Page 19

Natalie

Natalie’s heart pounds with both indignation and unspoken guilt. For a second there, she was sure she’d been busted—possibly tattled on by Tessa or just really unlucky.

But her mom doesn’t seem to know where she’s been. She’s staring at the medallion Natalie has worn for much of her life. It’s precious to her. She only took it off this morning so her father wouldn’t see it, wouldn’t know how tightly she’s held on to it. Even now, it takes great stores of restraint not to snatch it from her mother’s hand.

They never talk about her father. And her mother—who comments on everything Natalie says or does—never mentions the medallion. As if it’s invisible. As if there’s no gaping hole in her life where her father should be.

“What the hell, Mom?” she asks shakily. “Why the sudden interest in Saint Raymond?”

“Raymond? Is that a joke?”

Natalie shakes her head. “No, that’s who this saint is supposed to be. I looked it up on a website that sells Catholic stuff.” She holds out her hand, reaching for the medallion. When her mother passes it back, her fingers close around the silver.

When she was younger, she used to pretend it had magical powers. She’d press it between her hands and pray for her father to appear. Because that seemed like the right thing to do with a magical medallion, even if she isn’t sure that saints are real.

Her mother slides into a dining chair and points at another one, indicating that Natalie should sit, too. “I have to tell you something.”

A chill races up Natalie’s back. She sits, bracing herself. Maybe her mother does know her secret.

“Today the police interviewed me again about Tim’s death. They showed me a bunch of pictures of things they found in his car. And one of them was a medallion just like that.”

Natalie’s heart actually skips a beat. “Seriously?”

Her mother nods, and Natalie notices the dark smudges under her eyes, the exhaustion in her expression.

Natalie’s anger cools by a few degrees. “And you thought it was mine ?”

“I guess? I didn’t know what to think. Have you ever seen another medallion like that one?”

“No,” she admits. “Raymond is not a very common saint.”

“Saint Raymond .” Her mother smiles suddenly. “Trust Harrison to run with an off-brand saint. So tell me—what is our man Raymond the saint of?”

Natalie fingers the chain. “Believe it or not, Raymond is the patron saint of prisoners and the falsely accused.”

Her mother’s eyebrows jerk. “ Prisoners? How prophetic.”

Natalie has thought the same thing many times. And since the topic of her father is on the table for once, she has questions. “Where did this come from, anyway? Is, uh, Harrison religious?”

Her mom shakes her head. “But maybe his mother was. The medallion was hers, I think. I never met her. She died the year you were born.”

“Oh.”

“She wasn’t a well person. And your father didn’t hear about her passing until months later. A friend of hers mailed him her driver’s license and that medallion. That’s all he had left of her.”

Natalie looks down at the medallion in her hand. “And you gave it to me?”

“Didn’t have much choice,” her mother says. “When you were five, you found it in my dresser drawer, and I said it was your daddy’s. You put it on, and you didn’t want to take it off.”

Natalie can’t even look her mother in the eye right now. She’s afraid her mom will be able to read her treachery off her face. “So what you’re saying is that it’s basically cursed.”

Her mother lets out a sudden laugh. “I don’t believe in curses. Your father made a whole string of poor choices. He sealed his own fate.”

It’s hard to argue with that, which makes Natalie’s stomach sink. “Isn’t it weird, though? That Tim had a Saint Raymond, too?”

“Maybe?” Her mother shrugs. “I’m not Catholic. I don’t know how it works. I never saw him wearing it. The cop said they found it somewhere in his car.”

That weirdo . “It couldn’t have a thing to do with me.”

Even as she says this, she feels a prickle of unease. Tim might have seen the medallion around her neck. He had two opportunities.

But so what? Why would he have cared?

“Can I borrow your phone?” her mother asks. “I want to google Saint Raymond.”

Maybe the coincidence bothers her, too.

“I’ll do it.” Natalie opens a browser and searches for the saint. “Saint Raymond Nonnatus... imprisoned for preaching the gospel. He converted some of his prison guards to Christianity. He’s also the patron saint of childbirth, midwives, children, and pregnant women. His intercession is often sought for safe deliveries and for protecting infants...”

Her mother leans forward. “Really?”

She turns the screen so her mother can see, but she averts her eyes. “I think Nonnatus is Latin for not born ,” her mom says.

Natalie looks at the screen again. She scrolls down. “Yeah. It says he was cut from the womb of his dead mother.” Gross . Suddenly, she’s sick to death of discussing this. “Can we get BaoBao for dinner?”

Her mother massages her own forehead. “Maybe. If you make me one promise.”

Oh God . “What kind of promise?”

“You’ll leave your phone on all the time. Just until the murderer is caught.”

“Okay,” she says quickly. “Whatever.”

Her mother pulls out her own phone. “You want the chicken salad?”

“And the pork and cabbage dumplings.” She scoops her backpack up off the floor and makes her escape.

“You’re welcome!” her mother calls after her.