Chapter 11 – nate
NATE
My feet pound against the pavement in an even cadence. I usually run on the treadmill, but when I spotted Ryan through the gym window, I turned right around. After he won last night’s poker game, I’m not in the mood to listen to him rub it in my face.
Anyway, the weather’s nice enough. The sky’s cloudy, but the hint of fall coolness in the air makes it more comfortable to work out.
Should I cross the street and say hello?
Or does that cross a line of familiarity, now that I’m her boss?
I’m trying not to cross any boundaries, but it’s hard.
Harder than it should be. Hell, she wasn’t even working in the office for a day before I was coming up with a reason to bring her to New York.
Before I can decide, Cat makes the choice for me. She sees me and smiles so widely, it shows a dimple in her cheek I’ve never seen before. It’s a smile so bright, it lights up my goddamn soul. Nobody’s ever looked so happy to see me before.
I’m jogging across the street to her before I can stop myself.
“Need some help with that?” I point to her bag.
“Oh, that would be great! I’m just headed over to the encampment up ahead, to hand out water, plus some granola bars and electrolyte packets.
” She points to a large cluster of tents in a park a few blocks away.
“If you could help me carry it that far, I’d really appreciate it.
You’re welcome to come with me, if you want!
No pressure—obviously, you’re in the middle of a run. ”
“I can come.” Of course I’m fucking going with her. There’s no way I’m letting Cat walk into a camp full of strangers, who want god-knows-what from her. Sure, there’ll be plenty of people who are happy to just get a granola bar and a smile from her.
But what if someone thinks they deserve more?
Like hell am I letting that happen.
I take her bag of bottled waters and pull it over my shoulder. Fuck, it’s heavy, even for me. How did this small woman manage to carry it this far by herself? Pure stubbornness, I’m guessing.
“Thanks so much,” Cat says. “If I don’t have time to do a full shift at the shelter, I like to come out and make sure people are hydrated.”
I nod. I’m not surprised—Cat probably has clusters of people she looks out for all over the city. It’s like she’s so full of goodwill, she can’t physically contain it.
As we enter the mouth of the encampment, my eyes sweep over everything. Some of the shelters are cobbled together from tarps, cardboard, and duct tape, while others are traditional camping tents that look a little worse for the wear.
Two young women sit just inside an open tent by the entrance. Their eyes look unfocused and hollow, until they see Cat. They smile at her, and I see that one of them has braces. I placed them both in their early twenties, but now I wonder if they might be in their teens.
“How’s it going, girls?” Cat asks. “I don’t know if you remember me—”
“We do,” the girl with braces says. “Thanks for coming back, Cat.”
Cat kneels and chats with them, handing them granola bars and a little paper bag that I can guess has feminine hygiene products in it. Of course she’s thought of everything, including the fact that young girls might be embarrassed to have tampons out in the open.
The next tent has the door zipped shut, and I can hear a man mumbling nonsense inside. For a second, I’m worried Cat plans on going inside the tent. I’m relieved when she just quietly leaves some snacks outside the door.
“Don’t want to disturb anyone,” she murmurs to me.
She stops to talk to everyone, the people she knows and the ones she doesn’t. A few of them aren’t interested in conversation, which she always respects. Others are happy to talk Cat’s ear off about the weather, or police sweeps of the encampment across town, or gossip about people at the shelter.
I only half-listen to the conversation, since I’m watching everyone, looking for anyone acting unpredictably or anyone who might be unwell or high.
Still, I admire how good Cat is at making conversation with people.
Small talk is a challenge for me. If there’s no reason for me to talk to someone, I struggle to find a way to fill the silence.
Not Cat. She’s so open and curious that she seems to find something in common with everyone.
She weaves easily through the people, and suddenly I realize that I’m a few yards away from her. She’s been swallowed up by the crowd. Before I can push through to her, a tall man lunges at Cat. He’s got something in his hand—a knife?
Fuck, he’s attacking her in plain sight!
I’m seconds away from grabbing Cat and pulling her to safety when she laughs. “Hey, Walter!”
I realize he’s not attacking her—he’s hugging her, and she welcomes it. When he pulls back, I see that he’s an older man with stooped shoulders and a limp. He didn’t lunge at her—he stumbled because of his injury.
My body goes shaky with relief. Cat turns around and gestures for me to come join her.
“This is my friend Nate. He’s got water bottles for you.”
Walter grins at me. “Nice to meet you, young man.”
I nod and hand him a water bottle without saying anything.
Cat narrows her eyes, and I can sense her disapproval.
She doesn’t get why I’m not as warm and friendly as she is.
But I don’t know how to shut down the part of myself that was convinced this guy was a threat.
Being polite is the best I can do, but I know for her, it’s not enough.
As I follow her through the encampment, she doesn’t introduce me to anyone else.
I silently pass everyone she talks to a bottle of water while looking everywhere for threats.
Just because Walter was Cat’s friend doesn’t mean I can trust everyone here—I couldn’t forgive myself if anything happened to her when I was right here with her.
By the time we make it through, Cat’s backpack is empty, and I’ve handed out all the waters. I follow her to the sidewalk, on the other side. I hand back her empty pack, and she glares at me. I practically take a step back—I’ve never seen her glare at anyone, not even that asshole chef.
“You didn’t have to act so rude,” she says. “I know you’re not much of a talker, but you could have at least said hi to people. Just because you’re uncomfortable around people who aren’t as lucky in life as you doesn’t mean you can treat them like they don’t matter.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Cat doesn’t give me any more time to explain. “Those people aren’t here by choice, you know. They’d rather have their own homes than be out on the street, but they can’t.”
“I know that. I wasn’t judging them, Cat. I was just trying to keep you safe.”
“I’m not the one who isn’t safe there!” she snaps.
“Do you know how dangerous it is for people on the street? People rob them and assault them all the time. Imagine if everything you had fit in a backpack, and then someone took that. You can’t even imagine what they go through.
Sure, there are a few bad eggs, like there are everywhere.
But most of them are kind people, and you can’t just judge them and act like they’re all predators! ”
My instinct is to argue with her, but then I remember the mumbling man in the tent. He didn’t even come close to us, but I was worried he’d try something.
“You might be right,” I admit. “I’m sure I have prejudice about homeless people that I’m not conscious of. But you should know that I would have been worried about your safety anywhere, not just in the encampment.”
She frowns. “But why?”
“It’s just how I am. I’ve been in security my whole life.
Even when I was a teenager, I was watching tapes of women and vulnerable people being attacked out of nowhere.
I had to—when our security failed, we had to see where it went wrong to fix it.
I see threats everywhere. It’s just how I’m programmed. ”
Cat’s face softens. “Oh.”
Normally, I’d stop there. But something about Cat makes me want to explain more. I want her to understand how I think—and I don’t think she’ll judge it.
“It’s worse in crowds. It’s a lot of stimuli to take in—all the people, where they’re moving, what their intentions are. It makes me tense. If I had missed a warning sign back there, someone might have hurt you before I could stop them.”
She reaches out and rubs her hand on my bicep. “You don’t have to worry about me, Nate. I can take care of myself.”
“I know that. But you shouldn’t have to—not when I’m there.”
I don’t tell her that I wish I could be there all the time. It’s why I hate when she walks home alone at night, and why I check the cameras outside her apartment sometimes. If anything happened to Cat, I’d feel responsible—no matter where she is.
Cat bites her lip. “Look, next time I come to pass out waters, maybe you can come with me. That way you won’t worry, and you can get more comfortable around my friends. You’d like a lot of people here, I think.”
“Sounds good. You can text me the next time you come out.”
I don’t tell her that if she doesn’t text, I might just show up anyway.