Catching the Light

  She turned back to Hutch. “Everyone who’s any good at math seems to end up in computer science or engineering,” she said. “My brother’s working with fibre optics. What are you interested in?” She was looking at him like she really wanted to know, wasn’t just being polite.

  It was nice chatting with a girl who could ask sensible questions. Then Paul called a taxi for them, so Hutch and Cathy left the studio. Hutch was still thinking of Laura.

  “Nice girl,” he said.

  “Which one?”

  “Well, both, but mostly Laura.”

  “Thought you’d go for the gorgeous Amy.”

  “I’d go for either of them but Laura’s real easy to talk to.”

  There was a little space.

  “She’s like Jenny.”

  They had both spoken at once and they stopped there at the top of the stairs with their eyebrows up.

  “Didn’t think you’d—” said Cathy at the exact same moment as Hutch said, “Thought you’d just see—”

  Cathy’s eyebrows crunched together for a second then she said, “Hope Paul’s noticed too.” And they nodded at each other. Cathy smiled a bit and nodded again. She started down the stairs saying, “See you Monday then.”

  Hutch walked a few steps towards his room without answering then said, “Good enough.”

  Change of Heart

  Back on those first Mondays at Faraday’s neither of them said a word. Parsons looked so half asleep Cathy thought he might fall in his soup. Then one time, when they were finished eating, he straightened up.

  “Well, if you’re going to make all this racket, I’m going home.” There was no grin until he looked at her sideways then just a little one and she couldn’t help grinning back.

  In February Parsons asked her about her basement window paintings. He’d seen some up in the studio, mentioned how the feet and ankles looked so real. She told him about the anatomy class they’d had at the hospital with real bodies. Cadavers. And one girl had passed out right next to the table where a body was lying and another had rushed out and thrown up. But Cathy had seen plenty of skinned rabbits and quarters of moose so she could focus on learning about the muscles and bones that gave a person their shape. Faces and hands were covered up because the prof said that was what upset people the most.

  Then she noticed Parsons’s expression and it was not an I’ve-been-hunting-too look, it was an awful I’ve-seen-people-die look.

  “Oh god, Hutch, I’m sorry. You must have seen them. I didn’t think.”

  “No. No, it was pitch-black.”

  But he still looked kind of sick, and Cathy didn’t know what to say so she reached over and put her hand over his on the table.

  “I hear their voices sometimes,” he said. “Just before…at the end. Eugene and Jenny.” Then he seemed to recover, wake up again. “Don’t ever say that to Paul.”

  “No. Oh, no.”

  And they both took their hands off the table at the same moment and Cathy rushed into telling him about her latest class project and gabbled about how the others complained over all the homework he gave them and Hutch said yes, he had a prof like that too.

  She noticed him squirming around in his chair sometimes, looking uncomfortable, and the way he limped when he was tired, or maybe something was hurting. And, once, this woman had a look on her face when he wasn’t wearing his leg—like he was doing something disgusting in public.

  Cathy began to enjoy Mondays at Faraday’s as a change in routine, and sometimes she and Hutch would see someone from one of their classes and they would introduce each other as “a friend from home” and all chat together for a few minutes. It gave Cathy a wonderful feeling of being part of the crowd—a student among students, a Cove person among Cove people. Everything here felt foreign and even Paul spoke like a townie. Hutch was a Cove person to his toenails.

  Then he said she had gold dust in her eyes, said it with that little smile. First her heart sped up and her stomach went into a knot and she wanted him to say more, wanted to look in his eyes while he said it again. Then she remembered the grin and how he played all the girls like salmon on a line. Couldn’t trust Hutch Parsons. She was not going to be tricked into anything more than filling a chair at Faraday’s.

  But maybe he wasn’t an enemy anymore.

  ***

  One day Hutch asked why Cathy never talked about Sarah these days. He said some of the guys used to call her Sarah-Said back in grade nine. He was looking at her, straight-faced but with a tease in his voice. Did they talk on the phone? Did they email? Cathy poked at a couple of scraps of carrot she’d missed on the side of her bowl and wondered what to say, and how much.

  After a bit Hutch said, “Did you guys have a fight or something?”

  “Yes.” Her voice came out a bit snappy.

  “Since you’ve been in Halifax?”

  “No. Back when I graduated.”

  “Jesus, that’s nearly two years ago. Her fault, was it?”

  “Yes. It was.”

  “Two years is a frigging long time to hold a grudge, with all Sarah Brooks has done for you. What happened?”

  And Cathy was so mad that Hutch should say she was holding a grudge when it was Sarah who had been so awful, that the words just blew out of her before she could stop them. “She wrote a paper saying how I was illiterate back in grade seven. Couldn’t read a dictionary. Trouble with grade three readers. Sent it off to be published without even telling me. Never got my permission or nothing. Waited ’til they were leaving before she even said.”

  Someone at the next table had turned round and was staring. God, she was almost shouting. Cathy lowered her voice. “She used me. To put on her CV. To help get a job. Never told me because she knew I wouldn’t let her.” Her hand was shaking. “I trusted her.”

  Cathy was out of breath. She felt the lump in her throat she always got when she thought about this too much. Her coffee had slopped over and she dabbed at the puddle with her napkin. It soaked through and she reached over for Hutch’s. Hutch wasn’t saying a word. She never meant to tell him this. Never.

  “I can see how you’d be upset,” he said gently.

  Hutch finished his coffee. Cathy left the rest of hers. They headed back to their building in silence.

  When they were nearly there Hutch said, “I was thinking. ’Bout what you said.” He gave her a quick look then kept his eyes on the ground as they walked. “If you did all this up on a spreadsheet: the publication thing on one side, and what Sarah has done for you over five years plus you not speaking to her for two years on the other side, I’d say you’re about even now.” He had one foot on the step and his key out, looking at her sideways. “Waddya think?”

  And his voice was so warm and…and understanding, that she choked up completely.

  And the worst of it was, part of her agreed with him. It really was almost two years and in all that time nobody had ever mentioned the study. Maybe Sarah was right and nobody had read it, or connected Cathy with it.

  Hutch had accused her of holding a grudge and she didn’t want to be mean like that. Maybe she should try and let this go. Jenny Sheppard wouldn’t have held a grudge. No, and Sarah wouldn’t either. But Cathy couldn’t speak. She just shook her head and didn’t look at Hutch. And after a bit he opened the door and she turned down to her room without a word.

  Food for Thought

  Sarah Brooks called in late March, inviting Hutch to dinner that Friday. Dr. Brooks was coming for a conference. Hutch couldn’t really spare the time this close to exams but—free food.

  Paul and Cathy were invited too and he wondered if Cathy would do her black cloud imitation all night. But when he arrived at the hotel she and Sarah were so deep in conversation they didn’t even notice him walk in. It was the necklace Cathy was wearing; apparently Cathy had made it and they were discussing colours and bead
sizes and length so she could make a similar one for Sarah. Well, that was unexpected.

  Cathy looked good in a cream and black top, and the way Sarah was saying how glad she was that it fit so well, it must have been a gift from her. And it did fit well. Whatever was wrong with her motor, Cathy Russell had a great chassis. She was wearing regular shoes too instead of her usual winter tires. In fact she looked almost elegant. Hutch was glad he’d shaved and tidied himself up and worn his good shirt.

  They had a round table with Tim sitting between the ladies, and Paul and him opposite, so Hutch took the seat next to Cathy and wiggled his eyebrows at her. There was the usual shuffling at the start.

  “This my glass or yours?”

  “Sorry. That your toe?”

  Sarah delivered a pile of messages from all their mothers and there were questions for a while about the state of things in St. John’s and Mariners Cove. Hutch asked after Dog.

  “Took him a while to get used to a townie leash,” said Sarah. “Pulled such a face when we first put it on. You’d have laughed. But he’s getting old now and stiff. Doesn’t mind short walks in a straight line from hydrant to hydrant. Doesn’t even bark at cats.”

  Then the waitress arrived with the menus and the list of specials, which she recited in a top-speed monotone. The French didn’t sound very French. The next little while was spent chuckling over the specials and choosing and some of them were still undecided when the waitress came back with the wine. Only Tim and Paul were ready to order. But the waitress went round with the bottle anyway, and Cathy started drinking her wine ages before the food came, saying she was thirsty. Her voice started to rise but a group was just arriving and settling in, so mostly it went unnoticed.

  Sarah indicated the water, said she herself was afraid to take even a mouthful of wine on an empty stomach. Cathy kept right on sipping. And Hutch watched her, sitting back with one arm dangling over the back of his chair, and he saw Sarah looking at him but didn’t even try to hide his grin.

  Sarah said, “Have some of this bread, Cathy. It’s warm, and delicious with the butter all melting.”

  “No, thank you,” Cathy didn’t want to spoil her appetite. Hutch flicked a quick look at Sarah, who was looking concerned, and back to Cathy. His grin kept right on growing. Paul’s eyes made a quick circuit round everyone’s face and went back to his napkin.

  “It’ll soak up the wine so you won’t get lightheaded.” Sarah’s last try.

  “Great wine,” said Cathy, draining her glass and looking around for the bottle. “Very nice.” The tip of her nose had turned a bit pink.

  “We saw A Beautiful Mind the other night,” said Tim. “Anyone else seen it?” Nobody had, but Paul said he and Hutch had gone to see Black Hawk Down after Christmas. Then there were those blockbuster movies everyone was talking about and Hutch sat forwards again and stopped looking at Cathy and enthused about the technology in The Lord of the Rings. Cathy was reading the trilogy and had started the second book. She was indignant at the way Tolkien treated the character of Sam Gamgee.

  “Just because he didn’t have the same schooling as Frodo and the other rich hobbits he’s made Sam act stupid, childish—clapping his hands when he’s excited and jumping up and down and stuff. It’s derogatory.”

  She looked at Hutch. “Disrespectful.”

  “I know what derogatory means. Like you when you talk about guys who work with computers.”

  “It’s computers I’m derogging, not guys who work with them.”

  “Oh? Guys who spend all day following orders from a machine, you said. Turn into brainless robots, you said.”

  Paul was smirking and looking down at his napkin again.

  “So did you go see the movie, Cathy?” said Sarah. No, she was going to wait and watch them all on the VCR at home because it was cheaper.

  “They’re on DVDs these days, Cathy,” said Hutch, straight-faced. “Digital video discs.”

  It was lucky that the waitress appeared with plates just then—no, scallops here please, leek and potato soup over there—and the talk turned to admiring the contents and appearance of each person’s plate and the cutting and chewing and savouring. Hutch was starving, so he focused on his food and forgot about conversation.

  When they were well into their main course and his stomach was feeling less neglected, Hutch asked why Cathy had pulled her plate away and turned it 180 degrees.

  “My asparagus clashes with your broccoli. It’s spoiling my appetite.”

  “I’ll eat yours too if you like,” said Hutch. “My stomach’s colour-blind. And the greenery in that vase thing is broccoli-coloured. Should I ask the waitress to take it away?”

  “Eat your dinner, Arthur,” Cathy said.

  Shit.

  Paul spluttered round his wine, grabbed his napkin, and apologized, all at once, and Hutch turned in his chair to look at him—anything to take the focus off himself. He hoped to god Cathy wouldn’t do this again. Hutch offered to pat Paul on the back and Paul said in a scratchy voice, between coughs, “Not one of your pats, thank you. Haven’t recovered from that Tigers game.”

  “You’re following college sports?” Tim said. And the conversation turned to one sport after another ending with the FIFA World Cup in South Korea, which would start at the end of May. By then they were choosing dessert and Cathy’s nose had lost most of its glow.

  Tim paid for a taxi to take them home because the weather had turned sour again: snow and blowing snow, and Hutch said, “So that dinner will keep us alive over the weekend.”

  Plans

  Cathy felt better about Sarah. It would never be the same but maybe that was all right. She was grown up now. And she would enjoy making Sarah that necklace when she went home.

  She meant to tell Hutch all that but he was back to being half asleep at Faraday’s on the Monday after the dinner. Hardly said a word, so she didn’t either. She tried not to feel disappointed. His social life must have picked up. Cathy started listening for extra feet coming back with him, girls’s feet, but she didn’t hear him at all. Maybe he was crashing somewhere, or at some girl’s place.

  Hutch had watched her a lot at Sarah’s dinner, smiled a lot, teased her in front of people. That’s how she’d seen him behave with girls he was chasing, like Jane Butt and Phyllis Barnes. So what was he up to on weekends? Cathy reminded herself that he was not to be trusted. He was not cute. But every time she went in and out she looked for him. She listened for his uneven thump on the stairs, watched for his feet outside her window. She’d catch herself doing it and tell herself to get real. She would turn her chair away from the street and turn up the radio—only to find herself straining to hear over the music. After that one Monday, end-of-semester deadlines put a hold on Faraday’s altogether, so she didn’t have a chance to see if he seemed interested. And it was back to beans on toast.

  She’d be doing a third-year course with Michelle Papineau in September—Madame Papineau, the reason Cathy had applied to NSCAD in the first place. Cathy felt awkward calling her Michelle but the visual arts professors liked to keep it casual. And Cathy already knew exactly what portrait she wanted to paint for the final project. All the paintings she’d done of Paul were small, in watercolours. Hutch’s portrait would be larger than life, in oils.

  ***

  The end-of-year dance was coming up but Cathy hesitated. She went looking for a dress. If she found something she liked she’d ask him, if not she wouldn’t—let Fate decide.

  At least she didn’t have to worry about shoes. Seeing Michelle around campus had made her notice shoes; Michelle wore very high heels—cute little bows on the front of one pair, pearly things on another—little tiny shoes that clipped along the corridor and sounded so dainty.

  Cathy’s sneakers were enormous and fat and scruffy. They squeaked. She started keeping her eyes open for regular shoes but they were hard to find in her
size. And she was wearing out her sneakers tramping around looking. She couldn’t believe the prices. Then she saw a sign, All Merchandise Must Go, and the only sizes left were teeny like Madame’s, or giant like Cathy’s. And lined up at the back of the seventy-five-per-cent off table there was a pair of plain black shoes that fit her, with a small enough heel that she wouldn’t wobble. Only twenty-four dollars. A week before, she would have said no way was she paying twenty-four dollars plus tax, but she was wiser now.

  So she trailed around large stores and small, much-loved and just-arrived, looking for a dress. She was heading home empty-handed when a colour caught her eye in the window of a tiny store, hardly big enough to have a window. A warm bronze that would bring out the gold dust in her eyes. She tried it on and was surprised—the silky texture, the way it hung. Cathy had never looked this good. She watched herself in the mirror turning, lifting her arms, pretend-dancing, and couldn’t believe it was her. When Cathy checked the price she found out the difference between a store and a boutique. Her Visa would curl up and die. Dad….

  She bought it anyway.

  Heads or Tails

  Hutch shouldn’t have come to Faraday’s tonight—he still had one more exam—but he was starving and had no groceries. He’d really been cracking the books because he wanted a good co-op placement for the summer semester. He’d had to work half the night after that dinner with Sarah and Tim Brooks and every night since. Still, he was here now. Hutch sagged back in his chair and looked round, saw he’d finished his soup without tasting it.

  “Will you come with me to the end-of-year art dance?”

  There was a beat before the question registered.