Glimpse: they’re reaching the top of the hill.
Glimpse: they’re standing by the house, Old Caleb pointing at the stacks of freshly chopped wood.
Glimpse: they’re walking toward me.
I turn around and don’t look back. I feel, deep in my gut, the urge to let out a bloodcurdling scream. I want to run from them, and also to throw myself at them.
I bite down on my lip until my mouth tastes like a penny. The men walk past the coop without addressing me. Only one of them,the taller one, looks at me. His eyes linger on my face, his expression completely blank.
It feels like my brain is splitting in two.
If this was a test from the Lord: the tests are getting harder to withstand. If it wasn’t a test: I might have just missed my only chance at freedom.
I lean over and vomit the morning’s breakfast.
42
The morning afterShannon’s arrival, I woke up and knew I had to fire her.
I’d barely slept the night before. I couldn’t stop replaying all the expressions that had flashed across her face throughout our tour: the disappointment when she muttered,It’s smaller than it looks online;the confusion when she said,How many people work here?That damning, double-stutter click of the camera as she captured the workers on film. Like the sound of a prison gate locking shut:cla-chink.
By the time I made it downstairs, I was running through the goodbye speech in my head.Unfortunately it isn’t a good fit. Of course, we’ll pay for your ticket home. Oh, and can you give me that roll of film before you go?
Then I turned the corner into the kitchen and stopped short. Shannon was eating breakfast with the children and the nannies.
“Good morning,” I said.
The chorus swelled lazily in response.Morning, Mama.
I walked around the table, my hand carrying across the heads of my children. Usually it comforted me, moving through my morning routine, settling into the shape of Online Natalie—but today the shape felt wrong, too tight, like a sweater put through the wrong wash cycle. I rolled my shoulders back instinctually, as if I might shrug the shape of myself into proper place, but still, I felt like I hadmy neck through an armhole. “Shannon,” I said, “you don’t have to wake up this early! You aren’t meant to start work until nine.”
Too sharp. Too high. Lower your voice.
Shannon pointed to the kitchen sink, where the camera equipment was already set up. “I was thinking that we should try to film earlier in the mornings, if we can. Better light.”
“Oh. Well, I don’t think I’ll be ready in time for that today.”
“No worries! We can just do a run-through. Very informal.”
She smiled at me. I smiled at her.
“Okay!” I said finally. “And your accommodations were all right?”
“Oh! You were actually totally right. Aimee and Louise are amazing. We stayed up all night talking about everything.” She exchanged a flirty little look with the nannies, who both suddenly seemed to be swallowing laughter. “Truly,” Shannon added, giving Nanny Louise a cat-ate-the-canary look, “I feel like I’ve been living here for years.”
I got dressed and came back downstairs, by which point the children were off to their homeschooling lesson and Shannon was standing in the kitchen, alone. “Why don’t we try some bread content?”
I reached for the sourdough starter.
“Turn your chin ten degrees toward me.”
I paused. It hadn’t occurred to me until now that hiring a producer would mean taking orders from them, too. I rotated my chin ten degrees, like a marionette doll, expression frozen in concentrated delight.
“That’s good,” Shannon murmured. “Now glance out the window when you can, like you’re looking for the kids. Just a quick little look—yes, that’s perfect. Soft smile, then maybe a small frown, because it’shard,what you’re doing, it takeseffort…”
I looked out the window at nothing. Smiled at the invisible children. Returned my gaze to the mixing bowl and sighed happily.
“Keep going,” Shannon whispered. “Just like that.”
