She leads me through the living room and into the kitchen. The first thing I notice is how clean the house is. Everything looks like it has been placed there on purpose, not a stray book or tissue in sight.
“Nice house,” I tell her, sitting on a stool Natalie has pulled out for me.
“Thanks.” She steps into the pantry, pointing above her head as she steps through. I look up and read the words as she recites them. “This house runs on love and Jesus. If the sign says it, then it must be true.” Sarcasm stains her tone.
Natalie backs out of the pantry holding sandwich cookies, the kind where one side is vanilla and the other chocolate. “These okay?” she asks.
The truth is, I’d eat them even if they were covered in moth dust. My mom never buys cookies like that. She’s always on a diet, and the cookies she buys taste like cardboard.
“Uh huh,” I nod, fighting the urge to grab them from her hand and eat them Cookie Monster style.
“Let’s go out back. It’s nice out.” Natalie picks up her backpack from the kitchen floor where she dropped it and passes me. Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I follow her lead to a sliding glass door. Her arms are full, so I reach out and open it for her.
“Leave it open,” she tells me. “The house needs some fresh air.”
We settle at the table on the patio, both of us tossing our backpacks on top and digging through them for our stuff.
“I brought my laptop,” I tell her, sliding the silver computer from my bag.
“Lucky,” Natalie says. “We have one computer, and it belongs to the family.”
In the next forty-five minutes, I learn two things about Natalie: she’s way more creative than me, and her tongue pokes out of the side of her mouth when she’s focusing.
“I think we’re almost there,” Natalie says, tapping the end of her pen against the table.
“We just have to—” I stop short when I hear voices.
“I don’t understand why you do that. You knew I was having a luncheon for the staff today. This is the kind of shit you pull.”
The voice is coming from inside Natalie’s house. I look at her, but she’s looking away, her eyes squeezed shut. Her mouth moves, but there is no sound.Please don’t do this right now,she says, the silent words overflowing with her plea.
“Me?” A second voice, this one screeching.Natalie’s mom?“I went to the church to bring you lunch. I’m sorry for being a good wife.”
“I’m going to go,” I tell Natalie, moving to stand. She opens her eyes and looks at me, her expression unfathomable. The voices inside continue, growing louder and more fierce. I shove my stuff in my backpack and hope there’s a side gate I can sneak out of. I don’t want to walk in on whatever is happening inside Natalie’s house.
Our heads turn at the sound of a loud crash, then two slammed doors.
“I’ll walk you out,” Natalie whispers. Her face is redder than my ears on our walk here.
Pointing inside, I say, “I don’t know about going in there right now.”
“Don’t worry. She’s in her bedroom. He’s in his office.”
So this is normal? It happens often enough that a pattern has developed? I follow Natalie through the house, retracing our steps from an hour ago. We walk back through the living room, only now there is something new about it. The pristine room sports a fist-sized hole in the wall.Pastor Maxwell has a temper.
I pause in the door Natalie has held open for me. I can’t stand the thought of her staying here in this place. “Come with me,” I say, my tone urgent.
“Where?”
“To a place where you can scream.”
Natalie casts a look into the house, then back to me. She steps out and closes the door behind her. Taking her hand, I hurry her back down the street, all the way to school, and straight to my car.
She stops when I open the passenger door. “You have a car?”
I nod.
“Why did we walk to my house?” she asks, getting in and looking up at me.
