The Kitty Committee

by Kathryn Berla

  “I love you,” I said. “Go be with Linda, and tell her I love her. I’ll figure it out and let you know.”

  “I love you too, Gracie.” And this time he could barely get my name out. “Bye.”

  I sat on the edge of my bed, overwhelmed with the desire to cry. But the tears never came. A siren blared outside the thin walls of my room. I was nauseated by the smell and closeness of the room with its thick, tropical air, and the emptiness in my heart and stomach.

  Twenty-four hours earlier I’d shared my body with a man who held me like a precious gem. Who’d brought delight in the form of physical pleasure. Who’d listened to the entirety of my life—the story of the real Grace Templeton—and hadn’t judged me to be any less. Now I was truly lost. Sitting in a motel room in a strange city. Alone. No plan for my future. No hand to reach out to me. And still I couldn’t make myself cry. I tried to think of the last time I cried, but I couldn’t even remember. Was it my junior year of high school? Did I cry then? I just couldn’t remember.

  I left the room, locking my door behind me. I walked through the parking lot littered with empty beer bottles and cigarette butts. A half-empty red slushee was perched on the curb. A discarded disposable diaper wrapped and taped tightly beside it. I tried to imagine the confluence of events that had led these two random objects to share the same space.

  The moon was full and huge, and I imagined that somewhere in that city it was bringing beauty into someone’s life. Somewhere in that city, a couple sat on the darkened sand, perhaps with palm fronds whispering above them. They looked out at a sea dimpled with city lights and starlight. They held each other tightly and made promises of eternal love while gazing at the moon. The same cruel moon that looked harshly down upon me with its cold, unforgiving eye.

  I walked through the streets until I came to the hospital where my father would have been taken. Perhaps he’d still be alive if he’d gotten there in time. I walked further into neighborhoods where dogs barked when I passed, throwing themselves against chain link fences to warn me away. Where cars slowed to see if I was someone worth talking to. Someone worth messing with. But when the people in the cars got a better look at me, they could see I was neither. They sped off—fearful of what they saw, I imagined. Bathing my silhouette in the blood-red of their taillights. A lost soul.

  I walked all night, and by the time the sun began to rise, I could no longer feel my legs, numb from exhaustion. I needed to sleep for days. Weeks. I needed to cry. I needed to call Luke and ask after the baby. I walked through the parking lot, passing the same discarded bottles. The same slushee nestled against the same used diaper. Before I even got there, I saw a lone figure seated on the ground, knees drawn up, back settled against the door of my room. My heart froze as I made a sudden turn to the office to avoid confronting the stranger. But then he stood and something in the way he moved triggered a subliminal response.

  “Grace?” came Nathan’s voice from the shadowy light of breaking dawn.

  I walked, almost lurched, toward his open arms.

  “I came when I heard,” he murmured to my bowed head, my forehead pressed tightly against his chest. He stroked the back of my hair and curled his other arm around my shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “Luke called me. I’m so sorry.”

  Something clicked in me, a lever releasing all my stored tears. Months of tears poured from my eyes. Years of tears. Sobbing is a pale expression—I was purging years of repressed emotion. Nathan unlocked the door and helped me to the bed where I continued to cry for hours until my tears were completely spent.

  Afterward, I slept for two days. If Nathan came and went for food and supplies, I didn’t hear him. I slept an unconscious sleep—the sleep of the innocent and the dead. When I finally woke, Nathan helped me pack. I was going home. Back to Nathan. Back to San Francisco. He handed me a small stack of mail that had accumulated since I’d been gone. A very old letter from my parents, which just missed me after I’d already left for Europe. A few rare handwritten lines at the end of the letter from Dad, since Mom was normally the one who wrote and signed both their names. Some paperwork from University of San Francisco—a final tuition statement. A bill from my dentist showing no balance due. And an envelope. The envelope I’d come to expect and dread. While Nathan was in the bathroom, I ripped it open and pulled out the single sheet of folded paper with a single type-written line.

  “You can run, but you can’t hide.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Indian Springs

  “It’s settled,” Carly told me over the phone. “I’ve been asking a lot of questions and there’s no doubt in my mind that you were right; it was Kerry who reported Maggie for drinking. Call Maggie and tell her to call Jane. Tell them we need to meet up.” Click.

  I dutifully picked up the phone and called Maggie. “Where? When?” she asked.

  I was embarrassed. “I don’t know. I forgot to ask.”

  “It’s okay. Tomorrow’s Friday, so let’s just meet at my place at five. We can grab pizza afterward. Why don’t you call Carly back and tell her? I’ll let Jane know.”

  In retrospect, it’s odd that none of us questioned Carly about her “investigation,” but maybe it isn’t so odd because we normally deferred to Carly. She mentioned talking to Kerry’s friends. She mentioned talking to Kerry. But she never mentioned exactly what facts or statements pointed to Kerry’s guilt. That was just understood.

  “So, what do we do?” Jane folded her slice of pizza to trap a tongue of oozing cheese. “And by the way, Maggie, that really sucks. Sorry.”

  Maggie’s mother could never stay mad at her for long, so she relented before the two weeks were up and allowed Maggie to meet us at the pizza parlor, which was packed that time of night on Friday. Families, mostly, but even some kids from our school. We sat in a booth, Maggie and Jane facing Carly and me. It was how we usually paired up in a booth. Carly set the speaking volume to barely above a whisper, which we understood was to protect our closely guarded secrets. We leaned forward to better hear each other amidst the din of crying babies and pinball machines.

  “I have some ideas,” Carly said. “But it’s Grace’s decision since she volunteered. What do you think, Grace?”

  I didn’t exactly feel like a volunteer. I felt more like a chess piece that had been maneuvered into position. A soldier ready to receive instructions for a dangerous but top-secret mission. I only wished someone would give me the instructions.

  “I mean . . . I don’t really know.” I had no idea what was expected of me. “Like, what are we trying to accomplish?” That seemed like a logical question, and one which could buy me time and hopefully provide me with direction. Thankfully, nobody took it for a stupid question—I knew that by the way Maggie’s and Jane’s eyes shifted from me and landed expectantly on Carly.

  “We want her to have an idea of the damage she’s done,” Carly said. “How it’s hurt Maggie. And how she should think twice about doing anything like that again because Maggie has friends who care about her.”

  “That sounds reasonable,” Jane said. And it did. Shouldn’t I have known that without asking? But even knowing that did little to illuminate my path forward.

  “Definitely. I mean . . .” Carly stared at me while I tried to think of a way to rise to the occasion. “Maybe I should talk to her or something?”

  “That’s a fantastic idea, Grace,” Carly said, leaving me somewhere between elated and relieved. Apparently, I had guessed right. “And Maggie, Grace is putting herself out there for you, so don’t let her down. Don’t let the rest of us down. Make sure this never has to happen again.”

  “I will.” Maggie hung her head. “I already told you that,” she mumbled. Jane reached over and patted the back of Maggie’s hand.

  “So, it’s up to you now, Grace,” Carly said. “If you need any help or moral support, just let us know. I kind of have Kerry’s schedule figure
d out if you need to know that.”

  But it wasn’t up to me, and Carly probably never doubted she’d receive a call from me begging for help. I couldn’t call Maggie—after all, it was Maggie whom I was avenging. And I wouldn’t call Jane who was borderline against it. At least she had been, until she was convinced that Carly had done a thorough investigation. And even then, she didn’t show much enthusiasm. No, it was Carly whom I would turn to, as I had ever since I’d met her. Carly knew that all along.

  “This is where she works.” We stood in front of a store in the mall—a small but popular destination for the girls at our school—one that sold beads, costume jewelry, and t-shirts emblazoned with Japanese anime characters and witty sayings. It was a place we’d always visit during our frequent trips to the mall.

  “You’re kidding. I didn’t know Kerry worked here.”

  “She said she just started two weeks ago. She works weekends.”

  “So you think I should just go up to her and—”

  “And just ask when she has a break. Say you want to talk to her. Be nice, okay? No reason to be a bitch about it but be firm, and if you need me, I’ll be wandering around the store. You’ll be fine, okay?” She grabbed my hand and squeezed. “Let’s go.”

  We walked through the door.

  Carly peeled off the minute we set foot in the store, making it seem as if I was there on my own. She’s testing me, I thought. She wants to make sure I’m strong. Not like Maggie. I can’t let her down. But Kerry was busy with a customer so I pretended to be perusing the merchandise, being careful to keep my distance from Carly, who had made it clear I was on my own. Kerry spotted me, smiled and waved, and was making her way toward me when another customer intercepted her. They spoke for a minute and then walked together to the register. With Carly off in a far corner of the store, her back turned to us, I don’t think Kerry even realized she was there.

  Each second that ticked by put my nerves more and more on edge. Who am I to lecture Kerry? I wondered. She would probably just laugh in my face. Although I had matured since I first set foot in Indian Springs High and gained confidence, I was still just little Grace Templeton. A girl to these almost-women. And here I was ready to deliver a Mafia-esque warning. Don’t mess with the Kitty Committee—although I would never publicly expose our secret name. My bowels felt loose, and the fluorescent lights of the store distorted my vision, bringing a surreal aspect to my surroundings. The porcelain cat, waving its front paw up and down and up and down, was delivering an ominous message—Get out! Leave the store immediately! But I took a few calming breaths, all the while watching Kerry ring up the customer. After all, I was just going to ask to meet up with her on her break. I could explain it much more gently than the others might imagine. No one would be the wiser because Carly had made it clear that I was on my own. And once I did this, I was done. This was my initiation, and then it would be someone else’s turn. I could sit back and give them the benefit of my experience with calm under pressure.

  Just at that moment, I felt a hand on the back of my elbow. It was Carly.

  “Let’s go,” she said. “This doesn’t feel right.”

  I’d never been so relieved. This was a reprieve, wasn’t it? I hoped it was permanent and not just putting off the inevitable until another time. I’d been ready to do my duty but was more than happy to walk away.

  With her shoulder pressed against mine, Carly leaned in even further and flipped open the flap that covered the opening to my purse. “Take this,” she hissed, dropping her hand into my bag. I didn’t even have time to see what she was giving me. Kerry smiled in our direction, finally free to come over and say hi.

  “Bye, Kerry!” Carly called out cheerfully. “We gotta go; catch you next time.”

  I waved, and we walked out of the store.

  “Don’t stop,” Carly instructed once we were out. “I’ll explain. Let’s go somewhere where we can sit and get something to eat. Actually, let’s go to the car.”

  I’d never seen Carly like that. Nervous.

  “What is it?” I asked. “What did you put in my purse, and why are we running away?”

  “I told you, don’t stop. And don’t look back. We’re not running, and I’ll explain everything in the car.”

  She walked briskly enough that I had to perform an occasional two-step to keep up. Carly had a purse. Why did she use mine? She didn’t say another word, and I sensed she didn’t want to answer any more questions. Until we got to the car.

  I slipped my hand inside my purse while Carly was jostling through hers, searching for the keys. I felt small hard ovals. A necklace. After we got in the car and Carly had locked the doors, I pulled my hand out of my purse, the necklace along with it. It was beautiful. Multiple strands of silver leading to a string of three crystals. I was horrified.

  “We can’t take this,” I said. “We could never wear it. What if someone saw it and recognized it from the store or asked us where we got it?”

  “Don’t worry, we’re not keeping it. We’re not thieves,” she said, although, technically, I was a thief since I had just smuggled it out of the store without payment. “We’re going to send it back . . . with a note.”

  “What kind of note?”

  “A note that you’re going to write—anonymously, of course—saying that you heard Kerry bragging about how she stole it, and you couldn’t stand by and let that happen, so you took it when she wasn’t looking, and you’re returning it.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” I slipped the necklace back into my bag lest some passerby glance through the window of the car and immediately know I was handling stolen property. “We can’t do that—frame Kerry for something she didn’t do.”

  “And what did she do to Maggie?” Carly asked.

  “Yeah, she reported Maggie for drinking, but that’s different. Maggie was drinking.”

  “So you think that’s okay? What she did.”

  “No, I didn’t say that.” Carly was a spider, spinning a web around my defenses with her words. I couldn’t think or act quickly enough to keep up with her.

  “So, I’m asking you again.” She spoke very slowly, as if to a child. “Do you think what Kerry did to Maggie was okay?”

  “No, but . . .” I could feel my resistance slipping away. I could feel my friendships with Maggie and Carly slipping away.

  “No, but what?”

  “You write the note, then,” I said. “I’ll mail it.”

  “No, Grace, you write the note. This is your thing, remember? I’ll have my own challenge, and I won’t expect you to do it for me.”

  “Okay, I’ll do it,” I said grudgingly. “But I’m not doing anything like this ever again.”

  “Good girl,” Carly said. She checked her rearview mirror, put the car in reverse, and slowly backed out of the space. “Remember, not everything’s black and white in life. Sometimes you have to do something hard, which might not seem right, to achieve a greater good. I know your parents are super religious, and you probably recite the Ten Commandments before every meal, but what about war? Thou shalt not kill, right? But in war, soldiers have to kill to protect innocent people. Just think of it like that.”

  “For your information, we don’t recite the Ten Commandments before our meals, but thou shalt not steal is one of them.”

  “And I already explained: we’re not stealing. Stealing would mean keeping it for our own use. And anyway, the government collects taxes, right? Do we ask to pay taxes?”

  “No, but—”

  “Exactly. And my dad says that’s like the government stealing from us, but it’s perfectly legal.” She reached over with her right hand and patted me on the back of my arm. I shifted away from her and leaned against the door. I was angry. But I still needed her.

  “Mission accomplished,” Carly announced brightly that night. It was Saturday night, and we were planning a s
leepover at Maggie’s. Maybe rent a movie. Order a pizza. Pop some microwave popcorn. A usual weekend night for us. If Maggie’s mom was out for the evening, we’d probably share the flask that Carly brought with her. Drown out the taste with Diet Coke. “Grace is the first true member of the Kitty Committee because she’s the first to prove her loyalty.”

  “What happened?” Maggie’s eyes opened wide. “What did you say to her? What did she say? Was she mad?”

  “Grace, you don’t have to share if you don’t want to,” Carly said quickly. “You’ll have the same choice when it’s your turn, Maggie.”

  “I don’t want to,” I mumbled. The package was in the mail. I’d written it just the way Carly suggested. I was still mad. “Everything’s fine, though. Where’s Jane?”

  “Tonight’s the opening night of her play, so I was thinking maybe we should all go next weekend to show our support.”

  “Fine with me,” Carly said. “How about you, Grace?”

  I had Carly just where I wanted her—extreme solicitude. She was asking for my opinion on nearly everything from the movie we selected to the amount of butter on the popcorn. I could have almost believed I was the center of her universe. Later that night, settled on Maggie’s comfortable old sofa, we cracked open the sodas and poured a healthy shot of vodka from Carly’s flask into each of our glasses.

  “This is to celebrate,” Carly said. “To Grace!”

  “To Grace!” Maggie leaned over and clinked glasses with me. “Thanks for having my back; you don’t know how much that means to me.”

  “To the Kitty Committee,” I said, sending the first swallow rushing down my throat. I’d come a long way in the short time since my first experience with alcohol. I had come to anticipate with pleasure the moment when my overthinking, overanxious brain would be hit by the initial sense of euphoria, followed by supreme confidence and good humor, eventually culminating in a deep and dreamless sleep. It’s what I was after that night. And I’d figured out when enough became too much, robbing me of all that I sought from that magic elixir.