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Authors: April Henry, Lis Wiehl
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and she lost one or both of hers? She would gladly give them up. In a heartbeat.
But what if she lost her life?
It was the thought she kept circling back to, like a tongue probing a sore tooth until it flares into agony.
There were so many things—like her breasts and her hair—that would have seemed so important a few days ago. Now she was ready to sacrifice them without a second thought.
The instructor, Elizabeth, had perfect breasts. Perfect everything. Her arms and legs were as taut and smooth as if they belonged to one of Makayla’s dolls. Nic wondered how much upkeep was required to look so flawless. If her hair was highlighted, then it must take her stylist hours to achieve those dozens of shades of cinnamon, paprika, and red chile. Or maybe Elizabeth was just one of those genetic freaks who woke up every morning looking beautiful.
Elizabeth flashed her a hard look, and Nicole realized she was staring. She pulled her gaze away as Elizabeth said, “Okay, let’s do some squats.”
While she demonstrated the correct form, Nic bent over and wiped her forehead with the hem of her T-shirt. This class was proving to be something of a surprise. It took a lot to get her to sweat.
But now her body, which still appeared strong, held a rottenness at its core. Oh, she knew Dr. Magel would say that it was far too soon to know. But Nic knew. From the moment her fingers touched it, she had known that her body had turned on her in secret.
Scattered moans rippled through the group as Elizabeth called out, “Nineteen and twenty!”
There was something about the instructor that turned Nic off. She didn’t like jealousy, especially in herself, but that’s clearly what it was. Five years ago, when Allison, Cassidy, and Nic had gotten reacquainted after their tenth reunion, Cassidy had been enthralled with the idea that Nic was an actual FBI agent, plied her with all kinds of questions. Now Cassidy was in the throes of a new enthusiasm. It wasn’t pretty, but Nic had to admit that she must be feeling a little green-eyed.
These days everything went through the filter of knowing that she might be dying. And not a lot made it through. Most things simply turned into white noise. With just a portion of her brain, Nic interviewed witnesses and prepared the reams of documents for the Foley case. At home, she signed permission slips and homework logs for Makayla, pressed the phone to her ear as her mother worried about her older brother’s impending divorce, put tasteless food in her mouth and automatically chewed. But her thoughts were elsewhere.
Where, she wasn’t sure.
So the secret of the lump and all it might mean stayed inside. It didn’t press up against her lips, begging to be released. Instead it was a small black hole in the pit of her stomach, sucking up her energy and time and emotions.
“Okay, let’s stretch out for the last five minutes,” Elizabeth said, and Nic followed her instructions automatically.
She was most afraid that she would be reduced to begging. Nic prided herself on never letting anything touch her. Never asking for anything. But she might turn into one of those people who desperately searched for new treatments, pleading to be enrolled in trials for some new drug that would prove to be no breakthrough. Until finally she ended up in a dirty clinic in Mexico paying the last of her retirement savings for some treatment that would turn out to be watered-down drain cleaner. Begging fate or the God she had decided long ago she didn’t believe in to spare her.
Nic wasn’t going to change her beliefs simply because her life was on the line. There were no atheists in foxholes, according to conventional wisdom. But even though she was ready to go to war, she wasn’t going to turn her back on her hard-won wisdom that the only one looking out for you was you . And when you died, you stayed dead.
Nic’s dark, raging fear was colored with bottomless grief when she thought of telling her parents.
But what if she lost her life?
It was the thought she kept circling back to, like a tongue probing a sore tooth until it flares into agony.
There were so many things—like her breasts and her hair—that would have seemed so important a few days ago. Now she was ready to sacrifice them without a second thought.
The instructor, Elizabeth, had perfect breasts. Perfect everything. Her arms and legs were as taut and smooth as if they belonged to one of Makayla’s dolls. Nic wondered how much upkeep was required to look so flawless. If her hair was highlighted, then it must take her stylist hours to achieve those dozens of shades of cinnamon, paprika, and red chile. Or maybe Elizabeth was just one of those genetic freaks who woke up every morning looking beautiful.
Elizabeth flashed her a hard look, and Nicole realized she was staring. She pulled her gaze away as Elizabeth said, “Okay, let’s do some squats.”
While she demonstrated the correct form, Nic bent over and wiped her forehead with the hem of her T-shirt. This class was proving to be something of a surprise. It took a lot to get her to sweat.
But now her body, which still appeared strong, held a rottenness at its core. Oh, she knew Dr. Magel would say that it was far too soon to know. But Nic knew. From the moment her fingers touched it, she had known that her body had turned on her in secret.
Scattered moans rippled through the group as Elizabeth called out, “Nineteen and twenty!”
There was something about the instructor that turned Nic off. She didn’t like jealousy, especially in herself, but that’s clearly what it was. Five years ago, when Allison, Cassidy, and Nic had gotten reacquainted after their tenth reunion, Cassidy had been enthralled with the idea that Nic was an actual FBI agent, plied her with all kinds of questions. Now Cassidy was in the throes of a new enthusiasm. It wasn’t pretty, but Nic had to admit that she must be feeling a little green-eyed.
These days everything went through the filter of knowing that she might be dying. And not a lot made it through. Most things simply turned into white noise. With just a portion of her brain, Nic interviewed witnesses and prepared the reams of documents for the Foley case. At home, she signed permission slips and homework logs for Makayla, pressed the phone to her ear as her mother worried about her older brother’s impending divorce, put tasteless food in her mouth and automatically chewed. But her thoughts were elsewhere.
Where, she wasn’t sure.
So the secret of the lump and all it might mean stayed inside. It didn’t press up against her lips, begging to be released. Instead it was a small black hole in the pit of her stomach, sucking up her energy and time and emotions.
“Okay, let’s stretch out for the last five minutes,” Elizabeth said, and Nic followed her instructions automatically.
She was most afraid that she would be reduced to begging. Nic prided herself on never letting anything touch her. Never asking for anything. But she might turn into one of those people who desperately searched for new treatments, pleading to be enrolled in trials for some new drug that would prove to be no breakthrough. Until finally she ended up in a dirty clinic in Mexico paying the last of her retirement savings for some treatment that would turn out to be watered-down drain cleaner. Begging fate or the God she had decided long ago she didn’t believe in to spare her.
Nic wasn’t going to change her beliefs simply because her life was on the line. There were no atheists in foxholes, according to conventional wisdom. But even though she was ready to go to war, she wasn’t going to turn her back on her hard-won wisdom that the only one looking out for you was you . And when you died, you stayed dead.
Nic’s dark, raging fear was colored with bottomless grief when she thought of telling her parents.
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