Chapter 6 #2
I unlock the door and he follows me inside, winding between my ankles in a figure-eight pattern that nearly trips me. I swear Kevin rustles nervously from his windowsill perch.
I drop onto the couch without bothering to change out of my uniform. Clarence jumps up beside me and stares.
"What?" I ask.
He headbutts my hand.
"I'm fine."
He headbutts my hand again, harder.
"Seriously, I'm---"
My voice cracks.
Clarence climbs into my lap---into my lap, which he hasn't done since the volcano book night on the porch swing---and settles.
He's heavier than he looks. Thirteen pounds of orange cat and unsolicited opinions, warm and insistent against my stomach, his claws pressing lightly through my uniform like little anchors.
He purrs, and the vibration goes straight through my chest.
And just like that, I break.
The tears come ugly and sudden, burning behind my eyes, choking my throat. I press my face into Clarence's fur and let myself fall apart.
Four years old.
Flatline.
The mother screaming.
Clarence purrs through all of it. Doesn't squirm, doesn't bolt. Just sits there like he's doing me a favor while I cry into his orange fur and shake with the weight of things I can't put down.
Hours later---after the crying stops, after I wash my face and change into normal clothes, after I sleep through most of the afternoon---I wake to dusky light filtering through the windows.
Clarence has relocated to the armrest, where he watches me with those unblinking yellow eyes.
"Thanks," I tell him.
He slow-blinks. Cat for you're welcome, I suppose, though I still maintain you're a lowly human.
Through the wall, Beck's voice carries. Deeper than Ivy's, rougher around the edges, but there's a playfulness to it I haven't heard before.
"'The Tyrannosaurus Rex,'" he reads, adding a growl that makes Ivy shriek with laughter, "'was the fiercest predator of the Late Cretaceous period!'"
"Do the ROAR, Daddy!"
"I am doing the roar."
"LOUDER!"
"Ivy, it's bedtime. I'm not waking up the whole neighborhood."
"Gemma won't mind!"
My chest tightens.
"Gemma's sleeping," Beck says, and his voice shifts back to the careful, controlled version. "And it's way past your bedtime."
"Five more pages?" Ivy tries.
"Two more pages."
"Four?" She's already countering.
"Two."
"Three and a half?" The confidence of a seasoned negotiator.
"Ivy." Warning in his voice, but I can hear the smile he's trying to hide.
"Fine. Three." Victory, because they both know she won.
I press my palm against the wall. The drywall is cool and faintly rough beneath my hand, thin enough that I can feel the vibration of his voice before I can make out the words.
It's the world's worst secret --- that this is what I want.
Not the house, not even the kid specifically.
Just the sound of someone reading a bedtime story like they plan to be there tomorrow to read another one.
The ache in my chest spreads, familiar and sharp. I learned young how this works: be low-maintenance, be easy, make yourself small enough that people don't mind keeping you around. Cheerfulness is currency. Sunshine is survival strategy.
Don't ask for too much.
Don't need too much.
Don't be too much.
Through the wall, Beck finishes the story. "Lights out, dinosaur girl."
"Love you, Daddy."
"Love you too."
I close my eyes and breathe through the wanting. Through the terrible, dangerous hope that I could have this. Could stay.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table. I grab it, grateful for the distraction.
Unknown Number: Ivy wants to know if you'll come to her school's Dinosaur Day this week. She made me text this. I am being held hostage by a six-year-old. --- Beck.
I stare at the message. Then another one appears.
Beck: You can say no.
Something lifts in my chest, lighter than the ache that was there a minute ago. I type back:
Me: Tell your captor I'll pay the ransom for your release and be there. And let her know that triceratops is the superior dinosaur.
The response comes fast.
Beck: She says you're wrong and she has evidence to prove it.
I'm grinning now, stupid and helpless.
Me: Looking forward to seeing this evidence. What time?
Beck: 2 PM. Fair warning: there will be glitter. So much glitter.
Me: I'll bring backup clothes.
Beck: Smart woman.
I set the phone down and Clarence immediately headbutts it off the couch. It hits the floor with a thud.
"Hey!" I lean over to pick it up. "What was that for?"
Clarence stares at me with those inscrutable yellow eyes, tail twitching.
"Do you have opinions about dinosaurs too?"
He yawns, showing teeth, and begins grooming his paw with exaggerated disinterest.
"Right. Silly question."
I pull a blanket over myself and settle deeper into the couch. Clarence relocates to my stomach, but not before pausing to hiss at Kevin on the windowsill. The fern rustles nervously. Satisfied with this display of dominance, Clarence settles, purring.
My phone buzzes with one more message.
Beck: Get some sleep, Lockhart.
Me: You too, Captain Grumpy.
I set the phone on the cushion beside me.
The tears have dried, the shaking has stopped, and the Denver memories have retreated back into the box where I keep them.
Clarence purrs against my stomach. Through the wall, the house is quiet now --- Beck's house, Ivy's house, the house where I'm a temporary tenant with a six-week lease and a cat who has apparently decided I need supervision.
I let myself imagine staying.