A ripple of laughter travels through the group. My cheeks start to heat, but he goes on.
“In all honesty, I thought he should have been done away with. They sell baby rats in the pet store as snake food. You know? But then his cage ended up in my therapy room one afternoon. And I saw people take interest. This one lady who had refused to do any exercises, who would just sit staring at the wall, actually asked to hold him.” He smiles at me. “A little rat. And look how he changed the world.”
The warmth of his emotion flows through me, and I return his smile.
Above us, the sky arches, twilight blue, with Venus hanging on the horizon over the water.
“Oscar was the first and only rat I ever knew,” declaims a polished stage voice. I know who it belongs to without looking and feel my smile growing. Also without looking, I know Cole is grinning beside me.
“Oh Lord,” Mason mutters, a little too loud. “Make way for the prima donna. I need another drink.” He sways on his feet, and it takes a minute for him to round up his legs and get them both going in the right direction.
Firelight sparks off Nancy’s diamonds as she waves her hands in the air, dramatically. “A rat. Can you imagine? I very nearly called the health department to make a complaint. How can such a thing be sanitary? It was the midnight hour of a sleepless night. I had tossed and turned. Slumber refused to come to me, and so I called for aid. Rae appeared in my doorway, framed by the hall light, a small white creature in her arms. A kitten, I thought. I abhor kittens.”
“God have mercy.” Mason settles back down beside me, fresh drink open in one hand, an extra in the other.
He catches my expression. “Sue me,” he says. “I’m a drunk.”
Nancy’s voice cuts across his words.
“But a rat? Within the sterile environs of a nursing home? I was intrigued. I was captivated. I’d never met a rat before. Rae brought him over to say hello, and he climbed up onto my shoulder and snuggled there. Adorable creature. I, like all of you gathered here, am deeply saddened by the loss.”
She raises her plastic cup high. “To Oscar. May he live long in a land where rats eat cats and there is an endless supply of cheese.”
Despite her obvious love for the stage, a warmth fills my chest at Nancy’s words. My senses open, taking in the acrid scent of woodsmoke, a whiff of pine drifting in on the breeze. Water splashing against the shore. Cole’s self-contained presence on one side, Mason on the other.
“A rat, huh?” Mason slurs. “Go figure. I was always a fan of Templeton, though, in that book about the spider. What was her name again?”
“Charlotte.”
“It was also about a pig,” Cole chimes in. He rolls his eyes at me, and I stifle a rising giggle with the back of my hand.
“Book was named after the spider,” Mason says, with dignity. “Anyway, I didn’t like the pig. Too naïve, too needy. Templeton now—self-sufficient and smart.”
“Shhhh, somebody’s talking.”
He shushes, but only to take another swig.
Tia stands up, clutching a can of Coke in both hands and shuffling her feet nervously. “I never knew a rat before. I was scared of him. Rae showed me how gentle he was. I bought a rat for my kids, after. They love him. So—I guess Oscar taught me to love a whole new kind of animal.” She sits down, head bent and hidden by her hair.
“Forgive me yet?” Cole bends over to whisper the question in my ear. His breath is warm on my cheek. A star hangs over his left shoulder.
“Possibly,” I whisper back. “Night’s still young.”
He laughs and drapes his arm around me, pulling me in tight. I fit perfectly beneath his arm, my body molding to his at chest and hips, the warm weight of him an anchor that keeps me together and grounded as other people talk about how Oscar touched their lives.
By the time Corinne gets back up to speak, the sky is black. The fire has died down enough to make me snuggle closer to Cole for warmth. All of my insides feel relaxed, the tight knot of pain and anxiety and guilt I’ve been carrying around replaced by a comfortable warm glow.
“One more thing before we eat,” Corinne says. “Although we can’t bury Oscar, we need some sort of symbol of letting him go. So, Rae, if you would do the honors, we have these balloons. And we thought maybe you’d like to release them. Sort of like the movie Up, you know, only in this case the balloons won’t be carrying you or the house anywhere. Just our memories of Oscar.”
I look from her to the balloons—once just a bit of festive décor, now a grand, theatric gesture likely to contribute to the demise of birds. Or possibly light aircraft. All eyes are on me, and about to be on me carrying a bunch of balloons and letting them go.
A flash goes off.
Perfect photo opportunity. No reporter, even a nice and unassuming one, is going to pass that moment up. And then I, along with my balloons, my rat, and everything, will be in the newspaper for all the world to see.
My scripted move is to get up and go get those balloons from her, but I can’t do it. Last time I had a full-on anxiety attack was in college. That time, too, was at a party. My heart is going to break right through my rib cage. Cold sweat soaks my shirt. My breathing is getting away from me and my hands are tingling and Oh my God, I’m going to die.
Somewhere my logical brain is trying to tell me things.
You’re not going to die.
Anxiety attacks are self-limiting.
Anchor yourself. Focus on your feet on the ground.
Get control of your breath.
But I can’t even feel the ground anymore. The firelight and the faces around it are a blur. My breath is about as amenable to my control as a herd of wild mustangs thundering across the plains. The only physical sensation outside my body’s wildly erratic insanity is Cole’s arm around me. So strong, so steady, so warm. A link to reality and sanity.
Corinne looms over me, holding out the balloons. Well-meaning, kindly, wonderful Cor, but she might as well be Stephen King’s It given my reaction. Her hand looks swollen and distorted.
But then another hand is there next to hers, grasping the strings, taking over the responsibility.
Cole, I think, for a minute, but the hand isn’t his. “We’ll all three go,” Mason whispers. “Down to the river. The camera can have our backs. Ready?”
He lurches onto his feet, almost as if the balloons have lifted him, then reaches down for me. Cole takes my other hand, and the two of them drag me upright. Linked together, Cole serving as ballast for my uncertain feet and Mason’s inebriated ones, we weave across the beach to the water’s edge. It’s blissfully dark away from the fire and easier to breathe.
In the distance, I hear Corinne introduce Ben, the chaplain from Valley View. He clears his throat. “Shall we pray? Father, we know that not even a sparrow falls without your knowledge. Oscar was but a rat, and yet we know you cared for him . . .”
The breeze coming off the water cools my burning face.
“All three of us, then?” Cole’s free hand grabs the strings, right below Mason’s. I reach up and there are three fists, instead of just one.
“Extra drama for the camera.”
“On the count of three,” Mason says. “You know, I loved that movie, Up.”
I loved it, too, although I cried inordinately.
“Rae?” Cole asks.
I nod my head. Ready.
“On my count. One. Two. Three.”
I let go. The balloons stay where they are. Mason’s reflexes, delayed by alcohol, slow his fingers so that in the end, he’s the one who releases the balloons. They catch an updraft almost at once, soaring upward faster than I expected, vanishing into the dark.
What remains is a complex sense of loss, release, community, and the last vestiges of a tsunami-level panic attack. I’m aware of voices behind us, distant, cheering and laughing, as the Event moves from memorial to party. The three of us stay where we are, linked by the hands, gazing across the dark water with our feet firmly plante
d in the sand.
A choked sound comes from Mason. A shudder runs through him and into me, as though I’m a conduction wire and he’s electricity. The wall of grief hits me, naked as I am from the panic attack, and nearly drops me to my feet.
“Sorry,” he says, jerking his hand away. “Need another drink.”
“No, you don’t.” Cole’s voice is low and urgent. “What you need is to feel that, whatever it is.”
“You’re a sadist.”
“I’m a counselor.”
“Same difference.” This from me. It surprises all three of us. Cole laughs. Mason takes a minute to process.
“Haven’t tried that,” he says, finally. “The feeling thing.”
“Not what it’s cracked up to be,” I tell him. “I’ve been considering trying the drinking approach.”
“What about you, counselor?” Mason asks. “What’s your secret?”
“Overwork and adrenaline.”
All three of us turn back to the lake.
“I used to think it was kittens,” I whisper.
Neither of them laughs. “You sure it’s not?” Mason asks.
“Katya says not.”
“Would this be the Katya who is currently alive and feeding kittens?” Cole’s hand tightens around mine. In this moment, I feel grounded and, weirdly, home.
“What are you guys looking at?” Cor’s voice cuts into the moment. Stones rattle as she crosses the beach toward us. “Are you coming back or what? Aren’t you freezing? This wind is enough to chill the bones. Feels like September down here already. Come back to the fire. Have a drink. Mendez got a smaller fire going to actually roast hot dogs.”
“What are we doing, Rae?” It’s Cole who asks, but Mason looks to me, too, both of them respecting my mood, waiting for my lead.
“We could swim for it.” I’m joking, but the moon path on the water is a definite lure. I love the caress of the wind, the plash of the waves, the companionship of these two very different men.
“Long swim,” Mason says wistfully. “Up through the stars to eternity. Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’m too chicken to die. Let’s go find the beer.”
With that, the mood is broken. We straggle back to the fire as three separate people, that moment of unity blown away like smoke from the campfire. Our log has been commandeered by a group of hospital workers, all laughing uproariously over an inside story. Mason stops to talk to Nancy, leaning down to kiss her cheek. She makes some remark I can’t hear, and he stiffens, flings his hands up in a gesture of frustration, and heads for the beer cooler.
I can’t fit back into the group and feel like an outsider all over again.
“Maybe I should be getting back. I hate leaving Kat alone at night.”
“She’s probably sleeping. Or feeding kittens.”
“Probably.” But an unease creeps through me, not connected to any one thing, just a generalized worry I have no name for.
“Tell you what,” Cole says. “You should eat. Grab us some chips and a perfectly boring and safe brownie. I’ll fix us a couple of hot dogs. And then I’ll take you home. Plan?”
“Plan.”
I find myself wanting to go with him. Holding on to his hand, letting him shield me. Not going to happen. All of my very good reasons for keeping people at a distance come trooping back into my head. Stand on your own two feet, little girl. The only person who is going to take care of you is you.
I manage to load up a plate with sides and a couple of brownies without having to talk to anybody. Absorbed in my thoughts, I very nearly trip over Nancy’s wheelchair.
“You wouldn’t think I’d be invisible, what with this shiny chair and all of my diamonds. Are you drinking, Nurse Rae?”
“I had one drink. Just thinking about other things.”
“Which is more than can be said for my good-for-nothing son.”
I track her gaze to where Mason is regaling Officer Mendez with some long saga about a hunting expedition gone awry. My lips twitch upward despite my sense of foreboding. Mason might be a drunk, but he’s a charming drunk.
“I’ll ask Raphael to drive you back.”
“Mason is right, you know. I was shit as a mother. The role wasn’t in my repertoire.” Before I can respond to this uncharacteristic remark, she’s already shifted gears. “My dear girl, where did a backwoods nurse come by those earrings?”
“They were a gift.”
I clap my free hand to my ear, broadsided by guilt. Kat is home alone while I’m out having fun. It’s well past time for her pain medication. She’ll be hurting and tired, and the kittens need attention.
“They suit you,” Cole says, showing up with a plate full of hot dogs and buns. “Hope you like mustard and ketchup.”
Nancy glances slyly up at him. “You must have a job on the side if you can afford stones like these. Those are quality opals, those are.”
“The extent of my gift giving is limited to a cold drink and a hot dog,” Cole says. His tone is light, but I feel the emotional undertow. “That, and a burned finger. Let’s go eat so my burnt offering is not in vain.”
We beat a retreat, but I know Nancy is burning holes in my back with her curiosity. “Can we just go eat in the truck?”
“Had enough peopling for one night?”
“Probably for a week. I’m sorry. Not the best company.”
“I like your company. You’re an introvert. People are draining, and this night was emotional.”
“It’s more than that.”
“People are vampires, and they’ve sucked the life out of you?”
He’s teasing, but he’s come so close to the mark my feet stop of their own accord, my belly tight with dread. It’s time to tell him about me and my super sensors.
“Rae?”
I’ve stopped in the darkest part of a shadow where he can’t see my face. His hand reaches out for mine, though, and I cling to him, afraid that this will be the end of us before we’ve fairly begun.
“Tell me,” he says.
“You’re not far off about vampires, only people don’t suck me dry so much as overload me. I feel—everything. Everybody’s emotions. I mean, really feel them, as if they were mine. It’s physical, just waves and waves, and I can’t sort them all, and they drown me. I’m not even sure if that panic attack was mine, or if I was channeling Mason.”
“You’re an empath,” Cole says.
“I am?” I’m not sure exactly what he means, but I like the sound of the word in his mouth, and the matter-of-fact way he says it, as if I’ve just mentioned that I have skinny feet or blue-green eyes.
“Yup. Come on, the hot dogs are getting cold.” He tugs me out of the shadows and over to the truck, and we settle into our seats without turning on the lights. The moon provides just enough illumination so we can see to eat.
All at once I’m starving. I bite into my hot dog. The crunchy, smoky skin pops between my teeth, mingling with mustard and ketchup. A hum of pleasure escapes me before I can stifle it.
“Glad you approve.” Cole licks mustard off his upper lip and grins at me.
“I’ve never had a hot dog like this before.”
“You’ve never—tell me you’re joking.”
I shake my head and take another bite. “My folks weren’t into camping. I grew up in a city. And after I moved here, I just never went to any events.”
“This must be remedied. You need the full experience of roasting your own. I’m sorry I took that away from you.”
“I couldn’t wait to get away from the people. I would have probably burnt it or dropped it in the fire or made it explode or something.”
“Camping,” he says. “We need to go camping.”
My heart flutters a little at the thought of the two of us in the wilderness somewhere. Sitting around a campfire. Eating hot dogs. Sleeping in the same tent.
“Oh shit.” I’ve squeezed too hard. The rest of my hot dog squirts out of the bun and into my lap, staining my jeans with mustard an
d ketchup.
“Have a napkin.” He hands me one, then another, seeing the extent of the disaster. “Don’t look so tragic. Poke it back into the bun and eat up.”
“I . . .” My parents’ germ lectures swarm like mosquitoes. But that tempting little morsel taunts my taste buds and I do as he says. It tastes even better for its little excursion.
“See?” he says. “Nothing to worry about.”
“Cole?”
“Mmmm?”
“About the empath thing. That doesn’t bother you?”
“Should it?” He swallows his last bite of hot dog and licks his fingers. “It’s not like you’ve got three heads or something. I’ll go tell Corinne that we’re bailing, okay? And make sure Nancy has a safe ride. Not sure what to do about Mason . . .”
I dangle the keys I swiped from his pocket while we were communing on the beach. “Good job, chickadee. What shall we do with them?”
“I’ll keep them. Let him think about it a little.”
“Are we going to let him sleep on the beach?”
“We’re going to let him catch a ride when he realizes he must have dropped them somewhere. Corinne won’t leave him stranded.”
“Never took you for a tough-love type.” He says it with approval, but the words ruffle the smooth edges of my momentary peace. For all of his surface acceptance, he doesn’t know me any better than I know Kat. By the time he comes back I’ve rebuilt the wall between us, stone upon stone. If he notices, he doesn’t comment.
But this time, he doesn’t hold my hand.
Chapter Thirteen
Cole walks me to the front door. I tell him this isn’t necessary, there are no monsters living on my street. He says sometimes there are visiting monsters. Electricity buzzes between us. I can feel it, like having a balloon that wants to stick to your hair, only warmer, better, and rife with promise. I’m intensely aware of him, of the now-cool night and how he is a manifestation of warmth. Walls and all, I won’t stop him if he tries to kiss me good night.
Not such a good idea, with Kat waiting and the way she feels about him.
I don’t think I care.
But when we get to the door he just stands there, hands in his pockets, while I dig out my key and turn it in the lock. I don’t open the door yet. When I turn to him his eyes are in shadow, his face serious. Unreadable.
I Wish You Happy: A Novel Page 16
