Chapter 17
Nina
When I get back to the hotel after a long day on set, I’m relieved to find that my family (sans Harmony, of course) all seem to be asleep.
The hotel suite is dark and silent. Even though I’ve been daydreaming about an actual meal that isn’t off the craft table and a warm, soothing bubble bath all day, I don’t want to risk waking anyone up.
I can’t have a conversation with any of my family members right now, not when I’m still reeling from the revelation about Uncle Aaron. Is it true? Does Aunt Hope know? What about all of my cousins? What will happen to them if Uncle Aaron gets arrested?
So instead of the soothing, relaxing night I’ve been hoping for, I forage in the kitchen as quietly as I can and manage to grab some cheese, crackers, and grapes.
That will have to do. My closet/room doesn’t have its own en suite, so I decide to wake up early and try to shower and get out of the hotel before anyone else wakes up.
Well, earlier. I’m always an early riser, but I’ve been getting up well before my usual start time on this trip to take care of some of the things I can’t do throughout the day since I’m working on the show—packing lunches for my younger cousins, prepping dinners Aunt Hope can cook on short notice if she gets one of her headaches.
Luckily the hotel has a laundry and cleaning service, or I don’t think Uncle Aaron would have ever agreed to let me work for someone else full time.
Even if he is benefiting from it; Harmony told me he negotiated with Sienna and Rae to let him do a short sermon on the show.
The thought makes me queasy, knowing now that Uncle Aaron has been embezzling from his congregations. Allegedly. I certainly don’t want to give him more opportunity to widen his net of people to prey on.
As I shut the refrigerator door, I jump at the sight of Uncle Aaron standing on the other side of it.
I don’t know if he moves like a ninja or if I was just so caught up in my own thoughts that I didn’t notice the sound of his approach.
I’m so startled I end up dropping the crackers and cheese and grapes all over the floor.
Instinctively, I bend down to clean up the mess. My heart races in my chest, and I half hope that Uncle Aaron will just get whatever he came to get out of the kitchen and leave again. Instead when I glance up, I find him watching me with narrowed eyes.
My mouth runs dry. My palms break out in sweat.
I’m always nervous around Uncle Aaron; even though I almost never have anything to actually feel guilty about, I always worry that I’ve done something bad without realizing it.
Like when you’re driving and you see a cop, and you know you aren’t speeding or breaking any laws, but you start to worry that maybe the speed limit changed without you realizing it, or that your taillight is out.
And now my anxiety is even worse than usual, because I do have something to feel guilty about.
Kind of. Do I? Uncle Aaron is the one who broke the law.
Allegedly. But I’ll be the one who’s lying to him and my entire family over the next few weeks.
Which is worse? Earlier today, I thought it was definitely his behavior, but now standing underneath his piercing blue gaze, I’m no longer so sure.
Uncle Aaron remains silent until I’ve finished gathering up my mess. “Are you right with the Lord, Antonina?”
This is a common question from Uncle Aaron. It’s his way of saying, I suspect you’re up to no good, so if you are, you better confess it. But in a much more polite, passive-aggressive way.
Normally this question results in me spewing out every tiny indiscretion I can think of, just to make sure I’m not doing anything to anger God.
But tonight for the first time it strikes me that it isn’t God who’s judging me.
It’s Uncle Aaron. And frankly, he’s living in a glass house right now (allegedly) and should not be throwing any stones.
I lower my gaze but bite back the instinctive spill of words threatening to come tumbling out of my mouth. Instead, I say quietly, “Yes, Uncle.”
A long silence follows. I know he’s waiting for me to break. My entire body tenses, from my neck to my fingers to the muscles in my calves, as I fight against my ingrained response.
After another long beat, Uncle Aaron makes a sniffing, dismissive sound with his nose. He doesn’t say anything else to me, just fills up the glass of water he came to get, then leaves silently.
I think I might pee my pants if I let my body relax too quickly.
But I also feel weirdly . . . free. I was so sure that Uncle Aaron would take a look at me and realize I was guilty, that he’d be able to know what I was up to without me even saying a word.
So many times, it’s felt like he’s been able to read my mind—to know I was trying to meet up with my friends when I said I was going to be doing something else, or if I spent too long looking at the Vogue website to see what the newest fashions were supposed to be.
But tonight, even if Uncle Aaron suspected something wasn’t quite right with me, he didn’t actually know anything. And I didn’t have to tell him anything I didn’t want to.
Because Uncle Aaron isn’t God. And I don’t have to answer to him.
Back in my room, I change into my pajamas, then binge on cheese and morosely contemplate the events of the day.
I should have known. Shouldn’t I? If I weren’t as sheltered or naive.
But then again, whose fault is it that I don’t interact with more people, that I have to rely on my family for my survival?
Uncle Aaron has arranged my life in such a way to make me be codependent, even while reminding me at every turn of how much of a burden I am.
It was Helen and Matilda who first clued me into the fact that something wasn’t quite right with the way my family treats me.
I would drop things casually into conversation and see the way they reacted.
I got good at pretending not to notice, because I didn’t want to acknowledge anything was wrong.
I didn’t want to examine what their responses might mean.
Of course Uncle Aaron and Aunt Hope have asked a lot of me.
They have so many responsibilities, so much good work they are doing in the service of the Lord.
How ungrateful would I have to be not to be willing to help out?
But it isn’t “helping out.” Serving my family, catering to their every need, is a full-time job that I never get paid for.
I cook. I clean. I mind the younger children.
I run errands. I mend clothing. I do whatever is asked of me.
But it’s never really asked of me; it’s always expected, always required.
I’ve been slowly realizing these truths over the last few years.
It’s not like Morrie’s revelation about Uncle Aaron’s potentially criminal behavior suddenly made me see everything in a new light.
It’s more like I’ve been watching these truths take shape over months and months, but what he told me finally clicked everything into place.
The revelation about Uncle Aaron should be the thing I’m most preoccupied with. To be fair, I’d say it takes up the vast majority of my mental space. But if I’m being honest, my mind keeps snagging on the other piece of what Morrie told me tonight, and what I saw firsthand.
Wes won’t just be competing on a reality dating show.
He’s there for the express purpose of dating my cousin, Harmony.
I know it will all be in the service of investigating my uncle, but what if Harmony develops real feelings for him?
I’ve seen her fall fast, and I’ve seen her fall hard.
I know there will be other contestants in the mix, too, but Wes has been studying her online, figuring out what she likes, what she’ll respond to.
She doesn’t deserve to be led on that way, regardless of whether or not it’s Wes doing it.
But . . . it is Wes doing it. I know he’s not Cass now.
I know he isn’t the same person I fell in love with back in my postulant days.
But he has the same smile. And sometimes when he looks at me .
. . it’s hard to remember that he was probably pretending with me just as much as he will be with Harmony.
And now I’m going to be on set, with a front-row seat, watching the only man I ever thought I loved pretend to love my cousin. Maybe actually falling in love with my cousin. Isn’t that what the entire show is designed for—to make two strangers fall head over heels in love?
I don’t know what thought is worse—that Wes will just be leading Harmony on the entire time, playing with her emotions. Or that he might start to care about her, not just as Nate R., but as Wes.
Oh, God. Panic starts to well up in my chest. Deep breaths, Nina, I remind myself. Everything will be as it should be.
The idea is nice, but believing it is easier said than done. Trying to find some way to distract myself, I pull out my phone. I hope one of my friends might have messaged me, but they’ve gone silent ever since I came to Green Valley. There’s not even anything new in the group chat.
Oh, well. I’m sure they’re busy. And maybe it’s my turn to reach out to them anyway. I pull up the group thread, but I don’t have anything to say—or at least, not anything I’m allowed so say. Instead, I scroll through a bunch of GIFs, trying to find just the right one.
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 for only that 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.