much, revealing little. As a result, every small detail you learn about her leaves you only wanting more.
i want to tell you everything
That’s what Lenora typed my first night here. And I’ve been starved for that information ever since, willing to break every rule. It doesn’t matter that a week has passed and I still know next to nothing.
“What would you call her?” I say.
“Manipulative.”
Although Mrs. Baker smacks her lips together, as if savoring the word like it’s the wine in her glass, her tone reveals a different emotion.
Distaste.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what caused poor Mary to do what she did,” Mrs. Baker continues. “Miss Hope made her feel needed. Made her feel special. When Mary realized that wasn’t the case, it drove her to do the unthinkable.”
Detective Vick’s voice echoes through my thoughts, reciting Mary’s alleged suicide note.
“I’m sorry. I’m not the person you thought I was.”
Did he also tell Mrs. Baker what it said? And does she genuinely believe Mary killed herself? I try to study her face, looking for signs she does. It’s unreadable, especially with the flames from the fireplace still dancing in the reflection of her glasses.
“Why do you stay here?” I say.
“That’s a rather bold question.”
“One I’d like you to answer. If you hate Lenora so much, why are you still here?”
“If I hated her, I would have left years ago. And this place would have fallen apart without me.”
I think of the tiles raining from the roof, the cracks in the walls of the service stairs, the swath of lawn that now rests at the bottom of the ocean. “In case you haven’t noticed, it is.”