She's gone. The room is still full of personal items. Blankets, a shirt, clean plates stacked on the table, but there is no life here. June is gone, having been spirited away by those who fight against everything Gilead stands for. I pick up a discarded shirt, its one of the brown t-shirts I gave her, and hold it to my nose. It smells of her. I carefully fold the garment and place it in the pile of items that will be taken away from here. No reason to leave a breadcrumb trail when things have gone as smoothly as they have so far.
A hand drags across the back of the couch as I circle the makeshift living quarters. Here, while hiding away from the world, was the most normal time I've ever spent in Gilead. We got to make and eat meals together, watch television, talk, make love with no worries about being found out. It's sick to think that this is my version of freedom and worse yet, that I'll miss it.
Pushing the thoughts away I gather up the sheets and wayward empty coffee mug and head back to the box I'd started filling. I toss in the sheets and mug before doing one last check around the place. I've put back all the future, dismantled the makeshift kitchen, and carefully removed June's trail of downfall from the conference room wall. The only thing I leave untouched is the memorial, though I do carefully wipe down all the items, to ensure her fingerprints will not be found. Satisfied that I've eradicated our existence here, I place the t-shirt I found on the top of the last box and head down to the basement.
I open the door to the furnace and toss all the soft contents from the box, save the t-shirt. The fabric quickly catches fire and I reach for a metal rod I found to prod the mound of fabric towards the back where it's hottest. I've already burned all the other combustible items, so this is the last of it, and I want to make sure the job is done thoroughly. I quickly transfer the few hardline items and the t-shirt from my last walk-through into another box with the other items that can be repurposed and take one last look at the burning mass. Satisfied that it's beyond recognition, I close the door and hoist up the box.
The drive to Jezebel's is uneventful. Marcus and another guardian I trade with, help me with the boxes and items that I've brought. The bigger items like the coffee pot and radio, will be sold on the black market once again. The box I carry is filled with kitchenware, things that belong to Jezebel's, so I bring it down and put it on the table.
"Hey stranger," Beth calls from across the room.
I turn to greet her, "Hey yourself."
She hugs me briefly. "I haven't seen you in like a month. You, okay?" she asks.
I nod, but there is no joy in it.
Her forehead furrows. She leans over and investigates the contents of the box. "Oh," she sighs, realizing what the items represent.
"Nick, I'm sorry," she says, her hands finding mine.
I put on my mask to hide the emotions that are so very close to the surface. "It's fine. She'll be safe. The baby will be safe. This is what I want," I say. Every word of this statement is true, it's also the most painful thing to admit.
She gives my hands a squeeze and turns towards the box. She digs through it for a second, then pulls out the light brown t-shirt. She looks at it for a second before handing it to me.
My hands shake as I take the garment, announcing the feelings I'm trying to suppress. "I need to go," I announce ability.
Beth doesn't fight me; she just gives me a look of understanding.
I flee the basement to the relative safety of the car before I let go. I growl and grind my teeth and pound the steering wheel with my fists until my muscles finally give out and I slump back against the seat. My eyes are filled with tears, but I grind them away with a fist. I lay my head back against the headrest and take a few deep breaths and my hand goes into the inside pocket of my coat. I let my fingers caress the sonogram picture I keep hidden there. I draw strength from it. It reminds me that none of this is about me, that I was just the means to an end. That this one acts out of thousands I've directly influenced since my first meeting at the Sons of Jacob years ago is for the greater good of someone not the detriment of them. Feeling a little more centered, I start the car and head for home.
The days and weeks that follow blur together in a montage of work and the screams and demands of our mistress. Rita takes the brunt of it, but now that June has moved on and my cover story has ended, I too am on the receiving end of her ire, only difference is she wouldn't dare strike me, for fear of losing a hand. Low status or not, I trump her in one regard, my gender. This all should bother me more, but I can't seem to muster up the indignance required. I instead traverse my days in a fog, my thoughts never far from June. I've tried several times to contact Mayday for information, I'd be happy for anything, just simply knowing she's okay, but it's radio silence. Nothing about June, nothing about Hannah. I make myself believe that if I knew for sure she was okay, then I could endure the separation, but deep down I know that's a lie. Truth is, June's been under my skin since the day she arrived in this house. I'll never be rid of her. I'll never be able to go back to being numb to the world I help create, she's changed me.
The Morning dawns bright and sunny as I drag myself out of bed and into the shower. I've just finished shaving when I hear someone at the front door. Grabbing a hand towel, I step out and open the door.
"Good morning, Rita," I offer, running the towel over the bottom half of my face.
"The hell it is," she grunts, stepping past me and into my apartment.
I sigh and close the door. "What's going on?" I ask, looking her over for new marks left by Mrs. Waterford.
"Oh, only that I was pulled out of bed at 4:30 this morning so I could meet up with the Martha's coming to "help" me today."
"Extra Martha's? What's happening?"
She shrugs and tosses her hands in the air. "That's the crazy thing, I have no idea. Mrs. Waterford handed me a menu and told me to get the house ready. I need you to go to All Flesh and Loaves to pick up orders on hold."
"Yeah, okay…that's fine. Anything else?" I ask, my head spinning in a million directions.
She scoffs, "I have no idea…apparently we aren't important enough to be informed about shit anymore."
"Hum…" I mumble, grinding the corner of my lips in my teeth as I think. "Smell's fishy," I mutter.
Rita crosses her arms over her chest and blows out a breath through her nose. "It sure does," she mumbles.
"Well, let's not give her highness a reason to bellow like a stuck pig. We'll know what's up soon enough, I say grabbing my coat from the back of a chair. We exit the apartment, and she heads inside while I head for the car.
The trip to the store gives me too much time to spin out over the sudden party the Waterfords are throwing. There is no time for me to get more information from my contacts, so I'm left in the dark, which does not set well with me. This could be delegates, a ladies' luncheon, or even a Commander's dinner, but the surprising nature of it that sets my teeth on edge.
When I arrive back at the house, I bring in the boxes of goods to the anxiously waiting Martha's. When I see Rita at the sink, I see that something is clearly wrong. She is pale and her face is drawn. I want talk to her but the bustling room full of ears isn't going to allow it. My teeth find the inner corner of my mouth again, I bite down until I taste blood.
Serena breezes into the kitchen, and gestures for me. I notice immediately that her demeanor is different from the past few months, she's almost chipper. "Nick, there is a champagne deliver out front, be a dear and bring it in," she chirps.
"Yes, ma'am," I say, and head for the front door. In the hallway, there are flower arrangements draped on the wall and in vases. This is definitely a party for women then. The box of bottles is on the stoop so gather them up and head for the kitchen, but I nearly drop them when I find what awaits me at the island. June. My steps falter, as shock rushes through me. What the hell are you doing here? I want to scream, but then I see her face, soft and happy to see me. My heart betrays my head, the fact is I'm damn happy to see her too.
I move into the breakfast room as if programmed, my brain short-circuiting as it tries to make sense of June sitting in this kitchen like she never left. I suddenly realize that is why Rita looked as she did, she saw her first.
Mrs. Waterford calls after me, "Nick, the guests are arriving soon. Can you make sure everything is ready?"
I can barely hear her over the rushing of blood in my ears. "Yes, ma'am" I agree automatically, setting the bottles on the table. When I turn back to the kitchen, June's eyes are on me, a peaceful look on her face. I head out the door, blinded by tears that cloud my vision.
Down the path to the driveway, I stop at the bottom of the stairs to lean against the stone wall to collect myself. Fuck, what went wrong? She should be eating poutine and drinking maple syrup with her husband right now, not wearing that damn red dress with Aunt Lydia attending her! I have the urge to jump in the car and drive straight to Jezebel's so I can get a message out to Mayday, but even as I consider the logistics of such a trip, two cars pull up. Guests are arriving.
I shove off the wall and make my way quickly to the first car to open the door. It's Mrs. Putnam, looking as sour as ever. "The gift is in the trunk, be careful with it!" she instructs with her usual sense of superiority. "Of course, Mrs. Putnam," I reply, closing the door behind her. I move around the trunk and pop it open. Nestled inside is a wooden wagon filled with a large stuffed elephant. I think I stop breathing as I stare at it.
"Everything alright?" Putnam's driver Alec asks, coming back to check on me.
It's enough to remind my body to breathe. I take a shaky breath and reach in to remove the gift. "Fine, just fine," I mumble, setting the wooden wheels delicately on the sidewalk.
"Let me go park and I'll give you hand. I'm sure there's more like this to come," Alec offers. I can form no words, so I just dip my head in agreement and move to the next car.
Alec is right, every guest who appears is a Wife bearing gifts…baby gifts. This party is a baby shower. A baby shower for June and I's baby. After all of the guests have arrived, Alec and I work to bring the gifts up to the parlor where the women sit in a circle of chairs drinking tea and eating elaborate finger foods. As I arrange the gifts on a table at the back of the room I spot June, flanked by the Aunt, sitting in the corner. Our eyes lock and I see the misery I'm feeling reflected on her face. Gone is the small slice of joy from earlier, in its place, the reality of our situation weights her shoulders down. I want nothing more than to hold her hand, let her know I feel it too, but too soon I'm called away to help in the kitchen.
I'm put on the task of uncorking champagne bottles and forced to listen to women coo over the baby the Waterford's plan on stealing. Rita comes in to change out an empty bottle for one I have just opened. Her hand goes to my shoulder, and she gives it a tight squeeze. "I'm sorry," she says under her breath. I look down at her and find warm brown eyes looking back. "Just keep an eye on June for me, please," I request. "Already on it," she tells me.
Soon the party is in full swing, and I find that I can station myself just outside the door without drawing the ire or notice of Mrs. Waterford. June seems to be doing okay, but I can tell she's zoned out to perverse her sanity. The conversation from the wives is a chorus of oooohs and ahhh's mixed with the general self-congratulations of the upper crust of Gilead.
Alec sidles up next to me. "Man, these hen parties are something hu?" he says casually.
I pull my gaze from June and attempt to focus on the man who's trying to engage with me. "Ah, yeah. Since you're stationed at the Putnam's I imagine you see more of this than the Waterford's do," I say distractedly.
Alec guffaws, "You could say that. I swear there is a meeting or party nearly every day. I don't get it, it's not like this district is that big. It's the same people over and over again," he complains. "This is the post I wish I had," he says.
He must see the confusion on my face. A post at the Putnam's is a fast track to promotion. Alec laughs. "Your handmaid alone is a reason to want to be posted here!"
I bristle. "Excuse me?"
"Oh, come on, if it's not one thing it's another with her. She's refused a stoning, her walking partner was a gender traitor, and the piece de resistance, she gets kidnapped! Life is anything but boring here, am I right?" he asks, his voice low.
What the fuck I this guy about? What is he after? Gossip? Doesn't matter, I don't know him, and I don't share shit with people that haven't been previously vetted. I decided on a non-committal shrug that he seems to take as my agreement, then turn my attention back to the room. The vibe amongst the guests seems to have shifted and June is look more irritated than zoned out. I tune in to the chatter. They're discussing the kidnapping.
"It's a shame you missed the baby's first trimester," Commander Cutter's wife Leah sighs.
"Ugh, I couldn't breathe until Angela's first kick," Naomi Putnam announces.
"Well, I think it's still too early for that," Serna dismisses.
June looks up, "I felt the baby kick for the first time last night." She announces matter-of-factly.
I can't resist the small smile that plays on my lips hearing this information.
The parlor full of women goes completely silent, and their eyes locked on June. You would've thought she just farted loudly or broke out in song, but I guess her well-placed baby info is agnate to that. I want to cheer for her as she politely rubs their noses in the fact that they will never feel the joy of a baby kicking their wombs. She's the perfect reminder that the babies she and other handmaids carry will never be truly theirs.
Naomi breaks the tension with a toast, but Serna's eyes don't flutter. She knows what June has done.
Alec elbows me in the side, "See what I mean, never boring," he says, nodding his head toward June.
I force down the smile and chuckle that desperately wants out. Oh, if he only knew.
As the sun sets the last of the guests depart, leaving only Aunt Lydia who has disappeared upstairs with June shortly after the party ended. I come in the front door from seeing Mrs. Putnam to her car, and head to the parlor to help with the cleanup. Rita's at the fireplace stoking a fresh fire. I notice the fresh wood pile is low. "I can bring in some more wood for you," I offer. Rita glances over her shoulder at me and I spot a large red and purple welt on her face. I bite the inside of my mouth to keep from screaming. I squat down next to her and lift her face to the light. "For fucks sake!" I growl. "I thought when I saw June that shit would stop," I sigh.
Rita shrugs. "She's more insecure than ever with June showing. It's just a reminder that it's not her," she states.
I run a gentle thumb over the growing bruise. "I'm so sorry," I whisper.
Rita just shakes it off and goes back to tending the fire. "Bruises heal," she dismisses.
I stare at her as she piles kindling onto the small flames. This isn't right. I can't stand by and watch abuse for no other reason than someone else's self-hatred. I will report this. I'm careful about what I give away to Pryce, it's a fine line between reporting on this family and making sure they continue to trust me. What I tell has to be more common knowledge so it's not linked to me in the Waterford's eyes. Sadly Rita's been walking around with bruises on her face for months now, so it shouldn't be too hard to make this stick. Others at the markets have seen her, including guardians I know will back my claims.
"I'll go get some wood then I'll help you clean up," I declare.
She just nods and continues with her work.
Outside the night has turned cool, despite the warmth we had in the afternoon. I head over to the woodpile and pull out the leather sling I use to haul in chords to the house. As I lay it out on the ground, I suddenly feel a wave of exhaustion topples over me. I lean back against the woodpile and pull my cigarettes from my pocket. Lighting one, I take in the nicotine greedily and let my eyes travel up to June's windows. Lights burn brightly behind the curtains, even in the bathroom. Lydia is still up there; she's been here all day Rita told me. I can't imagine what is it she is still needed, other than to mental abuse of June. A "reeducation" as they call it. It makes me want to go up there and push her out the window, but then I remember the windows only open a few inches for that very reason. I reluctantly pull my eyes from glowing rectangles and turn back to the project I'm out here to do. Within seconds the sling is full, and I stub out my cigarette, being sure to put the butt in my pocket. Smoking is a vise that Gilead silently allows, but it's officially banned, so smokers are ever present-minded to not leave a trace of their habit lying around.
Sling over my shoulder, I'm heading for the parlor with the load when I meet Aunt Lydia as she descends the back stairs. "Blessed Evening Guardian Blaine," she greets.
I bob my head, "Blessed Evening Aunt."
"Today was a lovely event, wouldn't you agree?" she asks following toward the front door.
A laughable thought, but I'm well-schooled in perfect Gilead manners. "Yes, it was. Being able to celebrate a new life is always a good day," I return.
She brightens. "Exactly, I just wish that stubborn girl could see that," she sighs. "Ah, but the feeling of jealousy to be expected I suppose."
Jealousy? You seriously think it's jealousy these women feel? Hatred, anger, burning rage, yeah, but jealousy? I remain silent, knowing it's not my place to comment on such things.
"My car should be here soon; would you help me with my case?" Lydia requests.
I glance over and note for the first time a large wooden case with a handle on top. I think it's a folding desk or something. "Yes, of course. Let me just bring this load of wood to the Martha," I say.
She just nods and goes to look out the sidelight next to the front door.
I bring the load of wood in and place it on the floor by the wood box. "I'll be right back," I tell Rita, noting she's started filling a tray with dirty dishes.
Out in the foyer, I take the large narrow box by the handle and head for the door. I wait for the Aunt to proceed me, then follow her down to the sidewalk. Her car hasn't yet arrived. She indicates that I can set the box down. "Thank you," she says.
"Glad to be of service," I return before heading for the front stairs.
"Guardian," Lydia calls out before I can escape.
I turn to her and come to attention, "Yes Aunt?"
She walks towards me, slowly, almost hesitantly. "I understand that you are a highly respected member of this staff, is that correct?" she asks.
Hu? "I wouldn't be so bold as to claim that Aunt, but I do relish serving Gilead," I lie.
She hums her acknowledgment. "Babies, they need quiet and peaceful environments to thrive," she starts, then stops clearly deciding on her next words. "This household can be…excitable, something I've been assured will calm down now that the baby has been returned from the horrid kidnapping, but it would put my mind at ease to hear from someone in the household without a stake in the game, sort speak. Do you think you would be able to put your loyalty to the Waterfords aside if you believed things were not safe for a child?" she asks.
So many things I want to say, so many that would get me on the wall and June in trouble. I bite at my already injured cheek. As an Aunt she is given room to use government assets, such as myself, to ensure children's futures. She can ask me to spy and there isn't a thing I can really do. I suppose I could report it, but as long as the request is reasonable, I'll expected to assist her. I suppose this does allow me to put June and the baby in the forefront of the right people's eyes, that isn't something to take lightly, but it's a double edge sword. If I were able to prove to the Aunt that the Waterfords are unfit parents, it would just put the baby and June in an unknown situation, one that isn't guaranteed to be better. It would also put them beyond my reach, my help, but it could also open up the possibility of getting her out again. It's a dangerous game for sure.
"The future generation must be the first priority of all those in Gilead," I return.
This seems to calm the Aunt. "Shall we meet once a week for an update then?" she asks.
A silver car pulls up and a driver gets out to load her bag.
"As you wish Aunt Lydia," I agree.
She smiles and pats me on the arm. "The admiration of your superiors does not seem misplaced. Thank you very much, Guardian Blaine."
"Under his Eye," I state as she climbs into the car.
"Under his Eye," She smiles and closes the door.
I watch the car until the taillights disappear. That was interesting. Lydia is worried about leaving a baby here, she should be, but this is an opportunity, but also a minefield. I'll reach out to Mayday with the information, and see what they think.
Back in the house, I return to the parlor to find the wood stowed away and every bit of evidence of the party removed. I head back to the kitchen. Plates and cups are stacked along the counter, and Rita's at the sink wash and humming to herself. I grab a fresh towel from the basket on the island and join her and the counter.
"I said I could help," I state taking a plate from the drying rack and rubbing the towel over it.
"The other Marthas did most of the cleanup, there isn't much left."
I place the dry plate on the counter and reach for another, but Rita's hand stops me. "Go see her. The missus is fast to sleep, and the Commander won't be home for another 30 minutes," she informs me.
I want to ask how she knows this, but time is of the essence. I place a kiss on her temple and rush up the stairs quietly.
I knock softly and wait. I hear the rustle of blankets then the door opens. The room is dark, lit only by the moonlight streaming in through the windows. Her hair is in loose waves, she's clad in her Gilead-issued white nightgown, the baby bump visible even in the dim room. Her arms go around my neck and I pull her tight against me, moving us into the room. I close the door with my foot and bury my nose in her hair. The bulge of the baby between us has grown in the few short weeks since I last saw her. For a long time, we say nothing, we just stand like this silently holding each other. I feel her lips against my neck. It's tender, not wanting. I pull back and kiss her softly.
"I'm sorry," she mumbles against my lips, and I realize now that she's crying. I withdraw my mouth from her, and up her face in my hand. When I lift her face to mine, I see the stains of her tears. I wipe them away with my thumb. "You have nothing to apologize for June," I beseech her.
"I should have stayed at the sign place, I shouldn't have made him take me," she sniffs.
I have no clue what she means, but I let her get it out. "I could have gone back to the Globe, I could have waited," she rants, though her voice is quiet.
A heavy breath leaves my chest. "What happened? Start at the being," I encourage.
She runs a hand under her nose and walks over to one of the window seats. I flow her, squatting down next to her as she sits. "The guy who dropped me off at the Globe, he showed up to get me that night after I last saw you. He loaded me into the truck just like he did the first time and drove me across town an old public works warehouse and said someone would be by to pick me up for the next leg of the trip. I wasn't there long, this guy showed up. Said he was going to take me to a safe house for the night and that I would leave by private plane from an airstrip west of Worcester. It was going to take me to Canada," she says, sniffing.
I place a hand on her knee and give it s squeeze of encouragement.
"We were about to leave when he got a message, the safe house wasn't safe anymore. He told me to wait. He begged me to wait," she says through the fresh tears, "but I forced him, I forced him to take me with him," she sobs.
I brush back a piece of hair from her face. "You can't force someone to do anything June, its not like you had a gun," I counter.
She just shakes her head and swallows hard. "He was just a bread delivery guy, ya know. He said he was stupid, but he was brave…he was brave," she mutters. She takes a long breath, then continues, "He and his family left for church, that morning, but when they didn't come back and it was late afternoon, I knew I needed to go. Either they were caught, or detained at a function, but I knew the pilot wouldn't wait, and I couldn't stay in their apartment until the next flight, we would be caught for sure. So, I dressed in the woman's econo clothes, grabbed the map, and left. There is only one airfield west of Worcester, and I lived in that area for a while, so I know the trains. I hid in a cornfield until the plane landed. It took some convincing to get the pilot to believe I was his pickup, but I got on the plane. I was on the damn plane," she says in a tone of wonder. "Then there were guardians, a half dozen of them shooting at us. They killed the pilot and took me back to the Red Center. I was there a couple of weeks I think, until Aunt Lydia and the Commander figure out how to explain what happened."
"Kidnapping," I state.
She nods. "I know I should have listened Nick, I know I should have…I'm sorry," she says, crying again.
"June…June, no, it's okay. I get it," I soothe. "There was no way to know if someone would have come back for you."
"I put our baby back in this damn place, be mad," she demands.
I laugh a little, "I am mad, but not at you," I return. "I'm just glad you're both safe," I say, placing a hand on the apex of her baby bump. "So, was it true, did you feel this one move?" I ask, gazing at her belly.
This earns me a smile. "Yes. Just a flutter, but it was there," she says, her hand finding mine on her stomach. A smile stretches across my lips as well. I bring my mouth close to her stomach, "Were you saying hello to your mama?" I ask the baby inside. A hand finds the back of my head, fingers lacing through my curls. I rest my ear on her stomach and pretend to listen. "She doesn't have anything to say," I tease, glancing up at June. She chuckles. "Stoic like her dad," she smiles.
The alarm on my watch chirps, breaking the mood. I grunt. "Fred will be home any minute, I need to go," I say, standing. June follows me to her door. "Maybe you can stay here, leave when they are both asleep," she says hopefully.
I groan and run a hand through my hair. "God June, I would love to do just that, but …" I trail off.
"But it's dangerous," she says softly.
A ragged breath leaves me. "Yeah…"
"I miss the Globe," she says, barely above a whisper.
"I never sleep well when you aren't next to me," I admit.
Her arms circle around my waist. "Me either. What if we never get that again?" she queries, sounding almost frightened.
I bite my lip. I want to tell her that we won't be apart forever, but I can't make her promises, not here. "Then we take full advantage of these moments," I counter.
"Well…that's not good enough, but it's reality, I guess."
I lean down and kiss her, letting my lips linger. Soon her tongue is pushing against mine and we're both breathless and her pelvis is pushing against mine. I pull away reluctantly. "I pretty sure do not have time for that," I groan.
"Damn it," she complains.
I put space between us. "I'm going to go, before you somehow change my mind…which you're really good at," I tease. "I'll see if I can find us some private time together somehow…soon," I offer.
"Ah, dating in Gilead," she laughs.
I like seeing I've been able to replace worry with a form of happiness on her face. I give her a peck and step out the door. "Sweet dreams."
"You too. Stay safe," she says, leaning against the door frame.
I head down the hall, pausing just long enough to look back at her door from the landing. She's still there, watching me go. She raises a hand in goodbye, then disappears when she closes her door. If I knew what was to come, I would have treasured this night, this moment more, because soon both of our worlds are about to be turned upside down.