Catherine (25 page)

Guilt rose within me. “It’s not like you’ll be alone.”

“I’m used to being alone.” Now Hence sounded miffed, like I’d accused him of needing
to sleep with a night-light on.

“I know.” I sidled up closer. “But you don’t have to be anymore.” We kissed good-bye
under the fluorescent Warehouse lights. He told me to have a good time and went back
to digging through the bins.

Before I could think it through any harder, I hurried back to the apartment, grabbed
my duffel, and headed off to Penn Station to catch the next train.
That was too easy
, I wrote in my journal.
Shouldn’t it be harder to lie to the person you love?
My hands were shaking, and not just because of the moving train.
But I’m not doing anything wrong. Not really.

In Boston, I grabbed the red line from South Station to Cambridge. I barely had to
look at the map; I could still recall the route from when Dad took us to Boston. I
climbed the steps of the T up into Harvard Square and was shocked by its instant
familiarity. It was as though I’d never been away, like it was my soul’s true home.

My first stop was the Grolier Poetry Book Shop, a cozy little hole in the wall, its
high shelves crammed with narrow books. The fat gray shop cat rubbed against my ankles
while I sat reading. As I paid for my purchase—eight books to load down my duffel
bag like rocks—I was dying to tell the clerk that I was a poet and that someday my
books would be on the shelves of her store, between Russell Edson and Lawrence Ferlinghetti.
But I refrained.

From Plympton Street, I practically skipped across Massachusetts Avenue to Harvard
Yard, where the kiosks were covered with fliers advertising upcoming events: a campus
production of
Antigone
; a bake sale to benefit a local women’s shelter; a choral society’s annual spring
concert; a reading by a visiting French novelist… and on and on. I stood in the sun-dappled
square, arms crossed, while Harvard students passed me, solo or in pairs, intent on
wherever it was they were going. Did they have any idea how lucky they were? I thought
about how I was secretly one of them, or at least I could be, if only I were to make
one little check mark on my acceptance letter and walk it over to admissions. That
day, that very afternoon, before the deadline passed.

So I did it.

It was so simple. I wrote the deposit check and handed it over before I could change
my mind. I wandered absently out to the square and sat on the first empty bench I
came across, its surface cold through my jeans, watching the crowds pass by until
I was wracked with shivers. What had I done? What had I been thinking?
Could I undo it? Could I stand up, turn around, make a beeline back to admissions,
and tell the lady behind the desk it had all been a big mistake, a moment of insanity?

I could. The truth was I didn’t want to.

But what on earth would I say to Hence?

Couples live apart from each other all the time
, I told myself, thinking of Cindy, a girl at school whose older boyfriend had gone
off to UCLA last September. She never stopped talking about him—his phone calls, his
letters, the reunion they’d planned for spring break. Distance seemed to make their
relationship more glamorous, more intense. “Being apart taught us how much we belong
together,” she’d said, not to me exactly, but to the lunch table at large, flushed
with what looked like happiness.

Not that I completely trusted Cindy; she seemed to protest a bit too much. But one
thing was undeniable: She and her boyfriend were still together. So maybe the choice
I’d made wouldn’t break Hence and me apart. The more I thought about it, the surer
I was that it wouldn’t, that nothing could. Nobody had ever loved anyone the way I
loved Hence. And I knew beyond doubt that he felt the same way about me.

I wandered in the direction of The Charles Hotel, where I hoped to find a room for
the night. Why shouldn’t I follow my dreams while Hence followed his? Four years wasn’t
such a long time. Once I graduated, we could live wherever he wanted. I would go with
him when the band was on the road, the way he’d imagined it. Between tours we’d live
in our sun-filled apartment with books, cats, and guitars, happily ever after, world
without end, amen.

Hence had to understand. He just had to.

When the train pulled into Penn Station I couldn’t go straight home to Hence. Luckily,
The Charles Hotel had had an open room, and I’d spent the night pacing its mauve carpet,
anxiety mounting over how Hence would take my news. Before I told him, I needed to
talk through the decision I’d just made, to try out my argument on a calm, logical,
nonjudgmental ear. Jackie was back from her trip, so, naturally, I went to her house.
When I knocked on her door she opened it and immediately threw her arms around my
neck. It was unseasonably warm, so we sat together on the steps of her building, just
the two of us, like we’d done so many times before. She couldn’t wait to tell me about
her trip and her decision: She’d liked George Mason, but D.C. hadn’t felt like home,
so she’d decided to go to Columbia to be closer to her mom.
But even with big news like that, it wasn’t Jackie’s style to go on about herself
for very long.

“What about you?” she asked. “Why are you dragging around a duffel bag? Are you and
Hence moving back into The Underground? And why do you look so weirded out?”

That was my Jackie. She always could read me. Sometimes I thought she should forget
all about art and go into psychology—she’d be a natural as a therapist. I took a deep
breath and told her everything from start to finish, and she didn’t say a word until
I was all the way through. When I told her how I’d checked off yes and turned in the
form, her eyes got even rounder than usual. After I’d finished my tale, she just sat
there, hands on her knees, looking amazed.

“Say something,” I begged. “Have I made the biggest mistake of my life?”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t know. One minute I think,
Of course I have to go to Harvard.
The next minute I’m thinking,
Hence will never understand what Harvard means to me.
I’ve tried explaining it to him, but it’s like talking to a rock.” Maybe I sounded
harsher than I meant to, but it was the truth, wasn’t it?

“Doesn’t he want you to be happy?”

“I don’t think he worries about whether or not I’m happy. Since he joined Riptide,
it’s all about him.” Again, harsh but true. “He’s going places, and that’s fabulous.
But seriously, Jack, I’m starting to hate hanging around on the sidelines. I mean,
I don’t mind going to rehearsals and shows and being supportive, but I
need more than that. I have to have my own life, too—my own career.”

“Of course.”

“Lately I almost feel like a groupie.” I’d already told Jackie all about Nina and
her blond friend—the spandex, the miniskirts, the high-pitched screaming.

“You’re a girlfriend. There’s a difference.”

“Is there?” I asked. “Those girls Andy and Stan bring home after a show—are they girlfriends
or groupies?”

“Hence isn’t like that,” Jackie said.

“He’s not as bad,” I said. “But still… I saw the look on his face when Nina was waving
her gazongas at him.”

“Hence has
you
.” Jackie played with one of her dangling earrings. “He doesn’t need Nina and her
gazongas.”

“But what about when I’m away at Harvard and she’s here, following him around like
she’s a poodle and he’s a bone?” I hugged my knees. “He’s going to be so mad at me
when I tell him about Harvard. You haven’t seen him when he gets like that.”

“I can imagine. Even when he’s not mad, he can be a bit… intense.” For a long time,
the only sounds were the swish of traffic and the laughter of kids bouncing a basketball
down the street. “I know you don’t want to hear this, Cath—I hate to even say it—but
maybe you need to let go.”

I was too astonished to even answer.

“Hear me out. I know how
in love
you are. But if he can’t understand your whole Harvard thing… if you can’t be apart
from him without worrying he’ll start sleeping with groupies to get back at you…”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Isn’t it? Because that’s what I heard. Plus, you’re afraid to tell him a simple thing
like where you’re going to college. It shouldn’t be like that. He should be as supportive
of your dreams as you are of his. Is he?”

“No,” I admitted, my voice sullen.

“Then maybe you should break up with him.”

“You’re right.” The sunlight was suddenly too bright for my eyes. I bent to rest my
forehead on my knees, thinking about all that Jackie had said. As silence fell between
us again, I heard sounds of a scuffle, sneakers slapping against concrete, car brakes
screeching, a driver cursing out his window.

I straightened up and saw the surprise in Jackie’s eyes. “I am?” she asked, sounding
so amazed that I couldn’t help laughing.

“You’re right that I shouldn’t be afraid of Hence. I should be able to talk to him.”

“Oh.” Jackie sounded disappointed, as if she’d actually thought I might be considering
breaking up with Hence.

A little miffed now, I continued. “I need to go tell him about Harvard so we can get
the argument behind us. I’ll find a way to make him understand.”

A sudden breeze lifted Jackie’s hair. “I had to speak up,” she said softly. “Don’t
hold it against me, okay?”

“I know Hence can be… unpredictable. But I could never break up with him. There should
be a word for something that’s beyond love, something this strong.” I closed my eyes.
“It’s like my heart is made out of Silly Putty and he can stretch it all out of shape
just by saying my name….”

“You should work for Hallmark,” Jackie said. “There’s your career path.”

I gave her shoulder a playful slug. Then I threw my arms around her. “You always make
me feel better.”

And the insane thing is, I did feel better. Right at that moment, when my life was
crumbling to dust, I felt better than I had in weeks, so charged up and ready that
I went straight to the apartment, hoping I’d find Hence there. I planned to lure him
out for a walk so we could talk things through in private. When I got in, all the
guys were out, so I ran downstairs to check the rehearsal space. Empty. No big deal;
I figured they must be at the studio. Either way, Hence would be too busy to talk
to me, so I believed I had time. I took a long, hot shower and put on some clean clothes.
If anything was different about the apartment, I didn’t notice.

The whole way to the studio, I hummed to myself, swinging my arms as I walked, because
of course Hence would be there, and of course I’d find a way to make him understand
that he was my life and my future. I’d make him see that all the things I needed to
do were for us both, so we could live out our dreams together.

“Hello?” I let the door slam behind me. I heard familiar voices in the mixing room.
I found Andy, Stan, and Ruben in a huddle, looking pissed. “Where’s Hence?”

“You tell us,” Stan said.

“He didn’t show,” Ruben said. “We were supposed to start work almost two hours ago.”

“We thought he must be with you,” Andy said.

“This isn’t like him,” Ruben added. “Did you guys have a fight or something?”

Only then did I realize that something was very wrong. I left without a word, and
ran the whole way back to Jackie’s house.

“What is it? What happened?” She unlatched the door and I burst in.

“Right after you were talking about how I should break up with Hence and I said you
were right, did you notice something out in the street? Some kind of commotion?”

The look on Jackie’s face told me she knew exactly what I was asking. “Oh, no. Oh,
Cath. You don’t think…?”

“He skipped out on a recording session without calling in sick or anything, and he
wasn’t at the apartment.”

“Where else could he be?”

“First answer me.” I grabbed her by the shoulders and pressed my forehead to hers.
“Think hard. What was it we heard?”

“I didn’t look up. We were so busy talking. But I did hear something… maybe someone
running down the street. A car slamming on its brakes, and some yelling.”

“What if it was Hence running away from us? Could it have been?”

Jackie winced, and I released her shoulders, realizing how hard I’d been squeezing
them. “It could have been,” she said. “Oh, Cathy, I hope it wasn’t.”

From Jackie’s house, I called the apartment, but there was no answer. Five minutes
later I phoned again and Stan picked up. “He’s not here,” he said. “His clothes and
guitar are gone.”

I tried calling the police to file a missing persons report, but they practically
laughed at me. “You know how many boyfriends go missing every week?” the sergeant
said just before I hung up on him. So I headed to the apartment, trying to work out
where Hence might have gone, but besides the apartment, the studio, and the rehearsal
space, I couldn’t think of a single place. I wondered if maybe he was on a bus back
to wherever it was he grew up, but that didn’t seem likely, given how he’d always
acted toward his past, like it was a huge black hole that threatened to suck him in
if he so much as talked about it.