I know it’s stupid, but I really, really love GIFs. Uncle Aaron and Aunt Hope gave me my phone so they could get in contact with me when they need me to run errands, and they gave me strict instructions it should be used foronlythat purpose. It’s one of Aunt Hope’s older phones that she didn’t need any more once she got the newest upgrade. It’s pretty old now and has a lot of weird glitches, and the only app I’m allowed to have, aside from the basic stuff that comes with the phone, is for library books. Aunt Hope monitors that pretty closely, too, to make sure I’m not reading anything too worldly. I mostly check out classics and Christian literature, and sometimes I can get approval for my book club books so long as they don’t have covers that are too inflammatory or racy.
Even though there isn’t a lot to do on my phone, it’s a source of comfort for me. It feels like one of the only things that’s really mine. I follow Uncle Aaron and Aunt Hope’s rules so I can keep it, but without the apps there isn’t really much to do on it ... except look at GIFs. They’re the only bright, colorful, fun, happy thing on my phone. I know they’re frivolous and I shouldn’t spend so much time looking at them, but seeing them helps me feel more settled.
I choose the happiest one I can find—a bunch of balloons drifting through a park on a sunny day—and send it off to my friends. Too late, I realize that it’s probably meant to be a birthday GIF, and it isn’t anyone’s birthday. Oh, well. Hopefully one of my friends will see it and it will brighten their day, just for a moment, and let them know I’m okay.
I’m just about to put away my phone when a loud trilling sound startles me. At first, I think it must be coming from my phone, but I’m still holding it in my hands, and it’s completely silent.
The burner phone!I realize, scrambling for it. Okay, so maybe it’s totally paranoid to think that Uncle Aaron or Aunt Hope can (a) hear my phone through the wall and (b) have my ringtones memorized, but if anyone is capable of it, it would be them.
I find the burner phone hidden deep in my suitcase and answer it quickly to shut it up. “Hello?” I whisper.
There’s a pause. Then a deep, familiar voice comes through. “Nina?”
It’s Wes. My heart takes off at a gallop. I’m already holding on to the phone tightly with one hand, but I use the other to hold it even more firmly in place. In case of what, I’m not sure, but it feels important to anchor him here as close to me as possible. “Yes.”
Reality catches up to me pretty quickly. He’s obviously not calling me on an FBI-issued phone just to chat. There must be something wrong. “Is Harmony okay?” I ask.
“She’s fine, I just ...” A pause. “I heard about your conversation with Morrie and ... I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
We are silent, the moment stretching out taut between us. I’m holding my breath. It sounds like he might be holding his, too.
“Officially,” he tags on a moment later. “In terms of the case. I mean.”
Oh. I let one of my hands drop, angling the receiver a little away from my mouth now. “I’m fine. It’s fine.” It’s not, but this isn’t really a conversation I want to have over the phone, especially with someone who only cares about how useful I’ll be as an informant. “I can’t really talk now.”
“Okay. Sure. Morrie can debrief with you tomorr?—”
It isn’t very nice of me, but I hang up before he can finish talking. There’s only so much battering a heart can take in one day, after all.
Chapter 18
Nina
The next morning, I’m late for work because Isaiah spills orange juice on his shirt and Aunt Hope panics about the stain. Isaiah has approximately twenty other shirts he’s brought on this trip, but for some reason Aunt Hope determines thatthisparticular shirt must be saved at all costs. And because I’ve been the one doing all the laundry in the household for the last fifteen years, my services are suddenly deemed indispensable, even if it might mean I’ll lose my job for being late.
As I rinse out the juice with cold water in the suite sink and then apply dish soap to the stained area, I try to practice patience. Aunt Hope has decided this shirt is important for some reason, even if it doesn’t seem all that important to me. Even if, as I’ve gently reminded her many times, the Lodge has a laundry service on-site. Even if anyone could google how to get an orange juice stain out of a shirt, so I’m not sure why it has to be me.
Only ... my job in the wardrobe department is important to me, too. I know that part of belonging to a family means compromising, but why does it always feel like I’m the one giving up what I want? Sacrificing my time, my energy, my needs, for the sake of everybody else’s?
At least Uncle Aaron stays in his room, working on ... whatever it is he does when he locks himself away to escape all the family drama. I couldn’t possiblydare to think such rebellious thoughts in his presence. Somehow, he would look at me and justknow.
After finishing up at the sink, I run the shirt down to the laundry service before sprinting to the ground floor of the Lodge, where the wardrobe department is currently being hosted in one of the conference rooms. I’m almost half an hour late. Hopefully I still have a job. If not ... my life will go back to the way it’s always been.
The thought sends such an unexpected surge of panic through me that I have to lean up against the wall to keep from falling over. Another few seconds of precious time, wasted.Happy thoughts, Nina. Happy thoughts.
Puppies. Ice cream. My friends. TheVogueSeptember issue that Helen always smuggles to me once the library takes it off display. That slice of Derby pie I ate the other day at Daisy’s Nut House, that I’ve been dreaming about ever since.
Gathering myself, I run the rest of the way to the conference room.
Deja all but accosts me as I walk through the door. “Nina! There you are. Thank God! We have twenty-four mountain men who need red boxer briefs and chest contouring.”
I was so prepared to be fired that my brain takes longer than it probably should to process what she just told me. “So they’re going to be ... ?”
“Practically naked.” Deja gives a wolfish grin and waggles her eyebrows theatrically. “Don’t say this job doesn’t come with any perks.”
This might be a good time to laugh along and pretend I’m totally unfazed by the prospect of a bunch of half-naked men. But thinking of Uncle Aaron hearing about this sends my stomach roiling. “Is there a reason they’ll be almost naked?” I ask, trying not to sound like the wet blanket I totally am. “Isn’t that ... I don’t know, a little exploitative?”
Deja shrugs. “Maybe. But Sienna and Rae have this whole thing about the importance of the female gaze and using it as a critique of the oversexualization of women in media. I wouldn’t recommend asking them about it—seriously, that’ll be at least an hour of your life that you’ll never get back.” She waves her hand. “And anyway, it’s for charity. The men will be doing a photoshoot for acalendar, with the proceeds going toward helping women’s shelters. So, you know, soft-core porn for a good cause, and all.”
