I heard the boys up. This isn't the first time I haven't sold with them in the morning, obviously-they probably aren't surprised that I am not there. Red very quietly poked his head into my room and, not seeing me, slipped in and peered through the adjoining door. I glanced lazily up at him, and he took the hint.
"Dog," I mouthed before he could turn away. He looked at Jimmy on the floor, gestured for him to follow. The dog looked at me, then at Red, then back at me. I gestured for him to go, and he obediently trotted after Red, who closed the door to my room. A few minutes later the boys were gone, and I went back to sleep, Katja's head on my chest.
When I woke up, Cat was already awake. When she asked how I knew she was at Ms. Mina's, I surprised myself. I am not generally wordy, but somehow giving a thorough answer seemed important. I knew it was helping alleviate her confusion, but I think talking it out might have been more for my benefit.
" . . . God, I was so glad to find out it was you. I had hoped . . . ." Here I trailed off and pulled her closer. I don't think I can ever adequately express the depth of what I had felt when she was gone and that spark when I thought she might be back. "We looked for you," I continued, telling her about the search. ". . . . God, every day we wondered and worried. I'm just glad you're back. I missed you."
"I missed you, too," she said, and I thought again about what she had gone through. She had been alone in that apartment, waiting for me to get her out, with no one for company but that bastard who hurt her. I hadn't trusted him, and I had even been inside that very building looking for her, yet somehow I had not gotten her out. I had left her to be hurt and scared-and alone.
"Can you ever forgive me for not finding you? For allowing that to happen to you?" I asked. I don't actually know why I asked. I certainly didn't deserve her forgiveness, and this seemed such a crass time to ask, but I couldn't help it. I needed to know if she could ever forgive me. My selfishness at this moment just compounded my guilt at even asking.
"I don't feel that I need to," she said. "But if you feel you need my forgiveness, you should know that you have it."
Of course I should have known. Katja is the kindest, most loving, most giving, human being I know. She doesn't judge anyone, ever. And she always assumes the best in people. "Thank you," I said, overwhelmed by the depth of her goodness. I might not ever forgive myself, but at least she has offered forgiveness even before her own healing. Now it was my job to help her move forward.
"So now what?" she asked, and I smiled.
"Today we just enjoy having you back. And we talk about the next steps. I have someone I'd like you to meet with, but only if you're up to it. We'll figure out a job for you soon enough. We started a jar for you, you know. The boys. They all put in money so you could stay with us and not have to work. For two months they've been saving. You'll be all paid up for awhile," I explained. Red had even told me last night that the boys would want to cover my own lodging while I wasn't selling. I didn't tell them I couldn't and wouldn't take it, but it was sweet of them. Apparently Cat felt the same way because she protested, sitting up as she did so.
"So how do I pay them back? What are we doing today?" she asked.
"We're going after Santorelli," I said, and a look of such fear crossed her face that I wanted to kill him again and again. She was trembling. "You don't have to see him, Cat," I explained, hoping to ease her fright. I should have been more careful in my choice of words and my timing. "We're going after him legally. We're going to talk to a lawyer. I want the bastard in prison. For life." I had thought about this a lot, and life in prison would be harsher than any soaking short of killing him that we could dole out-and I wasn't a killer. Even if he did deserve it. I took her hand as I continued, "you don't have to do anything you don't want to do. I know this lawyer. He's a friend, and I trust him."
"Promise you'll be there?" she whispered, staring at our intertwined hands. Did she really think I would leave her side now? Or ever, for that matter?
"I promise. I'm not leaving your side," I said, lifting her chin to look into her eyes. I needed to know she was okay with this.
"Okay," she said, and I could see in her eyes that she meant it. I marveled at her resolve and her trust in me. I couldn't make the day or the coming weeks any easier, but at the very least I could ensure she had a pleasant morning before we met with Mr. Donovan.
We actually did. It was a beautiful day, and we had particular fun with the dog and Roller. It was nice to see Katja relaxing a bit. We kept it simple, with minimal physical activity-sitting on a park bench feeding ducks, a slow stroll through the park, window shopping with lots of stops. I tried to get her to eat as much as I could. Every once in awhile she would start to get that far away, haunted look. The first time I touched her shoulder, and I could see her come back. She turned to me with a grateful smile, and after that every time her mind started to wander I would reach out to touch her. Hey, whatever helps, right? To me, the most beautiful sound in the world was the small laugh she gave a few times that morning. In those moments the need to protect was able to take a back seat, and my desire to kiss her reemerged. I realized again that I wanted to spend the rest of my life trying to make her smile and laugh like that.
Around eleven we grabbed a quick bite before heading over to Mr. Donovan's office. I could see Katja's increasing nervousness, and my protective instinct was fully active by the time we entered the building.
"Hello there, Thomas," Mrs. Hall, the secretary greeted me. I winked at her cheekily like I do every time, then headed straight back to the office. I knew Mr. Donovan was expecting me, and his door was slightly ajar, meaning he wasn't with a client. I knocked once, then entered, Katja close on my heels but stopping in the doorway. I could see her eyes moving wildly around the room, lingering on the windows. I pulled her inside and introduced her, glancing between her and Mr. Donovan worriedly. I hoped she wouldn't panic. Instead she surprised me by looking up at him briefly. That seemed to settle her enough for her hand to stop trembling in mine, even if she did look back down quickly. That was a good sign. She liked him, even if she didn't know it yet.
"Of course. Ms. Fischer, please, have a seat. I'm Harry Donovan. Would you like Thomas to stay while we talk?" Mr. Donovan asked. Like hell I was leaving, but I didn't say it.
She nodded, then screwed up her face and rasped, "yes, sir." I knew by the sound how much effort even that much had cost her, and I worried she wouldn't be able to tell him much.
Mr. Donovan put her at ease a bit with a few simple questions. When he asked about where she was staying, I could see her confusion and stepped in. "Actually, Katja is staying with us—unofficially, of course—for her protection. Once you hear why you'll understand." I could see her control slipping, and her tears began to fall. I looked up at Mr. Donovan briefly, noting his concerned face, but my attention was on Katja. She was crying silently, but I could see that speaking was beyond her at this point, and with her permission I took over the explanation. The death grip she had on my hand throughout told me it was a good thing I had taken over.
"Well then, Thomas, I will need some time to work on Ms. Fischer's case. There are a lot of considerations I will need to work through, and there is a good chance that I will have further questions in the coming days. It's likely I will need to ask detailed and uncomfortable questions, and there is a high likelihood that Ms. Fischer will need to testify. You will have to start with a police report," he said.
"Yes, sir," I replied, thinking about when the best time to do that would be.
"There's another thing. In cases like this, there are usually more victims. Ms. Fischer, do you know of anyone else to whom this man could have done such things?" Mr. Donovan asked.
Well, that's something I hadnt considered. My mind was already racing, trying to think of ways I could get information of such a quiet and sensitive nature.
"I don't know," Katja was saying, and her surprise was evident. We'll have to discuss this, I thought.
"It is always helpful if there are multiple witnesses," Mr. Donovan said. If you can ask around or think of anyone, please do. But be careful. Don't talk to anyone yourself. Send them to me," he cautioned. Katja nodded. The law student in me saw the wisdom in this even as the newsie leader in me wanted to take matters into my own hands.
"Very well. This will take some time. I trust you will assist me along the way?" Mr. Donovan was asking me.
"You can count on it," I practically growled, my fury and revulsion at Santorelli barely contained by my desire to protect and help Katja.
We took our leave and headed outside. "Who was that?" Katja inevitably asked. I led her down to the docks, and we sat there while I explained about my law studies. When I finished, she was looking at me with such admiration and adoration in her eyes that it made me uncomfortable. It was one thing coming from little kids like Tyke, the new kid. It was quite another from someone I adored-especially given how undeserved it was.
"Stop it, Cat," I muttered.
"Stop what?" she asked, looking perplexed.
"Stop looking at me like you're one of the little boys who wants to be able to soak someone like I do," I said.
"Huh?"
"You had that look—the one the boys give me when I'm their hero," I said. It was a bit unnerving to have someone like her look at me like that. She was my friend, not some dame or some kid who didn't know any better.
"Well, you are," she responded, and the part of me that was still wresting with the guilt of letting her down rejected the idea immediately.
"Not much of one," I couldn't help saying..
"You are to me," she said, and I knew she meant it. I had no idea why, but for some reason she really thought I was her hero. She really had no idea, did she? I couldn't be her hero because she was mine. She had such an innate kindness and goodness about her that was unique. There are people in the world who are kind because they should be, and there are people who are kind to those they love. There are people who are kind most of the time. Katja was good and kind to ALL people ALL the time-and she did not understand that not everyone was that way. While that was perhaps a bit naive, it was all the more impressive because she just assumed the best in everyone and didn't know how to do anything else. That goodness made her the most amazing person I had ever met. It was a trait I wished desperately I could emulate and knew instinctively that nobody ever could.
"God, Cat, you really are something," I said.
"Why?" she asked. She didn't know. How could she? How could someone to whom kindness came so naturally see it as a strength? It was just who she was.
"You've been through so much in the last few months. Things nobody should have to experience. Things that would make people cynical and bitter. But you just look at me with that trusting innocence. As if I could fix anything," I said, hoping she could understand that her admiration of me was misplaced and that it was her trust that was so incredible.
"You've never let me down," she said, and suddenly the frustration of the last few weeks overwhelmed me.
"How can you say that?" I asked bitterly. My anger at myself for searching all of Brooklyn except the other floors of the building that we'd suspected was something I would probably carry with me for a long time in spite of the forgiveness Katja had promised that very morning. I had her forgiveness, but I wondered if I would ever have my own.
"You haven't," she said simply. "You saved me from those thugs last year. You kept me safe when Papa died. You gave me somewhere to go. You came to me in Manhattan in the rain. You helped me fall asleep, and you brought me to Mr. Donovan. You've given me a place to stay when by rights I should be in an orphanage. You haven't let go of my hand in hours because you somehow sense that I need it. You're always there, and you always have an answer. I can always count on you. I trust you; I know you'll always figure out a way to help me."
Her words were soothing-not because they erased the mistakes I had made, but because they reminded me that at least I was doing things that were helping her. I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life making sure she had everything she needed. I wanted to make her smile, to hear her laugh, to make her happy. I wanted to be around her to see her goodness and kindness. I wanted her to be mine.
I couldn't help myself. I reached up and touched her face, that beautiful, soft, trusting face. She was looking at me so intently. "I promise to try," I whispered, and I meant it. Then I closed the gap and kissed her. Mindful of what she had been through, I barely touched her lips with mine before pulling back to look at her, wanting to make sure this was okay. She was smiling. Relief washed over me, and I leaned back in and kissed her again.
"Wow," she said as I pulled back, and that single word made me feel more alive than I had since New Year's. Maybe somehow, there was still hope for us. But for now, there were other things that needed to happen-like eating, my stomach reminded me.
"We'll have to do that again sometime," I said, and her giggle made my heart soar. Okay, that sounds sappy, but it was true. "For now, let's get some food," I said, heading toward Ray's Diner.
I saw the cop before she did. Years of being a street kid give you that sixth sense about when there are bulls around, and I have seen more than one person shrink away from them. It's that precise action that tends to draw attention, and that knowledge has become highly ingrained. So when Katja flinched, I was instinctively ready for it, just as I had been in years past. I have helped more than one newsie out of a scrape like this, though I often throw a punch or shove one of the boys to make it look like we are roughhousing. I did have to help Gemma, one of my female newsies, out of this situation once, and I did now what I had done then. I grabbed Cat, pushed her into the wall, and kissed her. It wasn't a real kiss, at least not in my mind. I pulled back quickly, mindful of the fact that I might very well have scared her and that if she panicked, we would draw more attention.
"Sorry," I whispered, hoping she wouldn't be too angry. She had every right to be, and I half expected her to slap me. Instead she just said my name, confused but still with that underlying trust implied in the question.
"You flinched away from that police officer, and it's the quickest way to draw attention. I had to do something to cover your movement," I explained.
"It just—they still make me nervous," she said, and I could see that she was upset with herself for being afraid of a police officer on a horse.
Actually, the horse gave me an idea, and I pulled her toward the cop with a grin.
"Spot—" she protested, but I was quicker.
"Officer, sir," I said. "Sir, me goil's afraid a' yer horse, and Ise wondrin' if she could come over and pet 'im. "E's such a pretty horse. E yours? I bet e's a fast one." Flattery never hurt, and I pulled Katja toward the animal. She likes animals, and this would help.
"Fred here is the fastest horse on the force," the man said haughtily, and I nodded with wide, naive eyes. Katja moved to pet the horse, but before she could I tugged on her hand and she backed away. However, the look in her eyes had softened, and I knew she was feeling a bit less fearful. I thanked the cop and pulled her down the road, turning up the next street and out of his sight.
"There is no way that animal is the fastest on the force. The poor thing has the straightest hocks I'd ever seen, and its head was cocked so far to the left it probably has a permanent headache," Katja said. I knew she understood horses-I had watched her take care of that grey horse of her father's for years-but I hadnt realized she was that knowledgeable. I looked at her in surprise and a bit of admiration.
"Hey, you really know your stuff," I observed.
"Two years of watching me take care of Papa's horses and you're just now realizing that?" she replied lightly.
"Four," I answered automatically. "You and your Pa were buying from me for two years before you ever spoke with me." When she looked at me in surprise, it was my turn to tease her. "Darlin', you don't get to be king of Brooklyn without noticing things, and you don't sell 250 papes a day if you don't pay attention to your customers."
"Okay, your highness. Let's get some food," she said, and I have to say that the lighthearted banter was the most wonderful thing I had seen in awhile. This was my Katja, and it felt so good to have her back, even just partially. What followed was a pleasant evening on the docks watching the boys play while Katja fell asleep in my arms. Yes, I could get used to this.