The Cat Sitter’s Cradle (27 page)

We walked down to the beach and sat down on the sand and watched the waves crashing
in. The birds and crickets were still in the throes of their evening performance,
and at times it was all so loud we had to speak up a little just to be heard over
them.

Finally I said, “I’m scared.”

He tilted his head. “Of what?”

I waved my hand back and forth between us. “You know.
This.
”

“Yeah, I know. So what else is new?”

“Very funny.”

“I wasn’t joking.”

I looked up at him. I could tell by the look in his eyes that it was true. He wasn’t
joking. He was dead serious.

“I’m sorry, it’s just sometimes I feel like we’re at a carnival, and we keep getting
on the same carousel over and over again because you’re afraid to get on the big-kid
rides.”

I said, “Ethan, do you have any idea how many people die every year on roller coasters?”

He rolled his eyes.

I said, “Okay. I know, I know. Believe me, I know. All my friends are saying I need
to just move on with my life and stop being so…” I searched for the right word. “Safe.”

Ethan said, “Wait a minute, you talked to your friends about me?”

“Well, no, not you in particular, just about relationships.”

“Ah.”

He looked a little disappointed. Then I thought of Cora popping that piece of chocolate
bread in her mouth and the twinkle in her eye as she reminded me how delicious Ethan
was.

I smiled. “Okay, maybe I did mention you a couple of times.”

He grinned and looked out at the water. “That’s good, I guess.”

“I’m sorry I’m so neurotic. I’m really trying to change. Believe me, I don’t want
to spend every moment of my life feeling like I’m hiding from something.”

He turned to me. “Well, maybe it’s time to change that. Maybe it’s time to start living
every moment as if you’re finding something. What if every moment is a discovery?”

I laid my hand on top of his and looked up into his big brown eyes. I said, “That
is the corniest fucking thing you have ever said in your entire life.”

He burst out laughing. “I know, right? High five!”

I clapped my hand into his and he pulled me closer. I did my best impersonation of
a self-help hippie guru: “What if every moment is a beautiful blooming lotus blossom
of discovery?”

He chuckled, and we both sat there a while longer and listened to the waves and the
dying chorus of birds and crickets.

Finally he said, “But you have to admit, it’s not bad advice.”

*   *   *

As we were walking up to the house, I saw Michael and Paco out on the deck clearing
away the dinner dishes, but when they saw us coming they scattered back inside like
mice.

I walked Ethan over to the carport. Before we even got to his car he pulled me into
his arms.

“Tell Paco and your brother I said thanks for the beer, and call me if you need me.”

I felt his strong arms slide around the small of my back and a wave of goose bumps
flowed across my entire body.

“I will. Thanks for coming by. You totally made my day.”

I could feel his chest rise and fall against mine with every breath he took. He cocked
his head to one side and said, “Your hair looks good.”

“I know. I dried it with a hair dryer.”

“Totally works.”

I laid my hand on the back of his neck and gently drew his lips to mine.

25

I walked behind Ethan’s car a little ways down the lane until his taillights disappeared
around the curve. Then I came back up with my arms wrapped around my shoulders like
I was giving myself a good hug. I was halfway up the steps to my apartment when Michael
poked his head out of the house.

“Hey, where’s your gentleman caller going?”

I put one hand on my hip. “He’s going home, Michael. Where do you think he’s going?”

He smirked. “I figured he’d be going right up those stairs with you, like he did last
night.”

I suddenly felt like a fifteen-year-old girl caught making out with a boy on the front
porch by her father. My cheeks turned red hot, and I started back up the stairs.

He pumped his fist. “Yes! Busted.”

I stopped and turned. “You know what, Michael? Grow up!”

Paco appeared in the doorway and started pulling Michael back inside, but he wasn’t
giving up that easily. “Hey, if the carport’s a-rockin’, don’t come a-knockin’!”

I said, “Hilarious,” and slammed the door behind me.

I heard Paco say something, and then Michael shouted, “Oh, come on, Dixie! I’m just
teasing!”

No matter how old we get, no matter how mature or well adjusted we are, we all have
our own inner child hidden somewhere deep inside us. I think there’s also an angst-ridden
teenager in there, too. In my case, sometimes she gets out and tears things up a bit,
especially since there’s nothing better than having an older sibling around to get
that inner teenager riled up. Every once in a while I turn into the haughty, emotional
fifteen-year-old brat I once was, and Michael turns into my sadistic, teasing older
brother.

I stretched out on the mattress, wishing I’d put the clean sheets back on earlier,
and pulled the comforter over me. I fumed for a little bit, but I knew by the morning
it would all be fine. I wasn’t even sure what I was so steamed about. Either I was
embarrassed that Michael and Paco knew Ethan had spent the night, or I was embarrassed
that I had tried to hide it from them, or I was just embarrassed that I was embarrassed.

Whatever it was, I felt like an idiot. I’d have to apologize to Michael for reacting
like a pubescent diva. I knew he was thrilled that I was getting closer to Ethan,
and I knew there was nothing he wanted more than for me to be happy.

*   *   *

That night, I dreamed that I lived on a deserted island in a grass hut, with a bed
made out of bamboo sticks and palm fronds, and a little shelf over the bed made out
of abalone shells. Eventually I realized it wasn’t just any island I was on. It was
Gilligan’s Island, and it wasn’t a TV show, it was real. There were other grass huts
all around mine where all the other castaways lived, everyone except Ginger, who lived
at the other end of the island in a huge glass-and-steel football stadium with a domed
roof and a huge expanse of green Astroturf carpeting.

I was standing next to Ginger in the center of the stadium. It was completely dark
except for a few shafts of light cutting through the blackness and making pools of
green light on the floor. There was someone climbing up one of the walls, dangerously
high—he must have been almost ten stories off the ground. I turned to Ginger and said,
Who is that?
Her wavy red hair was cascading over her shoulders and glistening in the light. She
said,
Dixie, that’s Todd.

He was climbing across some kind of scaffolding that extended all the way to the top
of the dome, and as he climbed higher and higher, he was poking little holes in the
ceiling with the tip of a pool cue. Occasionally we would see dust and little pieces
of the dome come floating down in the shafts of light.

I was just about to ask Ginger if her red hair was natural when Todd lost his footing.
I watched in horror as he fell all the way down to the ground. He landed in a pool
of light about thirty yards away from us. I ran as fast as I could to his side, but
when I got to the place where he’d fallen, his body was gone. Lying on the bright
green Astroturf was a small embroidery frame. It was oval shaped, with little pegs
to hold in place a piece of fabric stretched across it. But instead of fabric in the
frame, there was a paper-thin piece of balsa wood. I laid the tip of my finger on
the center of the wood and felt a steady heartbeat.

I took the frame home to my hut and placed it on the abalone shelf over my bed. Throughout
the night, I would wake up, reach out, and touch the thin membrane of wood to feel
the heartbeat. It never stopped. At some point before morning came, Ginger snuck in
and was gently nudging my shoulder. I looked up at her, and she said,
Dixie, I found it!

I shot straight up in bed and said out loud, “I know where those letters are.”

*   *   *

When I backed out of the carport, I was still reeling a little bit from the dream,
which was about the strangest, most surreal dream I’d ever had. I rolled down the
lane with the headlights off. Michael and Paco are pretty heavy sleepers, but I didn’t
want to take any chances, so I drove as slowly as I could until I got to the end.
I didn’t switch on the headlights until I was heading north on Midnight Pass. It was
the middle of night, and there was nobody on the road but me.

I drove through the deserted village in the center of town and past the park where
Joyce and I found Corina. At Jungle Plum Road, I made a left and drove at a snail’s
pace along the trees lining the street where the Harwicks’ house was. As I pulled
through the gates and up the long driveway, I breathed a sigh of relief. There were
no cars in the parking area.

I pulled my ring of keys out of my backpack and unlocked the door. The alarm system
beeped when I went in, and with a trembling hand I punched in the security code to
disarm it and then closed and locked the door behind me. It was pitch dark inside,
but I was a little reluctant to turn on any lights. I told myself that technically
I wasn’t really doing anything wrong. Nobody had told me I couldn’t come and check
on the aquarium in the middle of the night, but still I didn’t want to arouse the
suspicions of any of the neighbors.

I fished out the little flashlight I keep in my backpack and made my way across the
foyer and up the marble stairs to Mr. and Mrs. Harwick’s bedroom. Even though I knew
the house was totally empty, I was terrified. It seemed like every time I thought
I was alone in this house, I was dead wrong.

I passed through the bedroom suite and made my way slowly down the short hall toward
the master bathroom. Very gently, I pushed the door open and waited just in case there
was someone hiding inside, which of course there wasn’t. Still, I could literally
feel my heart pumping in my chest. I tiptoed across the marble floor directly to the
little alcove with the peach-colored velvet bench and sat down.

I took a deep breath and slowly raised the flashlight. I followed the pool of light
as it slid across the floor to the tank, to the edge of the mermaid’s tail fanned
out across the aquarium floor, then up her glittering turquoise body. As her face
came into view, her pouting red lips, her pale porcelain skin, and her deep violet
eyes, I knew I was right.

She had been moved.

On that morning I had searched the house looking for Charlotte, the same morning I
found Mr. Harwick at the bottom of the pool, I had sat in this exact same place. I
distinctly remembered looking up and seeing two pairs of eyes staring directly at
me: the porcupine fish’s and the mermaid’s. But earlier today, after Mrs. Harwick
left, I sat here and imagined the mermaid was looking out the window and fantasizing
about some faraway land. At the time I didn’t think anything of it, but now I knew
I was right. She had definitely been moved, and recently. She wasn’t looking at me
at all. She was gazing off at least three feet to the right, directly at one of the
stained-glass windows.

My eyes floated down to the black-and-gold treasure chest she was sitting on. I wasn’t
one bit happy about what I was about to do, but at the same time, I felt like I didn’t
have a choice.

I needed to see what was inside that chest.

I slid one of the large pocket doors open and stepped through the hidden pathway and
around to the back of the aquarium. The nets and poles with hooks on one end were
hanging in a row on the wall behind the tank, and the fish were all drifting about
aimlessly in the darkened water. When I switched on the overhead light, they all darted
around a bit, and I whispered an apology for waking them up and intruding into their
silent world. I rolled up my sleeves and slid my arms down into the tank. I was worried
the mermaid would be too heavy to move by myself, but she must have been hollow, because
it was surprisingly easy.

As all the fish retreated to the far corners of the tank, I put both my hands on the
back of the mermaid’s head and tilted her forward. I felt a momentary jab of pity
when I saw the lid of the treasure chest lift up with her. I thought,
No wonder she just sits in here all day. I’d do the same thing if I had the lid of
a treasure chest fused to my butt.

I brought her up a little farther so that she was balanced on her own against the
front wall of the aquarium, and then I pointed my flashlight down into the open treasure
chest.

Inside was a black rectangular package, wrapped in what I thought at first was twine
but then realized were rubber bands. I reached behind me and brought one of the wooden
poles off the wall and lowered it down into the tank. As carefully as possible, I
looped its hook under one of the rubber bands and then gently drew the package up
out of the water.

The whole thing had taken less than a minute. I spread a towel on the floor and laid
the dripping package down on top of it. It was light, about half a pound. The rubber
bands were wrapped around what looked like a black plastic garbage bag, and I thought
of Kenny and how he had described his father wrapping a change of clothes in a plastic
bag and carrying it into the ocean.

Carefully, I took the rubber bands off one by one and laid them in a neat pile on
the floor next to the towel. Before I looked inside the bag, I glanced up at the tank.
The porcupine fish was floating aimlessly in the middle of the tank, puffed up like
a beach ball and covered in sharp white quills.

I whispered, “Sorry about that.”

Slowly, I opened up the package and pulled out two clear plastic bags. They were the
gallon-sized type with watertight zippers across the top.