Chapter 30

Before Nick went to school the next morning, his mother said, “Remember, we’d like to meet Cat.”

“I’ll ask if she wants to come over,” he grumbled, piling books into his backpack and putting on his jacket, preparing to leave.

Then his mom asked, “Would Emily like to come too?”

“No!” Nick waved his hands. “Emily doesn’t like Cat.”

“Really?” His mother set her cup down.

“Yes, remember Emily thinks Cat took her dress for homecoming,” Nick explained. “Anyway, there’s bad blood between them.”

“So, no Emily, then,” his mother said, although she looked concerned. “That’s out of character for her, isn’t it?”

Nick rolled his eyes. “Girls can be vicious and mean when they think someone is out to get them.” He paused.

“That’s pretty strong.”

“It started the day Cat checked into school, and it’s been intense ever since.”

“Oh, I see.” But she didn’t. “We’d still like to meet Cat even if Emily doesn’t like her.”

****

At school, against his better judgment, he said to Cat, “My parents would like to meet you.” They had just finished World History and were waiting for the bell to release them.

“Why do they want to meet me?” Cat asked, stretching in her chair, bending from side to side.

“Get to know you, that’s all.” The bell shrilled overhead. And evaluate if Cat was a bad influence on the school and in particular their son.

Cat laughed as she stood. “For the fun of it?” They stepped out into the crowded hallway.

“I guess.” He raised his voice to be heard over the din.

She laughed again.

He wasn’t sure dinner would be a laughing matter.

“They’ve invited you to dinner,” Nick said.

“How nice,” she replied in an offhanded way. “When?” Her eyes narrowed.

“Whatever is good for you.”

They moved through the crowded hallways to their lockers. They stood before Cat’s as she opened it and took out her book for the next class.

“My mother is a great cook,” he added. Cat could use a few extra pounds.

“I’m sure,” she said, closing her locker and eyeing his broad shoulders. “You haven’t always been so…so muscular.”

“That’s another thing. Play down the past-lives thing. They don’t believe in that,” Nick warned.

“The same parents who had you exorcised because you talked about your ‘friend’?”

“Doesn’t make any sense, I know.” He flopped his hands to his side.

“What do I tell them if they ask?” She waited for him to reply, and when he didn’t, she added, “Are they always so closed-minded?”

Nick thought for only a moment, then smirked. “Yes.”

Cat laughed again. “I’d love to meet them! How about tomorrow?”

“I’m sure that’s fine.”

****

The next night, before football practice, Nick sat with Emily on the bleachers.

“I hardly see you anymore,” she said with a little pout, peering up at him from under her bangs.

“I know. I’m sorry,” Nick apologized. “I miss you.”

“We have to discuss homecoming!” She swatted his arm. “It’s such a busy time! All kinds of things to get done! How about I come over for dinner, and we can discuss and plan?”

Nick’s mind froze. Tonight? Emily for dinner. No, that would be a disaster. Emily and Cat. He didn’t want to think about what might happen.

“Um…I don’t think tonight is good. I might be late from practice. I think we’re having leftovers. How about some other night?”

“Oh…Well.” She gave him a doubtful look.

“We’ll talk later, I promise.” He squeezed her fingers. “Later, okay? Don’t worry.”

She gave him a tentative smile.

He gave her a quick kiss and headed to practice.

After practice, Nick anticipated Cat’s visit with his parents. As he showered and changed, he imagined the good, the bad, and the ugly. His dad preaching about what the Bible said about one body, one soul, his mother crying, and Cat leaving in a huff. Cat had her notions, and his father had his.

Well, he gulped, it’s now or never. He went out to his car.

“Rev!” a voice growled.

Nick had been engrossed in his thoughts, and he hadn’t seen Bryan lurking behind a tree.

“Bryan.” A statement of fact and resignation.

He surveyed the parking lot. There were only four vehicles left: Nick’s Subaru, Bryan’s truck, a sedan, and the coach’s SUV.

There wouldn’t be any help this time. Gary was gone. Nick opened his car door and put his backpack on the passenger side and turned back to Bryan.

“What is it with you, Bryan?” He took a step forward. “You have to solve everything with a fight?”

Bryan smirked at him.

“Hey! I’m sorry for what happened when we were in elementary school. There! Can we stop this?”

Nick truly regretted teasing Bryan about the water fountain malfunction that sprayed his crotch, making it look like he had wet his pants. But they were in third grade! Get over it!

“You think a lame apology can fix everything?” Bryan chuckled and flexed his hand. “Are you afraid, Preacher Boy?”

Nick would have to fight Bryan and win for this to be over.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Nick said, taking another step forward, standing as tall as he could for his six-foot-two-inch frame. He was taller than Bryan but not as muscular.

“You will be when I finish with you.”

Nick thought about the best strategy to handle this. Make the first move? “Not if I can help it.”

A snort of laughter from Bryan before his fist lashed out and caught Nick under the chin. So much for making the first move. Momentarily Nick stopped breathing, and time stalled before he doubled his fists, rammed Bryan in the stomach, and punched him in the face.

Bryan staggered back with a look of surprise and confusion before hitting Nick on the cheek.

Bryan’s nose bled down the front of his shirt, and Nick’s eye tingled and twitched as it puffed up.

“Hey!” Coach Sullivan yelled.

The boys stepped away from each other.

“Do you knuckleheads want to get kicked off the team for fighting?” Coach Sullivan stood between them, looking first at Bryan, then Nick. He frowned at Nick, as if not believing he was involved.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t see this. You two get out of here, and no more fighting! We need to work as a team. We can’t if we’re divided. Go home, both of you, and cool off!”

“Thanks, Coach,” Nick said, sliding into his car. He started the engine and backed out. Coach was still talking to Bryan, whose face was red, and his nose spewed blood. Nick saw Bryan tilt his head back to stanch the flow of blood.

As Nick drove, his eye puffed up further, and his vision was limited. He looked in the rearview mirror: the left side of his face was normal, but his right eye was closing, and his cheek turned purple.

He parked in the driveway, took his backpack, and went into the house.

“Nick, in here,” his mother called.

“It’s me,” he said and put his backpack on the stairs leading to the second floor. His mother came out of the kitchen.

She gasped. “Did that happen at football practice?” She examined his eye and cheek, her touch gentle, but he winced.

“No, after. Got in a fight with Bryan Cranden.”

“Let me get some ice for that eye.”

Nick followed her into the kitchen, where his father was chopping vegetables for a salad.

“What’s going on?” his father asked when Nick sat down and turned to face him. Whistling, he said, “You’ll have a black eye.”

“Just a little fight.”

The table was set for four people, and he smelled chicken in the oven. He looked dully at the extra plate.

His mother handed him a bag of frozen peas to put on his face.

The peas instantly cooled his pulsing face, and he felt marginally better.

“A little fight?” she asked, giving him a pat on the shoulder.

He moved the bag around, further numbing his eye and cheek.

“Bryan was waiting for me after school, itching for a fight,” Nick said. “Bryan’s still mad when I teased him about peeing himself.”

“That was how many years ago?” his father asked.

“I dunno. Seven or eight.”

His mother ducked her head and tried not to smile. “You did that?”

“It was a joke.”

“Not a very nice one,” she said.

“I wasn’t very nice in the third grade.” Nick pushed the bag of peas harder into his face.

“And Bryan’s still mad after all these years?” His mother leaned against the counter and folded her arms.

“Obviously.” His father pointed to Nick’s eye.

“Well, that’s not all,” Nick said, further adjusting the iced peas.

“Oh?” his dad asked.

“What else did you do?” his mom asked, wide-eyed.

He swallowed, remembering when Bryan had asked Emily out in their sophomore year, and she turned him down. “Bryan wanted to date Emily.” Even now as he thought of Bryan and Emily, he got a stab of pain in his temple.

“Oh,” his parents spoke in unison.

Nick hesitated when he heard the doorbell. His dad left, and Nick heard voices in the living room. His father ushered Cat into the kitchen. Nick took a double take. Cat looked so different tonight, her face free of the black makeup. She was fresh-faced and wholesome—beautiful, even.

Nick’s mother came forward. “I’m Nick’s mother, Grace Dupont, and you must be Cat.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Cat said, her eyes resting on Nick holding the bag of frozen peas. Her lip quivered, trying to hold back a smile.

“Nick?” Cat’s eyes narrowed. “You in a fight?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t start it,” Nick said, repositioning the peas on his face.

“Let me guess,” Cat said, her voice silky; each word flowed over the other. “Bryan did that to you.”

Nick smirked.

“I see the anger in his eyes,” Cat said. “He’s jealous of you.”

“Why?”

“I think things come more easily for you.” Cat tilted her head. “Good grades. Football.”

His parents stood silently, listening, arms folded, watching their exchange.

“Come on,” Cat said, shrugging. “You’re popular, a good student, are dating the president of the class, and you have lots of friends.”

“Bryan could be that too.”

“But he’s not,” Cat said.

Bryan had been a complainer for as long as Nick had known him. All he did was start fights.

“Who’s hungry?” Nick’s mom clapped her hands. “I’ll get dinner on the table.”

“Can I help?” Cat asked.

“No, but thank you.”

“That smells delicious, Mrs. Dupont,” Cat said, sitting at the table next to Nick.

“Thank you. Good Midwestern cooking,” his mother replied and patted her stomach. “But call me Grace, please.” Nick’s mom placed a platter of chicken and bowl of potatoes on the table, and his father brought the salad and dressing.

“Nick told us something interesting about you,” his mother said.

“And what was that?” Cat asked coyly, looking to Nick for answers.

Here it is, Nick thought. The questions, the knotty, tough questions about exorcism, past lives, and the devil’s handiwork. He gripped the bag of peas so tightly he tore a small hole in the side, and several rolled out and landed on his lap.

“What did Nick say about me?” Cat repeated.

Nick looked at Cat and saw a flicker in her eye.

“About knowing each other before,” his mother said in her offhand manner, throwing out the comment and seeing what sort of response she got. Fishing.

Cat gave a short laugh. “I’ve moved so much, I always think people are familiar.”

Nick’s mother nodded. “That very thing has happened to me.”

“Grace? Grace,” his father said with a chuckle, a joke between them. “Who will say the grace, Grace?”

“You give the blessing,” his mother said. “Or maybe Nick should?”

“No, no, you go ahead, Dad.” Nick put down the peas and listened to his father.

“Our dearly beloved Father, bless this food we are about to receive and nourish our bodies and spirits with your holy ways. Amen.”

The conversation stopped as the food was passed around, and everyone started eating. For such a thin girl, Cat had a surprising appetite and ate as much as Nick. And he remembered how she could chug a beer in one swallow. Her stature was deceiving.

“Tell us about your research project. It sounds interesting,” his father said as a way to restart the conversation. “I had no idea there were more camps besides the major ones.” His father answered his own question. “Of course there had to be. If five million people were killed, the Germans would need more than just the five or six main camps.”

“What I find most fascinating,” Cat said, “is the outcome of events seventy years ago still reverberate today.”

“How so?” Nick’s father asked. Nick could tell his father was gearing up for a discussion on world events. They were alike in that regard; Nick liked history, and so did his father.

“The surviving Gypsies moved to places like Oregon.”

“I had no idea,” Nick’s father said. “What exactly are you researching?”

“Our paper will be on the Gypsies—or Romas—and their persecution throughout time, but particularly at Saumur before the Germans invaded,” Cat said.

Nick watched the exchange. So far so good.

“And the boys from the school who fought the German Panzers,” Nick added.

“I recall Nick saying over a million were killed,” his father replied, before taking a bite of his chicken.

“Yes, that’s a rough estimate because of their nomadic lifestyle. Historians believe it is much higher, perhaps closer to three million.” Cat’s speech was articulate, and the words flowed effortlessly, making her sound much older than her sixteen years.

“How did you come by that figure?” Nick’s mom asked, listening, her chin on her hands.

“There are Gypsy activists researching that very fact,” Cat said, taking a piece of her chicken. “I like the coating on the chicken.”

“It’s crushed rice cereal.” His mom laughed. “A family recipe.”

Cat took another bite and chewed thoughtfully. “It gives the chicken a nice texture.”

“Thank you,” Nick’s mother said, giving Cat a smile of approval. If you liked Mom’s cooking, you were a sensible person.

Nick watched the exchange between Cat and his parents. So far nothing to indicate rough waters.

“The activists are also working on a memorial for the Gypsies killed in the war. But even now, there isn’t much enthusiasm from the French government for such a thing. They want everything to do with the Gypsies swept under the rug.”

“Are you French?”

“My adoptive mother is.”

“History is always being rewritten,” Nick’s father said. “And repeating itself.”

“And what about the American Indians? Their plight is similar to the Gypsies or any other displaced group. Take the Bible,” Cat started.

Danger. Danger. Now she was getting into rocky territory talking Bible history with his father, a man who read and studied the Book daily.

“What about the Bible?” his father asked, leaning forward slightly.

“The Israelites,” Cat said.

“True.”

“Weren’t they driven out of Egypt?”

“Yes, guided by God.”

“My point exactly. We’ve been forcing people to leave their countries for a long time. The Gypsies included.”

“You sound very passionate on the topic,” Nick’s mother said.

“I guess I am,” Cat said, running a forefinger on the top of the table. “I suspect I have Gypsy blood.”

“Why?” Nick’s father asked.

“There is a large population in Oregon where I’m from.” She looked up from studying the kitchen table. “I don’t know for sure. I just think that.” She patted her chest. “In my heart.”

Cat’s phone pinged from her pocket, and she fished it out. “I’m sorry to eat and run, but my mother needs me at home. An emergency of some sort.” She put down her napkin. “Thank you for dinner.”

“I’ll walk you to the door,” Nick said.

“Please feel free to come for Sunday services,” Nick’s father said.

Nick’s mother grasped Cat’s hand. “It was lovely meeting you. Please come again.”

Did his parents think Cat was the troublemaker as reported by the community rumor mill? It couldn’t be confirmed by her performance tonight. His parents seemed to genuinely like her.

At the front door, Cat stood on tiptoe and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “See you tomorrow.”

He raised his hand as she got into the Jag and drove away, but lowered it when he saw Emily’s car parked across the street. Had she seen Cat kiss him?

Nick dreaded their conversation as he walked toward Emily’s car.

She rolled down the window.

“Hi! What are you doing here?”

“I guess a better question would be ‘why was she here?’ ”

“Our presentation?”

“What about all the bullshit about leftovers and not wanting me to come over tonight?” Emily’s words were short and heated.

“I’m sorry I lied to you.” He reached into the car and patted her shoulder, but she pulled away. “We had plans to work together tonight. I didn’t think you’d understand.”

Emily grimaced at him. “I heard about the fight and wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine. You’re getting a black eye.”

“I promise we’ll have time to discuss homecoming.”

She grimaced and made an angry snort. “We’ll see.”

“What does that mean?” Nick asked as Emily put her car in drive. She glared at him before gunning the engine and zooming away, gravel scattering from her tires.

Nick watched her go. Shit. He was in trouble again with Emily.