In general, I prefer to eat by myself, but this was a good way to get to know Natalie better. And Kim as well. Maybe all three of us could be friends together. In school, it was always just you and me, and I know you said that was all we needed, but three people can be friends. That’s allowed.
Kim asked me if I liked working here. I told them it was fine. I didn’t want to tell them that the previous accountant left everything an indecipherable mess. I have had to sort through everything from scratch. But I don’t even know that man, so it wouldn’t be nice to talk about what a shockingly terrible job he did.
“I could never be an accountant,” Natalie said. She flipped that silky blond hair over her shoulder, then she started talking about how bad she was at math, how she was always just barely passing her classes by the skin of her teeth.
I didn’t want Natalie to get too down on herself, so I pointed out that she is very good at sales. My mother always taught me that paying people compliments is a good way to make friends. I never used to listen to her, but now I realize she was probably right. And since I have a chance for a fresh start, why not take it?
And anyway, the compliment was true. I haven’t been here long, but I already know Natalie is one of the top salespeople. The best at the company, according to the spreadsheets. She’s extremely skilled at talking to people. I hear her on the phone sometimes, and I’ll pause what I’m doing and just listen to her tap dance.
Kim started giggling and said, “Nat could sell ice at the north pole. Especially to a man.”
That comment resulted in Natalie and Kim bursting into giggles. I guess they meant that Natalie is so attractive. There’s a sales intern who is about twenty-five years old, and he always asks Natalie if he can get her something for lunch, but he never asks anyone else—and I’m fairly sure he doesn’t make her pay for it. Kim is sort of pretty too, but she doesn’t quite have the same indescribable quality as Natalie does.
Then Natalie paid me a compliment. “Cute mug,” she said.
So guess which mug she was talking about? It’s the one you gave me years ago, as a birthday gift. A lot of people will go into a store and buy the first thing they see—usually a candle—but you always put a lot of thought into every gift. This is the ceramic mug which is painted the color of the ocean, with the three-dimensional turtle swimming through it. Sometimes I like to run my fingers over the bump of the turtle shell. I can’t even tell you how much I love that mug, and every time I drink from it, I think of you and get a happy feeling.
Natalie’s words felt like a genuine compliment. Sometimes when people say nice things to me, it’s clear they don’t really mean it. Sometimes it almost feels like they’re making fun of me. But Natalie meant it. For a moment, I was sitting at the cool table in high school.
So I thanked her. Then I asked the most important question of all: “Do you like turtles?”
Natalie said she did. Then I explained that the turtle’s shell is actually part of its skeleton. That it’s a bit like a rib cage, which is why turtles can’t be separated from their shells. Not without killing them. When I told her that, Natalie said, “Wow.”
I felt so excited that Natalie and Kim were interested in learning more about turtles. You’re the only one I’ve ever met who has been interested in hearing turtle facts, and that includes my parents. And honestly, there were times when I wasn’t sure if even you wanted to hear about turtles. But me and Natalie and Kim ate together for the next twenty minutes, and I told them a lot of other interesting facts about turtles. They both listened to everything I had to say, and they even asked some questions that I of course was able to answer easily because I know so much about turtles.
There’s a lot more I could have told them, but then Natalie said she had to get to a sales call, so they both had to leave. I’m already planning out some new interesting things about turtles that I can talk to them about tomorrow. I’ll let you know how it goes.
Sincerely,
Dawn Schiff
To: Dawn Schiff
From: Mia Hodge
Subject: Re: Greetings
Yay for new friends! Speaking of turtles, I’ve got a present I’m sending you! It sounds like you’re totally fitting in though. I knew you would!
XXO
Mia
Chapter Seven
PRESENT DAY
NATALIE
I screamed for about a minute.
That’s my estimate. Based on about how long it felt, and also how much my throat feels scratchy right now. I screamed for a full minute, then I managed to get it together enough to dial 911 with shaking hands.
Needless to say, I got the hell out of that house.
Now the police are here. They are swarming around the house, dusting for fingerprints or whatever else policemen do at a crime scene. I don’t want to know. I’ve been sitting in my car since they got here. I’m not supposed to leave, but I don’t want to go anywhere near that house again.
I called Seth to let him know what was going on and that I wouldn’t be back at work. He sounded rattled, but that’s nothing compared to how I feel. I usually tell Kim everything, but I didn’t want to tell her about this. She’d just treat it like interesting gossip, which would be disrespectful. So instead, I text Caleb. He’ll say the right thing—I know it.
Sure enough, I get a text back right away:
Holy crap! Are you okay?
Not really.
I’ll be reliving what I saw in that living room until the day I die. All that blood…
Do you want me to come over there?
I’ve been trying so hard not to be a clingy girlfriend. Nothing is a bigger turnoff. But Caleb doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who obsesses over something like that. And he offered. Plus, I want to see him. I want to bury my face in his chest. So I reply:
Yes please.
Just as I’m texting him the address, I am interrupted by the sound of tapping at the window of my car—there’s a man at the driver’s side window. He’s wearing a dark gray suit and tie, and I remember him briefly introducing himself as a detective before I went to hide in the car. I roll down the window.
“Miss Farrell?” he says.
“Yes…”
“I gotta talk to you. Can you get out of the car please?”
One of the uniformed police officers asked me a few questions before I ran out here. I suppose the detective has a bunch more questions. And maybe some answers, I’m hoping. Anyway, I don’t have much of a choice, so I climb out of my car.
The detective is in his forties, tall and attractive in a craggy sort of way, with dark hair receding just enough to be noticeable. “Detective Santoro,” he says.
I nod wordlessly.
“Sorry I gotta do this, Miss Farrell,” he says.
The detective has a heavy Boston accent. As somebody who grew up in Massachusetts, it’s a comfort to hear it. When he told me to get out of the car, he said “caah.” And if we were eating lobster for some reason, it would be “lobstah.” I don’t have much of an accent myself, although Caleb claims he hears it. He says it’s cute.