You even know that story?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“I just didn’t think you were into spirituality. You seem so…”
“So what?”
“So…into other things,” I finished lamely. “I mean, do you believe in God?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe you wouldn’t need God if you had Eden.”
I turned this over in my mind. “I’m not sure that makes sense.
In the story, God made Eden and walked around in it with Adam and Eve.”
“That’s one way to look at it. Or maybe Eden is God.”
“I don’t know any religion that teaches that.”
“Does there need to be one?” Luke picked up the mag light and cast beams on the wall with it.
I yawned and lay down again in my sleeping bag. “Now you sound like my mom.”
Luke frowned. “Better than sounding like my mom.” I hesitated. “What does your mom sound like?” I hesitated. “What does your mom sound like?” Luke stretched out on the floor. He propped himself up on one elbow. “How about you, Brigitta? Do you pray?” I thought about my cougar prayer—my first conscious prayer in a long time. For some reason prayer wasn’t a regular thing with me anymore. “I used to.” I couldn’t say that it was with Nonni I used to pray. Some afternoons we chatted with God on the screened-in porch while we turned Nonni’s sewing scraps into doll dresses for the homeless shelter. It was as if Jesus was sitting there between us, making his scraps into loaves and fishes.
A breeze blew through the cracks in the tree house wal. “Do you need a sleeping bag? There’s another one inside that bench.
Just lift the seat up.”
Luke took the mag light and puled out a board game, Devon’s coat, a tube of hand lotion, and finaly retrieved the bag and a pilow. He moved close enough that I could feel his breath.
A crane fly looped over our heads. I wanted to swat it but felt sleepy, so sleepy.
“I used to pray, too,” said Luke.
I thought, as I drifted off, that I felt him touch my hair.
chapter
fifteen
Luke’s sleeping bag was beside me, rumpled, in the morning. I hadn’t dreamed him. My back hurt from sleeping on boards again. I sat up and secured brushes from the cupboard—tooth and hair. 8:30! How long since the kittens had eaten?
Devon’s coat and the hand lotion were strewn across the floor, along with the board game, a belt, and a pair of Luke’s floor, along with the board game, a belt, and a pair of Luke’s socks. Had he gone home barefoot?
The tree house began to shake. He hadn’t gone home! I brushed my hair furiously and checked my face in the mirror.
Plain, pale. For once I wished I wore makeup.
Footsteps on the porch. I dabbed toothpaste on my tongue.
The door opened.
Natalie.
Her eyes took in the room: me, the two sleeping bags, my jeans, the belt and socks, Devon’s coat.
“Whoa,” she said. “Brigitta. Wow. Should I go?” I opened my mouth and then closed it. What if Luke came back while she was here?
She looked up toward the loft and pointed. “Devon?” she mouthed.
This was what I got for making stuff up.
“No!” I puled some hair out of my brush. “It’s not what you’re thinking, Nat.” It was one thing for her to think Devon and I were back together; it was another to give her the impression that we were—
“He’s not here?”
“No. Just me.”
Natalie eyed the belt. “Wel, you’ll be happy to know I covered for you. Your mom thinks you’re with me. I came so I wouldn’t be lying.” She squinted at the game. “Risk? I know that’s his favorite game, but…” She picked up the socks and twirled them.
“Natalie, it’s realy, realy not what you’re thinking.”
“Yeah, hon, I know.” She winked.
I forced myself not to look out the window. Was Luke still out there?
Natalie moved to the window seat and sat. She took a breath.
“We need to start talking again, Brigitta. You’re different.” I didn’t answer.
I didn’t answer.
Natalie wrapped one curl around her finger.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“I just didn’t think you were into spirituality. You seem so…”
“So what?”
“So…into other things,” I finished lamely. “I mean, do you believe in God?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe you wouldn’t need God if you had Eden.”
I turned this over in my mind. “I’m not sure that makes sense.
In the story, God made Eden and walked around in it with Adam and Eve.”
“That’s one way to look at it. Or maybe Eden is God.”
“I don’t know any religion that teaches that.”
“Does there need to be one?” Luke picked up the mag light and cast beams on the wall with it.
I yawned and lay down again in my sleeping bag. “Now you sound like my mom.”
Luke frowned. “Better than sounding like my mom.” I hesitated. “What does your mom sound like?” I hesitated. “What does your mom sound like?” Luke stretched out on the floor. He propped himself up on one elbow. “How about you, Brigitta? Do you pray?” I thought about my cougar prayer—my first conscious prayer in a long time. For some reason prayer wasn’t a regular thing with me anymore. “I used to.” I couldn’t say that it was with Nonni I used to pray. Some afternoons we chatted with God on the screened-in porch while we turned Nonni’s sewing scraps into doll dresses for the homeless shelter. It was as if Jesus was sitting there between us, making his scraps into loaves and fishes.
A breeze blew through the cracks in the tree house wal. “Do you need a sleeping bag? There’s another one inside that bench.
Just lift the seat up.”
Luke took the mag light and puled out a board game, Devon’s coat, a tube of hand lotion, and finaly retrieved the bag and a pilow. He moved close enough that I could feel his breath.
A crane fly looped over our heads. I wanted to swat it but felt sleepy, so sleepy.
“I used to pray, too,” said Luke.
I thought, as I drifted off, that I felt him touch my hair.
chapter
fifteen
Luke’s sleeping bag was beside me, rumpled, in the morning. I hadn’t dreamed him. My back hurt from sleeping on boards again. I sat up and secured brushes from the cupboard—tooth and hair. 8:30! How long since the kittens had eaten?
Devon’s coat and the hand lotion were strewn across the floor, along with the board game, a belt, and a pair of Luke’s floor, along with the board game, a belt, and a pair of Luke’s socks. Had he gone home barefoot?
The tree house began to shake. He hadn’t gone home! I brushed my hair furiously and checked my face in the mirror.
Plain, pale. For once I wished I wore makeup.
Footsteps on the porch. I dabbed toothpaste on my tongue.
The door opened.
Natalie.
Her eyes took in the room: me, the two sleeping bags, my jeans, the belt and socks, Devon’s coat.
“Whoa,” she said. “Brigitta. Wow. Should I go?” I opened my mouth and then closed it. What if Luke came back while she was here?
She looked up toward the loft and pointed. “Devon?” she mouthed.
This was what I got for making stuff up.
“No!” I puled some hair out of my brush. “It’s not what you’re thinking, Nat.” It was one thing for her to think Devon and I were back together; it was another to give her the impression that we were—
“He’s not here?”
“No. Just me.”
Natalie eyed the belt. “Wel, you’ll be happy to know I covered for you. Your mom thinks you’re with me. I came so I wouldn’t be lying.” She squinted at the game. “Risk? I know that’s his favorite game, but…” She picked up the socks and twirled them.
“Natalie, it’s realy, realy not what you’re thinking.”
“Yeah, hon, I know.” She winked.
I forced myself not to look out the window. Was Luke still out there?
Natalie moved to the window seat and sat. She took a breath.
“We need to start talking again, Brigitta. You’re different.” I didn’t answer.
I didn’t answer.
Natalie wrapped one curl around her finger.
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