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As soon as I arrive, I beg Nana to take me to Nathaniel’s house. Although we had never been there before, I know where it is. Nana dropped him off nearby a few times, and once I couldn't resist the temptation to follow him, my curiosity overpowering any sense of caution.
I decided he needed to hear this terrible news in person, and it needed to come from me.
I was eager to talk to him, but I never could have imagined the things that would happen once I got there.
We arrived just as it was getting dark. A rusty, broken-down, red pickup truck was parked in front of the house.
Nervously, I walked down the path and knocked on the door. Instead of Nathaniel’s friendly, cheerful face, I was greeted by a fat, smelly giant of a man.
"Um… hello, sir. I'm Isabella Williams, Nathaniel's friend. May I speak with him, please?" I asked politely.
"Nate, you lazy, pathetic, fucking little shit, there's a girl at the door. Get your ass over here now!" he shouted.
I’m frozen in shock. I've never heard an adult talk to anyone like that. Nathaniel rushed to the door, and he looked just as shocked to see me. I assumed he was going to embrace me in a hug as usual, but instead, he quickly sent me away and told me we'd meet tomorrow. I left with hesitation, feeling confused and hurt. I got in the car. I was barely buckled in when the floodgates opened.
"What’s wrong, dear?" Nana asked.
"It’s ... I ..." I choke through tears. "Can we just go, please?"
"We can’t. I can’t bear to see my only granddaughter crying. So tell me what happened, please. Did someone hurt you?"
I nod, and her eyes go huge in horror. She starts to check my body and face, looking for bruises. "No one has hurt me physically, Nana. It was Nate, and the only thing that’s hurting is my insides. He didn’t want to talk to me, and ...and ..." I choke again. "He sent me away."
"I’m so sorry, honey." She embraces me with a hug. It’s hard in the car, but her hugs always make me feel better.
"I was so scared. His dad was there, and he was shouting. I’m so worried about Nate." I wipe away a tear as it falls down my cheek.
"Maybe it’s just a misunderstanding. You’ll get a chance to talk to him; you’ll see."
My face lights up, remembering he wants to meet tomorrow. I ask her to drive me back here in the morning. She’s reluctant. "I don’t know, honey. What if his father is there again? I can’t risk it."
"Please, Nana. You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important."
"I know, Izzy," she hesitates, seemingly deep in thought. "All right, but we should ask one of your cousins to go with you."
"No, Nana, that’s unnecessary. You know Nathaniel would never hurt me. He wouldn’t hurt a fly unless a fly was hurting me," I assure her, but then something else came to my mind. "We can meet in our spot, not here. That way, I won’t see his father again. Is that okay?"
She hesitates, but eventually she nods. Nana assures me she’ll wait at the cabin, and if anything happens, I’m to run back to her immediately.
The next morning, I’m waiting patiently at our spot for Nathaniel. I arrive early, giving me time to run through everything I want to tell him. The more I think about it, the more I feel the need to cry. But I need to stop myself if I want to tell him everything. I’m just afraid I won’t be able to.
I wait and wait, walking around our tree. When I see him for the first time, I’m horrified and can no longer stop the tears. He has a black eye, a swollen lip, and worst of all, he’s limping. I run to Nathaniel and fall into his arms, but he winces in pain.
What the heck happened to him?
CHAPTER SEVEN
NATHANIEL
TWO DAYS EARLIER
The sound of bottles crashing in the kitchen wakes me up. I lie in bed, hoping and praying that Dad won't come into my room tonight. He's always in a bad mood when he's been drinking. Since he lost his job at the construction site a few weeks ago, he's been having more drunk days than sober ones. Now, he appears to be turning to hard liquor, like whiskey and rum, instead of his usual beers and ciders. The liquor makes him angrier, more violent, and volatile. I can hear Gabriel trying to calm him down. Although he's only a couple of years older than me, he's much braver, stronger, and more capable. He really lives up to his name. I was told that my mother chose his name because, when she first saw his face, she said he looked like a little angel; that's what he's always been to me. My guardian angel, my protector, and Dad's punching bag. It's been this way for as long as I can remember.
"Come on, Dad, let me help you onto the sofa. I recorded the game for you. Let's turn it on, and I'll get you a beer," I hear Gabe say in an attempt to calm Dad down and get him to focus on something other than tearing the house apart.
"I don't want to fucking sit down," my dad yells. "John beat me at poker again tonight, that cheating bastard. I'm broke, and you and your lazy bastard of a brother aren't doing anything to help me! You're lucky I even let you stay here."
