Chapter 39 #2
She doesn’t have to spell it out for me any clearer.
The way to dear old daddy’s heart is through flattery.
That tracks with everything I’ve learned about Aaron Miller in my research.
I smile back at her to show I understand, even if her tip is ultimately unneeded.
I was already planning to pay very close attention to whatever he has to say.
Once Aaron reaches the microphone on stage, he waits for his cue from the producers to show they’re ready to film. Then he breaks into a broad smile that’s almost convincing. “My brothers and sisters in Christ. Welcome. My family and I feel so blessed to be here with you tonight.”
I can feel the ripple of uncertainty in the crowd.
If I had to guess, based on pure demographics, I’d assume most of the people here tonight are Christian.
But it’s also a public community center, and they probably aren’t accustomed to such heavy-handed Christian sermonizing at their nondenominational gatherings.
One camera is still focused on Harmony and me, capturing our reactions, so I make sure to keep smiling, like I’m super enthusiastic to hear whatever it is Aaron has to say.
“One John, chapter one urges us to walk in the light and have fellowship with one another,” Aaron continues in that polished, easy preacher voice of his.
“And that’s what I feel here tonight. Light.
Warmth. Community. What a blessing it is to walk among others who are on the path of righteousness and to use our talents and our gifts to uplift each other. Can I get an amen?”
“Amen,” someone from the crowd obliges.
Some of the crowd are warming to him. It’s hard not to respond to his enthusiasm, his square-jawed charm.
If I didn’t know better, I might half believe his wholesome God-is-good act, because the words aren’t all bad.
Some of them might even be nice, if they didn’t purposefully exclude anyone in the room who isn’t Christian—and if they were sincere.
They aren’t, though. That’s the thing with Aaron. He isn’t who he pretends to be.
Neither are you, a nagging voice in my head reminds me.
It’s the part of me that chafes against slipping into other people’s lives, that loathes having to nod and agree when inside I’m rebelling against everything that’s being said.
It’s all for the greater good, I know. But increasingly, it’s becoming harder and harder to really feel that way.
Stopping Aaron Miller is important. But being kept apart from Nina, having to pretend that she doesn’t mean as much to me as she does, having to pretend to care for someone else .
. . it doesn’t feel right or good. It feels wrong.
“You know, one of the things I’ve always loved about the South—” Aaron stops abruptly, his eyes narrowing as he spots something in the crowd.
Someone. For a moment, just a moment, his affable mask slips.
“What are you doing here?” he blurts before clamping his mouth shut again—clearly irritated at himself for the slipup.
I turn to see who he’s looking at. So does everyone else in the room.
It’s . . . Nina.
My entire body tightens instinctively. Nina’s here.
Her presence is unexpected, and it’s a problem, considering the show I’m going to have to put on tonight.
But more to the point, it’s a problem because of the way Aaron Miller is looking at her, the way his mask slipped, like he spotted a cockroach skittering across the floor instead of his niece.
His beautiful, kind, smart, talented niece, who should never be made to feel less than, not by anybody.
“Be cool,” Morrie tells me in my ear, as if he can read my thoughts. He doesn’t have to. He can likely see what I’m feeling all over my face.
And so can the camera. I do my best to school my expression again, even though I can’t help but let my eyes follow after Nina as she winds through the crowd.
At my side, Harmony grips my arm a little tighter. “I thought Daddy told her to stay home . . .” She sounds nervous, but also awed. It’s obvious that no one, and especially not Nina, has ever dared to outright defy Aaron like this before.
And that’s what Nina is. Defiant. The emotion radiates clearly in her body language as she cuts through the crowd. Aaron has started speaking again, sermonizing in his usual cadence, but almost nobody is listening to him; they’re too focused on Nina and her determined march toward the stage.
An arm reaches out, stopping her. Perry. “Nina Delgado?” he asks her, looking pleased as punch with himself as he glances over at Sienna and Rae, who have also stopped watching Aaron onstage and wait, tensely, to see how this will unfold.
My gut clenches. He’s finally caught her. Nina won’t be able to lie; she just isn’t very good at it, especially when she’s called out so directly. She’s going to get fired. I know how much the job means to her, what a lifeline it’s been, and I preemptively ache for her.
To my surprise—and everyone else’s, it seems—Nina just shrugs him off. “Yeah, I know. I’m off the show.” She continues toward the stairs that will allow her access to the stage.
Even with one of the cameras still on my face, I can’t help my jaw from dropping.
What the hell is going on? Luckily, when I collect myself and glance over at Harmony, who clearly just overheard the same exchange, her expression is almost exactly the same.
At least I’m not alone in being shocked by this turn of events.
By the time I turn back to Aaron, Nina has made it onto the stage. He’s doing his best to pretend she isn’t there, to keep speaking in his normal pandering tone, but his voice sounds strained, and it’s clearly an effort.
She taps him on the shoulder. He ignores her. So she does it again, this time raising her voice loud enough to be picked up by the microphone.
“Hey. Hey! I have something to say.”