AN: Sorry, sorry! I have been much busier than I anticipated, and then I decided to reorganize some things and rewrite quite a bit. Oh, and add in a bit (hope you don't mind). Anyway, I haven't forgotten you all or our dear Katja. So here is a bit more, and I promise I am still writing! I am toying with a few different things, but as I decide I will post them so I don't get too tempted to ditch everything I've written! Anyway, thanks for your patience. Reviews motivate me. Enjoy!
I woke up to the sound of numerous newsies moving around the bunkroom. Spot was moving around his own room. I sat up in his bed. I was still in my dress from yesterday.
"Hi," I said shyly. It was one thing to spend the night in his bed hiding from police or after a trauma, but this was different. Especially now that we were a couple. At least, I felt it was, though to be honest I wouldn't have been able to say for sure if he did sleep in this bed-I'd fallen asleep before he came to bed and he was already up. I think he did, but anyway, it doesn't matter. It was just a bit weird is all.
"Morning, sleepyhead," he said, grinning at me as if he could read my thoughts. "We're off to sell. I was hoping we could meet for lunch at Riverfront?"
"Sure. Should I do anything this morning?" I asked, feeling a bit like a loose end being left here like this.
"Nah. Just rest, get some breakfast, whatever. Here's money in case you need it," he said, putting a dollar on the nightstand.
"When do I get a job?" I asked him, feeling badly about taking his money. He chuckled. "You in that much of a hurry to work?"
"I should work part time at least. I should pay my own way," I protested.
"I actually have some ideas for you when you're ready. For now, there's no rush. Just let me pay for you as long as you want. It won't make up for letting this all happen to you, but it's something."
"You don't need to—" I started to say.
"I want to," he said in a voice that brooked no argument. "I'll see you at eleven?"
"Sure," I said again. Spot leaned over, gave me a quick kiss on the forehead, and headed out with the boys.
I actually had some things I wanted to accomplish. I washed up quickly, then grabbed the dollar and my dog, and headed out. I arranged for the broken window to be fixed, paid the 75¢ for the repair, then grabbed a small croissant before heading back to the Lodging House. I locked Jimmy back in Spot's room while I cleaned up the shards of glass in my own room before the repairman arrived. After getting that taken care of, I spent some time cleaning my room, organizing my things, and even cleaning the small washroom I used before heading to Riverfront restaurant, a place I had seen but not been inside. It was a standard lunch cafe, though the crowd here was mostly dockworkers.
"Hey, babe," Spot said as I arrived there, Jimmy in tow. He leaned in and gave me a quick kiss. The nickname caught me off guard, but I kind of liked it. It made me feel very adult, even if Papa would have said it was a bit crude. The kiss, on the other hand-my stomach still flipped every time Spot touched me. I figured it would become routine eventually-I don't think Mama felt that way about Papa when I was growing up-but for now, it still sent a thrill through me.
"Hi," I smiled at him as we sat down at a table in the back. I sat with my back to the wall. I felt better with something solid behind me and being able to survey the room.
"So I wanted to talk to you about my errand last night," Spot said as the waitress came over. I tried to avoid ordering, wanting to save that last bit of money to sell some newspapers for the afternoon. I needed to pay off that window, after all. Spot, however, had none of it and insisted I get some food. After ordering a small salad, I turned back to his earlier statement.
"What was in Manhattan?" I asked, and Spot hesitated before answering.
"Muriel," he said, and I nearly choked on the water I'd been drinking. What was Muriel doing in Manhattan, and why had Spot been to see her? Somehow I sensed that this had to do with Antonio. I could feel my entire body tighten, and a rush of memories threatened to overwhelm me.
"Cat," I heard Spot's voice cut through my rising emotions, and I felt his hand grab mine across the table. "Easy, Katja. Just breathe," he said, and I forced air into my lungs and willed my body to relax. After a few moments I was able to look back up at him, and he smiled at me. I noticed it didn't quite reach his eyes, though-those were filled with concern. I allowed the corners of my mouth to lift to reassure him.
"I'm okay," I said, though it may have come out in a bit of a croak. I took another deep breath, then continued, "So why is Muriel in Manhattan?"
"She's staying there because she is considering testifying against Santorelli," he said, and I felt my insides freeze. I remembered Mr. Donovan saying there were probably others, but I hadnt processed that reality. And Muriel of all people? Somehow the whole thing seemed unbelievable.
"Did he-" I couldn't finish the thought, but Spot seemed to know.
"Yeah," he said heavily. I nodded. Spot continued, "I had to tell her, Cat. She figured it out, but I had to confirm it." He looked at me nervously. Probably because of our fight last night. I nodded again. Of course. And if Antonio had done the same to her . . . . I felt sick to my stomach and suddenly ached for Muriel. She had harbored that secret and had showed up to work day after day . . .
"Is she alone?" I asked. Spot looked at me quizzically. "I mean, she has to be scared and upset. I just want to make sure she's not alone."
"Snoddy and some of the others are looking out for her," he said softly, looking at me with this weird expression.
"Should I talk to her?" I asked, more to myself than to Spot.
"If you want. It might help. But I'd give her a few days. She's pretty upset and scared. Let her settle in a bit. The boys will look out for her until then," he said. I nodded to myself, thinking about that.
"So why is she in Manhattan? I thought she lived with her uncle here in Brooklyn," I asked.
"She's hiding out, Cat. He threatened her if she told, and that uncle isn't someone who will help her. We figured it was safer for her to be over there. She can start a new life with new friends."
"And old memories," I muttered.
"She'll make new ones," he replied, looking at me intently. I didn't think he'd heard me. "So will you. And the old ones that are good? She'll keep those, just like we will. She's tough. She'll be okay." He paused before adding, "And so will you."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Katja, what is it that makes you you?" he asked, and I was taken aback. I had never really thought about that question.
"I don't know," I said honestly. "I guess I am German. I'm the daughter of a cabbie and a seamstress. I'm a fair cook, and I'm good with horses." I shrugged. That wasn't much of a description, now, was it? I'm pathetic. "I guess I'm pretty boring," I concluded.
"That's some interesting trivia about you, but it's not who you are, Katja," Spot said. Huh? Of course it is! What is it if not that?
"You are someone who puts the needs of others before anything else. You are so kind and considerate. I was worried about you, and your first concern was whether Muriel was alone. That's not just nice. It's astonishing, and it's uniquely you. You bring out the best in all of us-you have such high opinions of everyone you meet that you prompt them to want to live up to that. You have a capacity to love that is unparalleled. Children and animals sense that about you and respond to it. You never judge. None of those things has changed about you, even after everything that bastard did to you. You're still that person."
I didn't know what to say to that, so I didn't say anything. I just waited in silence.
"You will always be you, Katja. He can't take that from you. Nobody can."
"You can," I said, startling even myself with my words. But I realized I meant it. He had the power to hurt me and change me like nobody else could.
"I won't," he said simply, and I knew that my utter faith in him, the faith that gave him so much power over me, was justified.
"I know," I said, and his face broke into a smile. We sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, and suddenly a thought came to me. I remembered what Red had said on the roof the other night, and the question burst forth before I could stop it. "Are you really mean sometimes?"
He looked at me like I had grown another head for just a moment. Then he smirked.
"Who said that?" he chuckled.
"Red said you were meaner than the other guy who wanted to be leader," I answered. A wolfish smile like I had rarely seen spread across his face. I didn't quite know what to think of that. In some ways it frightened me, but this was Spot. I just looked at him expectantly, trusting his answer.
"He would say that," he said enigmatically. When nothing further was forthcoming, I looked at him expectantly, and he smirked again.
"Mean is a matter of definition," he expained. "I think you have to be willing to make tough choices in my position, and I am ruthless when it comes to someone hurting me or my family. I am strict with them and tough on them. I don't fight if I don't have to, but if I have to I don't hold back. I do what I have to do, and I'm not above manipulating people and situations to get what I want or need for me or for my boys. If that makes me mean, then I guess I am mean. But I'm softer now than I was then. I'm much more aware of how others are feeling, and I try to respect that. You taught me that. I won't pretend not to be fierce and tough when I need to be, but I don't think I'm malicious. Does that make sense?"
I thought back to last summer when those three guys had attacked me or the spring before when someone had stolen from the lodging house, and I nodded. That made sense, and it fit with what I knew of Spot as a person.
"The boys all think you're mean, but they love you anyway. I guess they think tough and mean are the same thing," I answered.
"But you don't?"
"No. I think you are the most compassionate, giving person I know," I responded, and his eyes widened in surprise.
"I don't think anyone has used those words about me before," he muttered.
"Papa did," I replied. At that he looked into my eyes, startled.
"Your Pa was a special man," he said, his tone controlled but soft.
"I know. And he said the same about you. He thought of you like a son, you know," I told him. He smiled at that-one of those smiles that really reached the deepest part of his eyes-the kind I don't see often. That deepest part of him is hidden most of the time. I met his gaze for a moment, then impulsively leaned over the table and gave him a quick kiss. He grinned at me.
"You're cute," he said. I blushed and changed the subject.
"So what does it mean for us now that we know about Muriel?" I asked, ready to finish this subject and move on.
"It means it's a bit more than your word against his," Spot explained. "With two people saying he did such things, it's harder for a jury to believe he didn't. If there are others, that strengthens the case even more."
"I hope not. It's bad enough that he did those things to two of us," I said, and Spot gave me that weird look again.
"I hope you're right," he agreed, then added, "but we still need Muriel to testify, and she's a bit afraid to do that for now. I think we can convince her, but not yet. That's another reason you should wait before going to see her." I nodded.
"So when does Santorelli get arrested?" I asked, and Spot grimaced.
"Well, that's the thing. We need to file a police report. Then they should arrest him. You up for that today?"
"I guess," I shrugged, but as usual my eyes betrayed me as I looked at my plate.
"We can put it off if you want, Katja," Spot said, reaching across the table and taking my hand. "But I think we should just get it over with." I nodded.
"Okay," I said. "Let's try it." He squeezed my hand, prompted me to finish my meal, and resumed eating his own food. I picked a bit at the salad, but I didn't finish it. I was too worried about going into a station full of police officers.