Free Escape from Eden by Elisa Nader Page B

me, asking for the sketchbook. “He doesn’t need to know about this, Bridgette,” she said as I handed her the sketchbook. “We’re getting rid of it, no harm done.” She snagged her apron off the hook on the wall and wrapped the book in it. “And besides, Mia isn’t the only one hiding something around here, is she?”
    Bridgette scowled, clutching at her neck, where beneath her nightshirt she wore a silver dog-tag style necklace engraved with Romans 13:13. “This necklace was sanctioned by the Reverend,” she said.
    “I wasn’t talking about that, Bridgette.” And Juanita left it at that.
    By the time we got to the heap, the sky was lightening in the east, a pale dusty gray. Juanita, her mass of curls pulled away from her face in a tie, held my sketchbook inside her apron under one arm. Her hands were shoved into her uniform dress’s pockets.
    We stood at the edge of a smoldering mound of trash, tiny wisps of smoke curling up and away, as if trying to escape the rotting stink of the heap. Lights were still on, even as the morning brightened, casting stark shadows in the piles around us.
    Juanita pulled my sketchbook from under her arm and stared at the black cover. “How long have you had this?” she asked.
    “I’ve always had it, Juanita,” I said. “I smuggled it into Edenton when I came.”
    “I don’t understand what you need it for.”
    “It’s where I draw, write. It’s where I put my thoughts and memories. It reminds me of who I am.”
    “Who you were,” she corrected.
    My gut clenched. I didn’t like to think of the younger me as the better, freer, happier me. Weren’t things supposed to improve as you got older? You grow into yourself, understand who you are?
    She turned away and walked toward the recycling bins. Grabbing a cardboard cereal box, she tossed it onto the smoldering pile. Flames began to lick up the sides, black smoke swirling into the air. She handed me the sketchbook.
    I glanced again at the flames. They ate away at the box. The thought of my sketchbook eaten by fire made me weak with disgust.
    “Hide it,” Juanita said, watching the flames.
    “What?”
    “Hide your book. Hide it someplace Bridgette and Dina won’t find it.” Her brown eyes met mine. Sadness edged her gaze. “I know you wonder about your father. I wonder about mine, too. The only difference is that I never knew my dad. But if I did, I would never forget him and I would do everything I could to hold on to those memories. Octavio—” Her voice hitched. “Octavio and I used to talk about what our fathers were like. He never met his either. His father died right after he was born.” She looked up into the pinking sky. “Anyway, they’re together now.”
    After a moment of watching the golden clouds move across the sky, she turned away and walked toward the entrance to the heap. Then she stopped and turned around. “Bridgette is right about Gabriel. If the Reverend knew you were interested in him, you’d get in a lot of trouble.”
    “I know.”
    “You’re not betrothed to anyone anymore, true.” She said the words without pause. “But Gabriel may already have been chosen for someone else.”
    I nodded. “I understand, Juanita.”
    “Good. I’ll cover for you at breakfast prep. Go hide your book now.”
    “Thank you,” I called to her.
    The relief lasted until I arrived at the kitchen twenty minutes later. Bridgette glared at me as I pushed my way through the door and hustled over to my station. When no one was looking, I slipped my chef’s knife from my apron pocket and placed it quietly on the magnetic strip.
    Bridgette narrowed her eyes at me but didn’t say a word.
    “Mia,” Agatha snapped. “You’re on dining hall duty. Go set up.”
    “But what about the fruit?” I asked, nodding my head toward the box of mangos on the counter.
    “Mia,” she spoke through clenched teeth.
    Pushing the box aside, I left, shoving my way through the kitchen doors with too much force. They