And now, he was still staring at the back of the fence instead of discussing my survey, which was the reason that we were having this meeting. I’d put it on his schedule and then sent a reminder, but I hadn’t had a lot of faith that he would look at his calendar or even be here in the building when it was supposed to start. He’d been on his way out the door, actually, when I’d stepped into his path and asked if he would return in time for us to talk, because we really did need to go over the report I’d prepared.
He’d been surprised by my persistence, and I was a little surprised by that myself. I didn’t usually get too worked up about things—yes, I’d freaked out about the rats, but who wouldn’t? My dad had always described me as a duck: everything slid right off my back and didn’t affect me. I sailedthrough difficult situations, stress-free and with my emotions under control. But as I’d put my notes from Ed’s tour into a more coherent form, I’d gotten increasingly mad and disgusted.
I could see now that I shouldn’t have bothered to force this meeting. Mr. Gowan was here, physically, but he wasn’t really listening and he wasn’t going to do anything. “I’m picking up on a little embellishment for self-importance,” he said, still smiling faintly. “Is that valid?”
“No,” I answered, for the third time. I understood why he was harping on it, though. If things were as bad as I was claiming, then he might have needed to act. He was in charge of the Office of Special Projects, and the issue of what to do about the Junior Woodsmen situation had been assigned to us. Maybe the head people at the Woodsmen Football organization had only wanted to punt it away or push it under a rug, but I had been the one standing on a table in the epicenter. I had decided that I wasn’t punting or pushing this anywhere, but I also wasn’t getting anywhere with him. I returned to my cubicle and a minute or so later, he left, saying something about Bermuda. My report was already out of his mind, if it had ever entered it.
It would have been easier for me to forget this, too. The Office of Special Projects didn’t actually seem to tackle a lot of those. I’d started here last fall when the Woodsmen football season was in full swing, and there had been things to do back then. I’d filled in to help other departments and I’d learned a lot about the team, its organization, and the physical layout of this huge stadium complex.
But I wasn’t pursuing this only out of boredom. It wasn’t just because I was going to see one of those Junior Woodsmen again, either—I still planned to go to Ronan’s party, and to be honest, I’d been looking forward to it. I hadn’t done much socially since I’d moved up here, where most people seemed to know each other already and they weren’t overly accepting of someone new. Or maybe, it was just that they weren’t overly accepting of me, an idea that I could also get behind. Growing up, I’d moved frequently and I had never been the type to make a new circle of friends at each new place. I hadn’t cared, since I’d known that we would be leaving again soon enough.
But I did plan to stay here. When I’d been that nomadic kid, I had decided that as an adult, I was going to pick a place and stick for good. For keeps, forever. I had gotten this job when I’d graduated from college, and then they’d been great about letting me have an extra couple of months before I’d started due to the personal stuff that suddenly arose. I’d finally moved here with all my possessions in the two suitcases that I’d used for as long as I could remember. I’d signed the lease on my apartment, unpacked, gone to the building’s dumpster, and thrown those bags away. I wouldn’t be needing them anymore, I had told myself. I wasn’t moving again.
Then I’d waited—for roots to grow? Something like that, anyway. I had waited for an event or a sign to make me feel like I was home. I hadn’t been sitting on my hands, though. I’d gone out and gotten stuff for my apartment, like a mat I’d laid in front of my door that said “hey there” and towels for the bathroom.I’d bought the groceries that I liked, secure in the fact that no roommate would eat them out from under me.
I’d waited and so far, I still hadn’t gotten the feeling that I was after, the feeling that this was my place and that I belonged. But I was sure that it would come. I just had to wait a little longer.
I had also decided that making friends would help, so I had attempted that. I’d said hello to people in the Woodsmen employee parking lot, and they had responded but nothing had really come of it. I’d joined a gym. I’d downloaded meet-up apps and looked around the grocery store and local coffee shops for people who seemed lonely. And now, I was going to a party. Ronan Wilder had texted me already, sending his address and giving me an idea of when things would start.
“We open the doors at seven,” he’d written, which seemed a little odd, more like a venue. But he’d said that this was a party he was having with friends. Hadn’t that meant it would be at someone’s house?
No, it did not, which I found out on Saturday night when I arrived at the address that he’d given me. My phone had seemed to struggle with that because it didn’t show buildings or business names around the destination. I had decided that I would show up at eight, when other people would already be there—and when I reached the spot where my phone announced “arrived,” there were plenty of other cars. The road was lined with them, but I still didn’t see any kind of structure…oh, there was something. Off in the field to my right, I saw lights and when I opened my car door, I heard music and far-off voices talking and yelling, as well as a persistent humming sound. But I wasactually in the middle of nowhere, with land stretching in either direction. The last house I’d passed had been several miles back.
Then another car pulled up behind me and I watched several people spill out. They carried a bunch of stuff with them, mostly bags that clinked, and I realized that I should have brought something as well. It was too late now, since I had no idea where the closest liquor store might be. But they had come prepared and seemed to know where they were going, because they immediately started walking toward the lights in the distance. I followed.
I might have mentioned that the Junior Woodsmen field was muddy. That was because, despite the snow that was still piled around, the ground had begun to thaw. It thawed not back into dirt, but into muck. That was what we were walking through but since I had thought that I was attending a party and not a wilderness expedition, I wasn’t wearing anything appropriate, like boots. I stumbled once and didn’t totally fall, but it made me stop and reconsider if this was worth it. I looked back at my car and saw that I was more than halfway to the destination, what I could now see was an old barn with lights strung around. The humming I’d heard must have come from a generator, so someone had done some planning for this event.
I continued walking, wishing that I’d worn my boots and sorry that I’d have to clean this stupid Midwestern mud off my shoes. I was seriously questioning the idea that I needed any friends at all, let alone the guy who refused to jump off the table with me on his back. But I finally arrived at the barn.
It was packed and people were loving it. They were dancing, laughing, drinking, climbing, making out, and doing anything and everything else that I’d ever thought I’d see at a party. There were plenty of big guys around, probably Junior Woodsmen, but I didn’t see the particular big one that I had met.
Then I did see someone I recognized. “Ed?” He was the building manager, the nice man who had walked me around, and he was just as nice now. He waved and came right over to talk.
“Cate!” he greeted me, loudly because music was pumping. “I didn’t know you were coming to this.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“A barn party,” he answered, which was obvious since we were in a barn. “It’s to celebrate the end of the season.”
“Oh, right.” I did remember someone remarking that the last Junior Woodsmen game was taking place today. “How did it go?”
“Not great, because the quarterback got hurt. But it’s over,” he told me. “There’s no post-season for the development league, so everyone just heads home.”
“Everyone?” I looked around. Where would that Ronan head off to?
“A lot of the boys stay pretty local,” he let me know. “They have jobs besides football that they’ll start up now. It’s fun to keep everyone together.”
“Sure,” I agreed. “Fun.”
“Want a beer?” When I nodded, he led me over to the liquor table, where there was a big assortment. It seemed like most or all of the people here, besides me, had shown up with an offering.
“I’ll bring something to the next one,” I announced. I didn’t like the idea of being in anyone’s debt.
“They don’t care,” he said, and grabbed me a can. “Cheers.”
I nodded and tapped it to his bottle as I continued to look around. I hadn’t gone out at all in high school and not even very often in college because I’d been working hard at school and at various jobs and internships, and I’d also thought that the whole social scene was pretty dumb. My roommate during freshman year had started drinking after her last class on Thursday and had remained mostly intoxicated until Monday morning, when she woke up for the next class. It was the same thing, every weekend.
I had told myself that it was stupid and actually dangerous for her to be so out of her mind like that with a bunch of strangers, in houses or apartments that she wouldn’t have set foot in when she’d been sober. But the people at this party seemed to be having fun, a lot of it. Even Ed, who must have been forty or more years older than the rest of the crowd, had a huge smile on his face and was bopping a little to the music as we talked. Pretty soon someone called to him and he excused himself to go to the other side of the barn. Then I stood there by the drink table, holding my can.
