Keeping The Moon(27)

I just looked at him. Even after a month of knowing and working and talking with Norman, this was the longest, most complicated

thing I’d ever heard him say.

“Norman,” I said, as the thunder rumbled closer, “that’s amazing.”

He smiled. “Yeah, it’s pretty cool. It got me into art school, anyway. Now I just have to finish the series.” He picked up the

painting again. “I only have three so far. But I promised when I finished this one I’d bring it over so they could see it.”

I remembered, suddenly, the portrait of Mira and Cat Norman that hung in the living room.

There was a loud boom right behind us, over the water, and I heard Mira’s front door fly open and slam shut in the wind.

We both looked up toward the house, lit up yellow and bright in the increasing darkness. And then I saw Mira slipping past window

after window, her hands pressed against her face.

“What’s going on?” I said, but Norman was already halfway up the lawn, the canvas banging against his leg. There was another

clap and it started to rain, hard, splattering my bare arms.

“Cat Norman!” I heard Mira call out as we came up onto the porch, the door still swinging and banging in the wind. “Where are

you?”

“Mira,” I yelled, grabbing the door to silence it. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t find him!” she yelled back. The wind was blowing through an open window on the porch, a few loose papers whirling past.

“Cat Norman!”

“It’s okay,” Norman said. “He’s around here somewhere.”

She stepped into the doorway of the back room, her hair sticking out around her head. “I could hear him a few minutes ago, but now

… you know how he’s scared of storms.”

I jumped at another thunderclap: it was close. ”Stay there,” I said, as Norman rested his painting against the front bay window,

out of the rain. “We’ll find him.”

“Damn cat,” she grumbled, disappearing from sight again.

“Cat Norman!” Norman called from the other side of the porch. “Here, boy!”

“Where is he?” Mira said as she passed a second time. “It’s that dog again, I know it….”

“He’s got to be around here somewhere,” I told her. “Don’t worry.” And then I stepped back outside.

It was pouring, the treetops swaying back and forth. Isabel was out on the porch of the little white house, watching the storm roll

in across the water.

“Cat Norman,” I said, peering under the bushes. The grass was wet and stuck to my feet. “Here, boy. Come on.”

“N?rman,” I heard Norman yelling, around the other side.

“Nor-man,” I repeated.

Lightning hit close enough to shake the ground beneath me and flicker the lights in the house, and I was beginning to think Cat

Norman would have to ride this one out alone when I met up with Norman in the backyard. He’d been checking his room.

“We should go in,” he said. There was a flash, another big bang, and above us the birdfeeders, swinging madly in the wind, rained

down a shower of sunflower seeds.

“He’s probably under the house,” I told him as we ran up the back steps, the rain hard on my shoulders. We huddled under the

slim awning and I reached for the knob. It was locked.

“Shoot,” Norman said.

“Mira,” I yelled, banging on it. “Open the door.” The wind came up hard behind us, blowing rain and birdseed against my legs.

No answer. I knew she was probably at the front of the house, peering into the bushes by the steps, Cat Norman’s favorite hiding

spot. The open windows had let in enough wind to blow almost everything off the table: napkins were circling in midair, placemats

scattered colorful and bright across the floor. I could have tried to force the door, but knew well that the lock sticks

OCCASIONALLY.

“Mira,” I repeated, shouting. “Open up, okay?”

“She can’t hear us,” Norman said.

I kept banging as the rain came harder, stinging now, and the wind chimes next to my head, clanging crazily, left their nail

altogether and flew off into the yard, still singing.

“Mira.” I pressed my hand against the glass as the wind pushed me against the house. “Come on.”

“We have to make a run for the front door,” Norman said in my ear. “Are you ready?”

I turned around. It was raining so hard I couldn’t even see the water, just a blurred gray wall in front of me.

“Ready?” Norman said. He glanced at me.

“I—” I said, swallowing hard.

“Set?” Norman said.

Another flash of lightning, and I knew to wait, to hold my breath for what would follow.

“Go!” he shouted, grabbing my hand and yanking me down the stairs, just as a huge boom rose out of the darkness in front of us. I

think I screamed.

We ran right into the noise, the ground shaking as my feet touched it, but we kept going, his hand laced tight in mine. I could

feel rain against my eyes, in my mouth, splashing in my ears.