“That makes me feel so much better about meeting them,” Samantha retorts, but she glances at me. “Are they really as dangerous as people say they are? They have a reputation, you know.”
“They do not!” I laugh. “Theyusedto have a reputation. Anyway, Mama is soft and gentle and cares about everybody’s feelings.”
“Someone in your family needs to be,” Samantha snipes, but then she catches herself. “Sorry. I’m still getting used to being nice to you.”
Was she being mean?
She’s never gotten close to hurting my feelings, ever. Even when he’d first met and she’d looked at me like I was more irritating than gum on her shoe.
“If nothing else, you can be sure that they won’t let anything happen to you while you’re under their roof.”
If anyone tried anything, that would be an insult of the highest order. Papa wouldn’t stand for it.
The rest of the trip is quieter. We pass the exit that would take me to the murder cabin, where Zayden’s body disintegrated into dust.
All on its own, of course. I had nothing to do with that.
Traffic picks up as we near the city, what with everybody else driving home for the holidays.
“Where are you from?” I ask Samantha. “You never said.”
“Traville,” she says. “I grew up there.”
“Traville?” I try to remember if I’ve ever been there. “I think we passed through on our way north once. But Papa complained about the bad food there, even though we didn’t even stop for food.”
“The food there isn’t bad,” Samantha says. “But there’s nothingfancy about it, with the exception of one fine dining restaurant that everyone goes to for anniversaries and birthdays. It’s nothing like what you find in NB.”
It’s one of those places that’s too far from NB to be an easy commute, but I bet some people still attempt it.
“What did you do for fun in Traville?” I groan when somebody manages to cut me off in traffic. We’re so close to being home!
“We go to church a lot,” she says, shrugging. “I do a lot with the youth group there. We take… took a lot of trips to the city for activities because there wasn’t much else to do.”
Youth groups sound like the opposite of fun, but I’m trying to be a good friend who doesn’t judge.
“I’ll take you around the city,” I say. “Treat you to some real food, too. Do you like musicals or plays? We can probably score last minute tickets. And there’s a church three blocks from my house. They’d probably have you. It’s one of those that has a pride flag out front and says everybody is welcome.”
Samantha eyes me askance. “I don’t think that’s my kind of place. Not that I’m some sort of bigot, but I doubt they have a real focus on—” She catches herself. “I’m doing that judging thing again. I don’t know. Maybe I’ll check it out. I’m not welcome at the church on campus anymore.”
Yeah.
I’d heard what her church friends were saying about her.
I’d also heard Samantha crying quietly in her room, and it pisses me off that her so-called ‘friends’ couldn’t show up to support her. They assumed the worst of her, and even if she doesn’t want to tell them the truth, they should be there for her anyway.
We pass the church, and I point to it. The pride flag is still there, alongside some Christmas decorations.
“We’re almost home,” I say. “Whatever happens, don’t let anyone intimidate you, okay? They’re mostly posturing. And Papa likes to joke around.”
Samantha takes a deep breath and nods. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She offers me a small, rueful smile. “Am I going to regret this?”
“More than staying in Harmony on your own?” I ask. “No. You’ll be fine. They’ll be excited that I brought a friend! And they’ll like you more than they liked Blaze, Asch, or River.” I laugh. “You should have seen them at Thanksgiving. Each of them got a shovel talk, like anyone is going to be intimidated by that.”
“Uh huh,” Samantha says, but she doesn’t look convinced.
I wonder what shehasheard about my family.
I pull into the townhouse’s garage. I’m not sure why home is “the townhouse,” like we’ve ever lived anywhere else, but Papa and Daddy always call it that and we picked up on it.
