Chapter Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Eight
Natalie
Natalie pulled into her driveway a little after eleven, setting off the light over the garage. She parked in her usual spot and walked around toward the door.
“Hey there,” came a voice across the driveway.
She jumped as she turned to see Wesley sitting on the steps of the main house, sipping on a bottle of beer that he held around the neck like chopsticks.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said.
“It’s okay.” She brushed him off, continuing toward the door.
“How was your day?” he asked before she could put her hand around the knob and escape the interaction.
“Good, thank you.”
“You’re very welcome,” he said, teasing her for her performative manners. “Care to join me?”
“In what?” Natalie asked rationally instead of participating in social norms.
“I don’t know, sitting?”
“It’s cold out here,” she said.
“You have a coat though, and look, I’m only wearing a button-down.”
Natalie gravitated across the driveway toward him, knowing she shouldn’t but doing it all the same. The closer she got, the stronger the scent of alcohol became.
“Can I get you a drink?” he asked, with long, extended blinks as he waited for her answer.
“No, thank you,” she said, taking a seat next to him on the front steps.
“I shouldn’t be talking to you like this,” he said, chuckling.
“Why?”
“I’ve had too much to drink.” He grinned at her with an unspoken obviously. “I don’t want to say anything I shouldn’t.”
Natalie’s fingertips grazed together as she rested her hands in her lap. She didn’t know what she was supposed to say.
“Where do you go all the time, Ms. Natalie?” He turned his face toward her.
“Work mostly.”
“You must work a lot.” His stare was absent. It wasn’t a question, but it was like he was waiting for an answer.
“Do you have a job?” she asked.
Wesley nodded. “I’m a journalist.”
“Is that why you’re here?”
“Yeah, I’m working on a story in the city, so I grabbed this place for a few months. The drive back and forth to Jersey was killing me.”
“What’s the story?”
He grinned. “Nice try.”
Natalie looked down at her hands. She didn’t really care. She was just trying to be polite.
“It’s not that exciting,” he offered. “Well, I’m hoping it will be, but corporate fraud…nobody cares if you can’t humanize the victims. Ahh…” He grinned. “I’ve said too much!”
It was playful and they both laughed before falling into silence. Wesley took another sip of his drink before rotating his head toward her. His neck muscles seemed weakened and his head flopped over enough to make his stare verge on puppy-dog.
“I have to go,” said Natalie, standing and walking away without giving him the opportunity to protest.
“Good night!” he yelled after her.
Once she was inside her apartment, she looked back at him through the window. He rose to his feet slowly and wobbled up the steps, so unsteady, barely making it inside. She liked him this way.
As she changed into her pajamas, Natalie couldn’t stop thinking about Wesley. He was drunk and a little too friendly. It had unnerved her, but now she wondered if she could have stayed a little longer. She headed back to the window.
Wesley was still downstairs. She watched him stumble around in the kitchen, then into the bathroom out of sight, then back again. He hadn’t rebuttoned his pants and he lumbered forward, trying to kick them off.
Then he tripped, caught on his own pants. He fell to the ground, but not before his head bounced off the kitchen island. His body didn’t move. All Natalie could see now were his lower legs, one on top of the other, pants around his ankles.
Every bone in her body was telling her to go to bed. Wesley was messy—a distraction she couldn’t afford. She’d worked so hard to be with Gwen and didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize that. But what if Wesley was lying there, bleeding out, and would die without intervention?
- - - - -
Natalie was standing on his porch before she could talk herself out of it.
She pushed the door open like in a horror film where the door swings open but the person just stands there in the doorway.
She waited and listened for any sound that would change her mind.
A soothing hum came from the ceiling fan in the living room.
She entered the foyer and pulled the door closed behind her. Her footsteps were silent and it was only in that moment she realized she hadn’t even put shoes on. Her thin white socks were filthy from the driveway.
Natalie moved closer to the kitchen island.
Wesley’s hands and forearms matched his legs—the right one draped over the left—two useless limbs that had done nothing to break his fall.
She stepped farther into the kitchen and around the island until her view was no longer obstructed.
There was no blood, and within three stressful seconds, she could tell he was breathing.
She knew she should leave. She did what she had come for. Her conscience could be clean, but instead, she dropped down to one knee beside him. She reached out toward his shoulder and paused, her hand not quite making contact, not yet.
It felt strange to be so close. She could see his stubble. She leaned forward and let her fingers meet his cheek.
A moan broke the silence as if she had set off an alarm on his body.
Natalie jumped back and fell onto her ass.
Wesley began to stir and she crab-walked away from him and around the corner of the kitchen island as he rolled onto his back.
She leaned against the island, pulling her knees up to her throat and hoping he hadn’t seen or heard her.
She buried her face in her knees and let her nerves take her elsewhere.
She thought of all the times she had almost been caught by Gwen.
Years ago, when Natalie was too eager and unaware she was even someone to be perceived—when she worried she had parked too close or walked by the window too many times.
When she would sprint home and hide in her bed and pray she would never see the look of disappointment and disgust that she’d seen the last time Gwen had looked at her.
Natalie snapped back to reality, face pushed so hard into her knees that, as she lifted her head, it took time for her cheeks to regain feeling.
The only sound was the ceiling fan, and the rhythmic rotation of the blades returned her to the moment.
She leaned to the side, enough to peer around the island. Wesley was gone.
She rose to her feet with extreme caution, but once she was upright and could confirm she was alone, Natalie hustled for the door.
She slithered out and ran across the driveway.
Once safely back in her apartment, she chucked her dirty socks into the laundry basket and ran to the window.
In the light of the moon, she saw Wesley had found his way into bed.
Natalie crawled under the covers, her heart beating rapidly. She rubbed her fingertips together, remembering the texture of Wesley’s face. She didn’t think about Gwen again that night, only about what would have happened if Wesley had caught her.
- - - - -
Days had passed since Natalie had last talked to Wesley on the front step, since she’d gone into his house, since she’d touched his face. As soon as Gwen went inside her apartment for the night, Natalie raced home.
When she opened the door to the garage, it was empty; Wesley’s car wasn’t there. Natalie was furious. She had left Gwen early for nothing. It couldn’t be for nothing.
Natalie went back to her car, where she sat for hours, parked behind the garage, waiting for his headlights to blast through her windshield, and when they did, she climbed out as though she had just arrived.
The one-sided clandestine meeting in the driveway didn’t go as Natalie had hoped.
She wasn’t sure what she’d hoped would happen, but it wasn’t that.
Wesley brushed her off. He barely stopped to acknowledge her, only enough to tell her that he wasn’t feeling well.
He gave her a smile and then coughed a few times, but the coughs seemed even more forced than the smile.
Did he know she had gone into the house? Was he mad at her? Was he afraid of her?
Natalie hated this feeling. Wesley had come to her door. He had called her over to the steps that night. He couldn’t all of a sudden hate her. It wasn’t fair. Maybe he really was just sick. Maybe that’s all this was. She had to know.
She decided to bring him soup. That seemed like the neighborly thing to do. Then he couldn’t ignore her.
- - - - -
Natalie was at the grocery store first thing the next morning.
Two cans of low sodium chicken broth rolled around in the shopping basket as she reached for a produce bag.
She rubbed the end between her fingers, waiting for the right piece to catch and separate.
Over and over, but the thing stayed sealed tight.
She could sense a man behind her, waiting for his turn to grab a bag, but keeping his distance so as not to embarrass her.
It didn’t work. She felt the pressure and started moving her fingers faster, not getting any closer.
She couldn’t take it anymore and crumpled the useless bag into a ball and chucked it down among the cucumbers.
She threw the celery into the basket before grabbing a package of carrots, and as she breezed past the display of onions, she snatched one off the top. That would have to do.
The basket had some weight to it now and Natalie hooked her elbow through the handle for more leverage as she made her way to the cash register.
She was content with her ingredients until a thought came to her, a sick thought she tried to brush off, but it came back.
She could just buy it. It didn’t mean she would use it. She would just buy it.
The self-checkout line was empty and she went straight to the register. With the basket still hooked around her arm, she scanned her items. A three-pound whole chicken, two cans of broth, celery, carrots, an onion, and a Mouse Killer Disposable Bait Station.