Wife Number Seven (The Compound, #1)(30)

Tiffany stood behind the front desk, speaking to a mother who was cradling her screeching child. Tiffany’s compassion was generous, evident in her expression, her soft eyes, her sympathetic nod as she listened to the woman list her child’s maladies.

When the woman and her daughter retreated to the waiting area, Tiffany stiffened, then inhaled deeply and closed her eyes as she exhaled, pulling herself back together as she filed their registration forms. When she closed their manila folder, our eyes met and she flinched.

Her reaction made me tremble. My cruelty, my feelings of superiority had hurt her, that was obvious. Slowly, I managed to walk to the counter, trying to ignore the burning behind my eyes.

“What are you doing here?”

“I-I came to apologize.”

“You’re out of pills, huh?” She crossed her arms and frowned at me.

I hung my head in shame. “Yes. Almost.”

“I figured.” She shook her head with a sigh, then began to reorganize stacks of paper behind the counter.

“Please, Tiffany, I don’t know what to do, where to turn. You’re the only one who knows.”

“About what?” She slammed her hands down on the counter. “The pills? Porter Hammond?” She glared at me. “It feels like all I do is carry around your dirty secrets.”

“I know, but I—”

“If you’re so unhappy, just leave. I did it, Porter did it. You can do it too, Brinley.”

I pressed my lips together, fighting tears. “It’s not that easy.”

“No, it’s not. It’s hard, really hard. But it’s worth it.” She looked up at the ceiling, a small smile peeking through her anger. “Geez, Brinley, you have no idea what freedom really is, what it feels like. There’s nothing better. Nothing.”

I had no reply. She was right; I had no idea what freedom was. Not one single, solitary clue.

“Can you tell me?” I asked through my tears.

She paused and took a deep breath before saying, “It’s like flying. So scary, so unsettling, but when you get your bearings, you just . . .” She shrugged. “You glide. And you forget what it was like to walk instead of using your wings.”

“Wow.” I stared at the beige counter, letting her words wash over me again and again. I wanted to fly, wanted to be free, but my fear wouldn’t let me leave the ground.

“I’ll keep hope for you.”

She placed a box of tissues in front of me. I nodded, closing my eyes and wiping the fresh tears from my skin. When I opened my eyes, she was gone. I looked around the waiting area, wondering where Tiffany had disappeared to.

Seconds later she returned through the door to the back room, holding the familiar bag containing my birth control pills. “Until then, here you go.”

A sigh of relief left my lungs. “Thank you,” I said, tears spilling anew. “And I’m sorry, so very sorry for what I said to you. I didn’t mean it.”

“Yes, you did,” she said with a shrug. “But it’s not your fault. It’s all you know, and it’s been drilled into your head for twenty-two years. But there’s more to this world than life in a compound, Brinley. I swear to you, there’s so much more. More than you ever imagined.”

I picked up the bag and tucked it inside my purse. Unable to look up, I whispered, “I want to be brave, but I’m not. I’m just not.”

“I didn’t think I was either.” Tiffany reached across the counter of the desk and rubbed my shoulder. “It’s in you, you just have to find it.”

Not sure what else to say, I simply said, “Thank you.” I didn’t believe her. I knew I wasn’t brave or strong. I knew my feet would never allow me to grow wings. They’d never allow me to fly.

“I have to get back to work,” she said kindly. “Take care of yourself now.”

I nodded, turning to walk to the door, and as I did, Tiffany said, “He misses you.”

“What?”

“You know who I’m talking about. Go see him, Brinley. He cares about you.”

Her words stopped me in my tracks.

“Why do you say that? How can you tell?”

First a note given to Samuel, and now I knew he had visited Tiffany again. My desire for Porter was creeping back into my subconscious. As if under a trance, I reached for my wrist and pinched the skin, wincing from the pain of the open flesh.

“Yesterday he sat over there,” she gestured to the chairs to my left, “for three hours straight. He’d just come from work and was sweaty and gross. I told him to go home and take a shower, that you weren’t coming and that I wasn’t sure if you ever would.”

“And?” I asked, my heart racing.

“He just shrugged his shoulders again and again and said, ‘I’m fine here, thanks.’ It was sweet in a weird, stalkerish way.”

“Stalkerish?” I asked, having no idea what she meant.

Tiffany shook her head and laughed. “Don’t worry about it. I was just kidding. Go see him.”

I nodded, knowing there was no way I could go back home after this conversation.

I had to see Porter.

? ? ?

The short walk to Porter’s building seemed to take hours instead of minutes. The sun was setting behind the buildings, and I knew I should be on my way home, but I didn’t have a choice. I had to see him again.