When I feel a shadow slide up alongside me, I know it’s Natalie. “What are you doing?” she asks. “Burning stuff.” “Why?” she asks. “Why not?” I turn to look at her and her gaze stays locked on mine. Something about her isn’t right, but maybe that’s what draws me to her, the shared darkness that rests inside us both. “Good point,” she says. “Smells good. That the pinecones?” “Probably.” “Can I ask you a question?” she says, wrinkling her nose, scrunching her eyebrows down. “Sure.” “You heard about the van, right, my friend Melanie?” “No. What happened?” Her mouth opens, and she looks from side to side as if searching for an audience. “How didn’t you hear about it? Didn’t they knock on your door? Didn’t you see it on the news? It was in all of the newspapers, too.” “I tend to stay to myself.” She stares at me. “I work nights.” “Doing what?” “None of your damn business. So what happened to your friend? Is she okay?”
