Natalie pointed to the textbook open on her bed. “Just doing homework.”
Nicole stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. “How did it go today?”
Natalie shrugged. “I don’t know. It was okay, I guess. You were there,” she said sarcastically. She felt mean, and yet she felt incapable of responding any other way. It was the tone she had used with her sister for as long as she could remember.
“Everybody was really glad to have you back,” Nicole offered now, sitting on the edge of the bed.
Natalie eyed her sister. Her head was tilted to one side, and her eyes seemed full of concern. Natalie softened a bit. “Yeah, they were pretty cool about it.”
“We’ve all been worried about you.”
She didn’t know what to say to that, so she simply said, “Thanks.”
“Jon’s coming home this weekend, and we—”
“Again?” she interrupted. “He was just home last weekend.”
“Well, he … he wants to be with his parents as much as he can …” Her voice trailed off, and she seemed suddenly intrigued with a loose thread on Natalie’s quilt, running it through her fingers over and over.
Natalie nodded, guilt stabbing her afresh. She dreaded facing the Devers, but knew she couldn’t avoid them forever. In fact, she had started a letter to them, asking their forgiveness. She didn’t expect them to grant it. In fact, she wouldn’t blame them one bit if they hated her now. But, for her own sake—so she could sleep at night—she needed to ask for it nonetheless.
As though she’d read her thoughts, Nicole said, “They don’t blame you, you know”—she looked up to meet Natalie’s gaze—“for Sara. Nobody blames you, Nattie.”
Natalie felt hot tears well behind her eyelids. “Not even Jon?” she risked.
“He … He’s taking Sara’s death pretty hard. They had gotten really close before he left for college. But he …” She looked away. “Everybody knows it wasn’t your fault, Nattie,” Nicole finished weakly.
An all-too-familiar sick feeling planted itself in the pit of her stomach. “Don’t just tell me that if it’s not true, Nikki. I wouldn’t blame them—him—if he did think it was my fault.”
Nicole took her hand now. Her sister’s hand felt small and warm, and Natalie realized that she couldn’t remember the last time they had touched each other affectionately. The knot in her stomach loosened another notch.
“Nattie, I promise you, we just want to help you get through this.” Nicole hesitated, as though she’d been about to say something and decided against it. Instead she told Natalie, “Jon said his mom really misses you. One of the things she misses most is not having Sara’s friends hanging out at their house. It’s awfully quiet there now with Jon at school and Sara …”
They let Sara’s name hang in the air between them.
Finally, Natalie sighed. “I guess I should go see her.”
“I wish you would, Nattie. I know Maribeth would love that.”
Natalie smiled at her sister, and an unfamiliar surge of love for Nicole rushed through her veins. “When did you grow up so much?” she asked, feeling awkward, almost shy.
Nicole reached to embrace her, and Natalie swallowed back the tears as she returned the hug. Daddy always said that God could make something good out of the worst tragedy. Maybe there was one good thing coming out of Sara’s death already.
The atlas was spread open on the passenger seat beside her, and on top lay a notepad from the vet clinic with detailed instructions for how to get to her Grandma and Grandpa Camfield’s house. Daddy had written them out for her almost two years ago when Natalie made her first solo trip to Kansas City. She held the wheel with one hand and picked up the notepad, trying to figure out if she’d missed her turn.
It hadn’t been easy to convince Mom and Daddy to let her come by herself. This was the first time she’d made the trip since the accident, and her parents were understandably nervous. But in the end they’d relented, and now Natalie was eager to prove that their decision had been the right one—especially since they’d let her drive Mom’s new car.
She’d been nervous starting out, but after half an hour, the car began to feel a part of her, and she began to enjoy the solitude. She settled back in the seat and loosened her grip on the steering wheel. The countryside looked different now that winter had stripped the trees of their leaves and opened up the prairie vistas. The landscape stretched for miles, with little farmsteads dotting the patchwork of fields and pastureland at random intervals. Gradually factories and malls replaced the rural terrain. Natalie passed a familiar shopping center on the left and knew she was getting close to her grandparents’ neighborhood.
When she pulled into their driveway a few minutes later, she was glad to see Aunt Betsy’s car parked there. Betsy’s presence would be a buffer against Grandma’s well-meaning sympathy. She didn’t remember her grandparents’ visit to the hospital, but Vera Camfield had called a dozen times since Natalie had been dismissed. And while she appreciated her grandmother’s concern, she had run out of ways to reassure the woman that she had survived.
Natalie unpacked her things from the trunk of the car and lugged everything to the front door, wondering why no one had met her in the driveway as they usually did when they were expecting her.
She barely had her hand to the bell, when Grandma and Aunt Betsy burst out the door.
“Nattie!” They squealed in unison, smiles as wide as the Missouri River flooding their faces.
“You’re early,” Grandma Camfield said.
“Am I? Sorry.” She dropped her bags in the middle of the foyer and returned their bear hugs.
“Don’t be silly. Here, let me look at you,” her grandmother said, holding Natalie at arm’s length. “Oh, honey, you sure gave us a scare.”
“I’m fine, Grandma. Hey, where’s Grandpa?” she said, deliberately changing the subject.
“He’s in there,” Betsy said, motioning toward the den, where Natalie recognized the sounds of a football game on the television. “Sorry, babe, but you’ll have to compete with your grandpa’s precious Chiefs.”
Natalie laughed.
“When he figures out you’re here, he’ll come out of hiding,” Betsy said.
Natalie headed for the den. Jack Camfield was reclining in his La-Z-Boy with his back to her, but when he heard her cheery “Hey, Grandpa!” he maneuvered the chair into its upright position and stood to gather her into his warm embrace.
“Hey, squirt! When did you get here?”
“A couple of hours ago,” she teased.
“I know better than that,” he said wryly. “Here, sit down.” He patted the sofa that sat perpendicular to his recliner. “Did you have a good Thanksgiving?”
She plopped down on the cushions. “Yeah, it was okay.”
“That’s good … that’s good,” he said, nodding slowly.
Natalie sensed that her grandfather wasn’t sure what to say next, so she pointed to the TV screen where a beer commercial now blared. “How are they doing?”
“The Chiefs?”
She nodded.
He blew a raspberry. “They’re not playing worth diddly,” he said, but he warmed to the topic. “They’ll come back … they’ll come back. I’m not giving up on them yet.” He turned and looked her in the eye with the same sympathetic cluck Grandma had made. “The question is, how is Miss Natalie doing?”
“I’m okay. Really I am.”
“I’m glad, honey. You liked to scared us all to death. Sara’s folks doing okay?”
“Yeah. It’s been hard, but they seem to be doing really good.”
“Well, I know you must miss her. She was a sweet girl.”
“She really was, Grandpa.” Natalie swallowed hard, tearing up.
There was an awkward lull while she tried to compose herself. Then the game came back on, and he slapped her on the knee as though she were one of his cronies. “Here we go … here we go.”
“I’m going to go s
ee if Grandma and Aunt Betsy need my help.” Natalie rose to go. “You will come out and have dinner with us, won’t you?” she said with feigned exasperation, trying to lighten the mood.
“I’ll come out, but if these guys don’t get on the ball I might come out a little grumpy,” he said without looking up. “Come on, you bozo, get the ball!” he yelled at the television screen.
Natalie left the room laughing. The Grandpa Camfield she remembered from her childhood was reserved and rather solemn, but since he’d retired from his law practice a few years ago, something had clicked between him and Natalie. Though it made her feel mildly guilty, she sometimes pretended that her relationship with Nathan Camfield would have been as warm and fun-loving, had she had a chance to grow up with him for a father.
She found Grandma and Betsy in the breakfast room off the kitchen fixing tea. When she came into the room, Grandma bustled over to the cupboard to get Natalie a cup.
“So, no school tomorrow, huh?” Aunt Betsy asked, as she settled herself at the table.
“Nope. It’s a teachers’ workday or something.”
“Lucky you. How’s school going? You suffering from senioritis yet?”
“A little.” Natalie shrugged. “Maybe it’d be worse if I knew where I was going next year, but right now I kind of don’t want the year to go too fast because I have no clue what I’m going to do.”
Betsy patted her hand. “Don’t sweat it. You’ll know in plenty of time.”
“I sure hope so. It’s making me a little nervous.” She took the steaming cup Grandma offered her. “Thanks,” she said, testing a tiny sip.
“You know, Natalie,” her grandmother said, clearing her throat, “there are some wonderful schools here in Kansas City. You could live with Grandpa and me and save a bundle on room and board.”
“Oh, Mother,” Betsy scoffed playfully. “Who wants to live with their grandma their first year away from home?”
Natalie smiled. “Thanks, Grandma, but I’m kind of looking forward to dorm life.”
“Well,” her grandmother said, flustered, but taking their rebuke in stride, “I’m just trying to help.”
“And I appreciate it,” Natalie told her, putting her hand over Grandma’s wrinkled hand and winking at Betsy.
As she sipped the warm brew and listened to the lighthearted banter between the two older women, Natalie remembered a hundred other cups of tea at this table over the years. How strange, she thought, that when I was little I hated having to come here because it made me feel so different from everybody at my house. Now, she realized that she’d come to appreciate it for the very same reason. When she was surrounded by these people who shared her name and treated her like a princess, she could almost feel—for a few brief moments—that there was a place in this world where she belonged. A place she could escape the guilt and sorrow that haunted her.
Thirteen
Natalie pulled into the Devers’ driveway and put the car in park. She knew Maribeth was home because the garage door was open and her little yellow Volkswagen Beetle was parked there. Sara had never had a car of her own, but her mother had occasionally allowed her to use the Beetle. Natalie had a collection of memories starring that tiny car.
Anticipation and fear mingled in her blood as she took the keys out of the ignition and opened the door. She’d dreaded this day, had put it off week after week. Now she just wanted to get it behind her. Mom and Nicole had assured her that Maribeth would greet her with open arms, and now that she was standing in front of the house that had been like a second home to her, she was suddenly anxious to see Sara’s mother again.
It felt strange to go to the front door. When Sara was alive she’d always used the back door by the garage like one of the family. She heard footsteps inside. Butterflies warred in her stomach.
The door opened, and Maribeth stared at her for a minute as though she didn’t recognize her. Then a tearful smile spread over her whole face. “Natalie!” She reached out and drew her into a warm embrace.
She ushered Natalie into the kitchen, and almost without knowing how she got there, she was sitting at “her” place in the Devers’ cozy kitchen, Maribeth hovering over her with a cup of hot cocoa and a plate of homemade cookies.
“Oh, honey,” Sara’s mother said now, “you have no idea how good it is to see you. I’ve missed you so much!”
“I’ve missed you too,” Natalie mumbled, a bit embarrassed. “Maribeth, I’m so sorry about Sara,” she blurted out. “I’m sorry I took her to that stupid party.” The words came out in a torrent, and as quickly as she spoke them, Maribeth was at her side, stooping to envelop her in tender arms.
“Honey, I forgive you. I forgave you a long time ago. You didn’t mean for it to happen. I understand that … We all do.”
Natalie didn’t know how to respond, so she said nothing.
Maribeth’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Thank you for the letter you sent, Nattie. That meant a lot to us.”
Natalie shrugged off the thanks, then suddenly burst into tears. “I miss Sara so much,” she gulped.
Maribeth stroked her back. “I know … I know. We all do.”
After a while, Maribeth pulled away and sat down beside Natalie. “You know, Nattie, I think—” She stopped short, and Natalie could see that she was struggling to regain her composure. “I think Sara would be so happy that you came today. I think it would make her glad to know that you still stopped by to give her ol’ mom a hard time once in a while.”
They grinned together at the thought.
Maribeth reached for a large album that was sitting on the other end of the table. She slid it in front of Natalie. “I’ve been putting Sara’s things into a scrapbook. She had a baby book, but all her school things … Well, it’s something I always intended to do and just never got around to.” She rubbed her hand across the cover of the book. “It … it’s been good therapy.”
Natalie touched the album gingerly. “Can I look?”
Maribeth nodded, and Natalie could see that she was close to tears again.
She was almost afraid to see what was inside. She opened to the first page. There were a couple of blurry baby pictures and a smudged footprint on a note card. Across the page was what looked like a kindergarten photo. Natalie turned page after page and watched Sara Dever’s life pass by on the pages of a dime-store scrapbook. It made Natalie ache to see her friend smiling up at her. Sara’s smile hadn’t changed from the time she was a little girl until death had wiped it from her face forever.
Natalie turned to the page that represented Sara’s eighth-grade year. Her own face stared up at her. She and Sara stood arm in arm, toasting each other with ice-cream cones aloft. Their lives had been intertwined for almost as long as she could remember.
She looked up at Maribeth, expecting to see tears. But Sara’s mom was smiling at the images in the photo. “You two had such good times together. Thank you, Natalie, for being such a good friend to Sara. I— I hope you know how much she loved you.”
A stab of guilt pierced her. You don’t know everything. She forced the thought from her mind.
For the next hour, she and Maribeth pored over the album and celebrated Sara’s life. When Natalie got ready to leave, Maribeth hugged her again. “Oh, Nattie, you don’t know how much good this day did me. Thanks so much for coming.”
“It did me good too,” she said, returning the hug, a lump in her throat.
As they walked to the door, Maribeth seemed reluctant to let her go. Finally, she blurted out, “Natalie, can I ask you something?”
A warning bell went off somewhere in her consciousness. “Sure …”
“I know … I think Sara was always, you know … good. But I want to be sure. She wasn’t … drinking … at the party that night, was she?” Her words came out in a rush. “It’s been eating at me because, well, I was kind of surprised Sara was even out there at all, and … sometimes parents are the last to find out, you know?” She looked embarrassed, as though she
’d tainted Sara’s memory by even asking. “They told us they took blood-alcohol tests on everyone,” she explained. “But it’s been almost six weeks now, and Don just found out that those tests can sometimes take three months to come back! I … I just thought you would know …”
Though blood was rushing through her veins, pounding in her ears, making every sound seem as though it came through a tunnel, Natalie heard her own voice, surprisingly calm, comforting her friend’s mother. “No, Maribeth,” she said. “Sara never drank—or anything like that. She was good. She didn’t do anything wrong that night. Or ever. I can promise you that.”
Maribeth Dever sagged in relief. “Oh, thank you, Nattie. You don’t know what a gift you’ve given me.”
Suddenly unable to speak, Natalie offered yet another hug before she put up a hand in a halfhearted wave and ran to her car. She hadn’t lied. Everything she had said to Sara’s mother was true. But like a mangy stray dog that wouldn’t go away, one nagging thought scratched at the door of her mind. They don’t know everything. They don’t know everything.
Maribeth, Natalie’s parents—everyone could forgive her because they had Brian Wagner to blame. After all, he was the one who ran the stop sign; he was the one who had crashed into them. And for the hundredth time, she pushed the telltale, badgering accusations into a hidden corner of her soul—the same corner where she now hid Maribeth’s revelation that the blood alcohol tests had not yet come back.
It was a place in her spirit that she could never again visit if she hoped to keep her sanity.
Daria hummed the refrain of a Christmas carol softly as she folded the last of the warm clothes from the dryer. For the first time since the accident, she was beginning to feel as though they might make it after all, and the words of the song expressed her gratitude better than any prayer she could summon. O come, let us adore him, Christ the Lord.
She knew that Natalie still had some rough days, but they were fewer and further between, and now that they’d made it through Christmas and the new year was nearly upon them, the excitement of planning for college was taking center stage.
After the Rains Page 10
