Page 41 of The Client
“A man has been standing outside every day, watching the house.”
Eva says this with youthful innocence, as if we’re discussing which boy she finds cute at school, or how many new lambs were born in our uncle’s barn.
But her words make my blood run cold.
“What do you meana man has been watching the house?” I ask, my stomach dropping.
For a moment, static is the only answer. My cell phone doesn’t handle international calls well, and a lot of times I’ll end up dropping the call and then struggling to get her back on the line. I desperately hope that doesn’t happen before I can warn her. She might think this stranger is interesting, but he’sdangerous.
“...he smokes a lot, and he’s old, so this isn’t the first chapter of my romance novel. Uncle says he’s American, though, so maybe I should see if he has a younger son, just in case.”
“No, I don’t think you should, Eva. What did the man say when Uncle Julian talked to him? Did he cause any trouble?”
“No. But he was back again this morning, even though Uncle told him to stop coming around. I saw him when I was getting ready for school. Do you think he’s going to steal our chickens?”
My heart lurches painfully. If that’s the worst thing she can think of him doing, I want to keep it that way. Eva chatters on, but I’m only half-listening. Is this man some kind of insurance policy sent by Zoric to keep me in line and remind me of his threats against my family? As if I could possibly forget.
“Eva, please, whatever you do, stay away from him. Don’t talk to him, don’t look at him, and if you’re out walking by yourself and you see him on the street, run and hide. And make sure you tell Uncle Julian that the man is still hanging around.”
“Don’t worry, I already did. I think the police might get involved.”
Hearing that doesn’t comfort me at all. I can only imagine what might happen if Zoric’s enforcer is confronted by the police. He’ll either lie to them and then return to the farm later, taking care to hide himself better, or he could become violent.
A wave of panic washes over me. All I want to do is race home to my family and try to protect them. But I don’t have my passport, I don’t have the power to stop one of Zoric’s men, and I’m still indebted to Rhys. It doesn’t matter what I want. I have no control over my own life. Whatever happens to my family in Poland will happen without my intervention.
I can’t keep my sister safe.
Except I can. I just have to obey Zoric. Be a good girl. Keep my mouth shut. At least until I can figure out a way to break my contract.
In the meantime, I can’t let on that I think anything is wrong. Eva is under enough stress just dealing with her illness and getting through each day. I miss her so much it makes my chest hurt, and I wish more than anything that I was sitting with her now, in our aunt and uncle’s kitchen with its stone walls, the worn planks of the wood floor gleaming from daily scrubbing. The scent of bread permeating the air, lingering long after the morning loaves have been removed from the oven. Wildflowers gathered from the yard in a vase by the window.
“Tell me about school,” I say cheerily, wiping tears from my eyes.
Changing the subject will be good for both of us. She chatters on about her classes and her friends and how she had to miss an entire week because she was too tired after starting a new treatment to go to school. She insists she’s feeling better now, and I can’t tell from her tone if she’s lying or not. I’m going to believe that she’s telling me the truth because that’s easier for me than imagining her in pain. Being this far away, and not being able to help her will slowly kill me if I allow it. I have to remind myself that I’m doing this for her. One of these days, I will bring Eva here and everything will be fine.
“How about your modeling jobs?” she asks. “It sounds like things are picking up!”
The question makes me smile. She was so excited when I told her I was moving to America to be a fashion model like the ones she fawned over in her magazines. Recent issues ofVogue,Vanity Fair, andWare rare commodities in our small Polish town and sell out quickly when they do arrive. When I was Eva’s age, I spent hours poring over the glossy pictures too, daydreaming about someday being able to wear such beautiful clothes and expensive jewelry. Little did I know about the chains that come along with such luxuries.
“They are picking up,” I tell her, glad that I have some legitimate good news to share. “Big time. In fact, I have my very first national job in a few days. It’s for Cate Diamond, the handbag company. If you’re lucky, you might even find the ad that I model for in one of the fancy magazines you stockpile in your bedroom.”
She shrieks excitedly. “I’ll be able to tell all of my friends!”
“I’ll send you copies when the advertisement is released. It might be a while, so you’ll have to be patient.”
“I can be patient. I swear. Ooh, maybe you’ll get to be on a billboard!”
It makes me happy that she’s so excited. I wish I could feel the same. I used to, before I knew the truth about this industry and the nightmare that many immigrant models get themselves into. I don’t let my thoughts wander beyond that, because if I do, I won’t be able to keep the bitterness from my voice.
“What else is going on?” she asks. “There must be more. I mean, you’ve been so busy.”
“Just work,” I say, panic making my voice pitch higher. “Just a lot of work.”
There’s a pause, and then, “Justwork? Are you sure?”
“Of course! You know how it is. I’m trying so hard to make it, I have to be available all the time for whatever comes my way. And the shoots have such long hours and…you know.”
“Do you have a boyfriend?” Her innocent voice takes on a singsong quality.
