When Sally first starts going with Markie, freshman year, some of the guys can't believe it. They ask her, laughing over a beer: Sally, they say, what is it with this guy? They want to know about the princess and the fool, though there's not one of them who'd say it that way. Why Markie? they ask. Why a guy who can trip and fall when he's standing still? A guy who can find the gremlin in your dashboard wiring in ten minutes when the dealership gave up after three days, but he can't find two socks that match?
Sally just smiles.
Eddie Spano asks Sally out a couple of times before she takes up with Markie, and a couple of times after, like Eddie doesn't know when to quit, like he figures this Markie thing, she can't be serious. Eddie's Italian, he doesn't know anything about Irish princesses, and Jack asks the other guys, What's the matter, the wops don't have any pretty girls of their own? Sally won't go out with Eddie. A few of the guys start sort of keeping an eye on her, because Eddie, he can be a problem for girls he wants to date if they don't want the same thing, and even though, since she's dating Markie, this is sort of Markie's job, well, it's not a job anyone really thinks Markie can do. The guys do it quietly, because they don't want Sally to know. Sally doesn't like help she didn't ask for. But they do it, and they don't mind. Even the ones, Tom and Jimmy, who have girls they're going steady with, even they want to put their coats across puddles for Sally, or save her from dragons, or whatever it was heroes used to do for princesses in those long-ago days.
Seven years old: it's an autumn afternoon, and Sally's crying.
She's in her own front yard. Marian's come over to play, and she's about to ring the doorbell when she hears a little sad sound from behind the tree. She tiptoes over, and it's Sally sitting there, holding her knees to her chest, shiny lines down her face where her tears are slipping from her eyes. Sally looks up at Marian, her eyes red but the green in them greener than ever, because of the tears. Marian sits right down next to her and puts her arm around her: they're best friends. What's the matter? Marian asks. Did you get hurt?
Sally shakes her head. She doesn't wipe her eyes the way Marian would if someone found her crying, so people would think she's okay and not be worried. Sally just cries more and more, and she says: Tiger ran away.
Tiger is Sally's cat. He's not a kitten, Sally's parents already had him when Sally was born, but he still plays like a kitten, jumping for a string Sally holds. His name is Tiger because he has stripes, even though his are black and gray and that's not what tigers look like.
He ran away? Marian's whispering; this is a terrible thing.
He didn't come home since the day before yesterday, says Sally.
Your mom and dad can't find him?
They looked for him. But Daddy says boy cats sometimes, just sometimes, run away.
Marian keeps her arm around Sally and looks at the leaves rolling across the grass. She thinks about Tiger pouncing on the leaves. She looks really hard, to see if maybe he'll come tearing through the hedge to catch a leaf twisting through the air and she could say to Sally, Look, there he is! But there's nothing in the bushes but the wind.
Sally? Marian says. We'll look for him. We'll all go find him. Everyone will help.
Sally looks at Marian. She doesn't say anything, but then she sniffles and stops crying. Marian gives Sally a Kleenex, and she wipes her eyes. It seems to Marian that Sally's saying, not with words, just her eyes, I'm scared but I'll try.
Marian stands up. She smiles at Sally, who stands up, too, and they go off to look for Vicky and the boys.
They find them all in the park, the little park the kids are allowed to go to by themselves because you don't have to cross any big streets to get there. They're playing on the swings, seeing who can go the highest. Jack pushes his feet way, way out and almost swings upside down. None of them has ever seen anyone do that, go all the way over the bar, and some of the kids say no one can, but Jack says sure, you just have to not be afraid and go real hard. Marian and Sally watch as Jack pushes, pushes, but he doesn't tip over, and then Marian tells everyone about what they have to do.
The other kids stop swinging and listen. Tom asks a question: Did Tiger ever do this before, run away like this? Sally bites her lip and shakes her head. Jimmy just listens until Marian's through and then he looks around, up the block, back through the park, like he's figuring what to do, what's the right thing to do.
Vicky looks at Tom. What do you think? she asks.
Jack says, Wait, wait, just one more time, and he pumps way up high. Markie, when he hears what Marian's telling them, when he sees Sally's face, he stops watching Jack and moves over next to Sally. He says, It's okay, Sally, it's okay, I'll try really hard to find him for you. Jack swings way up once more, yells, Hey! This time! and Markie jerks his head around and watches, yelling, Come on, Jack! You can do it! but Jack doesn't do it this time either, the swing just stops at the top for a minute like it's thinking and then comes swooping down.
Tom says, Okay, come on, let's go, if we go look for him now, maybe he didn't go very far away yet.
Jack's still swinging, so Tom says: Jack.
Jack says, Yeah, yeah, okay, and jumps off his swing without stopping it so he has to run a few steps, but he doesn't fall.
Yeah, yeah, okay, says Jack, glaring back at the swing, like something bad happened that's the swing's fault.
You'll do it next time, Jack, says Marian. You almost did it. No one else ever did that, and you almost did.
Jack's looking like he's mad that he had to stop, like he wanted to keep flying like that, but he doesn't say anything mean to Marian like he would if it were one of the guys talking to him.
And we really need you to help, Marian says. I know we can find Tiger if you help.
Jack's looking at his swing, still moving by itself, and he shrugs, like he's not even listening, but the kids see him sort of smile, because of what Marian said. He looks at Sally, with her weepy eyes, and he growls, Well, come on, you guys, what are you waiting for?
They spread out around the neighborhood, crunching through the brown and yellow leaves, calling Tiger, Tiger, peeking behind bushes and under people's porches. They keep on looking until it starts to get dark and the streetlights are blinking on and they have to go home to dinner, to their own houses. They haven't found Tiger.
The next day after school they try again. They do the same things, in some of the same places and in other places, but nothing works, nothing makes Tiger come home.
You know, Jack says to Jimmy and Tom, when it's almost dinnertime and the three of them are together on the corner near St. Ann's. Maybe he went across Hylan, all the way over there.
That far? says Jimmy. Why?
Wanted to go someplace, Jack says. See what things are like somewhere else.
The cat?
Yeah, says Jack, the cat.
Tom gives Jack a long look, and maybe it's the way it's starting to get dark, but Jimmy never saw before how much Tom looks like his father, Mike the Bear.
Tom doesn't say anything, but he heads down the street, toward Hylan Boulevard. Jack follows him. After a moment Jimmy heads that way, too.
They go down to the end of the street, the three of them, and stand there watching the traffic whiz by. It's an eight-lane road, Hylan, though two lanes, one on each side, have cars parked in them. But that just makes it harder to see what's coming, headlights racing toward you in the purple light, buses stopping and cars swerving out around them. Jimmy's heart starts to beat faster.
No one asks anyone anything. They all know they're going to cross this street.
Red lights mean stop; green lights mean go. They learned that back when they were small. Because Tom says to, they wait until the light changes twice, so they can see how long it is. When it turns to green again, facing them, they run.
There's a place halfway across where you can stop, like a sidewalk stuck in the middle of the street. While they're watching the lights change, Tom says, Stop when we get to that sidewalk thi
ng, and when they get there, he stops and Jimmy stops. But Jack, who runs slowest and gets there last, only stops for a second. Come on, you guys, he says, and laughs, and takes off again. He's looking back at Tom and Jimmy. He doesn't see that the light already changed.
A horn blasts at Jack from a car that slams to a stop in front of him. Jack looks up sharply and stumbles. He goes flying headfirst across the asphalt. Tom runs there, yanks on Jack's arm to try to pull him up. Cars are charging right at them. It's dark, and they're small. Jack's on the pavement, and Tom's bending over him, and Jimmy knows without thinking that the cars can't see them.
They're in the middle of the traffic now, Jack scrambling to his feet, the bright headlights on the cars racing forward. Jack's eyes are blank; Tom's yanking at him; and for Jimmy, something happens. Later he thinks and thinks about it, it should have been scary, but it wasn't, what it was, it was right, it was perfect. It's this: Time slows way down. Jimmy's standing there, and he has all the time he needs to take it all in, and he does, and then he knows, just knows exactly what to do. Jimmy moves. Steps toward the cars, not away, waves his arms like he saw a traffic cop do on this same street once when he was with his mom. The headlights stop, brakes screech, and horns squawk. Tom and Jack are standing like frozen staring statues, so Jimmy pushes them. That makes them start to move. They dash to the far sidewalk. The cars start pouring down the boulevard again, horns honking. The boys duck down and hide behind a parked car in case there's a real cop around.
But there's not. Jimmy's heart starts to beat more softly. Tom stands up, then the other two: they grin at each other. Jimmy's grin seems like something he can't help, something he couldn't stop if he wanted to, something that's coming from this tingling, sizzling place under his skin.
Tom says, Jack? What are you, nuts? What's the matter with you?
Jack says, I could've made it.
Tom keeps staring at Jack, but maybe he doesn't think of anything else he can say to him. He looks down, and then his face breaks into a grin again, like he can't help it, just like Jimmy can't. Tom says, Jimmy, you're crazy.
Jimmy says, Well, you two jerks, you were just standing in the middle of the street, like you had no place to go.
Tom and Jimmy grin at each other like Jack isn't there. Then Jack says, Hey, you guys. I mean, we're over here.
Oh yeah, says Tom. The cat.
Then they all laugh, like the cat's a joke they have now, though Jimmy knows that's not what they're laughing about, not the cat.
They look. They go around the neighborhood on the other side of the boulevard, calling Tiger, Tiger, going into people's front yards and crouching to peer under bushes and parked cars.
Tiger's not there, and they don't find him. When they cross the boulevard back, they wait on the sidewalk in the middle for the light to turn red and then green again for them, even though when they first get to that middle sidewalk, the light's still green and Jack says, Come on, you guys, we can make it. But Tom just shakes his head, so they wait.
Jimmy's mom is mad at him for coming home late. When she asks where he was, he says, I'm sorry, we were out looking for Sally's cat.
Her face stops looking mad, and she says, Oh, Jimmy, that's very nice of you. But please don't worry me by being so late again.
No, he says, I won't.
He waits for her to ask where they were looking and thinks how mad she's going to be when he tells. He hopes she doesn't ask who went with him, because he doesn't want to get Tom and Jack in trouble, too.
But she just hugs him and says, Go wash up for supper.
In the park the next afternoon, Tom tells the other kids about the big street-crossing expedition, Jack waving his hands around and throwing in words from time to time, Jimmy just quiet.
When he's done, Vicky says, Tom, you saved Jack's life.
Tom says, Me and Jack would've both got squished if Jimmy wasn't so crazy, standing right there in front of the cars.
Jimmy just shakes his head. Jimmy's thinking about the way time stopped, Jimmy's thinking about the sizzling under his skin.
Marian looks at Jimmy and almost smiles, but then she looks at Sally. Sally's smiling, because Tom and Jack and Jimmy were very brave and went on a big adventure for her, just like three princes in a fairy tale. But it's a sad smile, because she still doesn't have Tiger back.
No one ever finds Tiger. Tiger's gone.
Four days after the trip across Hylan Boulevard (now legendary, and involving, in the telling, buses, convertibles, and a huge semi like the one Jimmy's dad used to drive before he married Jimmy's mom; no one mentions the cat) Markie, who hasn't crossed any big streets or gotten home late to dinner, comes to Sally's house with a box. The box has holes in the sides and on the top that Markie poked with a pencil. When he hands the box to Sally, she almost drops it because it sort of moves around by itself.
I'm sorry I couldn't find Tiger for you, Markie says. I tried and tried. I wanted to be the one who found him.
I know, says Sally. You looked very hard. It's okay.
Sally takes the top off the box, and there's a white kitten inside, all fuzzy, with big blue eyes looking up at her. It opens its mouth and makes a tiny peep, like a bird.
My aunt's cat had kittens, Markie tells Sally. She said it was okay to give you one.
Sally looks at Markie. She picks up the kitten, and it purrs and tries to crawl into the place where her elbow bends.
But, says Markie, but she didn't have any gray and black ones.
That's okay, says Sally. That's okay. She strokes the kitten and smiles at Markie and says to him, White's my favorite color.
And when Eddie Spano starts asking Sally out, Sally won't date him, but she says no in some kind of way that doesn't piss him off. The guys keep an eye on her, but they find out she doesn't need that. Everyone's impressed, but that's Sally, no one's ever pissed off at Sally, not even Eddie Spano. So Sally marries Markie, and they invite everyone to the wedding, including Eddie, and everyone comes.
Sally's happy.
LAURA'S STORY
Chapter 5
Secrets No One Knew
October 31, 2001
Laura was sitting at Harry's desk.
The big soft chair with a pattern like a Persian carpet was where she'd started. But when Laura was in the big chair, Harry was at his desk; that was how it had always been, since she had begun to take space in Harry's life, since she had made space for him in hers. Sitting there, Laura couldn't shake the feeling that Harry was about to walk out of the kitchen, the bedroom, the bathroom, to ruffle her hair, go over and pull up the creaky old desk chair, and sit down to his work. She couldn't concentrate, waiting for Harry.
Her other usual spot was Harry's bed. That was out of the question.
So she sat at Harry's desk, his few files piled neatly on the left side, notebooks on the right. Two pin-sharp pencils rested eraser to eraser against the ridge on Harry's keyboard. More than once, when his syncopated clicking stopped, Laura had looked over to see Harry picking up one of those pencils, bringing it toward the blue monitor screen as though to correct a mistake, a bad thought, in the white copy glowing there. The pencil would hover, Laura never sure if it was threatening the newer technology—behave, because there's still me—or reassuring it—I've got your back. Then he would drop the pencil into the ridge again and go on typing until he hit the next bump in the road.
Laura had always meant to ask Harry how the pencil and the screen felt about each other. Always meant to.
Soon she would have to start going through Harry's files, and the notebooks, and the computer, too, though she wasn't expecting much. Harry threw things out. This was a habit from his early days, the days his Pulitzers came from, three of them lined up on the wall, all a little crooked with vibration and neglect. “That one,” Harry had confided last spring, pointing an accusatory finger at the plaque in the middle, “is for a six-piece team story. Eight reporters. I wrote the fourth piece. It doesn't really count.�
� Laura had reached out and straightened the one that didn't count and then the others. She didn't think they'd been straightened since.
Those plaques had been won and hung years ago, before Harry had developed an intimate relationship with gin. In the newsroom Laura had seen young reporters lift their eyebrows, shrug as Harry stood at the shredder, feeding it page after page of notes for stories that would be lucky to see the inside of Section Two. She never knew if Harry saw the eyebrow-lifters, or if he cared, until the day her first front-page story ran—below the fold, but it was her first—and he had grabbed her, kissed her, and murmured romantically in her ear, “Now shred your notes.”
Laughing, giddy at her success, she reminded him that that sort of paranoia seemed to be out of fashion at the Tribune. Harry, one arm around her waist, had pointed to one of the eyebrow-lifters hard at work across the room. “That bozo,” he said mildly, speaking as if he and Laura were at the zoo and he knew an interesting fact about a creature, “doesn't shred his notes. That's all right; he'll never write anything worth a subpoena. You, my little oyster, will. Keep the quotes, to protect the Tribune's ass. Destroy all else.” He looked at her gravely. “The great and powerful Oz has spoken.”
Laura had spent the rest of that afternoon sorting and shredding her notes.
So she was not holding out much hope for Harry's files, his notebooks or computer. But there would be something. Someplace to start: a question between the lines, a name she didn't know, a call Harry had made that had never been returned. To find that starting point was why she had come.
But first, for the hundredth time, she had reread the story that had begun, and now, she thought, ended, everything.
S. J. Rozan Page 13
