Natalie, though looking stunning in her lightly made-up face, and I was the only sour ones here. Resting my plate down on the table, with the two glass bottles, I walk back to the tool shed and bring out two chairs for Natalie and me as the wooden bench is wet from an earlier drizzle. She gives me a tight grateful smile and sits down, crossing her ankles together and slanting both legs to the side- very ladylike. “My legs were killing me, thanks.”
“No problem,” I return and we both dug into our food, enjoying the cool late evening air.
Minutes later our plates are empty and we’re sipping on our now chilled water when she says meekly, “Why are you being nice to me?”
I’m not being nice to her because I’ve forgiven her. I just think that the others should not shun her this way. She’s done
