She’ll go down there, right now, to Ian’s office. Wham! she’ll say. At least I lasted two days.
No, she won’t go down there. She’ll go up there, to the eighteenth floor, to see the lady upstairs herself. Adrienne Jacobs, the thirty-five-year-old creative director of the Simon French Corporation, the former fashion blogger, the first woman and youngest person to ever head the ninety-eight-year-old company. The wife of Sebastian’s brother. Nell’s sister-in-law.
Nell can see it. Marching in there, past Adrienne’s assistants, into her windowed office with its pristine white walls, the two white couches, the white rug imported from Turkey that cost more than what Nell earns in a year. Wham!
And then what? They can’t afford their apartment on Sebastian’s salary, or his student loan payments, or the vacation they promised they’d take—their first in four years—over Christmas. For the first time since they began dating, they’re doing well financially. Far better than they ever imagined in London, when Sebastian was studying art and she was attending classes toward her master’s degree while adjunct-teaching a few classes in cybersecurity at a local college. When they used to eat ramen noodles a few times a week, sneak their own popcorn into the movie theater to save the four quid.
And it’s not like she can easily get another job. Not with her employment history, her background, the things she’d have to tell people about herself when applying for a new job.
She’s lucky to have this position. She’s been telling herself this since her first day at the Simon French Corporation eighteen months ago; since even before that, when Sebastian told Nell about the offer that chilly fall morning, when she walked into their London flat after a day of teaching, her arms heavy with groceries.
“You’re joking,” she’d said to him, frozen in place.
“No.” His eyes were bright with excitement. “Adrienne called here herself while you were out. She’s offering you the job. Vice president of technology. In charge of all their online security stuff.”
“Online security stuff? Is that the official description?”
“You can go back to doing what you love.”
“Sebastian, no. She doesn’t have to—”
“This isn’t an act of charity, Nell. Adrienne said it herself. ‘There’s nobody better than Nell.’ She wants you on her team. She said she’ll take care of everything.” He cleared his throat. “And I explained it all to her. That you’re going by Nell now.”
“I can’t work there.”
“Why not?”
“Because their main magazine is Gossip! And I have standards.”
Nell paces her office, remembering the look in Sebastian’s eyes. He’d recently been contacted by MoMA, offered the job he’d been dreaming about, and he was going to turn it down. They couldn’t relocate to New York City on what the museum offered, especially since he and Nell had just started trying for a baby. But could she really say no to him? After everything he’d done for her. Never judging her past mistakes. Accepting her for who she was, and not the person others declared her to be. And plus, this was a chance to move back to the United States. To go home. To be closer to her mom.
“Okay, fine,” Nell said. “I’ll talk to Adrienne.”
Sebastian was grinning as he crossed the room, kissing her before taking the bags from her hands. “Thank you. And don’t mention the trying-to-get-pregnant thing.”
Nell hears her e-mail ding with a new message. She returns to her desk, knowing she has to get back to her work. She clicks open her e-mail, seeing six new messages from the May Mothers. The group’s activity has begun to pick up again, following a few days of dormancy after the news about Midas broke, when nobody seemed to know what to say.
Yuko had written with a question. Hi mamas. I need some help. Nicholas woke up with a rash on his back. I’m attaching a photograph. Do I need to worry?
Nell scrolls through the responses.
Looks like a heat rash to me, Gemma replied.
Avoid the doctor! Scarlett wrote. They’ll give you something harsh and toxic when all you need for this is calendula cream.
Nell deletes the messages, wondering if Winnie is still receiving the May Mothers e-mails. She pictures her in that video interview, her face gaunt, her eyes flitting around the room. She hears Ian’s words.
Who is Midas’s dad? What is she hiding? It’s time to get some answers.
Nell closes her eyes. For the tenth time since watching the flash drive interview with Winnie, and the hundredth time since the night Midas was taken, the thought occurs to her: How secure is the Village website? How difficult would it be to get inside, take a look at the questionnaire Winnie filled out when registering for May Mothers—the same questionnaire they all had to fill out? Your name. Your partner’s name. Tell us a little bit about your family.
Nell stands and closes her office door. Back at her desk, she can feel her heart beating as she opens The Village website and begins to type, hacking her way into the administration page. It takes less than five minutes. It’s something she’s been a natural at since her first computer science class—an instinct, one professor later said, or, as she likes to think of it, her superpower. In college, she was the first freshman to win a national coding competition, which helped land her the prestigious internship—chosen from more than 8,000 applicants—at the US State Department, working directly for Secretary of State Lachlan Raine.
Nell sees Francie’s profile at the top of the list and clicks it open. The photo she’d included is exactly what Nell would have expected: a selfie with Lowell and their ultrasound picture. Nell quickly reads what Francie wrote—she and Lowell met in their hometown in Tennessee, and she followed him to Knoxville, where he studied architecture while she took photography classes and worked as an assistant at a portrait studio, freelancing in her spare time, taking photos of people’s cats. “We’re somewhat new to New York and I can’t wait to meet all the other mommies!” Francie wrote.
Nell closes Francie’s profile and skims others, surprised at some of the things she’s reading; at how little she really knows these women. Yuko clerked for a state supreme court judge before having her son. Gemma is from Nell’s hometown in Rhode Island; she went to the rival high school.
The sudden ringing of her desk phone surprises her, and she closes the website. “Hi, this is Nell Mackey.” There’s heavy breathing on the other end. “Hello? Who is this?”
“Nell, it’s me.”
She pushes away from her desk. “Colette?” There’s silence, and then Nell hears Colette crying. “Colette, what is it? Are you okay?”
“I’m in the copy room at the mayor’s office,” she whispers. “I think someone’s outside.”
“What do you mean? Are you all right?”
“No.” She pauses. “I went into the police file. I saw something. It hasn’t been reported. I don’t know—”
“What, Colette? What is it?”
“They found a body.”