Regardless, every loss chipped away at his soul. The violence took its toll. He didn’t know how long he could stay numb to it day after day.
“Stride?”
He turned around on the beach. Cat stood behind him. She held up a can of Bent Paddle. “I thought you could use a beer.”
“You read my mind.” He smiled as he took it from her. The can was open, and he weighed it in his hand, with a sharp eye at the eighteen-year-old. “Doesn’t feel entirely full. I wonder why that would be.”
“I may have tried a little. You know, to make sure it’s fresh.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Just a little.”
“Uh-huh.”
Cat came up beside him, took hold of his arm, and leaned her head against his shoulder. Her long chestnut hair was loose. She wore shorts and a midriff-baring T-shirt, and her feet were bare, but the drizzle and the cold lake breeze didn’t seem to bother her.
Catalina Mateo. The daughter of Michaela Mateo, a woman he had tried and failed to save from an abusive ex-husband. Michaela was another loss he carried with him that had begun to weigh him down. He looked at Cat and saw hints of her mother in her beautiful face.
“Are you okay?” Cat asked. “I mean, that’s dumb. Of course, you’re not okay.”
“I’ve been better.”
“I’m really sorry about Dr. Steve.”
“Thanks.”
They were quiet for a while. He drank his beer, while Cat stared at the water and held on to him. He thought it was sweet that she wanted to comfort him. Steve was right; she was a good kid. After more than two years with this girl in his life, it was hard for him to remember what it had been like before Cat. She’d hidden away in his house one night, terrified, homeless, pregnant, on the run from a killer. He and Serena had taken her in, and she’d lived with them ever since. Despite the ups and downs of that time, Stride saw something special in her, much more than she saw in herself. She was smart, beautiful, and brave, and at eighteen, she was quickly becoming more of a woman than a girl. But she’d grown up taking foolish risks, and that part of her personality still got her into trouble.
“Serena says you’re still getting mail from strangers,” he said.
“Some. Not a lot.”
“Anything I should be worried about?”
“There are some weird ones, but it’s no big deal.”
“How about you show them to me, and let me decide about that?”
“Some guy in Estonia likes to send me dick pics. What are you going to do, Stride? Fly over there and kick the crap out of him?”
“I might,” Stride said.
“He’s like seventy years old.”
“I still might.”
“I’m fine. Really. Don’t worry about me. You’ve got your own stuff.”
Stride let it go. For now. Last year, he probably would have gone into her room and searched it to see what she was hiding from him. There had been issues all along with Cat keeping secrets. But she was eighteen now, and he and Serena were trying to give her more freedom.
It had been a difficult six months for Cat. In January, she’d been drugged and nearly raped by a Hollywood celebrity who was in town filming a movie. She exposed the actor’s dark side to the world, and the resulting publicity made Cat a kind of celebrity herself. For a while, she’d thrived on the attention. She’d been on television. On magazine covers. But having people everywhere recognize her name and face carried its own dangers. She received thousands of messages, some from grateful #MeToo survivors, but many others from a parade of obsessive haters and stalkers.
“I can put the security back on for you, any time you want,” Stride said, because he wasn’t good at letting things go.
“And have some cop following me around all summer? No, thanks.”
“Well, just be careful, okay?”
“I will.”
“Thanks for the beer,” Stride told her. “Why don’t you go on back inside? It’s cold out.”
Cat didn’t object. She gave him a hug before she left. He watched her silhouette as she hiked back through the sand and up the grassy slope toward their cottage. After she disappeared, he was alone again. The beach was empty. The lake waves kept rolling toward him. The lights of the city were a hazy blur through the mist. He thought about going back inside, but he felt as if he were waiting for something out here. Or someone. Really, he was waiting for Steve, to see if he would feel his friend’s presence leave the world, to see if Steve would find a way to send him some kind of message.
But life didn’t work like that.
Not long after, Stride felt the buzz of his phone and recognized the name on the caller ID. It was Steve’s nurse. He allowed himself a moment to absorb the implications of her call. Then he answered the phone and got the news. Steve was gone. Peacefully. The nurse had checked on him minutes earlier and discovered that he passed away while she was out of the room. Alone, the way he’d wanted.
Stride thanked her for the call and hung up.
He scrolled to the pictures on his phone and found one of him and Steve together and thought about never hearing his jokes or seeing his smile again. In the time it took to blink, life came and went.
He texted Serena: Can you come out here?
She’d know why. She’d know what it meant.
As he waited for Serena, he called Maggie to give her the news. They exchanged awkward sympathies, because neither of them was good at it. After a long, long pause, he went on: “Listen, Mags, the timing is terrible, but this can’t wait. We need to get a search warrant first thing in the morning. I can give you the details for everything you need, but the application should come from you, not me.”
“A warrant?” Maggie asked in surprise. “To do what?”
“To dig up Steve’s yard,” Stride replied.
Cat still had trouble believing that she had appeared on the cover of People Magazine, but there she was. Her and that sleazebag actor, Dean Casperson. The man who slipped Rohypnol into her bottle of water, undressed her, and would have raped her if Stride hadn’t arrived in time. Casperson was in jail now and would be staying there for a long time.
The headline on the magazine read: The Teenager Who Exposed Hollywood’s Dirtiest Secret.
Serena had framed the cover for her, and it hung on her bedroom wall. The photo made her look a little unhinged, with a wild, angry look in her brown eyes. Some days Cat took it down, because she couldn’t stare at it anymore. She really didn’t want to remember that night, and she didn’t want to be famous for it. Other days, she put it back up and thought about what Stride had told her. She’d done something completely stupid and unbelievably courageous, and he was proud of her. She didn’t think anything else in her life had ever made her feel as good.
Serena was a like a mother to Cat, but Stride was — well, he was Stride. She was devoted to him, in love with him, in awe of him. He was her superhero, and she hated to see him in pain, the way he was now.
Cat lay in bed with the lights off. It was almost one in the morning, but she couldn’t sleep. She was restless and bored, her knees twitching. Her corner bedroom faced the street, and the window was open. The drizzle outside had turned to rain. She saw the occasional gauzy flash of headlights from late-night cars passing on the street and heard the splash of their tires through puddles.
She thought about texting Curt Dickes to see if he wanted to get together. Curt was one of the only people from her bad days on the street who was still in her life. She’d always had a little bit of a crush on him, which irritated Serena, because Curt was nine years older and had been in and out of jail half a dozen times in his life. But Curt was also funny and cool and wild and a crazy dresser, and Cat liked him. She began tapping out a text, but then she stopped and deleted it. Curt was probably off with his girlfriend. They were probably having sex right now. The thought of it made Cat jealous. She’d hoped when she turned eighteen that Curt might see her as something more than a kid, but instead, he’d already hooked up with someone else.