I move up and down the row of men. They seem to hardly notice me, distracted by all the lights and busyness in the room. Which is absolutely fine by me. I don’t need any of these flannelled gods to pay me any mind. I wouldn’t know what to do with that kind of attention, anyway.
Judging by the bits and pieces of conversation floating around, it seems like most of the men have just arrived in Green Valley in the last day or so and are meeting each other for the first time. Some of the men are local, but from what I gather, all come from places close to big mountain ranges—the Cascades, the Rockies, and so forth. Most of the men are making small talk, and some have already fallen into an easy rhythm of teasing each other. A few seem very quiet and withdrawn, and I can’t blame them much. I’d absolutely whither under these many lights, a camera, so many people watching.
I smile to myself as I think of Harmony, off doing the Mountainettes photoshoot at a different location. (They want the heroes and heroines to meet for the first time on camera, naturally.) I bet wherever she is, she’s eating all of this up.
I’m so caught up in my task that at first I don’t really register his face. That jaw. Those lips. He’s looking away from me, talking to the man next to him, wearing an easy smile. My mind slows.I know him, I think, and my mind runs over the possibilities. He’s older. His hair has grown out. But more than that, I never thought I’d be seeing him here of all places. Not in a million years.
Cass.
When the recognition finally clicks into place, I freeze. At just that moment, as if he can sense the weight of my attention, his eyes slide over to me. Away, then back again, snagging. I see him go through the same process, the same stutter as his mind tries to place me so far out of context from where he would have known me. I see the wrinkle in his brow, the shock that shudders through his eyes.
Breathe, Nina, I tell myself. Something that usually comes so naturally now becomes an effort to accomplish. My entire body feels like it’s locked up, frozen with shock. My brain, too. But not my heart—it’s the only thing still functioning, albeit at higher-than-usual capacity as it pounds away in my chest. Two years. It’s been sleeping for two years, and now, finally, it’s been woken up.
It’s probably only the briefest of moments that we stare at each other. It feels longer. Much, much longer. His lips part, like he’s going to say something.
No. I can’t let him. I don’t know why, exactly, but I know I can’t hear what he has to say. It won’t be good, I’m sure, whatever it is. He’ll ruin it, all of those memories we had together. And I’ve treasured them for so long now. Treasuredhim. He’s been the one bright spot I’ve carried with me all this time. The dream I’ve nurtured quietly, gently; the one thing I’ve let myself keep just for me. I can’t let anyone take that away, not even him.
So before he can speak, I turn and abruptly move on to the next man, gambling on the fact that Cass won’t call after me, make a scene. He doesn’t, but I can feel his eyes on me as I spritz the man next to him, then the man after that.
Oh my word. Oh my word. Oh my word.
Cass is here. Cass ishere. I was so sure I’d never see him again, and now he’s here. He knows the real reason why I had to leave the postulancy. He knows, because he was there. And ... participating.
“Are you okay?” Deja asks me when I rejoin her after I’ve finished glistenizing the long line of men. “You look sorta clammy. Did you spritz yourself?”
I try my best to smile, even though I think I may be sick. “Maybe by accident.”
But I know it’s not an accident, none of it is. I’m being punished. I did a bad thing a long time ago, and it’s only a matter of time before everyone finds out.
Chapter 9
Nina
The Orphan Girl and the Thief
The Orphan Girl and the Thief continued to meet once a week, almost never actually touching or speaking, just looking, but having so many conversations within those stolen glances. In his sketches, tucked into folded sheets of paper for only her to find, the Orphan Girl saw herself through his eyes. She saw versions of herself that were pensive, some that were smiling. Some where she looked kind. Some where she looked sad. Some where she looked brave.
That last one he must have just imagined, since the Orphan Girl had never been brave a day of her life; but still, it was flattering to see.
They passed a few months this way, though it felt like much longer. The Orphan Girl knew she was playing with fire. She knew she ought to tell somebody about what was happening, confess, repent. Only ... she didn’t feel guilty. She knew, as well, that if she told somebody, these encounters would come to an end, and more than anything, she did not want that to happen. Sometimes the thought of seeing the Thief was the only thing that brought her joy all week.
So how could it be sinful? How could it be wrong? In the many quiet hours she spent pondering over it and praying, the Orphan Girl began to wonder if God hadn’t placed the Thief into her life intentionally. Not as a test or a trial, but as a solace. She had felt so alone for so very long. And now? She was noticed. She was seen. She was treasured.
I’m falling in love with you, the Thief wrote on one of those crumpled-up pieces of paper, left behind for her to find. She kept that one, even though it was risky. She would not have parted with it for all the world.
That night, the Orphan Girl asked God for a favor. If the Thief was meant to be in her life, please, could He provide a way for her to speak to him, alone?
She had been so trained to not want anything for herself that even this small act felt monumental. She waited, and hoped, and wondered if she was foolish for asking for such a thing.
Then the night before the sisters were supposed to go on their usual visit to the prison, several of the nuns came down with food poisoning. It was only a mild case, but they would be in no position to visit the prison the next day. Only the Orphan Girl and Sister Catherine had been spared.
The Orphan Girl felt sorry, of course, that everyone had gotten sick, but she couldn’t help feeling like this was a sign.
In the back of her head, though, she heard Uncle Aaron’s voice, reminding her that to receive the answer to her prayers, others had to suffer. She was always taking, taking, taking, even when she didn’t mean to. She was a selfish, sinful girl.
And still, she did not tell anyone. Still, she hoped against hope that her prayers were coming true.
The Orphan Girl worried all morning that Sister Theresa would tell them they couldn’t go on their own; but when no word came, the Orphan Girl and Sister Catherine decided they would still perform their ministry.
