The Pretty Ones (8 page)

Elation overtook Nell's initial distress for half a beat. That hand on her shoulder . . . it enthralled her, because it had finally happened. Someone had been touched by her misfortune. Someone had looked right at her and, rather than scowling, had been shot through with an arrow of compassion.
Finally,
she thought.
I am human.
But her delight was followed by a hiccup of her heart. A misfired beat. A punch of understanding.

Linnie was dead.

It was too much of a coincidence.

Nell had lost her mind. She'd wailed in the kitchen. She'd been wronged, and Barrett had seen it all. And what did he make of it? That Linnie Carter was just like their mother.

A liar.

A fake.

Linnie hadn't wanted to eat cake, so Barrett made her eat dirt instead.

“Oh no,” she whispered, because what if the cops showed up at the apartment. “
Oh no
. . .” What if they took him away and she was left alone? What if Barrett was hauled off to prison and Nell was left to navigate Brooklyn by herself ? It was a death sentence. She'd never survive on her own. “
Oh no!
”
The words were more pronounced now, loud enough to garner the attention of a couple of passing girls. She sensed them looking. Lifted her hands to her face for dramatic effect. Peeked through her fingers to verify that they were indeed gazing upon her with a mixture of pity and concern. Mary Ann Thomas was peering at her from across the office, sizing her up. But this was Nell's moment.

“
Oh no!
” She wept the sentiment into her palms, full volume now. Because if everyone knew she and Linnie were friends, nobody would suspect that she had anything to do with Linnie's demise. “Not Linnie,” Nell cried, not caring who heard her, not caring if the entire office ended up gaping. “Not my Linnie. Not my friend!”

.   .   .

Lamont refused to call it a day. Despite the tragedy, there was still work to be done. Phones had to be answered. Transcriptions had to be typed. They were all forced back into their chairs, not because Lamont was worried about how an empty office on a busy Monday would look, but because letting all the girls go would be bad for morale. Let them go, and it made Linnie Carter's death real. Let them go, and suddenly every Rambert & Bertram employee was left to sit at home, wide-eyed while watching the news, wondering if they were next.

But Lamont's insistence to carry on with the day didn't make working easy. Nell sat at her desk, wooden, hardly able to get a thing done between her racing thoughts and coworkers occasionally pausing to murmur quiet sympathies about Linnie's sudden passing. Nell had made a scene with her open weeping. One minute, she had been an outsider looking in. The next, she was the center of attention, as though
she
had been the one left for dead and humiliated in an alley littered with trash.

Poor, poor Linnie.

It was just after lunch that a shadow loomed over Nell's left shoulder. Nell turned to glance behind her, and there was Mary Ann Thomas, with her eyes narrowed into accusatory slits. Nell stared at her for a beat, then offered the blonde an unsure, wavering greeting.

“H-hey, Mary Ann.” Nell produced a pathetic smile, one that read:
I'm sad about Linnie, but still happy to see you
. One that made her look like a “trouper,” plodding through the day despite her broken heart.

But Mary Ann wasn't having any of it. Her glare only intensified.

“Is . . .” Nell stammered. “Is everything okay?”

That was when Mary Ann took a couple of steps forward. Her pretty pink manicure gripped the back of Nell's office chair as she leaned forward, as if to rest her chin on Nell's shoulder before cooing in her ear. But there were no sweet nothings here. Mary Ann hissed instead: “I don't know what you're up to,
Sweaty
, but you aren't fooling anyone.”

“What?” Nell stared at Rambert & Bertram's It Girl. Blinked a few times for good measure. Tried not to narrow her own eyes in response to Mary Ann's hideous insult, let alone at what Mary Ann was implying.

“You weren't friends with Linnie,” Mary Ann said flatly. “Everybody knows that. You aren't friends with anyone, so if you think you can just—”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Nell cut her off midsentence. Mary Ann's expression became even more incredulous, but Nell didn't let Mary Ann voice her continued suspicion. “Not like
you
would know. You're so concerned with yourself, it's a wonder you know anything about anyone.” Mary Ann's eyes went wide. How dare a troll speak to a princess in such a way? But Nell didn't dare take it back.
Stick to your guns,
she thought.
If you drop it now, you'll look guiltier than ever. Not only will you be the laughingstock of the entire office, but maybe Mary Ann will call the cops and tell them you lied this morning. Then they'll come to question you, because what kind of girl does something like that?

Nell shifted in her seat and turned back to her typewriter, her eyes fixed on the mug of pencils at the corner of her desk. The yellow smiley face grinned at her.

Have a nice day!

“Have a nice day,” she murmured to the bitch just beyond her shoulder. A moment later, she heard Mary Ann Thomas stomp toward the break room without so much as another word.

Except that Mary Ann's departure didn't do much to ease the anxiety that was blooming like a dahlia within the cavity of Nell's chest. She didn't have to wonder whether Barrett had really done it. She hadn't ever been so sure of anything in all her life. And she didn't wonder why either. That was just as obvious to her as Barrett's guilt. But she did wonder
when
.

Had it been Friday night, when he had left her alone to sulk in the apartment? Had it been Saturday, when she had slept her throbbing headache—and the day—away? Or maybe it had been Sunday, when she had spent what felt like minutes but turned out to be hours sitting in Barrett's wingback chair, thumbing through an old paperback without reading a single word. And if it
had
been Friday or Saturday, how had he kept such a thing a secret? Why wouldn't he have told her? Why would he have left her to learn about Linnie's death like this, in the cold fluorescent burn of an office building?

He was punishing her.
Always
punishing her. No matter what she did, it was wrong. He was forever upset and on edge, ready to tell her that she was stupid for wanting the things she wanted, for being the way she was. But Barrett? He could do no wrong. Oh no, not her
perfect
brother with his late-night outings and his goddamn manifestos, his demands, all those damn
demands.
And yeah, maybe he did say that he would never leave Nell behind, but he still used that fear against her. He
knew
she was afraid of losing him, which is why she ended up bending to his will no matter what he asked. Friends? Forget them. Guests? Not on your life. Linnie Carter? Dead. Dead. Fucking
dead
.

“Nell?” Her name cut across the noise of the office. She just about jumped out of her seat when she heard it ebb over the ringing of her phone. Nell shot a look toward the door adorned with Harriet Lamont's name in gold foil. The boss had seen everything—Nell gasping at the tragedy, wailing about her fallen comrade in the middle of the office. Nell had met Lamont's gaze only for a second, but that second of eye contact had been enough. Something about the boss witnessing her breakdown pushed Nell to ramble over to her desk, to sit down and try to collect her nerves and thoughts. But it was easy to discard Lamont's judging glance amid the heartfelt condolences that drifted across her desk. Nell spent the day solemnly nodding her head and thanking girls she'd never spoken to for their kind words.

Thank you. Yes, it's hard, but I think I'll make it through.

Leave it to Mary Ann—
that bitch—
to ruin a perfect day.

But she couldn't ruin it completely. No, Nell wouldn't allow it. The attention was strange, oddly and wonderfully strange. It was feigning grief that was familiar. It reminded her of her mother. Of the way she had cried at their father's funeral, her sadness not once touching her eyes.

Nell and Barrett had stood shoulder to shoulder beside Faye Sullivan while their father's flower-topped casket inched into the ground. Faye wept so hard into her hands that it had scared Nell. She pictured her mom disintegrating beneath waves of grief. Disappearing right where she stood. Melting away like the Wicked Witch of the West. But a simple squeeze of the hand from Nell's newly mute brother assured her that it was an act. She was faking it. And what made that memory all the more vivid were the people who failed to console the weeping woman beside them.

Nell had craned her neck around to look at the black-clad mourners behind them. Faye Sullivan didn't have family. The congregation of sniffling, stern-faced mourners were all Leigh Sullivan's relatives. For one reason or another, they didn't want anything to do with the widow Sullivan and her overly dramatic grief.

After the funeral, momentarily separated from Barrett and her mom while clutching Beary to her chest, Nell's grandmother pulled her aside. “Don't worry, baby,” she had said, her heavily ringed fingers stroking one of Beary's ears. “I'll take you away from here. Everything is gonna be all right.” But Nell twisted her arm out of her grandmother's too-tight grasp. What did she mean she'd take
her
away? What about Barrett? Nell turned and ran, and for a few brief, terrifying minutes she couldn't find her brother anywhere. It was as though the crowd had swallowed him, as though their grandmother had stolen him away the way she had wanted to take Nell. Standing amid the headstones, she began to yell Barrett's name while distant family watched on. They pressed their hands to their mouths, their eyes radiating sadness that Nell tried to ignore. She was sad enough about her dad as it was. She didn't need teary-eyed adults telling her it would all be okay when, even at four years old, she knew it wouldn't be.

She found Barrett sitting alone in the shade of an elm tree, and that's where they stayed, her and Barrett and Beary. Mourners looked on with expressions of sorrow and pity until their mother yelled for them to get in the car.

From what their mother had explained, their dad had hit his head the day of Barrett's backyard accident. He had gotten so upset about what had happened that, even though Barrett had been okay, he had hurt himself over it.

He felt guilty,
Faye had explained.
You understand? He felt guilty for what happened to your brother, and sometimes when adults feel guilty, they do terrible, horrible things.

Maybe it had been Barrett losing his ability to speak that had done it. Maybe that was what had pushed their father over the edge.

“Nell.” Lamont again. It seemed impossible that Nell should have been able to hear her over the clatter of phones, but her supervisor's voice carried remarkably well through the clamor.

Doom settled in the pit of her stomach. The same kind Nell had felt when she had called out for Barrett at the funeral, but he had been nowhere to be found.

Maybe Lamont had changed her mind about Nell being late last Wednesday.

Maybe, despite what had happened to Linnie, Mr. Rambert and Mr. Bertram had announced it was time for a cutback, and Nell was at the top of the list. She was one of the disposable girls.

Nell sat unmoving for a good few seconds. She held her breath, afraid to draw attention to herself. It was the complete opposite of what she'd wanted only an hour before. It was a few minutes until five now. If she sat there long enough, she could bolt for the elevator just after quitting time. Certainly, Harriet Lamont wouldn't expect Nell to stay after hours for a meeting. That would have been overtime, and overtime didn't happen at R & B.

She nearly gasped when Lamont poked her head out her door and gave Nell a pointed stare. Across a vast ocean of desks and girls, Harriet Lamont's expression was stern and unrelenting. Mary Ann Thomas swiveled in her chair, as if to witness the panic that was surely twisting up Nell's face. By the time Nell slipped into the boss's office, she was queasy with nerves. Barrett was going to be so angry, so
pissed
if she lost her job.

Harriet Lamont was seated behind her desk, lighting a cigarette with that ostentatious crystal lighter. Nell gave her boss a wary smile and crossed the office to one of the wooden-armed chairs. She slid into it, immediately uncomfortable, unable to tell whether it was the chair or the sudden tightness of her own skin.

“Nell . . .” Lamont peered at her, as if searching for the answer to a question she had yet to ask. She paused, took a drag off her cigarette, and frowned before leaning back in her executive chair. It squeaked on its castors.

Unable to stand the silence any longer, Nell blinked at her supervisor, nodded. “Yes?” She wanted out of that office, and if speaking expedited her exit, then fine. The way Lamont was looking at her made her anxious, as though she was privy to some bit of knowledge everyone else had missed.

Like maybe she knew about Barrett.

Like maybe she knew what he'd done.

Like maybe that nosy bitch Mary Ann had ratted her out, not only ruining Nell's day, but her entire life.

“Nell, honestly, I'm a little disturbed.”

Nell's stomach clenched.

“Disturbed?”

“Well, the whole situation with Ms. Carter . . .”

She knows.

“Linnie.” The name tumbled off Nell's tongue before she could hold it back.

“Yes,” Lamont said, giving her a pointed look. “Linnie.”

Nell frowned down at her hands. She wasn't sure whether to pull the same act on Lamont that she'd managed to get away with on most of the girls, or whether it was wiser to wait the whole thing out. When Lamont failed to speak, Nell squeezed her eyes shut and murmured beneath her breath.