The Love That Split the World(28)

“Jesus, Natalie!” Rachel yelps, face flushed and eyes wide and white-rimmed. “Ever hear of knocking?”

The look on Matt’s face is the worst part. He looks pissed but sort of happy about it, like he couldn’t have planned this any better. I turn and run back down the hall, and this time, unlike all the rest, Matt doesn’t follow me.

I run through the living room and kitchen and burst back out into the lot, sobs breaking out of me like splintering wood.

I have to get out of here.

I spin, searching for Megan, someone to hold on to. But everything’s suddenly different, and I can’t get my bearings. The old red barn I’ve always known is gone, and in its place there’s a looming, powder blue and white storehouse that looks brand new. There are still people here, but the details are completely wrong. Derek’s in the cab of his truck making out with Molly Haines, a girl who’s loathed him since I misguidedly set them up in the ninth grade, and if that weren’t strange enough, he’s parked in a different spot. I run toward the mouth of the gravel driveway, but I can’t find Megan’s Civic anywhere. Everything’s wrong, in a nightmarish way where it’s not so wrong that I can be sure I’m sleeping. In fact, I’m sure I’m awake, but I’m also sure the world isn’t right, and the people and parked cars and music are closing in on me, and I can’t breathe. I’m no longer in control of my body, and I’m turning in search of help, then running, trying to put as much distance as possible between me and that sinister blue storehouse.

I take off down the slope of the gravel path, and at the bottom of the hill, I make my way toward the little bridge in the woods that connects the Kincaid farm with the church. Please let this stop right now. Please let this whole night be undone. Please get me to a place where everything’s how it’s always been and the world is stable, and I’m safe.

Bright headlights swing around the road. I hurry to the side of the path as a junker truck drives past, then reverses to stop beside me. The glare of the headlights is blinding, but I can see the door swing open and someone squinting through the darkness at me.

“Natalie?”

Beau swings his legs out of his truck and comes toward me.





9


“What happened?” he says. “Are you okay?”

I bite my bottom lip and nod. If I speak now, it’ll only lead to sobbing. He stands in front of me, his hands resting on his hips. “Natalie, what happened?”

I drop my face into my hands and try to press back the tears. “I can’t” is all I offer up. When I look back up at him, he gently grabs my shoulders and pulls me against him, wrapping his arms around me and cupping the back of my head with one of his big hands.

“Are you hurt?” His low voice rumbles through me, and I shake my head. “Do you need a ride home?”

“Mm-hm,” I manage. Neither of us releases the other right away. I feel a terrible sadness sweep over me, the last cleaving of myself from the world I thought I knew.

Beau’s hands lift to gently hold the sides of my face, and he pulls back to look me in the eyes. “Let’s get you home,” he says softly.

I follow him to the truck and climb in on the passenger side. It’s not like Derek’s Ford; it’s boxy and sits low to the ground, the interior a rough fabric covered in spills and burns, and the windows the kind you have to crank by hand. “What were you doing here?” I ask him.

He starts the engine. “Friend of mine invited me to a party.”

“Oh.” I run my hands over my cheeks to wipe them dry. “I’m sorry—you should go. I can find another ride.” The thought of calling my parents to come pick me up from this disaster makes me nauseous.

“Heard it was pretty close to your track,” Beau continues. “And I figured you might still be waiting for me to find you.”

I’m not really sure how to respond, but then he smiles, and my mouth follows his lead.

I tear my gaze from his and pull my phone from my pocket. “I should let someone know where I’m going.” I was supposed to stay the night at Megan’s; her parents are way less strict about knowing where she is or enforcing a curfew. But when I press Megan’s name the call won’t go through, and I get an automated message informing me that the line isn’t in service. I press END and text her instead, cursing my carrier under my breath.

“Ready?” Beau says.

I nod because I’m not sure what else to do. He stretches his arm across the back of the seat as he cranes his neck to check for traffic behind us. We rumble backward over the gravel and onto the bridge, through the strip of forest to the parking lot beyond. Then he takes the truck out of reverse and pulls up by the church.

That’s when I realize the church is wrong. “Oh my God.”

He looks over at me then ducks his head to follow my gaze. It’s not the wrong color or in the wrong place, but it is much too big. There’s a whole wing that shouldn’t be there—that wasn’t there when Megan and I arrived. “Do you see that?” I ask.

“See what?”

“That wing right there.” I roll down the window to get a better look and point at it. “When did that get there?’

“The Kincaid family donated that,” he says. “Or the money for it, I guess.”