Forward Me Back to You Page 3

  “Can you call me Kat? That’s what Mom calls me. Katina’s what they call me at school.”

  The Ibis scrapes the INA off the cake with a spoon and pops it into her mouth. A smile scratches dozens of new crinkles into her old-lady skin. Kat can’t help smiling back.

  “I hear it’s been a fiery season for you, Kat.”

  Kat shrugs. Doesn’t want to talk about it. Not here. Not with that know-it-all-will-fix-you counselor with a beard. Not with anybody. Not ever.

  The Ibis reaches over and pats Kat’s hand. “Do you think you can call me Grandma Vee? I’ve never had a grandchild; Saundra’s my only living relative, so you’re the closest thing to a granddaughter I have.”

  There’s only one answer to give a woman who’s agreed to feed, shelter, and teach her for three months. “Sure. Definitely.”

  Kat, too, has only one blood relative of her own. Her mother. No aunts or uncles. No grandparents; they died. Her “father” didn’t want to stick around to raise her. All she knows about her paternal side is this: When she came out of her petite, white mom, she was a long, strong baby with brown skin and black hair.

  Now she’s grown into a tall, strong woman with brown skin and black hair.

  A bit like the person smiling at her across the table.

  Saundra said this place was rented with pension checks. She asked Kat to help out—grocery shop, shovel the walk, change light bulbs. Whatever. Kat’s ready. She knows what room and board costs. And besides, “Grandma Vee” must be in her eighties.

  “I want to do some chores for you while I’m here,” she says after they finish eating. “I do everything for Mom at home—cook, clean, shop, do laundry. Just tell me what you need.”

  “You can do the dishes starting tomorrow. But you must be tired tonight. Why don’t you head to bed?”

  In the small, spotless guest room, before Kat lets herself shower or brush her teeth, she hits the floor for her usual series of planks, crunches, push-ups, and squats, pushing herself to do a couple more with each set. No training while she’s in Boston—she’d need sparring partners and a professor to replace Saundra—but she’s not about to lose her strength.

  After she showers, she slips into the flannel pajamas that were Mom’s going-away present. The mattress is soft. White sheets smell like lavender. Pillow fits Kat’s head like it was sewn for her skull. Three thousand miles from home, Kat sleeps fourteen hours straight.

  ROBIN

  INT. METROWEST HIGH SCHOOL CAFETERIA—DAY

  As he chews and swallows another bite of the tuna wrap, a message makes Robin’s phone buzz. Meet me in the library in five minutes. It’s from Martin, Robin’s only other church friend at Metrowest High. They’ve scheduled a review session for Robin’s chemistry test.

  Robin’s eyes go to the theater table. Unlike Robin, Martin knows exactly what he’s doing after graduation. He’s already accepted early admission to Brown in the fall. Wants to be a teacher. And he’ll be a good one, too. He’s helped Robin all the way through high school, quizzing him about Shakespeare’s plays, unlocking the mysteries of geometry, marking up his draft essays with a red pen like a professional editor.

  Martin grins and waves, and Robin stands up.

  “Done with your lunch, Little Guy?” Brian asks.

  That nickname. It’s as old as their friendship. And maybe as stale.

  Robin grits his teeth and slides the rest of his tuna wrap to Brian without a word.

  “Thanks,” Brian says, smiling. “You’ll drive me home after small group, right?”

  Robin’s been planning to skip small group this week. All he wants to do is crash in his room and watch Finding Nemo or some other movie he’s seen so many times he knows the lines by heart. “Sure, I’ll drive you home,” he tells Brian.

  He heads for the library, where Martin will probably scold him again for sitting with Brian. You could come join us instead, he’ll say, or find some of your Greased Lightning buddies from auto shop. I have no idea why you endure that agony. Every. Single. Day.

  But Robin knows exactly why. It’s because of a memory. One of his rare memories from childhood. Fifteen years ago, during a Sunday school class, a big, blond toddler grabbed a terrified newcomer by the hand and pulled him into a game of ring-around-the-rosy. Robin can remember every detail, even though he and Brian had only been three years old.

  Maybe losing your earliest, most important memories makes you hold on to other ones longer than you should.

  KAT

  INT. GRANDMA VEE’S APARTMENT—DAY

  After her first long sleep in weeks, Kat wakes up feeling rested but anxious. Will she be able to keep her GPA high enough to win a scholarship? How are admissions committees going to understand her so-called decision to leave Sanger mid-semester? Brittany and Amber can afford after-school tutors and hire private college counselors, but not Kat. She’s on her own. Mom never went to college—she’ll try to help, but she doesn’t know much about navigating the applications and financial-aid maze.

  Saundra promised that her great-aunt’s a terrific teacher. Kat hopes that’s true. No way she’s adding “academic scholarship” to the list of things that wolf is making her lose.

  “I’m looking forward to seeing what they teach eleventh graders in California,” Grandma Vee says after breakfast. “What’s your area of interest, Kat?”

  “Biology’s my favorite. I work at the zoo part-time at home.”

  “Don’t worry—you’ll stay on target,” Grandma Vee says. “I see the brains in your eyes. Let’s take a field trip this morning, shall we? It’s your first day in Boston so you should see some sights.”

  A field trip already? Kat thinks. I missed a day of school yesterday for travel. I don’t want to fall behind from the start.

  “We’re going to the Franklin Park Zoo,” Grandma Vee announces, smiling as if she’s sure Kat will be delighted. “It only takes two buses to get there. Your task is to find three animals that you don’t have in the Oakland Zoo and tell me all about them.”

  It sounds more like a fifth-grade homework assignment than honors biology, but Kat can’t bring herself to dim that bright smile. “Okay. But I’ll have to get started on my school assignments when we get back.”

  INT./EXT. FRANKLIN PARK ZOO, BOSTON—DAY

  Kat looks out the bus window at the unfamiliar scenery. Boston is full of skeleton trees with bare branches, formless bodies bundled in down coats, meandering, narrow streets, rotaries instead of stoplights, and signs at borders announcing a town’s long New England history: BROOKLINE. ESTABLISHED IN 1638.

  Meanwhile, her companion launches into a conversation with yet another stranger. Kat tunes them out. Does she have to talk to everybody? She looks down at her borrowed outerwear—long brown coat, men’s so it fits, topped with a red-and-green-striped hat, gloves, and scarf. She feels like a Christmas tree.

  At the zoo, the wind is cold and there’s ice in some habitats, but the smell of dung and the caws, hoots, roars, and trumpeting are familiar to Kat. Grandma Vee sends her off and waits at a warm table inside the cafeteria. As she walks through the exhibits, Kat identifies animals she already knows and takes photos of three that she doesn’t—a pair of tawny frogmouths and an Indian blue peafowl in the bird building, and a red panda in the children’s zoo.

  She returns to find her new-but-old teacher surrounded by a pod of five kids and five nannies. All eleven of them are eating cotton candy.

  Grandma Vee hands Kat a big bag of soft blue sugar and moves over to make room at the table. “Meet my granddaughter,” she says.

  Kat lets the sweetness of the candy melt into her mouth as she listens to Grandma Vee trying to learn how to say granddaughter in the five different languages spoken by the nannies—Spanish, Khmer, Portuguese, Arabic, and Sinhalese.

  A light snow starts to fall, and Grandma Vee gets up to go. Kat waits while Grandmother in five languages receives multiple goodbye hugs from nannies and kids.

  Once they’re out
side, Kat lifts her face, and snow lands on her cheeks and tongue. It’s the first time she’s seen snow in real life. She catches flakes on her borrowed gloves and watches them melt.

  “Bostonians stop liking snow around January,” says Grandma Vee. “But go ahead—marvel. I remember the first time I saw snowflakes. Made by angel’s hands, I thought.”

  Kat slows her pace to match the old woman’s. To outsiders, they must look like a tall brown grandmother and a tall brown granddaughter. Even canine passersby don’t leer the way they do when Kat’s on her own or with her mother, who draws her fair share of unwanted attention. A few jerks still check Kat out, of course, but their leers don’t linger—not with those ibis eyes staring them down. It’s like Grandma Vee has an invisible shield that protects them both.

  INT. GRANDMA VEE’S APARTMENT—NIGHT

  After a homemade supper of tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, Kat notices the slumped shoulders of her companion. That was a big outing on a chilly March day—especially for an old woman who agreed to take Kat in only one week earlier, thanks to Mom’s last-minute planning.

  Kat jumps up to start the dishes. “I’d really like to help you out. I can do more than just wash dishes.”

  “No dishwashing machine in this place, you know. So it might be more work than you’re used to.”

  “The dishwasher in our apartment’s been broken for months,” Kat says, leaning in to give the saucepan a good scrub. “I’m used to washing dishes by hand. But what else can I do to help you?”

  “There is one thing,” Grandma Vee says.

  Kat stops scrubbing to listen.

  “Won’t you visit the small group for youth at my church tomorrow? It’s right down the street from us, so you can walk. I want you to meet my friend Robin. Something’s been troubling that dear child lately. I have a feeling you might be good for each other.”

  Kat stacks the plates in the drying rack, back to back, making perfect parallels. A small group meeting? At church? And some needy girl to take care of? This isn’t part of the deal. Besides, friends don’t come easy for her. Amber and Brittany are the only two she made at Sanger. And Kat isn’t even sure she can call them “friends.”

  “Will you go, Kat?”

  Kat looks over at Grandma Vee painstakingly rolling down her compression socks, one leg at a time. “I guess I can give it a try.”

  “Wonderful. Pastor Greg leads the group. He’s a good man. I’ll let him know you’re coming. I could tell him a bit more if you’d like—”

  “No. That’s my business. No thanks, I mean.” Kat pauses. “Now go rest. I’ll get started on my assignments.”

  “Oh my. I like the sound of that, Kat. I’ll review your work in the morning. Don’t worry, students don’t fall behind in Ms. Viola Jones’s classroom.”

  Later, Kat powers up the new-used laptop. Its default name is “Robin Thornton,” so Kat’s pretty sure it used to belong to the friend Grandma Vee wants her to meet. The memory’s been wiped clean of any past history.

  ROBIN

  INT./EXT. METROWEST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH YOUTH ROOM—NIGHT

  Robin is parking the Corvette in the church lot when a text makes his phone shriek like a siren. Brian’s sound effect. What now? Don’t need a ride home, Little Guy. I’m letting the Porsche pick me up for once. Mom’s idea.

  Another last-minute cancellation. After Robin’s driven over here only because he promised to drive Brian home. Well, maybe it isn’t too late to skip out on small group. His parents won’t be expecting him home for an hour or so. He can take a long drive instead.

  He’s about to send a text to PG when he notices a voice call has come in from Ms. Vee. She only calls when she really needs something.

  He listens to her message. “I have a house guest visiting from California,” her lilting, low-pitched voice informs him. “I’m sending her to your small group, Robin. She needs a friend. Could you make her feel welcome?”

  They haven’t had a visitor since PG organized the group six years ago. A new person turning up at small group? Robin replays it to make sure he’s heard it right. There it is again—she has a house guest she’s sending over. Now he has to go inside.

  Robin sighs and climbs out of his car. He’ll do anything for Ms. Vee; it’s a good thing she asks for so little. He zips up his coat, shuts the door, and rests his forehead for a second on the roof of the Corvette, as if the leftover energy generated by the vehicle’s peppy engine can fuel him.

  As he enters the high-steepled brick building, he catches sight of a figure walking carefully across the snowy lawn and then faster across the plowed parking lot.

  It’s a girl. Light is pouring out of the double glass doors, and Robin can see her stomping her feet on the front step to shake the snow off. Is this Ms. Vee’s guest?

  He opens the front door just as she spots him. Frown lines deepen as she stalks past him, and she turns sideways so they don’t make any contact. She takes off her coat to hang it on the coatrack, revealing a long, black blouse that drapes loosely around her body. It almost, but not quite, disguises the curves. Long legs and neck, head held high, black jeans tucked into spike-heeled boots. Short, curly hair pulled back with a wide band. Smooth, satiny skin, almost the same shade as his. She reminds Robin of a young Halle Berry, one of his on-screen crushes. Even more out of his league than Sona Patel.

  Crap. She’s caught him watching her. Now she’s lifting a corner of her lip and planting her fists on her hips.

  “You stalking me?” she asks.

  Robin takes a step back. “No, no,” he says. “I was just—”

  “Then why are you lurking around? Do you belong in this building or should I call 9-1-1?”

  That sure escalated fast, Robin thinks. “No, it’s okay. I—I worship here. I’ve been coming to this church since I was three.”

  “Great. A religious stalker. The worst kind.”

  “Wait, are you—?”

  But she’s striding away, as if she doesn’t want to waste one more second talking to him.

  Robin sighs again. This isn’t worth it, not even for Halle fantasies. But if she’s looking for high school small group, she’ll never find the basement on her own. The twists and turns in this Gothic building are impossible for newcomers to navigate. How much does he love Ms. Vee? Must be a lot. He hangs up his coat and walks down the hall. Ms. Vee’s guest—or at least that’s who Robin thinks she is—moves fast, taking long steps, each foot landing firmly as if those spiked heels do know where they’re going.

  Nefertiti, Robin thinks, remembering a poem his mother used to read aloud. Spin a coin, spin a coin / All fall down / Queen Nefertiti / Stalks through town.

  She’s passing the toddler room now, and she pauses by the open top half of the door to glance at the cluster of kids playing inside. Robin takes the chance to study her again. Long purple earrings. Strong nose, diamond chin. Angled eyes. Long, muscular arms that he can tell are toned, even under the loose black fabric of her blouse. A leading lady for sure. Maybe even an antihero, like young Halle’s version of Catwoman. He’s never understood why people pan that film; he’s watched it at least a dozen times.

  Inside the toddler room, the ring-around-the-rosy circle must have tumbled to the ground because Robin can hear everybody inside cracking up. Even he can’t help smiling at the sound.

  Then, to Robin’s amazement, Nefertiti chuckles, too.

  The fierce, tight angles of her face melt into curves.

  A dimple makes a sudden appearance.

  Robin can’t believe the power of that dent in her cheek. At least over his own mind. It displaces adjectives like fierce and sexy and replaces them instead with shy and scared. He leans forward to see her whole face. He’s a pro when it comes to reading nonverbals and facial expressions, especially of people he cares about. He’s been doing it with all his might since he was three years old. Yes, now he can see what’s there—worry, vulnerability, a hint of sadness?

  But once again,
she’s caught his gaze.

  The dimple disappears.

  She narrows weapon-eyes and shoots amber missiles of hate in his direction before turning her back. Then, spike by spike, she strides on.

  Over the pavements / Her feet go clack, / Her legs are as tall / As a chimney stack.

  But Robin isn’t fooled.

  KAT

  This isn’t the first time Kat’s been inside a church building. She and Mom join Saundra in her big church near Lake Merritt every Christmas and Easter. Kat usually tunes out during the service; she’s never had much faith in God. So many bad things happen on earth that if a divine being does exist, she’s pretty sure he’s a canine.

  And even before the stairwell incident, she hated all that hand-shaking and hugging that went on, especially between men and women.

  Too.

  Much.

  Touching.

  No dude better try to hug me at this “small group,” she thinks. If only I can lose this weirdo. Good thing he’s so small—I’ll have him on his back in ten seconds flat if he tries anything.

  ROBIN

  “Excuse me! Are you staying with someone named Ms. Viola Jones?”

  She stops. Turns to face Robin. “You know Grandma Vee?”

  How can Ms. Vee be her grandmother? Robin’s met Ms. Vee’s only niece, Saundra, about thirty years old, a deputy sheriff somewhere out in California. Not married. No kids. So who is this fake extra relative? “She told me you were coming. I can show you where we meet. It’s in the basement.”

  She raises her eyebrows. “Okay, then. Lead the way, Church Man.”

  He opens a small wooden door in the wall that’s so easy for newcomers to miss, and they climb down narrow, winding stairs. He listens to her heels clicking and clacking behind him. It feels like she’s herding instead of following him. Say something, he tells himself as they walk along the dark, musty hallway. Make her feel welcome, Ms. Vee said. But he can’t think of anything.