A little rustle made her turn toward the bushes. The brown-and-white cat emerged and sat down next to Mac like a spaniel called to heel.
It was all Avalon could do not to drop to her knees and coo at it. She yearned to pet it.
“Hey, cat,” Mac said nonchalantly to it. It was ridiculous, but in that moment it felt like he was actually rubbing in the fact that he had a pet, even if he couldn’t be bothered to give it a name.
“Well, guess I’ll see you around the grounds, neighbor.” Mac turned around.
The cat did, too.
“Oh... I meant to tell you. Whatever you do, don’t go up in the attic.”
And with that enigmatic little warning, he strolled off, whistling a little tune.
It sounded like the Jefferson Airplane’s “Somebody to Love.”
Hey Rach! Can we do a raincheck on lunch today? Sorry! Something came up.
She sent the text immediately. Then she took her laptop out onto the upper story deck to answer GradYouAte-related emails. They wanted her to approve the revised art for the cheerleader module—which was her idea in the first place, just like GradYouAte. She referred them to Corbin.
But all afternoon pale butts twinkled and flashed in her peripheral vision as bathers scaled Devil’s Leap and leaped merrily into the swimming hole, their peens and boobs cheerfully flapping as they sailed down. KERSPLASH! Laughter swelled and ebbed and echoed, voices cheerfully shouted to each other. All those naked people out there were having the time of their lives. Being who they were. Doing what they loved. Absolutely unashamed.
And here she sat, feeling so hollowed out with vague yearning and restlessness it was a wonder a wandering breeze didn’t coax a note from her, as if she were a didjeridoo.
Finally, she gave up, propped her hand on her chin and glumly watched the frolickers. She scratched beneath her bra strap.
All at once it felt like a little lace-and-wire jail.
She scrabbled underneath her T-shirt and unhooked it as if it were an octopus that had her in its death grip. Then with a series of shrugs she wriggled from the straps and yanked it out of her shirt sleeve, no mean feat, and hurled it in a fit of pique across the deck.
Whereupon it disappeared over the side.
Surprise, surprise. She’d overshot the mark.
