The Love That Split the World(54)

“You don’t have to be,” she says. “I won’t feel bad if you loathe them on principle.”

“Honestly, I kind of do.”

“And I promise to feel the same insane, possibly unhealthy jealousy when you go to Brown and all your friends are genius history buffs with gender-ambiguous names like Kai and Fern and The Letter Q.”

“Does it make you feel better to know that Kai’s legal name is Jamantha?”

“I would pay the Universe and Grandmother big money if they could put a new friend in your path named Jamantha.”

“I would pay them big bucks to be at Georgetown with you.”

Megan sighs. “Listen, I’m not saying this to put any pressure on you, but you know there’s always transferring. If you don’t like Brown or I don’t like Georgetown, no problem, we’re back together.”

“I know,” I say, and I almost hope that’s what happens. I’m honestly more worried that I will love Brown, that Megan will fit Georgetown like fuzzy lime-green socks on a pair of cold feet, that we’ll go off down our separate paths, loving our lives but getting further apart with every new turn. “Kentucky’s beautiful tonight,” I tell her, staring down past my porch to the houses across the street. The setting sun casts deep shadows along the surrounding foliage, painting everything in streaks of yellow and blue. It’s raining, but in a mist so light it’s barely palpable.

“Kentucky is always beautiful,” Megan says.

My heart aches, an internal acknowledgment that what she said is true.

You belong here more than anyone I’ve met, Beau said.

Three months, Grandmother said.

“Anyway, you know what I’m going to ask next,” Megan says.

“I do.”

“How was kissing him?” she says. “No Cheetos breath, I hope.”

“He tasted like cheap beer and he smelled like football practice, and somehow it was perfect.”



Mom and I are in the car, talking and laughing as we drive down a winding country road that meanders through the woods. It’s bright outside, the sky a pale blue, completely absent of clouds, and sunlight sparkles over the creek that runs along the right side of the narrow road.

The dark orb appears overhead, an inky blemish blotting out the sun, but Mom doesn’t see it. She keeps driving, talking, laughing. She doesn’t hear me start to scream. She’s waving her hand to emphasize what she’s saying, and suddenly the darkness shoots upward like a tower made of oil. It arcs over itself and pounds the side of the car.

Mom starts screaming now too, and all of a sudden it’s night. The car spins off the road, plummeting down into a ditch like a falling star, the side of the car wrapped around a gnarled old tree trunk. Thunder crackles in the sky and rain pours down on us. The car begins to fill, not with rain but with blood.

“Mom? Mom, are you okay?” I plead.

She’s staring, dazed, at the steering wheel. I grab her hand and search her for cuts, her arms, her head, her neck. I find none, and none on me either, yet the car is still flooding with blood.

The world had gotten so dark and violent that no one could survive without fighting back, I hear Grandmother say in my mind. And the Yamasee’s hearts were broken, because they didn’t want to kill to live. They couldn’t justify it. So when the water started to rise, rather than wasting their time fighting, they walked deep into the flood, singing as they went. And that was how they were lost.

I start to sing, but my voice trembles with tears of terror. The blood rises higher, up my neck, toward my chin, and my singing breaks into a shriek.

“Natalie,” someone is saying, and it occurs to me now that I’m dreaming. That the voice is coming from beyond. “Natalie.”

I close then open my eyes as hard as I can. My vision swims then adjusts as I sit upright in bed.

“Honey, you were having a dream,” Dad says, kneeling beside me. “It was just a dream.”

I’m still gasping for breath, tears streaming down my face, and I throw my arms around Dad’s neck, waiting for the pounding in my chest to subside.

“Shh,” he says, stroking my hair. “It’s okay, honey.”

“Did I wake you up?” I ask tearfully.

He sits back on his heels. “Actually, no. I got a call from Raymond Kincaid. Their mare’s in labor. I thought I’d see if you wanted to go over to the farm with me.”

I glance around the dark room, eyes darting to the rocking chair, then turn on the lamp. “What time is it?”

“ ’Bout two,” Dad says.

I barely slept last night, and I know I need the rest, but there’s no chance I’m going to fall back to sleep now, not without Grandmother here.

“Matthew’s not home,” he volunteers, anticipating my concern.

“You asked?” I whisper.

“Wanted to make sure Raymond wasn’t on his own tonight, in case it took me a while to get over there,” Dad lies. “Matthew’s out and Joyce is home, but you know how she gets around blood.”

“Well, blood’s not very Country Home & Garden,” I say, and Dad’s head tilts. “Never mind. I’ll get dressed.”

I grab socks, boots, and a sweatshirt from my closet and meet Dad on the porch. He’s smoking a cigarette, which I haven’t seen him do since I was tiny, and he stubs it against the railing before tossing it in the bushes. “Helps me wake up,” he says. “Don’t tell Mom.”