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The soles of his shoes sink into the mattress and Nick hopes Rita doesn’t walk by; she’ll scold him for standing on the freshly washed and pressed linens. He reaches up and loosens the last screw holding the light fixture to the ceiling. He catches it against his chest and studies the blank space it leaves behind. The Waterfords will want him to find spackle and fill in the holes, pretend like it was never there and he never had to tear a sheet from it and flop down on the bed next to a limp body.
Nick’s feet land on the floor. He smoothes the wrinkles in the bedspread, nudges the bed back against the wall with his thigh. He carries the light fixture and tool box into the hallway and stops short as Serena Joy appears. “Mrs. Waterford,” he says with a nod.
She peers into the room over his shoulder. “Please patch up the ceiling, Nick.”
x
Nick reaches for the coffee pot and Rita tells him, “There is none. I didn’t have time to shop yesterday.”
Serena Joy stands up from the table, abandoning her empty bowl and glass there. “The new one arrives today,” she says. “Things will go back to normal.”
The new one. A replacement. Nick knows the Waterfords are hoping for an upgrade.
He isn’t the type to pray but Nick bows his head, closes his eyes.
x
The staff is supposed to be lined up in the parlor when the new handmaid arrives. It’s a misleading show – another one of their rituals – that makes it seem like the young woman is being welcomed into a home where she can expect to be valued for more than her working reproductive system. As if she will be tended to with care. Waited on hand and foot. It looks like a show of solidarity, but everyone has their individual place within the walls.
Nick takes his place next to Rita. He looks at the way her hands wring the front of her apron. His elbow pokes her arm. When she looks at him he smiles his assurance. They are both uneasy, both afraid of the past repeating itself.
He wants to ask Rita what they should do differently. He was as nice to Offred as he could be without breaking any rules. He wonders if Rita will be different this time around, if she will gripe less around the new girl. If she’ll ask her what she likes to eat before she prepares a meal for her.
The shrill ring of the doorbell makes Nick straighten his spine, square his shoulders, prepares to be presented. He hears the voices, the polite tones, of an aunt and Serena Joy. A door closes. Footsteps.
“Nick, Rita,” Serena Joy says, stepping into the doorframe. “I’d like you to welcome Offred.”
The girl is a short, slight figure draped in red. Nick looks at the top of her head – the stark white wings she wears over her bonnet. She lifts her head slowly and reveals her face inch by inch. Pale chin. Plump, chapped lips. The slope of her nose. And, finally, piercing blue eyes.
The corners of Nick’s mouth twitch into an almost-smile.
x
The first two days she’s in the house he doesn’t see her much. Once from the window of his apartment when Offred leaves to go shopping, but she’s a blur of red and white. Again when he’s pulling into the driveway but she doesn’t turn around. Nick isn’t even sure of the exact color of her hair, and when he thinks about that he scolds himself – he shouldn’t know, shouldn’t care. It doesn’t matter.
x
He is in the kitchen when Offred hands over groceries to Rita. Her wings are sitting on the counter and Nick can see a tendril of blonde hair that has come loose from her bonnet. She glances over her shoulder and catches him staring. Her eyes narrow, the bridge of her nose wrinkles.
He looks away sharply, finding a random spot on the wall to pretend to investigate.
“Blessed day,” Offred says before she exits the kitchen, and there’s a lilt in her voice he hasn’t heard before.
Nick shakes his head. He’s not supposed to feel anything, and he’s mostly done a good job of being numb. Stoic. But there is a flutter in his chest he can’t ignore, a sensation from long ago that would happen when he’d get in line behind a pretty girl at the grocery store or make eye contact with a woman at the other end of the bar.
x
The Offred that came before never drew the shade. She kept the light out of the bedroom, never stood and looked at the outside.
Nick notices the shade is usually up now, and sometimes the window is open as far as it will go – just enough that she can reach her arm out up to her elbow, if she wants.
He sits on the top step, outside his door. It puts her window directly in his line of sight. Nick feels a twinge of something – embarrassment, maybe? – and worries Offred will think he’s staring. Invading her space. Being a creep, as they used to say.
But the first time he allows himself to look straight at the window he sees her face behind the glass, already looking at him. Offred doesn’t smile or wave. She leans her forehead against the window, tilting closer to him.
x
Commander Price requests a meeting and Nick drives there under the guise of delivering hand-picked flowers for his wife from Mrs. Waterford. There is a small card attached to the bouquet with the drawing of a mug with the tag of a tea bag hanging over the rim – a wordless get well soon card.
The Commander wants to know if Nick has heard of a secret resistance forming in Gilead.
Nick clears his throat. “There are rumors, sir.”
“I’ve heard they’re calling it Mayday.” The Commander rolls his eyes. “Keep your ears open, son. We need to dismantle this quickly.”
x
The car rolls to a stop at a red light. Nick lifts his gaze to the mirror and looks at Offred reflected there. He catches her smiling sometimes – not at him, not at anyone. At a memory. He tries to guess what inspires that look on her face – the tremble of her chin, the glassy eyes, the slight smile. He wonders what story is playing out behind her eyes.
x
They have jokes now. She teases him about tuna. They share glances and eye rolls when Rita mutters under her breath about spills on the counter or having to bake an extra cake for Mrs. Waterford to take to someone’s house. Nick doesn’t have a name for it, for what they are – friends doesn’t seem right – but he knows its trouble.
He knows when the bells chime for the ceremony and he has to swallow against a wave of nausea.
He takes his place next to Rita, behind Offred, like he is supposed to. But he doesn’t fold his hands. He clenches them into fists.
x
Nick is jolted awake by the sound of Offred screaming. He throws the blankets to the side and scrambles out of the bed, stopping when he realizes it was a nightmare. A memory of the last time he drove her, when she cried and screamed and banged against the glass partition and there was nothing he could do to soothe her pain.
He walks outside and looks toward Offred’s window. Nick’s lips part. He wants to say something, to scream, he feels it lodged in the back of his throat.
x
His ongoing assignment is to gather information on Mayday and report back to Commander Price, but Nick has been hoarding data. He has yet to expose a single suspected member of the resistance. A Martha at Jezebel’s traded info for cigarettes – a guardian stationed at a checkpoint near the outdoor market was recruited by Canadian rebels to assist in getting would-be refugees across the border – but he has kept the information to himself.
Nick drives toward the market and waits in a procession of vehicles. He scans the faces of the men holding guns and checking credentials, wondering if he can spot a double agent.
He finds a way to awkwardly work Mayday into small talk when he hands over his ID. “It’s cold today. Makes you want one of those warm May days.”
It takes three trips through the market before someone reacts.
“Praised be,” a young guardian responds. “Unlock the back door, please.”
Nick does.
The tall, well-mannered man opens the door and leans into the car, lifting the lid on a box. He whispers, “I left something for you,” as he steps away from the car.
Nick drives away, gaining speed as the guard and the market recede in the rearview mirror. He parks lopsided in the driveway and bursts out of the car, opening the back door. He finds a business card in the box for a defunct law firm. The address is underlined and on the blank side of the card is written a date and time.
x
The kitchen smells like a Sunday morning when his mom would get up early to cook breakfast for the family. Nick stands in the doorway, breathing in the aroma of coffee and syrup, holding it in his lungs. He approaches Offred where she sits on one side of the island. She is staring at a piece of dry toast and a plate of sliced fruit.
Nick wants to tell her about the meeting he attended, but he doesn’t want to dangle hope in front of Offred’s face if it’s only going to give way to more sorrow. If it’s only going to end with him hanging from the wall. He can’t tell her he’s thinking about betraying his role as an Eye. He can’t confess how often she appears in his dreams, how many times he’s plotted a way to kiss her without being caught.
Nick snatches an apple slice and earns a smile from Offred. It doesn’t last long – she goes back to staring at the bread. But he memorizes what a flash of joy does to her face, the way her eyes brighten. He carries it with him, hoping he can see it again and again.