Eager as I was to get back to Brooklyn, I couldn't make the trip much faster than I did. That left me with some time to myself, which I admit is a luxury. I thought about all Muriel had told me and how we wanted to proceed from there, but I also thought about my now-defined relationship with Katja. I had never had a real girlfriend before, but that didn't worry me. No, mostly I worried that our friendship would change. We hadn't even found equilibrium after all the events of the past months. I vowed to make it a priority to resume any banter, normal conversation, and routine that I could.
Unfortunately, that was not to be. When I returned to the Lodging House, I found Katja on the roof, lost in thought. I hoped she noticed that it was getting chilly and likely to rain. We were able to share a laugh at first, and I thought maybe my worries earlier on the bridge had been for nothing as the conversation shifted to Ingrid.
"We've been keeping her updated. She knows you're here and that you may need some time before you're ready to talk," I said somewhat absently, still thinking of my conversation with Muriel earlier.
"She knows?" Katja snapped, and she suddenly had my full attention. What was going on here? What did I do wrong?
"What the heck, Spot? What if I didn't want her to know? It's my business, my friend, and my life! You had no right to tell her what happened to me!" Katja was yelling at me now. Wait a minute. That's not fair-I haven't told a soul about anything-except Muriel, and even then I was vague. I certainly didn't tell Ingrid anything. But even so, why shouldn't Ingrid know?
"Cat, we didn't—" I started to say, backing away in the face of her verbal onslaught. My initial defensiveness gave way to anger as she continued yelling. This was completely uncalled for, and to be honest, I didn't appreciate being spoken to this way. If it had been anyone else, I probably would have punched them by now just for the tone.
"No, Spot. You didn't think. Did it occur to you that I would want some of my life to be private? I lost my family and my home. Then I lost what that man took from me. I have no privacy, no prospects, and now you take my dignity? She's the only friend I've got! What if she doesn't want to see me anymore? Did you think about that?"
Yeah, actually. I did. Which is why I didn't tell Ingrid anything. I opened my mouth to snap back at her, but she had already turned away and was climbing down the fire escape. I heard the slam of her window and the shattering of the pane. Damnit, be more careful! We can't afford those types of repairs! I slammed my fist down on the roof ledge in front of me, seething at the unfairness of the accusation and the abrupt way I had been treated.
It only took a minute of anger before my mind began to replay the conversation we'd just had. What had set her off? Okay, she thought I told Ingrid everything, and she didn't want Ingrid to know. While that was a big deal, her reaction was still way above any I had seen from her.
*Spot, the issue is never the issue.* Ms. Kirby's voice came unbidden to my head. Okay, this wasn't about Ingrid knowing. That makes sense since I was reasonably sure that she was going to tell Ingrid soon and had already written to Hazel. So what was the issue?
"Did it occur to you . . . . I wanted . . . my life . . . . You take . . . What if . . . " The words swirled in my head, and suddenly I realized. It was about control. She hadn't felt in control of her own life. Her life had been largely led by me after her father had died, and then she'd been under Santorelli's complete control for weeks. She'd been so thoroughly stripped of all aspects of her independence, losing control over her movement, her decisions, and even her own body during that time. Then I had come in, the great rescuer, and taken charge once more. She was still so dependent on everyone else for virtually everything. How could she possibly establish normalcy and regain her faith in people if she couldn't feel faith in herself?
I should have seen this. I am so used to taking charge, and Katja had seemed so helpless, that I might have been a bit to controlling. I needed to give her some space to find herself. Her anger had been the first palpable emotion other than fear that has broken through in the days since she's been back. Frankly, she had a right to be angry. It's to her credit that she's not more angry-at me, at that jerk, at the trolley driver who caused the accident . . . . No, this was just a misunderstanding on her part, and she vented her frustration at my controlling nature and at the circumstances in general through this issue. The realization caused my anger to abate and annoyance and self-recrimination to take its place.
I don't know how long I stood there, mulling all of this over and coming to these conclusions, but it was quite some time. It had grown dark, the wind had picked up a bit, and I felt the first drops of rain. I realized Katja had left her blanket up here in her anger. Grabbing it before it could get wet, I carried it down and past her shattered window into my own room. The window. Her room would be cold, and I had her blanket. Stepping back through the connecting door, I saw her huddled form asleep on her bed. She was shivering in her sleep, and I quickly covered her with the blanket. Looking down at her sleeping face, I was blown away by the strength of my feelings for her. I brushed some of the hair my actions had disturbed back from her cheek, then turned to see how I could rig the window so she wouldn't freeze.
"What are you doing?" came the tentative whisper from Katja's bed. I spun around to see her looking at me. I hadn't meant to wake her.
"Cat! You should be sleeping," I said, sitting down beside her. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. That window . . . " I gestured toward the broken glass on the floor and the rain now slashing through the opening.
"I'm sorry I broke it," she said softly, sounding contrite. "I'll get my stuff together tomorrow and head over to the girls' lodging house in Park Slope."
What? Why would she go there? The thought of her leaving sent my insides into a minor panic. Did she really think I'd let her leave?
"The hell you will," I responded quickly. Oh, no way was she going anywhere. I saw her flinch and then shrink back. Nice going, hotshot. You are not only being controlling, but you have to snarl at her while you do it? That was totally unfair to Katja.
"I'm sorry," she said again, sounding so crestfallen and looking like she was on the verge of tears. It suddenly dawned on me-she was kicking herself out because she thought I wanted her out. All of her anger was about her insecurity, and that included insecurities about me and about us. A small part of me flared in annoyance. I had told her that I loved her-wasn't that enough? I crushed the annoyance quicky, reminding myself that she was both more of a novice at relationships than I was and, more importantly, had a lot more reason to be unsure. That quick mental note not only snuffed the annoyance that I felt, but it made me ache a bit for her. She really didn't understand how much I loved her or what that meant. Not surprising given the facsimile of love she had lived for almost six weeks recently. I needed to build her trust and help her understand. So I did what I always do when I need her to understand something.
"Katja, look at me," I said. To my surprise, she complied immediately, biting her lower lip in that fetching way. I ran my hand over her cheek, letting my fingertips brush into the hair at the base of her ear and letting my thumb run over her soft skin once more. "I love you. Nothing is going to change that."
She looked at me for a moment, and then the tears she had been holding back started to fall anyway. Damn. I hate it when girls cry, especially Katja. What had I said wrong? What did I need to say? I wracked my brain, rubbing her back absently as she cried into my shoulder. Gradually she quieted, and I decided to try again to reassure her.
"Cat, you aren't leaving," I said. "I need you here, where I can know you're safe. Where I can see you every day. I am not going to have you disappear on me again. I almost died the first time. I love you so much. No silly fight or broken window will change that."
"I thought-" she hiccuped, then paused. Yeah, Katja. I know you thought that a little fight would end our relationship, but you need to learn now that I meant forever.
"I know. But I meant what I said this morning. I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me, Darlin'. Even when we fight," I said. I paused briefly for that to sink in, but I also decided to clarify the non-issue that had been the catalyst for the argument. We would both need to learn how to talk through a fight afterwards. Might as well start now. "But you should know that we didn't tell Ingrid anything. She's been asking about you every day since you disappeared. She and Ace have become pretty close. When you turned up, I told him to tell her that you had been through a lot and would be there when you were ready. That's all we told her. That's all anybody knows. None of the boys knows what happened to you. You have a lot of friends, you know. And none of them would judge you for what happened, least of all Ingrid. But whether or not you tell her or anyone else is still your choice, Cat. Personally I think it would be a good idea. It would be good for you to have another girl to talk to about everything, and she's a good friend to have. But that's your decision."
"I should have heard you out," she said softly. "I should have known you wouldn't do anything wrong. I just got so angry. I don't know why. I have no right to ever be angry at you."
Well, that's no good. Yeah, Cat, you should have heard me out, but no right to be angry? Wouldn't do anything wrong? If we are going to have the future together that I am planning, this wouldn't do. I know there will be fights in our future, and many of them will be justified when I screw up. Some of them will be her fault. And some, like this one, will simply be the result of overemotion, misunderstanding, and well intentioned mistakes. But to say she has no right ever to be angry? I realized the depth of her insecurity. We'd have a lot of work to do, and we may as well start now.
"You always have the right to your emotions, Cat. Always," I said before sharing a few of the insights I'd had up on the roof earlier. She cuddled into me as I spoke, and I tightened my arm around her, grateful for the fact that she was at least starting to feel secure enough to curl up with me. There's more work to be done, but I've got time.
"I'm sorry for yelling at you all the same," she said. This I could accept-a genuine apology for yelling. But I had my own apology to make, too. She had been right about control, and I wanted her to understand it.
"And I'm sorry for mishandling things. I'm sorry for not giving you independence and for pressuring you to do things. I'm sorry for everything that's happened to you," I said. Every fight should end in dual apologies. That was another piece of Ms. Kirby wisdom. None of us remembered her husband, who had died before we were born, but she remembered him with such fondness that it was obvious they had been a happy, loving couple. I was more than willing to take good advice from someone like her. Besides, in this case it was warranted. I really was sorry for the things I had said.
We sat there, my chin on her head, arms around one another, in comfortable silence for a few more moments, but the thunder brought me back to reality. It was cold in here-Katja was shivering slightly, and the rain was still blowing in through the broken window.
"C'mon, you can't stay in here" I said, pulling her to her feet.
"Where are we going?" she queried.
"Bring your blanket," I said, tucking it around her. "We're sleeping in my room. It's too cold in here." I ushered her into my room with its larger bed and made sure she was settled.
"Go to sleep," I said, and her eyes closed instantly. I moved to shut the connecting door, pausing briefly. I know she gets a bit claustrophobic. She was quiet, so I slipped through the door with an old towel and rigged up a makeshift cover for the window. Returning to my room, I pulled off my boots carefully, mindful of the glass I'd just stepped on, and slid into the bed beside a sleeping Katja. Yep, I could get used to that.