Page 51 of When We Were Enemies
“What?” I ask, my voice low and now obviously filled with emotion.
“You run a PR business dealing with the kind of publicity you seem to despise, and you benefit from your clients’ scandals continually.”
“I want to help them—shelter them from melodrama like this ’cause I know what it’s like.”
“You’re giving yourself too much credit,” he says in a biting way I’ve never, ever heard him wield with me. “You also help them profit off publicity—goodandbad. If it were anyone but you—you’d agree with me. This is an opportunity. All of it. The documentary, the wedding, even the freaky DNA shit.”
“I ...” I feel like I’m having a conversation with a stranger. “I should let you go.”
He exhales into the receiver.
“Sorry, babe,” he says. I recognize this voice. “You caught me at a bad time. I’ll back you up on whatever you decide, but think onit—okay? There’s a reason sex tapes are good for careers—people like seeing their heroes naked. It’s possible your grandma wasn’t a saint. Maybe she did lie about your grandfather, but maybe there was a good reason for it. You’re doing that PR thing again and jumping to the worst conclusions. I bet it’s not as terrible as you think.”
“Uh-huh,” I say, irritated at his lack of concern. I’m out of new words, so I pull out some old ones. “Have a good meeting.”
“Talk tonight?” he asks, and I don’t know if I’m lying when I say yes.
“Love you,” he says.
“You too,” I respond out of reflex, and we both hang up.
I sit, stunned, and take a sip from the warm mug Father Patrick delivered during the call. The coffee warms me and stings in a familiar way at the back of my throat. I feel more lost than when I was wandering in the snow.
“Everything okay?” Father Patrick asks, back in his spot in front of me.
I shrug, confusing thoughts going through my mind.Is everything okay? No. Will it be okay? I don’t know yet.
“Can I sit here for a little longer?” I ask as the wind slams against the windows. I shiver at the idea of going outside.
“You can sit here as long as you need. I have confession at seven; otherwise, I’d offer you a ride.”
“It’s all right. I’ll get someone to pick me up in a bit,” I say, taking another sip.
“I’ll be in the sacristy if you need me,” he says as he walks away.
When he reaches the altar, I call out irreverently, “Can you turn off the lights again?”
He flicks them off without saying a word.
“Thank you.”
I sit in the dark, listening to the snowstorm as it surrounds my sanctuary, asking questions, searching for answers.
What if I can’t stop Mac? And what if my grandmother was a liar? What if she made up a nice story about my grandfather to cover up something even more embarrassing or scandalous or horrifying? What if I quit the documentary—will Mac go on without me? Will Hunter leave me? And what if he’s right—about the documentary, about my career, about me?
What if my whole life is about to change? Again.
CHAPTER 16
Vivian
Friday, June 4, 1943
Edinburgh USO
“Uh, Miss Snow. Can I have that dance now?” Winnie is waiting for me at the bottom of the stage stairs. His cheeks are red, and sweat drips from his hairline. I’ve seen him on the dance floor off and on throughout the night, and every time he caught my eye, I made sure to send a wink his way.
“Absolutely, soldier,” I say, needing a break from searching the room for Tom and Pearl. It was bad enough to see them flirting right in front of me, and when they took to the dance floor, it was worse. Now they’re nowhere to be found—their absence is devastating. My mind fills in every minute with excruciating detail.
