Sometimes, thinking back on the months before and after that perfect autumn afternoon, I wish I knew back then what I know now.
But then again, I know by the deep, faint pain in my chest that I wouldn't have been able to do a thing about it even if I'd known everything that was coming.
I started noticing little things around the time Mr. Goodman started working Saturdays. He said it was so that he could help pay for Natalie's college tuition and Natalie said it was so that he didn't have to be around her in an otherwise empty house. I thought that it was a little bit of both, but when Natalie brought it up I always agreed with her.
She had her weekly piano lessons on Saturdays, and most mornings she'd drive herself there in the car that had sat unused in their garage for months. It had, at one point before I'd met her, been her mother's car. Together, Natalie and I had cleaned it out after Mrs. Goodman had left. We pushed it with a huge effort out into the driveway the first warm day in April, rolled out the vacuum, and got to work.
"Oh, my god," Natalie had said when we got it into the sunlight after wiping a finger along the dusty, dirty exterior of the car. "This is disgusting. It's not like she's a neat freak or anything, but jeez."
"When's the last time she drove it?"
"I don't know. Seven or eight years ago, at least. I was in, like, third grade. But I think she had it when they got married, and she might have had it for awhile even before that."
"How did you even learn to drive?" I asked incredulously, taking a step back to view the car on the whole. It really was an eyesore: an ugly green color with rust spotting it here and there, a gaudy disco ball hanging off the mirror, and a missing hubcap on the back passenger wheel.
"I drove my dad's Honda. I had to, I'd be surprised if this one even starts." She rolled up her sleeves and wrinkled her nose as she picked a t-shirt gingerly off the top of the pile of junk that she pulled out of the front seat. "He tried to buy her a new car once, and she got offended. She thought he was trying to take away her individuality. Because that's what my mom's lacking."
I stepped forward, slightly amused, to help Natalie move a patchy tote bag full of unreturned library books and take out some empty water bottles that sat just beneath it. I started to wipe down the outside of the car, listening to Natalie make light talk and occasionally throwing in a comment or two. We continued that way, making some conversation but mostly focusing on the task at hand.
At one point, I looked into the newly clean back window of the car. A book sat on the seat, its front cover folded back, and on the front page in neat, childish handwriting read NATALIE GOODMAN'S. PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH. The "please" was underlined three or four times, and I had to smile. Nat was possessive by nature; if something was in her possession, it could also be in her control, which left nothing to chaos or chance. It was somehow comforting to know that she had always, to some degree, been that way.
"Working hard, or hardly working, Henry?" She asked teasingly in her best imitation of her father's voice. I hadn't even realized I'd stopped cleaning and was just staring into the car until her voice snapped me out of my thoughts.
"Am I your butler or your boyfriend?" I retorted.
"Why can't you be both?" She skip-stepped over to me and bumped her hip into mine. "I mean, it's not like you don't do more than one thing already." Laughter creeping in, she ticked them off one by one on her slender pianist's fingers. "You're my boyfriend. You're my therapist. You're a stoner."
"I get it." I said, and Natalie wordlessly pointed the the decrepit car.
"Let's finish then, Sir Henry."
"You'd call your butler sir?"
"Sure, I would." She said, still grinning as she headed back to the back of the car, but almost immediately I saw the smile on her face slide off too quickly. I tried to see past her to see what had caused the sudden change, but all that was left in the trunk were two duffel bags. Natalie took one out gingerly by its well-worn strap, wincing when she'd brought it into the sunlight.
It was a diaper bag. On the side facing me, there was a large cartoon giraffe grinning garishly, surrounded by neon palm trees.
"Let me take that, Nat," I said quietly, stepping toward her, but she yanked it back and sat promptly on the driveway with the bag between her knees.
"It must've been his," she said distantly, tracing the pattern. "Don't you think?"
"It could've been for you."
And it could have. The design wasn't overwhelmingly geared toward either a girl or a boy, and Natalie and her brother had only been a year apart, but somehow I just knew that it wasn't Natalie's.
She unzipped the bag slowly, and against my better judgement I didn't say anything, just watched carefully as she took out what was inside: an empty bottle, a few disposable diapers, and finally a tiny hat. It was a miniature cloth baseball cap, blue and white and not at all something new parents would put on a baby girl.
"Maybe we should - " I stepped forward, reaching for the hat, but Natalie held onto it tightly.
"They bought him a hat," she said distantly.
"Yeah." I didn't know what else to say - I mean, she was sitting there, holding the hat, staring at it like she'd never seen one before. "They did."
"It's just..." she looked up at me, biting her lip, and I stretched my legs out on the warm pavement to sit next to her. Both of us looked at the hat and Natalie shrugged, her shoulder rubbing against mine. "It's the most real he's ever been in my life, right now."
That was something I could easily believe. Other than a few times - like that "birthday party", for instance - I wouldn't have known Natalie's parents had ever even had another child at all.
"Yeah." I said again, uselessly.
"I hated him." She gave a soft humorless chuckle. "I probably still do. Can you imagine? Hating a baby."
I remained silent. I couldn't imagine, not really, and the fact of the matter was that I was completely and totally confused. This wasn't like Natalie. It's not that she's some kind of sociopath, it's just hard to feel for someone who you never knew, especially when that someone took away so much of what you could have had. That's something I've never blamed her for and never will.
"I hated him for what they did," she said quietly.
"It's no one's fault." I said, hearing the uncertainty in my own voice. Most kids have imaginary monsters under their bed; Natalie's monster was five foot five and wore heels.
And yours? I found myself thinking, but brushed off the thought as Nat spoke again.
"You should go home," she said abruptly, brushing off her jeans as she stood with the hat still clutched in one hand.
"What?" I tried to reach for her arm, but she strode toward the house without a backwards glance toward either the junk still spread across the driveway or me. I watched her go, half expecting her to turn around. But the door opened and closed and she didn't come back out, leaving me to stare at the house while my thoughts grew to a deafening roar.
A/N: Thank you guys! I very much appreciate the feedback. :) Allisonosity: Yeah, I guess that should have been obvious. For some reason, I was thinking of how Diana brings out the cake and then Dr. Madden says "he's almost eighteen"...but I guess it makes a whole lot more sense that she'd be doing an early birthday haha. Thanks! I'll fix that ASAP.