Page 106 of Total Exposure

I whirl around and stare at the hallway leading to the grand foyer.

It’s the doorbell, I realize.

I travel the hallway on tiptoe—which is stupid because I’m barefoot and still in my nightgown—and peek around the corner like a child who is supposed to be in bed. There’s someone on the other side of the wavy, leaded glass in the front door.

The bell rings again, so I tiptoe closer.

I’m almost certain whoever is on the other side can see me, so I take a deep breath, clutch my silk robe around my body, and open it.

“Evangeline Rolaine?” the man asks. He’s wearing the tidy blue uniform suit of a well-known local delivery service.

“That’s me,” I say, surprised I have a voice. Surprised I even opened the door, now that I think about it. I’m very exposed. No scarf, no gloves, no hat, no sunglasses.

“Sign here, please,” he says, thrusting a tablet at me. I sign with my finger, then hand it back as another man comes up the front walkway with several large packages.

“Would you like us to bring them inside?” the first man asks.

I nod, trying to understand what’s happening, and then move out of the way so they can enter the foyer. “Here is fine,” I say, pointing to the exquisitely upholstered bench under the mirror. “And I’m sorry, but I don’t have my purse—“

“No need,” the second man says, arranging the packages neatly on and around the bench. He smiles at me. “The tip has already been taken care of.”

“Who’s this from?” I ask.

The first man says, “There’s a card, ma’am. Do you need anything from us?”

“What would I need?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“We were instructed to ask if you required anything, ma’am.”

“No, thank you,” I say. “I’m good.”

They both bow their heads at me as they back out, closing the front door behind them.

How strange.

I walk over to the packages. There’s about half a dozen, each with a small card attached to the bow, and each card has a number on it. One through six.

They are all different sizes. One is the size of a large shoebox, three are the size of my hand, one is very large—at least three feet long and very wide—like it contains a whole other world under that paper and ribbon. The last one is very thin and flat. And they are all wrapped up in matte black paper, adorned with yards of golden fabric ribbon, and each has an elaborate golden bow.

One—the largest box—has a regular-sized card attached to it as well as the smaller one with the number.

I pluck the card off the paper—it comes off easily, like special care was taken so the paper wouldn’t rip—and open it up.

Dear Evangeline,

Today is the day you break free. Don’t be afraid of going after what you want. You deserve the world and the world deserves you.

Unwrap the packages numbered one through four. Don’t open the last two. Those are for later.

I won’t be watching today. A car will come to collect you at exactly eleven thirty. You will be dropped off, you will go inside and satisfy your curiosity however you see fit, and then you will return home in the same car.

Ix

I’m holding my breath. I don’t realize it until I let it out in a gush of air and feel a little dizzy.

Alone. I am to go out today alone. Is it much different than yesterday when I left here without instructions?

Yes, it’s very different. I don’t know why, but it is. And for a few seconds I allow my heart to beat fast. I allow the sweat to form on my brow. I allow my hands to shake and my legs to tremble.