That’s all Dad gave me.
Some of it makes sense.
Some of it doesn’t.
Dad made me promise that I’d respect Shadow’s wishes for privacy. He didn’t even tell my dad about the fire because he didn’t want him to feel like he owed him something.
That doesn’t make sense either.
I think something happened. From the fire. Something terrible. I think that Shadow was hurt and that neither of them wants me to know.
I can’t process that either.
I glance down at my phone and flick the screen so I can see the time. I have thirty minutes left to make this call. I wonder if Shadow is sitting waiting for the call. I know nothing about him.
But I want to.
I promised my dad I wouldn’t put all my considerable effort into finding him in a relatively small city, and pestering him with thanks and offers of friendship and undying loyalty and endless gushing hero worship.
God. I seriously need to get my shit together.
I crack open the phone and stare at the only number programmed into it. My heart flutters at the thought of the other phone clutched in strong hands. But maybe they’re not strong. Maybe they’re burned. Maybe the man on the other end is disfigured because of me. He’s a recluse because he’s afraid to go outside, or because he’s in too much pain.
Dad did warn me that Shadow has a wicked sense of humor. That he might say biting things to me, but he doesn’t mean them. That’s just his way.
Would that be his way if he was leading a happy, normal life? We only spoke briefly the night of the fire, and I was tootraumatized to remember much. Why did he leave Ohio and come out here? I don’t buy the shit about there not being any opportunity. What really happened?
Bubby ambles across the kitchen right at the exact moment that my mind whirls and I think about the very second I begged Shadow to go back into the burning house and get her. I couldn’t bear to lose her. My heart wrenches and tears spill down my cheeks. I get up and pick her up, careful of her old, sore body. She melts against me, purring madly, rubbing her wet nose against my cheek. She meows when she sniffs the tears, and looks up at me with her huge yellow eyes.
“I’m okay,” I assure her. I kiss the top of her head.
She’s too old, really, but she’s hanging in there. She’s happy. She doesn’t appear to be in pain. She still loves her food, her treats, her naps, and her cuddles.
She’s my best friend in all the world. She always has been.
I stuff my fist into my mouth, so I don’t start sobbing. I pepper her little ears with kisses one more time before I grab the burner and walk into the small bedroom. It’s just big enough for a bed and a dresser, but it has good windows, and I don’t mind. The apartment above the tattoo parlor might be small, but it’s cozy. I like the chatter of voices downstairs during the day. Even the thump of angry metal music that sometimes goes for hours is comforting.
I set Bubby down on the bed and curl up around her on my side. I pet her back in long strokes until she lets out a big cat yawn and falls asleep.
To the world, I know she’s nothing special. Just another tabby cat who was rescued as a kitten. But to me, she’s the world.If something happened to him when he rescued her, will he be angry with me that I chose an animal’s life over his? That he’s paying the price for my request every single day?
You don’t know that.
I know what I saw that night. He’d wrapped his t-shirt around Bubby and had nothing to protect him other than that bloody wetness. His t-shirt was soaked in it. It saved Bubby from getting burned, I’m sure. Would someone’s skin be steaming if they weren’t touched by the fire? His back. His legs and arms. His hands. His face. How much smoke did he inhale?
I can’t even begin to comprehend the suffering.
I’ve been clutching the burner all this time. I unfurl my fingers and find itwet. I quickly wipe it on the floral quilt. I flip it open and it still lights up with that one number.
I check my phone. I’m down to fourteen minutes.
I close my eyes and before my doubts can force me to waste the one opportunity I might have, I bring up the number and hit the little green call button on the keypad.
It rings and rings. And rings. My heart is locked in my chest. My breath remains trapped in my lungs. My body is soaked with sweat.
A deep voice comes over the line. “Fawnie.” My name. Not hello.
I gasp and nearly drop the phone. This is probably what Dad warned me about. Not in a bad way. Just that Shadow isn’t like other people.
