Page 24 of Small Sacrifices

"They'll make the time. This is important to them."

Now, the last part of that sentence is true. But Reid isn't so sure about the first one. These aren't lawyers and people in upper management positions who have flexible working hours and can work from home. They're grocery store clerks, food service workers, roofers. That's why it took so long for someone to listen to them. There's a good chance that their bosses and supervisors won't give them time off to speak to the governor.

Come to think of it—Ms. Greene is a teacher, and yesterday, she was in the hospital with her son. But classes are still ongoing, as far as Reid knows. Why wasn't she at school? Did she quit her job? Reid should know this, if only to assess how big a risk it would be to put her not only in a room with the governor, but also directly in front of a camera. But then again, maybe he's overthinking it.

"So twelve would be enough?" he asks, just to be sure.

"Twelve would be plenty," Mr. Wright says. "And you still have the rest of the day. Just hand in the profiles before midnight. The security officers are going to be doing their security checks tomorrow."

"Profiles?" Reid almost squeaks the word. He's never heard anything about profiles. What is that supposed to be? This isn't good.

"Oh, come on. I told you about the profiles."

"I don't think I remember that," Reid says. It's a much more diplomatic answer than Mr. Wright deserves, but he still doesn't appear to be happy with it. At the very least, he looks deeply unimpressed.

"Well, good thing you came so early, then, ain't it?"

Reid forces himself to keep a neutral expression. He's supposed to write fourteen profiles for parents who might attend—or for all of them if more show up? And what exactly is a profile supposed to include?

"Of course," Reid says. He has to press his fingers together to stop himself from moving his hands. "Would you kindly remind me of the criteria for these profiles?"

Mr. Wright does so with an air of smug generosity about him. "And remember to provide sources for any claims."

Reid's ears are ringing. This… no. This doesn't seem at all like it would be Reid's job. Find out whether any of the parents would attend? Sure. Flag it if he finds out that one of them has extreme political leanings and could be a threat? Absolutely. He'll even do that for intense emotional states if he's able to recognize any of those. Butthis?This seems like it would only be a job for a public relations intern if everyone employed in the governor's security detail was incapacitated and the other, more experienced PR people were busy putting out some other fire.

"Would it not be the task of the PPOs to research if any of those parents pose a threat?"

The smile on Mr. Wright's face is close-mouthed, but Reid still gets the impression that he’s being shown teeth. "Of course. And they'll do it based on your profiles. I told them you'd make those."

Fuck. Reid's hands feel numb all of a sudden. That's not good. "Me personally?" he asks, as though he's lucky enough to get a negative answer.

"You personally."

Fuck.This is overwhelming. Especially given that Mr. Wright wants not just basic details but also medical information about the children that the parents shared—information Reid has only handwritten, without sources.

"So, fourteen profiles then? For everyone who's responded positively or ambiguously?" Reid asks, realizing he might have to prove that Mr. Wright never mentioned this task if he needs to. He needs to narrow it down. Fourteen profiles are already too many. He'll have to eat at his desk again.

"Didn't you just tell me you contacted a bunch more people who haven't responded yet? What if any of them decide to turn up?"

"Won't there be security present?" Reid asks, trying to buy some time.

Mr. Wright chuckles. "Of course, security will be present. But don't you want them to know who they should focus on so that the governor will remain safe? This is a contentious issue, after all. They blame him for their children being sick."

Somehow, this seems off. Even if the officers of the security detail do that kind of research before letting the governor meet with the parents of elementary school children, sick or not, should they not do it themselves? What if Reid misses something? He isn't trained in these sorts of things. That's dangerous, and he says as much.

"Well, then, be diligent. Wouldn't want anyone to get hurt," Mr. Wright says.

For no reason in particular, Reid gets the impression that Mr. Wright is far more likely to get hurt than the governor. Yes, the governor has political enemies. But he's usually far away from them. Reid can't imagine that no one has ever seriously considered harming Mr. Wright—and his colleagues have daily access to him.

"Alright. What email address do you need me to send this to?"

"Oh, just send it to me. I'll forward it." Why is Mr. Wright smiling? Reid feels like he shouldn't be smiling. But maybe he's biased because he’s miserable right now. Other people can still have a good time even when he's already falling apart over the workload piled in front of him like a mountain. He knows this.

"I'm sorry, but it'll take me quite a long time to finish this today. Perhaps you could—"

"No, that's alright. Just send them over when you're finished. I'll forward them."

This isn't right. That's the only thing Reid can think about when he leaves the room and hurries back to his desk. The thought is just on repeat. It's not right. Definitely not. It can't be. But why? The question makes Reid draw a blank. His mind is empty except for this one impression, this perception of wrongness.

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