CHAPTER 33
CARTER
“Dad?”
I snapped out of a fantasy where Emily curled up against me and breathed into my chest more and more slowly, until she fell asleep in my arms. I’d gotten home in time for the last of dinner and studying. Phin was memorizing all the countries in Africa and struggled with the landlocked ones. “Are you watching?”
“Yeah.” I leaned forward.
“Democratic Republic of Congo,” he said, clicking an odd-shaped landmass on the computer. “It’s different from the Republic of Congo.” The map of Africa was completely blue. All right on the first try.
“Well,” I replied, “you seem to have it down.”
“Yeah.” He shut the machine.
Upstairs, he got ready for bed, showering, running across the hall to the linen closet for the towel he forgot, probably leaving puddles all over the floor. Good chance he’d forgotten his underwear as well. He’d cross the hall in a towel, leave it on the floor, put his underwear on without really drying himself, and go to bed with wet hair. I’d hug him before he fell asleep, pick up the towel, hang it, and watch a little TV before bed.
Same as always.
Except I couldn’t even keep my mind on African countries because I was anxious about Emily. I’d called Fabian, who assured me she was locked away like the crown jewels. I should have felt better about it. I should have been happy I’d nipped the leak about my neighborhood in the bud.
I dodged a pile of Legos and snapped Phin’s damp towel up from the floor.
“Good night, kid,” I said.
“Good night, Dad.”
I put my fist up, but he didn’t. He rolled onto his back and laced his hands behind his head. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Yes.” I sat on the edge of the bed.
“How do you know if a girl likes you?”
I wasn’t ready for this question. When all the other boys had started chasing after girls, Phin had declined to engage. He had female friends. He called them girl-spacebar-friends.
“You mean like?”
“Duh.” His eye roll provided a great view of his frontal lobe.
“Well. She seems happy to see you. She’s nice to you. She wants to know about you. Um . . .”
“What if she tells her friends you’re not cute? Like she’s not interested at all?”
“This.” I waved my finger at him. “This is a very important thing to know. Friends are different for women than they are for men. Men want to hang out and do things, like play ball. Women are different.”
“They don’t do stuff together?”
“They do, but they also . . . kind of . . . they can get a little competitive.”
“I thought we were competitive.”
“Maybe. Look. Does she do all the other things? Is she happy to see you? All the rest?”
“Yeah. And today she—” He cut himself off.
“What?”
“She put her hand on my leg, and I, uh . . . I had a reaction.” He made a passing gesture at his lower body. He covered his face with his hands.
“Ah. You know that’s nor—”
“Yes, Dad! I know it’s normal. Jeez.”
“Jeez yourself. What’s her name?”
He shrugged.
“Do you know her name?”
Another eye roll.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Okay, ignore what her friends say. That’s rule number one. Got it?”
He nodded. I held up my fist.
“There is no rule number two. Show me the size of your heart, D.”
He made a fist. We bumped and I held him.
I thought I should take my own advice, then remembered that the stakes were higher. Then thought about Emily again, how warm she was, how she moved, how her face lit up when she came.
Darlene’s slip about my neighborhood seemed like the pettiest concern I’d ever had.
Then the stakes. My son.
Then the stupidity of it all.
Then fear for Phin. And Emily.
I was watching ESPN. It sounded like the same generic shit they always said but with different names and teams. I couldn’t focus.
Mom got home around eleven.
“How was your date?” I asked.
“I’m home, aren’t I?”
“True.” I bounced off the couch and kissed her on the cheek. “I’m going for a ride.”
“A ride? Where?”
“I’ll be back soon.”
I left without explaining. I didn’t have much of an explanation to give. I was in between thinking I could keep both Emily and my family safe the same way I always had. I didn’t have to make any changes to my methods or my madness. Just check on Emily when I could and make sure everyone thought Phin was the son of an unmarried ex-cop. No more. No less.
Checking on Emily wouldn’t take more than a second.
I drove over there, crawling down the dark street in my black car. I couldn’t see much past the gate, but the light reflected on the bottoms of the leaves. I got out and walked over. I could hear the thrum of music from the studio. She was dancing.
I wanted to be in there with her. Watching. Feeling how she moved. Picking her up at the ribs when she asked. Putting my hands under her clothes.
“Down, boy,” I muttered to my dick.
A scratching on the wooden fence sent me reaching for my holster, but it was the gray cat. She got to the top and balanced on the edge, walking to the property line from six feet above. When she was right over me, she realigned her feet and meowed as if to say, Ready?
She jumped into my arms.
“How’s she doing?” I asked.
She purred. I ran my fingers over her fur.
A squawk came over the speaker.
“What are you doing?”
At the front gate, I turned to the nearest camera and pushed the button under the keypad.
“Visiting our cat.”
Squawk. “My cat.”
“Yeah. My cat.”
Squawk. “Don’t do the Who’s on First routine with me.”
The cat jumped out of my arms as if she were as annoyed as Emily.
I pressed the button. “I came to apologize for scaring you.”
That was a lie, but since I wasn’t exactly sure why I was drawn to her, it was as good an explanation as any.
The front door opened, and she walked out in her bare feet. She hooked her fingers in the cast-iron gate’s rails like a prisoner.
“Apology accepted.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
“Carter . . .”
I put my hands on hers. We held the rails together.
“It’ll be fun.” I wanted to promise more, but I was trapped inside a cage of caution.
“I can’t,” she said.
I can’t? What was that supposed to mean? An unreasonable, unwelcome, unbearable emotion stirred in my chest. It wasn’t quite anger, but it was just as demanding, twice as fertile. It had the size of anger but not the heat. It directed itself inward, to the center of my confusion.
“Why not?” I kept my voice flat. If I betrayed a drop of this could-be-anger-but-isn’t feeling, she’d run.
“You’re not ready. I’ve done this before. I’ve tricked myself into thinking something was right when it wasn’t. And if we were right, you’d trust me. You wouldn’t get mad at me for saying something that I thought was harmless. You’d talk to me. But you won’t, and I know I’m going to mess up again. It hurts too much when you get mad.”
“I was wrong.”
Wait. Was I wrong? I hadn’t decided that, but it came out of my mouth. Maybe I was wrong.
“I shouldn’t have said anything to Darlene, I agree. It was stupid.”
“It’s all right.” I reached between the rails and ran my hand up her arm. Her eyelashes fluttered. “I overreacted.”
“Yeah.” Her answer was barely a breath. I waited for her to open the gate. She didn’t.
“So,” I said. “Tomorrow night?”
“I don’t think so. I think we need time.” She pulled her hands away. “Good night, Carter.”
Where was the line between stalking and devotion? When could a woman be convinced? How could I show her I wanted her without scaring her?
She turned away from me.
If I let her go, took her word for it, I’d lose the moment and lose her. She walked to her door, and in three seconds she’d be behind it. I could cross the distance between us in five steps, twist the gate into iron junk, cross the air with sound, but not once she closed the door.
Desperation made a meal of common sense.
What was the difference between a stalker and a desperate man?
“I’m coming here tomorrow night.” I didn’t have a plan. I didn’t even know what I was saying, but I kept on, even as she touched the front door. “I said I was taking you out on Saturday, and I’m taking you out, so you’d better be dressed and ready at eight or you’re going to miss out.”
She waved before she closed the door.