The Red Hunter(23)



Study hard.

Mom said I could get the test.

There was a long pause where Raven looked out the window, watching the blur of buildings give way to a blur of fields and trees, to a blur of concrete walls, then buildings again.

THE test?

Yeah. She’ll probably change her mind. But she said okay.

Why? What happened?

Nothing. It’s just—time.

The station where Raven had considered turning around came and went. There were other points ahead, though, where she could change her mind. The sky outside grew darker, thick gray clouds floating together.

When I get back we need to all sit and talk. This is a big decision.

What? she thought. That was so like a grown-up. Why were they both so flip-floppy?

You said you were okay with it.

It’s still something I want to talk through as a family.

As a family, she thought. What a crock.

Ella said she thought it was time.

Ella, whatever her opinion, is not part of this.

Oh, snap! There had been a bit more of that from her dad, sort of a hard shutout of Ella on bigger-picture things. Maybe there was trouble in paradise—maybe Dad didn’t love being a vegan yogi as much as he said he did. Maybe Ella found out that he and Raven still scarfed down cheeseburgers and ice cream sundaes when they were alone together, lay around on the couch binging on television shows Claudia would never let her watch like Game of Thrones and The Walking Dead. It was hard not to like Ella (in theory) because she was so nice, so always, always kind. But, really, Raven wished that she’d just go away. Just float away, skinny yogini, on your magical mat made of recycled materials.

Fine. We’ll talk. But my mind is made up. You can’t stop me forever.

Don’t do anything without me.

Duh. How could we?

Uh, yeah. Right. When did you get so smart?

She was far from smart. Ayers and Claudia were both smart in different ways—maybe not math or science geniuses but creative and sharp. Raven struggled—always, with everything—with reading, with math, with people. She was always behind, even had to repeat kindergarten. Her parents changed schools, hoping that she wouldn’t notice that she had to do kindergarten again, but she noticed. Even now, even working hard, she was just a solid-C student, with the occasional B. She got A’s in art and theater sometimes. But the rest of it was a constant challenge of attention and effort.

I had trouble in school, too, her mom said. Creative people don’t always do well in a traditional school environment.

But Raven knew it wasn’t true. She’d seen her mother’s yearbook—she’d been beautiful and bright, editor of the school paper, most likely to succeed, homecoming queen. Your mother couldn’t pay attention, her aunt Martha said, because she was always thinking about boys, parties, and fashion. That’s why she had a hard time.

Another text from her dad:

Remember that you are my daughter in every real and significant way. Nothing can take that from us. No matter what. I love you, Kitten.

But it wasn’t true. It just wasn’t. She was either his biological daughter, or she was the daughter of a sociopathic criminal who raped her mother and left her for dead. There was no way to pretend that it didn’t matter which. And lately, she felt it. She felt apart from them, different. Ayers and Claudia were one kind of person, and she was another. There was a darkness in her, an anger that was foreign and alive. Like yesterday, the girl that dumped that tray—yeah, on purpose—was not the girl who had been sitting quietly reading with her lunch just moments earlier. She was dark and mean and lived inside Raven, just waiting to be invited out. And when she was out? There was always trouble.

I know, Dad. I love you, too.

I’ll call your mom next week and we’ll all get together.

If Raven were smart, she probably wouldn’t have told him about the test until he got back. What if he called her mom to talk right away? But he wouldn’t. Because then he’d have to tell her that he was in St. Lucia with Ella, since not telling her while he was calling her from the beach with a cocktail in his hand was the same as lying. Which her dad would never do. He was chronically honest. So, he’d mention where he was, try to make light of it. And, though her mom wouldn’t say anything, it would hurt. (And no one wanted Claudia to be hurt any more than she already had been.) But the reminder that Ayers had happily moved on with his life wouldn’t hurt as much as realizing that Raven had lied and was on her way into the city on her own to do who knew what. A shit storm for all involved would ensue.

Another station where she might have gotten off came and went. She even shouldered her bag and slid forward in her seat. But then she sat back down. She stuffed her phone in the pocket of her hoodie and leaned her head against the window.

It’s not like she was running away or anything. She’d stay in touch and be home when she was supposed to go home. It was just that she had an errand to run, one neither of her parents would understand.

It was Ella who had given her the idea. The man who raped Claudia was dead. But he had a family—a family that might be hers, as well. What if you reached out to them, Ella suggested. Just, you know, to see if you have anything in common, if there’s a connection. It never occurred to Raven that Ella was anything but well meaning.

His name was easy enough to find, since Raven’s own mother, in an effort to understand and forgive her rapist—had written extensively about him in an earlier blog. Melvin Cutter: abandoned by his mother to the system at age four, raised in foster care, arrested for the first time at fourteen, then three more times after that for various offenses from drug possession to assault. He held a job, a night watchman at a supermarket on Second Avenue. On the night he raped Claudia, he was twenty years old, illiterate, and high on meth. Police speculated that he’d likely broken into the apartment looking for something to steal and sell and ran into Raven’s mother instead.

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