Finally, because I’ve got to tell someone, I dial Megan. The second she picks up, before she has the chance to say anything, I spill.
“Megs,” I say, fear in my voice, “I’m pretty sure I saw God.”
The floorboards creak outside my door and I stop talking for a minute to listen. When no one comes in, I continue in a whisper.
“Even though Nora hasn’t confirmed that someone had her killed, I know it’s true,” I say. “And that is just… off-the-rails crazy. And then they hid her, but didn’t tell her about the program, and now they’re Reviving new Converts? It’s all too much. If this is how things are going, I’m even more worried about Matt. I’m going to pull together notes on everything I know and share them with Mason tomorrow,” I say. “He’ll know what to do.”
“I think it’s the right move,” Megan says. “You’re taking control.”
“Love you, Megs,” I say.
“Love you more.”
When I finally go to bed, I imagine Matt’s car being driven off the road and have to shake my head to fight off the thought. I toss and turn for hours, thinking of one gruesome scenario after another. I lie on my left side and the thoughts are there. I switch to my right—no escape.
Finally, I force myself to remember that Matt isn’t Nora: He won’t tell.
Then again, I think as I flip to my stomach, it seems that God paid me a visit, so maybe he’s watching me. And if he’s watching, then maybe he already knows, anyway.
thirty-six
In the morning, anxiety slams into me. Then I think of Audrey singing to Matt and me at the breakfast table and I smile. I climb out of bed, shower, and go to find Mason before school.
Unfortunately, he and Cassie are on their way out.
“We need supplies,” he says. “We’re headed to the store. Want to come?”
“Not really,” I admit.
“I’ll let you drive,” he offers.
“Sold.”
Cassie sits in the back and I buckle into the driver’s seat. I’ve only had two lessons, but I have my learner’s permit now, so I sort of know what I’m doing. Even so, easing the tank out of the driveway is no easy task: I run over a patch of yard in the process.
I do better on the main roads, and somehow I manage to get us to the supermarket in one piece. Mason and Cassie put on parent faces as we walk inside, and I bounce along after them, giddy from driving.
The store is unusually busy and the lines are so long that I start to worry that I’ll be late for school. We split up to shop and manage to do it pretty quickly. Then, even though we’re pressed for time and it would be faster if Mason drove back to the house, I don’t pass up the opportunity to pilot the return trip, too.
More confident this time, I have no trouble at all, not even with the sharp turn onto our street. But just when I blinker to pull into the driveway, Mason’s hand flies to my knee.
“Stop,” he commands.
“What?” I say, slamming on the brakes. I look at the street in front of me and behind. I’m afraid I’ve run over something or someone.
“Shh,” he hisses.
Confused, I look at Mason’s face. And that’s when I want to scream.
Mason is a different person, one I’ve never seen before. Every muscle in his body is tense. His eyes are narrow, piercing. His jaw is clenched. And even though I didn’t see him grab it—didn’t know he had it on him—he’s holding his gun.
“Back down the street,” Mason says. Suddenly, I can’t remember how to put the car in reverse. I fumble with a few things before Cassie pops up from the backseat and pulls the gearshift down to R. Slowly, I manage to creep backward a few dozen feet away from the house.
“I’ll go,” Cassie says to Mason. “You stay with her.”
“No, I’ll do it,” Mason says. “Drive away. Check in ten.”
Cassie nods once.