Nora & Kettle (18 page)

34. AN AGREEMENT

NORA

I wonder if I’m damaged beyond repair. I hear his voice and I thread past the anger, the distrust. I squirm between the bands of disdain and think I find kindness. I can’t tell if it’s real or imagined, but I’m clinging to it nevertheless.

All I know is that I don’t want to go home yet.

He crosses his arms over his chest and frowns at me through the dark. The murky clouds are clearing and stars and a crust of moon light up his dark features, his eyes looking black although I know they’re an unusual shade of blue.

“What do you mean, no, you don’t want to go home? You know I could, I could…” He clenches his fists and rests them on his knees, but they are disarmed bombs. I know what the beginning of a punch looks and feels like. This is not it. I dare to move closer to him. I’m not sure whether to be honest. Too much truth and he definitely won’t help me. Especially not someone like him.

“I know this may sound strange to someone like you, but I want to see where you live. How you live. I’m… curious,” I say, leaning in as he leans away.

“No. No way,” he answers through mumbling lips, his hands coasting flat like he’s sanding a bench.

I rise to kneeling, his folded-in form seems so tense, everything looking like it’s about to snap and splinter like dry bamboo. “Then I’ll report you,” I state.

He groans and swears, then kicks the wall in front of him. He’s staring at the bricks when he says, “Or I could throw you from this roof.” It lacks any type of conviction. He doesn’t understand that I am well acquainted with violence. I know threats and murderous eyes. He is not that person. The feeling wraps around my bones like frayed cotton thread. I’m loose from my tethers of sister and shield and I’m placing too much trust in my ‘feelings’. But what I have lost is already lost. My hands are empty.

“Let me spend a few days in your world,” I plead. “My father, he’s so strict, I feel like I can’t breathe.” I sigh dramatically. “I just need a break from all the rules.” I’m lying, throwing my hair back awkwardly, trying to pretend I’m someone else whose life is some picture of normal. He doesn’t answer straight away, which means I might have a shot. The moon reads
running out of time
. The stars are seconds fading. “Please. I promise I won’t be any trouble.” I clasp my hands together and smile. It turns to irritation on his face.

He shrugs. “How do I know you won’t report me anyway once you’ve had your fun slumming it?” I wince at the words ‘slumming it’ and watch him shake his head as he talks himself out of it. “No. It’s too risky. My home, it’s… special, er, secret. People can’t know about it. I don’t know you, and I definitely don’t trust you. It’s not a good idea.”

I feel like this might be an opportunity or at least the beginnings of one, but like the slippery tail of a fish, I’m losing my grip on it. “Kettle.” His eyebrows rise when I say his name. “Unless you
are
going to throw me off the roof, you’ll have to trust me. I give you my word. If you let me stay with you for a few days, I won’t report you. I promise.” I hold out my hand for him to shake. “Deal?”

He eyes me suspiciously for a long moment, his capacity for silence impressive. My hand starts to quiver from hanging in the air too long but he finally grasps it strongly and shakes. “Don’t mess with me,” Kettle warns quietly and in a voice which makes me think he’s been hurt before.

The sharp parts of oxygen slice their way out of my throat. I miss Frankie. But something pushes me forward, a need to escape, to look for a way out. Kettle and I are still holding hands, the up and down motion continuing as we both retreat into our own thoughts. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” I manage, pressing my other hand to my heart.

Our hands slowly break apart. It doesn’t feel as uncomfortable as it should. “Fine. Good,” Kettle concedes. “We’ll rest here for another couple of hours, and then make a break for it just before sunrise.”

My heart stammers a little at this agreement. It pushes unwanted blood to my brain, which still aches. I tell myself Frankie will be okay. She’s not with him, and that’s a good thing.

I wonder if he’ll even tell her that I’m missing. And then I wonder if I’m convincing myself of things just so I can keep my eyes forward, keep
moving
forward. I start tapping the bricks in front with my feet in agitation. Tap, tap, tap, like the tick of a clock counting down to nothing.

I need to find her.

***

The sun lashes the edge of the city, spreading warmth and shadows over our contained bodies. I haven’t slept and my arms are stiff from being crossed over my chest for two hours. Kettle slept for minutes at a time, quickly startling awake at every pigeon coo or car horn. It’s like he’s constantly on alert, waiting for the next threat.

I unfold myself like a rusted card table, clicking and clacking.

We haven’t spoken since we made the deal. In fact, his eyes have barely looked my way since then.

The sun slants over him scrunched in the corner, his knees up but spread apart, his cap pulled over his brow. As he lifts his head and squints into the light, I see his face is smooth and unblemished, and his arms and legs are at odds with it, covered in scratches, cuts, and scars. I want to ask him
how… why…?
But if I do, he may ask me the same questions and I don’t know how to answer those.

“Take a Polaroid, it’ll last longer,” he sneers beneath the shadow of his once-white baseball cap. He eases from the wall and rolls his shoulders, crackling like sappy leaves in a fire.

I startle and heat floods my cheeks. “Sorry,” I mumble, timidly putting my hand to my own bruised face.
How can I hide a secret that lies on my skin?
“You know what a Polaroid is?”

He stands, swinging his head past the chimneys, smiling when his eyes reach the horizon. “You think just because I’m not rich that I don’t know what a Polaroid is? Geez. I’m poor. Not stupid.”

I wonder if you can even see the blush underneath the purple of my bruises or if it just makes them darker. I stand with him and stretch my arms. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

He shrugs. “I know.” He stretches his toned arms and swings his head downward to the wakening streets. “Do you think you can climb back down?” he asks, a tiny hint of concern in his rich, melted-chocolate voice.

I crack my neck, and he flinches at the pebbly sound. “Of course, why wouldn’t I?”

“No offence, but you look like someone took a baseball bat to your face and now that the thrill has worn off, you may be feeling a little less… brave,” he says, his hands stapled to his sides, fingers tapping, tapping, tapping.

“I’m fine,” I say unconvincingly. My stomach gurgles and blends with the morning tweets of birds and the sound of a garbage truck ambling down the street. “Just a bit hungry.”

We climb down the fire escape, more slowly now, hiding when the inhabitants stir in their beds. He’s right, though I wouldn’t tell him so. I feel woozy as I descend, the ground tilting and seeming out of focus every time I look down. Every now and then, he throws careful glances in my direction, an arm shooting out to stabilize me when I get to the last platform and sway a little. I step back from his touch.

We land on the ground just as day truly breaks, although it’s still dark in the alley, and I look to both ends, wondering what to do next. Suddenly, he grabs me by both shoulders. I step backward and hit the wall. I think I should scream, but I’m silent. It’s a habit ingrained and scratched against my voice box—
don’t scream.

He’s just staring at me, tilting his head from side to side, his grip firm but not too tight. “What are you doing?” I stammer.

“Your face,” he says, suddenly releasing me as he registers my fear. “If you’re going to come with me, we need to disguise you better. Will you stay here for a few minutes?”

My lips feel dry. I am toasted, nothing left but charcoal. “How do I know you’ll come back?”

He straightens, his brows lowered. I’ve offended him. “I made a deal,” he states, then he points a finger at me like I’m a naughty child and says, “Wait here.”

I have no way to fight him on this, so I let him go. He jogs down the alley and disappears around the corner.

Standing alone in this cold, damp alley, I start to wonder if my brain has been permanently injured. Because I should be worried about this boy. I shouldn’t be going anywhere with him. But I can’t seem to stop myself. My curiosity, my need to see if there is a life outside of the brownstone walls, is so strong that it overrides every logical thought. The thought slips from my unconscious to my conscious subtly but strongly.
I have to try.

Twenty minutes later, Kettle returns with a scarf and a pair of sunglasses with lenses the size of saucers in his clenched fists. “Here,” he pants, thrusting them at me. He helps me tie my unruly hair down with the scarf and I put the glasses on.

I put my arms out in front of me and wave them around. “I can barely see,” I say, giggling when he jumps away from my swiping hands.

“Whoa. Watch it,” he says, bending away. I catch the slight amusement in his tone. He offers his elbow, and I thread my arm through.

“This feels strange,” I say, still batting at the air.

He laughs short and slicing. “No kidding.”

I meant wearing sunglasses when the light is still dim. I have a feeling he meant something else.

35. BLINDED

KETTLE

Kin’s disapproving voice is in my head, so real it’s like he’s standing next to me, shaking my shoulder.
“What are you doing, man? Are you nuts?”

“I know what I’m doing, I think.”
I’m torn, a hair splitting. “
She looks like she needs help, and I think I could use hers.
”

“What makes you think she needs your help? You’re nothing but street trash to someone like her. Besides, you can’t save everyone.”

“You didn’t see her face.”
The built-up tower of sadness in her eyes.

I lead Nora into the street. Lights flicker off as the sun starts to warm the edges of the buildings. But it’s still a colder morning and puffs of steam run from every mouth of the hardworking people who are up at this time. She keeps up with me though I can hear her wheezing and groaning in pain.

I wish I didn’t feel bad for her, but I do.

People don’t look up from their work yet but if she keeps swinging her head around so anxiously, someone will. “Keep your head down…” I say, pulling my cap just over my eyes. She tips her chin to her chest for a moment, but then she’s looking up again.

“Nora,” I whisper through my teeth. “Get a grip.”

She huffs out a breath and shakes her head, pulling her coat across her middle with one hand. “I’m sorry. It’s just… there’s so much to see.”

I pause and try to understand what she’s talking about. People are waking, opening up, whistling, humming or yelling at their wives. Garbage cans glint with early morning light. Leaves twirl between them and the rhythmic crunch of the first wave of commuters’ rumbles across the pavement.

I shrug and pull her into the crowd of people heading toward the station. Strange girl. It’s like she’s rarely been outside before.

Just before we go down the stairs, I stop and buy some food for both of us. She seems surprised when I pay, but she manages to say thank you.

She takes one step down and pauses, nearly getting us barreled over by the other people who know you can’t stop on the subway stairs. “Where are we going?” She goes to lift her sunglasses, and I stop her.

“I can’t tell you that. It’s a secret,” I reply, sounding way too sinister.

“Oh.” She sighs.

She seems disappointed, but she lets me lead her down the stairs and through the subway station to the platform. I can see it’s hard for her not to put her arms out in front like she’s feeling her way in the dark, and I have to keep reminding her to act normal.

Down here, she’s almost blind and the way I’m leading her around, I think people think she
is
blind. It works brilliantly. She won’t be able to find her way back here if she tried.

When we get on the car, people make way for her. An elderly man offers her his seat, which she refuses. She holds onto my arm nervously, her eyes down now, suddenly shy and unsure of herself.

I lean down and whisper close to her ear, “Have you ever been on the subway before?”

Nora shakes her head and replies in a dreamy voice, “Once. And it was wonderful.” She sips her drink and gazes at the racing lights out the window, a sad smile on her lips.

I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything. Just glare at the people who stare at the two of us, their minds collapsing over the idea of someone like me, and someone like her, standing together. She seems oblivious, but then she can’t see much.

***

She is completely blind once she’s in our tunnel, tripping and falling, her hands out in front of her.

“This reminds me of…” she loudly starts.

“Shh!” I snap.

She starts whispering. “…a trust exercise we did at school. You know where you fall backward with your eyes closed and someone has to catch you?”

She’s waiting for me to respond, to say, ‘oh yes, I remember that’. But of course I don’t. My schooling was limited and directed toward patriotism and how not to snare the sewing machines. “Um yeah, my school didn’t do that…”

The light from the door ahead warms her face, her bottom lip folded under her top teeth.

We stop and her hands touch the beat-up wood, her fingers running down the length of the plank in front of her. “Oh.”

Yeah,
oh.

“You can take off your glasses now if you like,” I say as I knock, smiling as I realize she probably could have taken them off as soon as we entered the tunnel. She startles and removes them just as Krow opens the door. His eyes grow round and dark as seven-inch records when he sees her and he just stands in the doorway gawking, his lanky arm blocking our path.

She blinks, the glasses poised at her chest, and then Kelpie slams into my legs and squeezes them together so tightly I nearly lose my balance.

“You’re back.” He gazes around my legs, peering into the dark tunnel. “Where’s Kin?” he asks softly.

I pat his blond head and say, “He’s not with me, Kelpie.” My eyes connect with Krow’s and he nods solemnly.

Nora is a statue, a porcelain doll in a window except I can almost hear her heart beating. She smiles at Krow, says, “Excuse me,” and tries to walk forward.

“Scuse yerself,” he growls and looks to me for reassurance.

“Let her in, Krow. She’s err, staying with us for a few days.”

He drops his hand but not his angry stare as she passes through the doorway.

She takes strong, un-timid steps into my home. My head tilts, curious, as I find myself wanting to know why and wanting to know more.