Font Size
Line Height

Page 1 of Small Sacrifices

Reid has another forty minutes until he's late for work and traffic is already slowing to a complete standstill for the second time.

Even the death grip he has on the steering wheel doesn't lessen his urge to scream as he stops almost bumper to bumper with a sleek Mercedes that he definitely cannot afford to scratch.

Traffic during the morning commute sucks no matter where you are, but Reid's never seen anything as bad as Sacramento.

In front of him, the Mercedes inches forward.

Reid resists the urge to blare his horn.

Being five minutes late for a government job is a completely different beast to five minutes late to a university lecture.

He turns on the radio to distract himself. Can't road rage if he's thinking about whatever's on the news, right? Wrong. Reid only catches the tail end of the radio show he usually listens to on his morning commute—but it's enough.

"We all know it's innocent until proven guilty," says the female host with a sigh. "But this sure doesn't look good."

Her male counterpart chuckles. "I don't envy the folks in the governor's office. What a start to the week! Well, let's hope the rest of our listeners have it easier. To get you pumped up for the day, here we have…"

The rest of it fades into the background as Reid sits there, trying desperately to focus on the road.

The governor's office.

None of what they had just said sounded good, but Reid likes it even less because he doesn't know what to be nervous about. Just as he realizes it's now even more important for him to get to the office on time, the car in front of him stops again. This time, he does scream.

As Reid navigates his trusty little Toyota through the start-and-stop of Sacramento traffic, he tries to tune into different radio stations. Maybe they'll tell him more. Then, at least, he's not wasting the time it takes him to get to the office.

He only gets snippets. Something about an elementary school and sick children? At least, Reid thinks so. That particular host screams more than he talks, so he's difficult to follow. Not that his guest is any less alarming.

"I don't know how Governor Mackenzie can come back from this. Careers have ended over far less—and this is California! If he has any sense, he'll resign with some semblance of dignity while he still can," she says and clicks her tongue.

Reid doesn't bother to figure out what her deal is. He's too busy riding the high of arriving with ten minutes to spare. And by the time he's finished parking, his radio is playing a local interest story on puppy yoga.

In the resulting silence, Reid takes a deep breath.

He'll just have to find out what they're all talking about once he gets to his laptop.

Whatever it is, they're likely blowing it out of proportion for ratings.

The governor has to frequently fight off smear campaigns.

That's part of why Reid was so excited about starting this job.

Resolving to stop thinking about it doesn't manage to stop his thoughts from circling, though. As Reid waits in the unusually long line for the security check at the employee entrance, his mind keeps coming up with different things that could've gotten people in such a tizzy.

When it's his turn, he's still so distracted that at first, feeling only the lint in the bottom of his pocket doesn't faze him.

But then, he doesn't find the cool plastic of his employee ID in his other pocket, either.

The security officer on duty, Officer McNaulty, looks deeply unimpressed as she gestures for Reid to step up to a little table in the corner of the drab room.

He feels his palms grow clammy as he follows her order.

Looking in and even completely overturning his bag doesn't produce the ID either. By this point, Officer McNaulty has her arms crossed in front of her body and is looking at Reid with an air of tired annoyance. His heart starts pounding just looking at everyone standing in line behind him. He’s wasting so many people’s time.

Reid has to clear his throat twice before he can speak. "Could you look at another form of ID, just this once?"

It turns out that the only thing worse than not having his employee ID is asking to be let in without it. Officer McNaulty's nostrils flare.

"Certainly not," she says. "Why should I risk my job for you? You could be anyone."

That's not good.

Reid's throat tightens, his mouth suddenly dry. "I have my driver's license and my regular ID with me. I can give you my fingerprints. Please, I… I only just got this job."

"Then maybe you should work harder to keep it," McNaulty says, one eyebrow raised.

She looks severe, but not in a mean way. Just deeply professional. Her hair is meticulously slicked back, tidy in a way that Reid's own riot of curls will never be. Her dark gray suit fits her well but is loose enough that she can still move. Presumably to tackle people—just hopefully not him.

Reid bites down on the response that he is working hard, thank you very much.

This ID system is just outdated nonsense and difficult for him to get used to.

They're not even allowed to keep the badge on a lanyard because apparently that would look unprofessional.

Reid likes lanyards. They keep everything conveniently in view and at hand.

"I know I shouldn't forget my ID," Reid says, softening his tone, "and I'll figure out a way to make sure I don't in the future. But is there any chance I could get in today, just this once?"

The officer's eyes narrow into slits. "You're a weird one. Mr. Maxwell, is it? I remember your glasses."

Oh, thank God. Relief rushes through Reid. The tension that's been coiling tighter in his stomach finally eases. "Yes, that's me. I'm an aide in the Department of Public Relations under Trevon Wright."

A shadow of sympathy flashes across the officer's face. "Mr. Wright'll be busy today, won't he?"

"Probably." If only Reid knew why. What does it mean that the security personnel know?

There's a deep sigh, and then Officer McNaulty extends her hand towards him. "Show me your driver's license, then. Just this once."

Once the officer has turned the license this way and that way, making sure that all the holographic bits do indeed sparkle, she gives him a stern look. "This was a one-time thing. Understand?"

Reid nods so enthusiastically that a curl falls behind his glasses, and he has to fish it out again. "Of course. Thank you so much!" Then he hesitates. Is he supposed to say something else, do something else?

The sound of a throat being cleared rips him out of his thoughts. He realizes he's been staring at empty air. The look the security officer throws his way is almost one of concern. "You may want to get to your office. If there's damage control to do, normal working hours don't exist anymore."

"Yes, thank you," Reid says. His voice is breathless with relief. An instruction! Instructions are always good. He gives her what he hopes looks like a thankful smile before he walks past her.

Officer McNaulty scoffs after him. "Don't let it happen again!"

Reid silently vows it won't. His determination grows stronger with every step he takes. The corridors are bustling. People are hurrying between rooms, some with their laptops in hand, some carrying large coffee orders.

It gets even worse when Reid enters the open-plan office he works in.

The space has never been quiet in the short while Reid has known it, but today it's particularly bad.

The hum of conversation is so loud that Reid wants to turn right back around.

How is he even supposed to hear himself think in these conditions?

There are people everywhere, cruelly lit up by ever-efficient LED panels in the dropped ceiling.

They're huddled in little groups around low desks, leaning against gray walls, talking, laughing, and drinking coffee.

Yet despite the laughter, the atmosphere is so brittle that Reid feels weird moving in it.

Not that he has much choice as soon as Marisol spots him and waves him over. Reid takes a deep breath. It'll be fine. Even if he doesn't know the other woman standing at her desk, he knows Marisol. They're desk neighbors, and she took him under her wing as soon as she laid eyes on him.

It's not so nice when Marisol's first words after introducing their colleague as "Monique from city planning" are: "Can you believe this shit? As if the governor could ever be bought by Agrifarm! I mean, who even are they? Knowingly exposing children to pesticides, my ass."

Suddenly, Reid has to fight to keep standing on weak knees. It's not that he doesn't appreciate the sentiment, but… Agrifarm. That pesticide conglomerate? So far as missing pieces go, that's not a good one. And it's still only one.

"I'm sorry, what happened?" he asks, his voice hushed.

Marisol reels back. "How the hell do you not know? It was all across the news yesterday!"

It doesn't satisfy her to hear that Reid generally doesn't look at the news on weekends. She looks aghast, one of her manicured eyebrows raised high enough to disappear into the springy curls covering her forehead. Next to her, Monique scoffs.

"And you work in the Department of Public Relations? How?"

That earns her a tut and an elbow to the ribs from Marisol, but she doesn't seem apologetic. Reid feels his stomach turn sour. He's just trying to protect his peace and curtail his anxiety. But clearly, that's led him to be unprepared for work today. The judgment makes his ears burn.

"The New York Times published a hit piece," Marisol says just as Mr. Wright slams open the door to the office and every conversation around them suddenly ceases.

They watch the man make large strides across the room without looking at anyone and then close the door to his adjoining personal office with only slightly less force. People immediately start talking again.

"You know how the governor is from Chesterton?

The children at the elementary school there keep getting sick, and have been for a while now.

Really nasty stuff. So they did tests that showed pesticides in the soil.

" With an uncomfortable look at Mr. Wright’s door, Marisol shifts in her office chair.

It creaks. "Turns out that land was donated by Agrifarm, and the governor was the one who decided they should build a school on it. I bet he regrets that now."

Reid doesn't need her to complete the sentence. Pesticides in the soil on land donated by a manufacturer of pesticides can have only one conclusion. All of a sudden, he feels lightheaded.

"Has the governor responded yet?"

Before Marisol can answer, Mr. Wright rips open his office door.

"Listen up, people!" His voice booms so loudly Reid can feel it vibrate in his chest. "I'll say it one time only: Keep your mouths shut.

If anyone asks, Governor Mackenzie isn't ready to give a statement without having a full understanding of the situation.

That's the only thing you tell anyone. You don't defend him, you don't apologize, you don't say jack if you wanna keep your job. Hear me?"

There are nods and murmurs all around the room.

Mr. Wright frowns, nods once, and then seals himself in his office again.

All around him, Reid can see his colleagues jump at the sound of the door being slammed.

In a rare turn of events, he himself is too distracted to startle.

His thoughts are circling wildly, but he keeps returning to one point.

They're in the PR department. And that order doesn't sound like it's part of a complete strategy. This is going to be an interesting day.