The Red Hunter(33)

“Meow,” he said, opening his tiny mouth wide. “Meow.”

There was no hissing from either Tiger or this new addition, just some rubbing and a little purring. The white kitten climbed clumsily out of the box as I stood watching, trying to process this turn of events. There was a note on top of the supplies—toys, kitten food, litter, a tiny litter box, a bed, all from the expensive organic shop where I got Tiger’s stuff.

Let’s call him Milo.

Best,

Nate Shelby

Milo was cute, but the whole thing was an annoying distraction, one that I had created. This is what happened when you let yourself show; you attract things into your life. I had violated a personal policy and reached into Nate Shelby’s world, causing a reaction in him. He had reached back into mine. The best thing to do would be to quit. To write him a note and say I got called away; he would need to find someone else.

But I didn’t do that. Instead, I unpacked the supplies, filled Milo’s litterbox, and put it next to Tiger’s in the tiny laundry room. I put out Milo’s food and some water across the kitchen from Tiger so there wouldn’t be any issue about whose food was whose. Of course, there would be, but they would need to figure that out. Then I watched the two of them tangle on the floor a little, finally settling on the windowsill together. I felt something I hadn’t felt in a while. Was it pleasure?

If you open the door, life wanders in. It’s harder to ask it to leave than never to invite it in the first place.

I almost went to bed. Fatigue weighted my limbs. I almost sank into the white bliss of Nate Shelby’s bed. But the computer screen beckoned. I couldn’t unsee what I had seen earlier. I needed to go back to it. I needed the information so that I could formulate the final stages of my plan. That’s what I told myself.

It was surreal, dreamlike to see the house online, to see the hallway where our pictures used to hang, the room where I used to sleep. The corner where we used to put our Christmas tree. And the basement where every nightmare I ever had came true. As I scrolled through the photos, the videos she’d posted, I couldn’t see anything as it was. I could only see it as it had been. Memory is like that; it colors the present like a patina.

Outside the tall windows of Nate Shelby’s loft, the cats watching me from the sill, the city hummed—its ceaseless song of sirens and horns and voices and tires on asphalt. Inside, all I could hear was the thrumming of the engine in my chest, my deep breaths.

? ? ?

THE NIGHT IT HAPPENED, I snuck out to meet a boy. Seth Murphy and I had been dancing around each other for a couple of months, stealing glances in algebra, smiling at each other in gym class. Jenna asked his best friend if Seth liked me and the answer came back yes. Then, finally, he’d asked me to the movies. And my parents said yes—much to my surprise and delight. But then they went with us, smiling but watchful chaperones, sitting far behind us in the back row during the seven o’clock show of Minority Report.

Seth and I held hands in the dark as Tom Cruise tried to stop crimes before they occurred, and I could feel the heat of Seth’s skin. When Seth leaned in to kiss me, his breath smelling of root beer and popcorn, my father cleared his throat loudly—unbelievably! humiliatingly!—from the back of the theater. Seth looked briefly embarrassed in the blue light from the screen, and then we both started laughing, earning annoyed shushing from the people around us.

The next Monday, Seth left a note taped on my locker.

Meet me at Old Bridge around 11? If you can. I’ll wait. Just try.

My father was a cop, so sneaking out was no small feat. I knew that when he was home they usually checked on me around ten, then went to sleep. So I waited, pretended to be sleeping until I heard my father come in. He placed a hand on my forehead, then left, turning out the light in the hall. I waited until it felt like the house was asleep. Then I crept downstairs. Catcher, our huge yellow Lab, was lying by the back door. He stared at me with sad eyes, his tail wagging hopefully.

I didn’t have any choice. I had to take the big lug with me, otherwise I knew he’d start barking at the door after I left. So I did. I didn’t lock the door behind me. It was cold, my breath coming out in clouds, my jacket too thin. The sky was clear and riven with stars, a bright high moon lighting the road in front of me. I remember feeling proud of myself, excited—I don’t know if it was about Seth Murphy as much as it was just having a moment of freedom. My parents were strict, my dad especially. He wasn’t so hard; I knew he loved me. He just thought the world was a bad place, filled with bad people, and he wanted to keep me safe as long as possible. Turned out that he was right.

But I didn’t believe that then with my feet crunching on the gravel. I thought my dad was paranoid and my mother was too passive, always following his rules. Paul always said that the world was my oyster, that it wasn’t small but big and full of possibilities. I was flushed with the excitement of meeting Seth Murphy alone in the night. With my dog.

I think they were already there waiting; they must have been. When I reconstruct that night, I try to remember. Could I have missed their vehicle, parked in the shadows waiting for hours of quiet before they went inside? I don’t know. Did they see me leave? Did they wait for me to come back?

Seth Murphy didn’t show. I waited an hour, then headed home, let down, disappointed—but weirdly relieved, too. What would come of meeting a boy at the bridge in the middle of the night? Catcher was his usual docile self, not perturbed in the least that we’d gone out together in the middle of the night.