Page 47 of Small Sacrifices

On Monday, Reid wakes up equal amounts apprehensive and excited. He's not sure why—whether it's because he'll have to see Mr. Wright again or because he'll get to meet Everett after work—but it's very difficult to eat breakfast. In the end, he packs more snacks than usual and hopes for the best.

He plays upbeat music in the car, hoping among all his feelings, happy anticipation will win out by the time he pulls into his parking spot. Unfortunately, it's the nervousness that ends up on top. At least he's early, so he can still do some breathing exercises in his car.

When he reaches the security checkpoint, he's startled to see Marisol.

Even with her head buried in her hands, he recognizes her by the baby pink blazer and the glint of her nails peeking through her dark hair.

Officer McNaulty stands awkwardly next to her, arm half-extended, as though she wants to offer comfort but isn't sure it's welcome.

Reid halts abruptly, the door crashing into his back as he steps into the room. The noise makes Marisol jump, intensifying the knot in his stomach.

Her makeup is impeccable. That's the first thing Reid notices.

She's been crying. There's still a wet sheen on her cheeks.

But her black eyeliner is sharp as ever, not smudged in the least. As is her lipstick—a sort of mauve-y purple that looks soft on her, but that Reid has always suspected might look a bit goth on someone with paler skin.

Not a hair on her body is out of place, and yet something seems wrong.

"Good morning," he says, because he has to start somewhere. "Is everything okay?"

Marisol bursts out giggling. Now, he's not too sure what that means, but he gets the feeling that it's not good. Just as he sneaks a look at Officer McNaulty, who has retreated into her usual corner and demonstratively shakes her head no with wide eyes, Marisol's giggle stretches out into a groan.

She tips her head back to knock it against the wall. "He fucking fired me." There's a smile on her face as she said it.

Reid doesn't know what to think of that . Is she happy? Is she in disbelief? Is she having an emotional breakdown?

"He what?" Reid asks.

He just has to make sure. Because it doesn't sound real. This is not something that happens. So early in the morning?

"He fired me. Just like that. Accused me of violating my NDA because apparently, someone contacted him for a comment on the surveyor or something? I couldn't quite take in new information at that point because he threatened to sue me."

"What?"

Another giggle bubbles up. "Yeah, that's what I thought.

I asked him if all his inappropriate touching fell under NDA too, and he actually fucking said—and I'm quoting here— well, none of that ever left this room.

Who's gonna believe you without witnesses?

Shame this is a two-party consent state, I'll have to look up if I'll be able to use that. "

That bastard. Reid has to close his eyes against the first burn of the anger surging through him.

It banishes all thought. All things considered, it's amazing how together Marisol is.

She almost seems amused. Still, Reid can't help but remember the glint of tears on her cheeks. He just has to check.

"Are you going to be alright?"

Marisol shrugs, her eyes weary. "Probably. I have my family and fiancé to back me up. If Monique even has a job after all of this. Do you think they know about us?"

Monique. Immediately, Reid feels stupid. Marisol is engaged to Monique. That makes so many things make sense it’s embarrassing. He should have known, right?

Telling her he didn’t realize might actually help right now, but Reid can’t find the right words among his jumbled thoughts. Marisol, ever focused, is already on to the next subject.

"I want to talk to you, though," she says. "Not now—I was supposed to be gone before you arrived, and I'd rather he didn't know you saw me. But can we meet up after work?"

There are so many things in those few words that Reid wants to ask about. Why was she supposed to leave before he arrived? Can't they maybe meet tomorrow? He knows, though, that as much as he wants to see Everett, this is more important.

"Yes, sure!" he says.

"Great!" And then Marisol is on her way, her heels click-clacking on the cement floor.

Reid can only stare after her numbly. It's a good thing that she doesn't look back. His face feels slack. He doesn't even want to know what emotion he could be projecting.

Whatever effort he makes to straighten himself up before he turns around to look at Officer McNaulty, it's not enough. The moment she sees his face, she snorts. And then, she apologizes.

"God, that poor girl. I knew the man was difficult, but I didn't know it was that bad." She massages her temples with furrowed brows. It's strange seeing her like this. Every other time he's seen her, she's been extremely put together and looked quite energetic.

He makes an affirmative noise to keep from revealing any possibly incriminating knowledge.

But then, when he tries to unclip his carabiner to show her his ID, the glint of a badge catches his eye.

It's affixed to her belt, half covered up by her blazer.

It sends a little shock through him, this reminder that the woman who just witnessed Marisol's outburst is an officer of the law.

"Are you going to tell anyone about this?" he asks before he's even really thought about it.

"Tell who about what?"

There's a sharpness to her voice that almost cuts. Reid digs his fingernails into the flesh of his palm to distract himself from the sting of her anger and breathes deeply. He just needs to explain himself better.

"Is this something you will report to your supervisor? The last time I talked to Marisol about this, she didn't want to tell anyone." Not that her reasoning applies anymore, Reid thinks. "Just... she'd probably want to know if someone's going to want to talk to her about this."

Officer McNaulty squints at him. But after a bit more cajoling, she takes Marisol's phone number from him and promises to call her first before she does anything.

On his way to the office, he tries to order his thoughts and breathe calmly.

It doesn’t work. Anger suffuses his mind like a heavy fog.

How dare he? First, Mr. Wright harasses Marisol and now, he just discards her without ever having to take accountability for his actions? Is that really what’s going to happen?

It takes a while for Reid to get himself back under control.

By that time, he has another question: What now?

Marisol was the last positive thing about this job.

How is he going to get through his days if he can’t even see her friendly face anymore?

And how is he going to live with himself, knowing he didn’t speak up?

He’s so preoccupied with thinking about this that he jumps about a foot into the air when someone behind him asks, "Excuse me, but do you know where I can find Marisol Contreras? She said to meet her here."

It's the voice of Clarice Coleman, soft but serious.

Reid turns around with a hand on his galloping heart.

She's standing next to the door of their office, as if she'd entered it and just leaned back against the wall to wait when she saw no one was here.

As always, she looks effortlessly elegant.

Today's silk scarf is crinkly and a deep teal, beautifully contrasting with the slim braids swishing just past her shoulders. Reid doesn't know what to tell her.

"Have you talked to Mr. Wright yet?" he asks.

She doesn't even have to say her answer out loud—the startled confusion on her face is clear. That gives him hope.

"If I understand correctly, she was just let go."

"What, why? What happened?"

Reid bites down on a smile. Not "What did she do?

" No immediate accusation. That has to be good.

Still, he doesn't want to say too much. If Mr. Wright was worried about Reid even seeing Marisol leave the building as he entered it, Reid doesn't want to hear him speculate about Marisol's dismissal if he were to enter the room right now.

"I don't know what I'm allowed to tell you."

Those words edge Ms. Coleman’s expression from slight confusion into downright alarm. "Allowed to tell me? What do you mean?"

Reid's throat clicks as he swallows. But they're still alone, so he continues. "I signed an NDA. I'm not sure what I'm allowed to say."

"Mr. Maxwell, I'm not a journalist. I'm not a friend you're gossiping to. I'm a member of this administration. If you signed the standard NDA that everyone signs, then there is nothing that happens as part of your job that you are not allowed to tell me."

The eye contact she makes is so intense that Reid immediately wants to turn away from it. But this is too important to be brushed aside just because she thinks he's being evasive, so he clenches his jaw and maintains it.

All of this would be so much easier if he could speak openly. But in this environment, that doesn't feel safe. He takes what he hopes is an inconspicuous step forward, lowers his voice, and gives her the bare bones.

"Ever since we found proof that the governor might have known something about the contamination at the school, Mr. Wright has been making things uncomfortable for Ms. Contreras. I believe he let her go so she couldn't file a complaint."

If Ms. Coleman feels any kind of way about what he just said, she doesn't show it on her face. "Uncomfortable? What does that mean?"

Ah. Well. Reid bites his lip. He doesn't want to betray Marisol's confidence, but he also really wants to answer that question. So he says: "She said not to tell you. I think she believes you wouldn't care."

And that makes her react. Reid watches a furrow form between her brows, sees her hands clench into fists just at the edge of his field of vision.

"I care," she says. "I definitely care."