Page 15 of A Spy is Born
"But you won't tell me what your job actually is?"
"I'm an actor like you. Except I perform for the safety of our nation." The way he says it…well…it sounds noble. Like what he does matters. "Join me." He offers his hand, palm up, exposing pale skin with dark creases. I stare down at it.
I’m standing at the edge of an abyss, the wind rushing in my ears. The arctic ice is no longer underfoot, the burning ship vanished. It is just me on the precipice and this offer of salvation…this open palm.
I shift Archie into one arm, and he wakes, snuffling closer, as I reach out and accept Temperance's hand: warm and solid, rough with hard work.
Temperance leads me out past the uniformed officer, and where there should be throngs of cops, there is just Maria and the photographer, chatting in the entranceway. The front door is open, the driveway shrouded in darkness, the lights of the city glittering beyond it.We are up so high above it all.
I glance toward the living room, catching a glimpse of a sheet sticking out from the other side of the couch. They have not moved the body.
I don’t see Nancy anywhere. How will they keep her quiet? All these people will have a secret. It won't just be me. The burden of Jack's death lifts a little, as if someone has stepped under it, shouldering a small amount. While this secret leaves me exposed, it also shields me.That’s what shared secrets do.
Temperance, still holding my hand, leads me through the open door and down those old Hollywood steps to where a black SUV waits. Not an amped-up reporter or photographer in sight. A man behind the wheel gets out to open the back door for us.
He does not speak and neither does Temperance, who motions for me to get in first. I stare into the backseat, black leather lit by the dome light. I glance behind me to the mansion. My heart gives a powerful thump.I survived.
Climbing into the SUV, I settle into the seat. Temperance gets in next to me. My eyes burn with unshed tears, but I force them away. The perfect topiaries blur as we pull down the drive.
This isn't what I planned. This isn't what I want. But it is what’s happening.
A small spark of pride ignites. I'm joining something larger. Like when acting in a play—the way you lean on the actors around you and submerge your ego into something larger than yourself.
Now I'll be doing that again. Joining with others to keep our nation safe. The nation that gave my grandmother a home. That gave her freedom when Nazis wanted to exterminate our people—Roma, a nomadic people with no claim on any nation.
A laugh bubbles but does not burst. I'll be serving a nation rather than just roaming through it. My gut tightens with worry and a fear passed down through my DNA.Putting down roots leads to death.
Chapter Four
Sunlight streamingthrough my windows wakes me before my alarm has a chance to sound. I blink against it.I didn't close my blinds last night.That's strange.
Rolling over, I feel pain in all sorts of places, and the events of last night crash back into my consciousness like a bad dream.
Nausea swirls, and I lean over the edge of my bed, gripping the mattress.Please don’t puke. Taking deep breaths, the spinning slows, and reality settles into place around me.
I am a killer.
And anassetof the US government.
This is not a role I’m playing.
This is my life.
But I have to pretend to be the woman I was yesterday.
Pushing myself into a seated position, I slide out from under the covers and set my feet onto the carpeted floor. The soft plush sends a new shiver of disgust through me.Will carpet ever feel good to me again?
Light-headed, spots dancing in front of me, I try to summon the strength to stand.
When did I last eat?My salmon salad at lunch yesterday comes to mind, and bile rises again. My eyes catch on my Kindle, sitting on my bedside table next to my phone. The Kindle, my clothing, computer, cell, and the rotary phone are the only things of mine in the apartment; everything else came with the rental. I bought the phone, a classic from the 60s, when I first came to the city as a model. It’s white, with a long, curled cord and heavy base. The kind of thing James Bond would use to take out an attacker.
How about I just crawl back under the covers and read for the rest of the day?
Instead, I push off the bed and make it to the bathroom, gripping the door frame and taking a few deep breaths to regain myself. Glancing back at the bed, I consider climbing between the sheets again. It’s as if my Kindle is actually calling my name.
Archie lets out a small yip, drawing my attention to his crate. "Just a minute," I say, stepping into the bathroom.
There are two sinks set into white marble—the majesty of the space meant for two. Most mornings that second sink gives me a moment of sadness.When will I have a partner? Will I ever find love?This morning, gratitude fills me that I only have to worry about myself…and Archie.
