Still laughing, Morrie shakes his head. “Got this in the bag, huh? You might as well put a bag over your face, if you’re standing next tothatguy ...”
“Hey!” I’m surprised to find that I’m genuinely wounded by the insult. My face has always been my moneymaker. From the time I was in high school, my classic good looks let me charm my way out of most situations, no matter how hairy they got.
But driving through Green Valley, for the first time, it’s occurred to me that it might not be enough. Who am I, without the face? Just some nerd with a Medjai tattoo (just like Rick O’Connell’s inThe Mummy) in a discreet location that I would prefer not to disclose at this present moment.
Morrie tsks at me sympathetically, but in a way that is completely condescending. “There, there, Wesley. I’m just messing with you. You’ll probably still be the prettiest boy at the ball—just not the tallest, the most ripped, the most masculine?—”
“You can stop listing things now,” I interrupt him grouchily. “Come on. Let’s get to the rental ASAP.”
“Why?”
I let out a long, irritated sigh through my nostrils. “So I can practice chopping firewood ...”
As Morrie laughs some more at my expense, I tune him out, staring morosely out the window. I’ll give Green Valley this much—it’s a beautiful place. Nothing will ever come close to Michigan in my eyes, since that’s home, but being surrounded by the Great Smoky Mountains on basically all sides does lend a certain charm.Not to mention the number of abnormally beautiful people in such a small radius. I mean, the woman walking down the street is an absolute knockout, even if she is dressed like a?—
The ending to that thought draws me up short.A nun.
I had an intense run-in with a nun a few years back, when I was deep undercover on one of my jobs. There’s no way the woman we passed on the street just now was her, though. I try to muster a laugh at the sheer absurdity of the idea. Right. A nun just casually wandering down the street of a very small, sequestered town in the Appalachian Mountains. I’m positive it was only someone who looked vaguely like her. After all, I only saw her briefly as we drove past, in profile, walking in the opposite direction.
It wasn’t her, I tell myself.
“You okay, Ackerman?” Morrie asks, jarring me from my thoughts.
I shake my head to clear it. “Yeah. Just thought I saw a ghost, that’s all ...”
Chapter 5
Nina
The Orphan Girl and the Thief
Part 2
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 Godhadn’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.
Don’t be foolish, the Orphan Girl ordered herself on the bus ride to the prison. This was not a sign from God. She would still be in a room full of prisoners, with Sister Catherine by her side. There was no guarantee she would get to speak to the Thief alone.
