Still humming, she scooped a stack of neatly folded jeans and T-shirts and headed for Natalie’s room.
The door was closed, and she shifted the stack of laundry to one hip and knocked softly.
“Come in.”
“Special delivery,” she said brightly. “There’s one more load in the dryer, but I—”
Immediately she sensed that something was wrong. Natalie was sitting cross-legged on her bed, staring into space. Her face was a pallid shade of gray, and her eyes lacked the spark that usually animated them.
Daria’s heart leapt to her throat. “Honey? What’s wrong?”
Without a word, Natalie got up and walked stiffly to her dresser. She opened the top drawer, reached under a stack of socks and panties, and pulled out a white business envelope.
She held it out, and Daria saw that her hands were trembling. Natalie sat back down on the edge of her bed.
The envelope bore the return address of the local county attorney’s office. Daria looked from the letter to her daughter and back again. “What’s this?”
Putting her face in her hands, Natalie spoke in a voice that was flat and lifeless, “It— It came in the mail … Oh, Mom, I … I think I’m in big trouble.” She nodded toward the envelope that now hung limply from Daria’s hand.
Daria looked at the return address once more, then slowly opened the envelope and sat in stunned silence as the realization washed over her. The papers inside were a summons for Natalie to appear in the county courthouse on charges of driving under the influence.
“Nattie? What is this?” She forced the question over a knifelike lump in her throat.
“Mom …” Natalie’s voice wavered. “I was— I must have been drinking too … that night.”
Daria gasped. “No … oh, no, Natalie.” There had to be some mistake. She thought of the argument Natalie had had with her father that night. They had known that Nattie had been flirting with rebellion. She’d been pushing the limits of her curfew and mouthing off, but they hadn’t thought it had gone this far. Natalie had admitted that she’d been at the party that night, but in spite of the fact that her memories of the hours surrounding the accident were blurry, she had never given them reason to believe that she had been drinking.
Natalie’s shrill moan broke into Daria’s thoughts. “Sara never wanted to go to the party, Mom. It was me. I’m the one who wanted to drive out there. I— I wasn’t going to do anything. But then they just kind of put a beer in my hands, and I took a sip and …” She dissolved in tears.
Daria felt numb. “You were drinking, Natalie? How— How much did you have to drink?” she asked in a monotone. She let the stack of folded clothes slide to the bed and sat down beside her daughter, her mind reeling. This was serious. How serious, she couldn’t even guess. If Natalie was guilty—if she had been driving under the influence—the consequences could be grave. A rope of fear wrapped itself about her and constricted. What would happen to her daughter? Her mind churned with a thousand thoughts, each worse than the one before. Then another thought twisted that rope until Daria wasn’t sure she could breathe.
Maribeth. Oh, dear Lord. How will I ever face her now? After all the mercy she and Don have shown us, now it seems that Nattie was responsible for Sara’s death after all. Oh, Lord Jesus, we need you, we need you desperately.
Daria felt torn between the anguish she knew her daughter was feeling and fury that Natalie had deceived them all this time. She thought about all the people she’d had conversations with after the accident, and a sick feeling came to the pit of her stomach. How many times, and to how many people, had she confidently, even smugly, said, “Oh, we’re just so glad that Natalie wasn’t drinking”?
She’d thought she’d been telling the truth. But how many of those people would now believe that she had lied to them? Even as the thoughts formed, she felt disgusted with herself for caring so much what other people thought. She cared more about that, if she was honest, than about the way her daughter was suffering, or the way the Devers were suffering. Forgive me, Lord, she prayed silently. Still, the thoughts bombarded her.
“Natalie,” she said evenly, turning to force her daughter to meet her gaze. “I need to know the truth. How much did you have to drink that night? Were you drunk?” Disbelief and panic caused her voice to rise and crack, but she couldn’t seem to bring it under control.
“No, Mom. I … I know I wasn’t drunk. I felt perfectly fine. I don’t know how much I had. I honestly don’t know. I remember … a bottle and maybe a can, but I felt fine. I didn’t feel a thing. And I didn’t even drink it all. I poured some of it out … in the fire.” Her eyes had a faraway look as though she were reliving the night in her mind.
Daria picked up the summons again and read it more carefully. And as she did, all hope that there might be some mistake dissolved. The damning words on the page shouted the truth. According to the document in her hand, tests had shown Natalie’s blood alcohol content to be above .08, the legal limit. Of course, since Natalie was a minor, any percent was illegal. But .08 was legally drunk by anyone’s standards.
Then she remembered. That night in the emergency room, Dr. Davidson had told them that the sheriff had ordered blood tests on the victims of the accident. This summons had obviously been delivered as a result of those tests. Could Natalie be charged with Sara’s death? After all this time? Surely not. The evidence had pointed clearly to Brian Wagner running the stop sign. But Natalie had been driving under the influence of alcohol. Drunk. Their daughter had been drunk behind the wheel of a car! It was more than Daria could grasp.
“Natalie,” she said, struggling to rein in her emotions. “Do you understand what this says? They took tests in the hospital that show that you were legally drunk. You—you must have had more to drink than you remember. Think, Natalie. This is important.”
She watched her daughter and could see the memories continue to play themselves out behind haunted eyes.
“I shouldn’t have been there,” Natalie said almost to herself. “I should have listened to Sara.” She put a fist into her pillow and cried out, “Oh, God, why didn’t I listen to Sara?” She hit the pillow again, harder this time.
Daria stood up, but her legs had turned to liquid. She sank back to the bed, paralyzed. She needed to call Cole. They had to do something—but what, she couldn’t even think.
Other thoughts assailed her, one a final twist in the taut rope that held her in its coils: Nate. If Natalie was in trouble with the law, Nathan Camfield would have to be notified.
Nate would never forgive her if they didn’t let him know what had happened.
Daria’s heart sank. Nate had given up so much. The one, small consolation for the enormous sacrifice he had made all those years ago had been his pride in their daughter. What would he think now? Would he blame Daria for Natalie’s rebellion? Time reeled backward, and Daria relived the agony of the decision she had faced when Nate had returned from the dead, as it were.
If she had learned nothing else through that terrible time, she had learned whom to rely on at times like this. Putting an arm around her distraught daughter, Daria held Natalie close and silently offered up their crisis to the throne of heaven.
Natalie sat on her bed after her mother had left the room. She felt as though she were in a nightmare from which she couldn’t awaken. Over and over she tried to replay that night, tried to remember how much she’d had to drink, how she’d felt. But again and again her concentration was disrupted by Sara’s words. Come on, Nattie. Please, let’s go. I don’t understand why you’re doing this. What are you trying to prove? Come on, Nattie. Please, let’s go. The words assailed her, piercing her heart until she wanted to run, screaming, from her room, to escape their accusation. She covered her ears, as though that might stop the assault.
She remembered Evan handing a bottle of beer to her when they first got there. She had drunk most of it, and another one, too, she thought. And sometime during the night she remembered holding a
can of beer. But she’d poured most of that in the fire, hadn’t she? Had there been more? Maybe two or three beers was all it took. She didn’t know. She’d never had so much as a taste of alcohol before, so she had nothing by which to gauge the effect it might have on her. But she had felt fine. It hadn’t felt the way she thought it would. She hadn’t felt out of control or giddy.
But blood tests didn’t lie. What would happen to her? Could they actually put her in jail? She remembered a phrase from a newspaper article she’d read somewhere: vehicular manslaughter. If she was remembering right, it was almost like murder. She began to shake. For the first time since she was a little girl, she got on her knees. Sliding off the bed, she bent over the mattress, face in her hands, and wept. She poured her heart out to God, begging, pleading with him to save her. Only now, the word save had taken on a whole new significance.
She was vaguely aware of hearing a car crunching the gravel on the long drive that led to the house, and then the sound of muted voices in the kitchen below her room. Mom must have called Daddy to come home. What would he do? A nagging voice in her head told her that he had every right to be angry. The thought of facing him now terrified her. But if she was honest, her greatest fear was that he might be kind to her, that he might forgive her. She didn’t deserve forgiveness.
A quiet knock at the door caused her to take in a sharp breath. “Yeah,” she answered harshly, scrambling onto the bed, strangely embarrassed to be caught praying. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come.
Her father walked into her room, the accusing letter in his hands. The disappointment and hurt she saw in his eyes gouged a throbbing hole in her heart.
He sat down beside her on the bed and spoke softly without preamble. “I have a friend I’m going to call,” he said, rubbing his hands together the way he did when he was upset. “He’s a lawyer. He helped us when Nate—when your father came back. I think he can help us now.” He leaned away to look her full in the face. “But you’ll have to be honest with him, Natalie. He can’t help you unless you tell him everything. The truth. All of it.”
She nodded solemnly. “Will I … Will I have to go to jail?”
A shadow clouded his face, and he shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. I don’t know what will happen.” He sat deep in thought for a moment, and when he spoke next, his voice was that of the disciplinarian that the rebel in her despised. “I don’t want you driving, Natalie,” he said.
“What?”
“Under the circumstances, I don’t think it’s wise for you to be driving—until we find out what this means.” He indicated the letter on the bed beside him.
“You’re not serious?”
“I am dead serious, Natalie. I’m sorry. But until we know what the consequences of this will be, I think it just makes sense. But Nattie …” His voice broke and he swallowed hard before speaking again. “I want you to know that we’ll be with you no matter what happens. We’ll get through this. With God’s help, we’ll all get through it.” He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder.
But she turned away and shrugged him off, hating herself even as she did it. She desperately wanted the comfort of her father’s touch, and yet she couldn’t accept it. Not now. There was too much to be forgiven—on both their parts. A confusing pool of emotions whirled within her. She scooted to the foot of the bed, out of his reach.
He persisted, laying a hand on the bed near her, palm up as though he wanted her to put her hand in his. “We love you, Natalie. You know that, don’t you? Nothing you could ever do will change that.”
She sat, unmoving and silent, her arms wrapped tightly around her, her head bowed.
After a few minutes, he stood and walked out of the room. She looked up in time to see that his shoulders were hunched and his head down. Something inside her whispered, Go to him. Go to him now. Tell him that you love him.
But she didn’t deserve his love.
She sat paralyzed on the edge of the bed, unable to obey her own heart.
Fourteen
The snow was falling heavily. Daria had to run the wipers every few seconds just to see the road. She tapped the brakes as she approached the Bristol city limits sign and slowed again as she neared Harrison Street, wishing she could just keep driving. She felt like a prisoner going to the gallows. Even if she herself wasn’t headed for death, she knew that her friendship with Maribeth Dever probably was. Her dear friend had extended more grace and mercy to Natalie—to their entire family—than anyone could expect. But no one would require Maribeth to forgive what Daria had to tell her today.
She pulled into the driveway, and a lump formed in her throat as she realized that this might be the last time she would ever be welcome at her friend’s door. Trying in vain to compose herself, she got out of the car and trudged through the snow that had accumulated on the walk. She stood on the porch, letting the biting wind cut through her wool coat, then finally she lifted a gloved hand and touched the doorbell.
Maribeth, wearing her usual cheery smile, opened the door wide. “Daria! What are you doing out in this weather?” She took Daria’s arm. “Get in here. Let me fix you a hot cup of tea.” Then, taking one look at Daria’s tear-stained cheeks, “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, Mari. I have to talk to you.”
Maribeth’s face went pale. “What’s happened?”
When Daria could only shake her head, Maribeth hurriedly pulled her into the warmth of the house and closed the door behind them. She steered Daria to the sofa in the living room and waited quietly. The warmth of Maribeth’s hand on her arm was almost more than Daria could bear.
“I don’t even know how to begin, Mari. You … you’ve been through so much. I don’t know how you can take any more, how you can forgive any more.”
“What are you talking about, Daria? What has happened?” she repeated, but her voice had taken on the dull timbre of dread.
“Mari—” Daria took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “Natalie was drinking the night of the accident. The tests came back, and they … they showed that … she was legally drunk.”
Maribeth put a hand to her mouth.
Daria watched the news slowly register on her friend’s face. “I didn’t know it before. I promise you, I didn’t know. She— She got a summons in the mail yesterday charging her with DUI. Oh, Mari, I am so sorry!”
She waited for a response, but if she had expected anger and tears, if she had expected accusations and reproof, she was wrong.
Maribeth began to cry, but it soon became apparent that her tears were not for herself. She took Daria’s hands in her own. “What can I do to help, Daria? How is Natalie taking it?” Maribeth asked.
“Not well. Not well at all. We were so encouraged right after the accident—and even more after she’d talked to you. It really seemed like her attitude had changed and she’d turned over a new leaf. She was opening up to Cole, and we could really see her making an effort with Nikki. But since the letter, she’s turned cold again. She’s hardly speaking to Cole … In fact, she’s hardly been out of her room for two days. I’m worried about her, Mari. I don’t know what’s going to happen.”
She looked at her friend, and though Maribeth’s face bore only compassion, it struck Daria how unfair it had been for her to expect Maribeth to even listen to this. “Oh, Mari, I’m so sorry for dumping this on you. Forgive me. I will completely understand if you want nothing to do with us after today.”
“Daria, stop it. I hope you know me better than that. I … I hate it. I hate every word of what you just told me, but I never stopped loving Natalie. I know she didn’t mean for the accident to happen.” She squeezed Daria’s hands. “What are you going to do?”
Daria explained that they’d talked to Cole’s lawyer friend, Dennis Chastain. “Dennis doesn’t think the charge will go beyond DUI. It’ll mean a fine and … probation. She’ll probably have to do some community service and spend some time in—” Daria’s voice caught, and she willed herself
not to break down. She took a deep breath, reminding herself that, horrible as this was, she still had her daughter, living and well. “She’ll probably have to spend forty-eight hours in jail.”
Maribeth put a hand to her mouth. “Oh, Daria, no.”
Daria nodded. “Dennis doesn’t think the county attorney will go for manslaughter or anything like that—since they know that Brian Wagner ran the stop sign. It could be so much worse, Mari. I know you’d trade places with me …”
Maribeth seemed overcome with emotion, but finally she asked softly, “Do you want me to talk to Natalie?”
“Oh no, Mari. No. That’s not why I came. I didn’t mean—” She stopped, fighting back tears. “I’m just so sorry,” she choked. “I’m so sorry that Natalie … was involved at all. I … don’t know what else to say.”
“There’s nothing to say, Daria. We all forgave Natalie long ago. This doesn’t change that. But maybe she needs to hear it again. Now that we know—”
Daria cut her off. “I can’t ask that of you, Mari. And to be honest, I’m not sure what Natalie’s response would be. She’s turned hard. She’s— I don’t know … she’s not herself. I don’t know what’s going through her mind. But it’s not good.”
They sat talking quietly together, consoling each other. Finally they prayed together. As long as she lived, Daria would never forget the beautiful words of compassion and grace that her friend spoke.
“Father, comfort Cole and Daria,” Maribeth prayed. “Let them know that you have everything under control. And be with Natalie. Help her to accept your love and forgiveness. Soften her heart, Lord. Don’t let this keep her from you. Just let her feel your unconditional love, Lord. And somehow, Father, let even this be used for your glory.”
Later, as she drove home through the snow, Daria prayed silently, Oh, Father, bless Mari’s willingness to forgive so quickly. Comfort her and Don and Jon. Be with all of them. Father, I’m so unworthy of Maribeth’s love, but by your power, please make me worthy. Amen.
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