Chapter 6 #2
She said it with such certainty that I believed her.
After that, she talked for almost twenty minutes about cells.
I understood maybe half of it. Maybe less.
But I liked listening to her. Katherine changed when she explained things.
Her voice grew steadier. Her hands moved more.
Her face opened up bright in a way I had not seen before.
She did not look lonely when she was telling me something she knew.
And I liked being the reason she looked that way.
“What are you good at?” she asked suddenly.
I blinked. “What?”
“You asked me questions. Now I’m asking you one.”
“I don’t know.”
“Everyone is good at something.”
“No, they aren’t.”
“Yes, they are.”
I shrugged. “Talking, maybe.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It is if people listen.”
She considered this seriously. Then she nodded. “I suppose that’s true.”
I smiled. Her mouth softened like she wanted to smile too, but had not quite remembered how.
After a while, she gave me a sheet of paper from the desk drawer and a pencil.
“Draw something.”
“I thought you wanted to read.”
“I want to see what you draw.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because it might be ugly.”
“So?”
“So then you’ll know.”
She tilted her head. “Know what?”
“That I’m bad at it.”
Katherine looked at me like that answer made no sense at all. “You can’t be bad at something before you do it.”
I almost told her she was wrong. I knew plenty of ways to be bad before trying. Bad daughter. Bad student. Bad quiet. Bad loud. Bad when my father was drunk enough to need something to blame. Instead, I took the pencil.
At first, I only drew lines. The edge of the desk. The curve of the lamp. Katherine’s hand where it rested on the open book. I did not mean to draw her hand, but it was there, pale fingers curled loosely against the page.
Katherine went quiet. That made me nervous.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring.”
“I know.”
“Is it bad?”
“No.”
I looked up. Her eyes stayed on the paper. “It looks like my hand,” she said.
“It is your hand.”
“No, I mean…” She leaned closer, almost frowning. “It looks more like my hand than my own hand does.”
I did not understand that. But I understood from her voice that it was a compliment. Warmth spread through my chest.
She reached for the paper, then stopped before touching it. “Can I keep it?”
“It’s just a sketch.”
“I know.”
“It’s not finished.”
“I still want it.”
No one had ever wanted anything I made before. I gave it to her. She slid it carefully between the pages of one of her books, as if it were something worth saving.
By the time my mother came to collect me, the sky outside had turned deep blue and the library lamps had been switched on.
Katherine and I sat on the rug near the fireplace, surrounded by open books.
She had explained cell membranes to me using a half-eaten cookie, two buttons from her cardigan, and a pencil case.
I still did not understand cell membranes, but I understood that she loved making me try.
My mother stopped in the doorway. Her expression softened before she could hide it. “There you are.”
Katherine sat up quickly. “She didn’t break anything.”
My mother looked alarmed. “I should hope not.”
“I didn’t,” I said.
Mrs. Montgomery appeared behind my mother, glancing into the room. For a moment, all four of us stayed quiet.
Then Mrs. Montgomery said, almost to herself, “Well. That’s new.”
Katherine looked down at the book in her lap. My mother looked at me. I could not read her expression exactly. Relief, maybe.
“Come along,” my mother said gently. “Dinner’s waiting.”
I stood reluctantly. Katherine stood too.
“Can she come tomorrow?” she asked.
My mother opened her mouth. Mrs. Montgomery answered first.
“If her mother says yes.”
Katherine turned to my mother right away.
My mother hesitated. I knew what she was thinking.
That this was too much. That we had to be careful.
That kindness from rich people always came with invisible rules we would not know until we had broken them.
But she looked at me. Really looked. And I think she saw how badly I wanted it.
“Only after homework,” she said.
I nodded quickly, even though I did not have any homework yet. Katherine looked pleased. Not smiling exactly. But pleased.
As my mother and I walked back through the garden toward the cottage, rain misted lightly around us. The main house glowed behind us, golden and enormous against the dark.
“You like her,” my mother said.
I looked down at the wet stones. “She’s nice.”
“She’s lonely.”
I glanced at her. “How do you know?”
My mother gave me a tired little smile. “Because lonely children notice other lonely children.”
I did not answer. At the cottage door, I looked back once. Katherine stood in the library window. Watching again. This time I lifted my hand first. She lifted hers back almost immediately.
My mother unlocked the door and stepped inside, but I stayed outside for another second, cold air on my cheeks, the ocean roaring faintly beyond the cliffs. For the first time since leaving Portland, I wanted tomorrow to come, because someone in that enormous house was waiting for me.