Chapter 11: Burgers, Secrets, and a Journal
The Dream House
Book One
Nobody said a word for almost five minutes after finding the journal.
The sun had disappeared behind the trees and the evening air was beginning to cool. Maya sat cross-legged beneath the oak tree with the journal resting on her lap. Selena stood nearby with her hands buried inside the pockets of her blazer. Luna sat on top of the old metal box staring at the journal as if it might suddenly open itself and explain everything.
It didn't.
Instead, it just sat there.
Silent.
Heavy.
Mysterious.
The way old things often are.
Maya closed the journal and looked at the others.
"Can we talk about how hungry I am?"
Selena looked at her.
Luna looked at her.
Then both burst out laughing.
The tension that had been building for hours suddenly cracked.
For the first time all day, they felt normal.
Almost.
"You've got to be kidding me," Selena said.
"What?" Maya shrugged. "We've been standing around trees and opening treasure chests for like three hours."
"Treasure chest?" Luna laughed.
"You know what I mean."
"You just discovered a journal that predicted your existence."
"Exactly."
"And you're hungry?"
"I'm always hungry."
Luna shook her head.
"I actually believe her."
Maya smiled proudly.
"Thank you."
"That's not a compliment."
Twenty minutes later they were sitting inside a small burger restaurant about fifteen minutes from the church.
The place wasn't fancy.
The booths were slightly worn.
The menus had ketchup stains.
The music was too loud.
And the fries smelled amazing.
Maya immediately felt at home.
The waitress arrived.
"What can I get you ladies?"
"Double cheeseburger combo," Maya answered before anyone else could speak.
The waitress smiled.
"That was fast."
"I've been preparing for this moment my whole life."
Selena rolled her eyes.
Luna laughed into her menu.
For some reason that made Maya smile.
She hadn't laughed this much in months.
Maybe years.
Life had become so focused on surviving that she had forgotten how much she enjoyed simple moments.
People.
Conversations.
Friendships.
The waitress eventually left.
Silence settled over the table.
Not awkward silence.
Comfortable silence.
The kind that happens when people slowly stop pretending.
Maya noticed Selena staring out the window.
"You okay?"
Selena looked away from the street.
The question seemed to catch her off guard.
"Yeah."
The answer came too quickly.
Maya immediately knew it wasn't true.
Luna knew too.
Women apparently had a secret language built entirely around pretending to be okay.
"You don't look okay," Luna said softly.
Selena laughed.
A tired laugh.
"Thanks."
"You know what I mean."
Selena looked down at her hands.
For a moment Maya thought she wouldn't answer.
Then she sighed.
"My company is probably going under."
The words landed heavily on the table.
Even the restaurant seemed quieter afterward.
Maya knew Selena had mentioned problems before.
But hearing it like that felt different.
Real.
Raw.
Painful.
Selena continued.
"I spent three years building it."
Nobody interrupted.
"I missed birthdays."
She stared at the table.
"I missed family gatherings."
Her voice became softer.
"I lost relationships."
Maya noticed the sadness behind her eyes.
The sadness successful people rarely show.
The sadness hidden behind achievements.
Behind promotions.
Behind expensive clothes.
Behind confidence.
"I thought if I worked hard enough, eventually everything would make sense."
She laughed again.
"But the harder I worked, the emptier everything became."
Nobody knew what to say.
Because everybody understood.
Not the company.
The feeling.
Maya understood it through her art.
Luna understood it through her own disappointments.
Different roads.
Same loneliness.
Eventually Maya spoke.
"You know what's funny?"
Selena looked up.
"What?"
"I always thought people like you had everything figured out."
Selena almost choked on her drink.
"Me?"
"Yeah."
"You've got to be kidding."
Maya shook her head.
"No seriously."
She pointed at Selena.
"You wear suits."
Selena blinked.
"What?"
"You always look professional."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"I don't know. Professional people seem like they know things."
Luna burst into laughter.
This time even Selena laughed.
The genuine kind.
The kind that escapes before people can stop it.
For a brief moment the weight disappeared.
Then Luna became quiet.
Unusually quiet.
Maya noticed immediately.
"What about you?"
Luna looked confused.
"What about me?"
"You've been listening this whole time."
Luna lowered her eyes.
The smile disappeared.
"I don't really trust people anymore."
The words surprised them.
Not because of what she said.
Because of how quickly she said it.
As if the sentence had been waiting.
Looking for an opportunity to escape.
Luna slowly stirred her drink.
"I used to."
Her voice remained calm.
"But every time I let people get close, they left."
Maya felt something inside her chest tighten.
Luna continued.
"Friends."
A pause.
"Family."
Another pause.
"Relationships."
Nobody interrupted.
The restaurant around them continued moving.
Waiters.
Customers.
Music.
Laughter.
Life.
Yet somehow their little booth felt isolated from everything else.
Like its own world.
Its own story.
Its own healing.
For the first time all three women were no longer discussing clues.
Or journals.
Or prophecies.
They were discussing wounds.
And wounds are often more mysterious than treasure chests.
Eventually the food arrived.
Maya immediately attacked her fries.
The others laughed.
And somehow that simple moment felt important.
Three women.
Three struggles.
Three lives moving in completely different directions.
Yet somehow sitting at the same table.
Sharing the same evening.
The same fries.
The same questions.
Later, as they prepared to leave, Maya slipped the journal back into her backpack.
Something fell out.
A folded page.
Nobody had noticed it before.
The paper drifted onto the floor.
Maya picked it up.
Slowly unfolded it.
And froze.
The handwriting matched the journal.
At the very top were seven words.
The fire begins on November sixth.
Below it was another sentence.
One that made Maya's heart stop.
Protect the child at all costs.