Ever since she’d started having the dreams, she’d officially been in hell.
How could she have such mind-blowing dreams about a man she hardly knew? And what the hell was she going to do about the fact that she was potentially going to continue seeing him for at least another twelve months, outside of the guarded, well-monitored, keep-your-hands-to-yourself-and-we’ll-all-get-along-fine environment of Arthur Kill?
Not that she would ever dream of putting herself or Carter in a position such as that. No way. She was still his tutor and he was her student. She was in a trusted position and she wouldn’t jeopardize what she’d worked so hard to build. The nonfraternization policy would no doubt be enforced during his parole, too.
“Why do you think I wouldn’t see this through?” she asked finally. “What gave you the impression that I didn’t want to help you get parole?”
“I don’t know. Shit, you just seem different. Like you’re worried about something or nervous. I didn’t know whether it was the thought of carrying on with our sessions that had you freaking out.”
He hid the hurt in his voice well, but his eyes betrayed him when they dropped to the table. He’d noticed her distance. Suddenly, Kat didn’t know whether to feel flattered or terrified that he had noticed at all. She swallowed down her panic and moved closer to him.
She fought down the overwhelming urge to touch his face. “I’m here for the long haul. I really want to help you get parole, and I want to keep our sessions going.”
Carter let his eyes meet hers.
“I’m sorry if I’ve made you doubt that. I won’t let you down. You can count on that one hundred percent.”
Kat was surprised at the vehemence of her own words but knew in her heart she meant them. Pound of flesh or not, she was going to help Carter, and no one could change that.
It took a moment for Carter to speak. “Okay.”
They sat for a few moments in silence, neither one of them finding it uncomfortable.
“Are you very nervous about your parole application?” Kat asked eventually after watching Carter put his cigarette out. He shook his head. “Shylock,” she murmured. “As brave as ever.”
“So says Portia,” Carter countered with a smile.
“The most intelligent character in The Merchant of Venice,” Kat said with a flirty undertone.
“Well, she did save Shylock,” Carter responded.
The metaphor was not lost on Kat. She knew Carter saw himself as less because of his life choices, much like people saw Shylock as less because of his religion. The comparison was tenuous, but to Carter, Kat knew, it was very real.
“That she did.” Kat’s eyes landed on his work. “But if we’re talking literary characters, I’m not sure that Portia is the right one for me to be compared to.”
“Oh, no?” Carter asked. “Who were you thinking? The Queen of Hearts from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland? Hecate from Macbeth?” He snapped his fingers with inspiration. “The White Witch in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe?”
Playing off his jibes, Kat grabbed her pen, and began to make a shopping list. “No,” she deadpanned. “But thanks for reminding me what I need from the store: axe, cauldron, Turkish Delight.”
“Okay,” he said with a chuckle. “Seriously, who would you choose?”
“That’s easy,” she replied. “I would want to be Walter from Walter the Lazy Mouse.”
Carter looked puzzled. “Not a velveteen rabbit or a spider named Charlotte?”
Kat shook her head. “No. The girls at school used to read those. But for me, it was always Walter.” She turned toward him. “Do you know the story?”
“Tell me.”
“Walter was a very lazy mouse,” Kat began. “He’s so lazy he won’t get up for school or go out with his family or play with his friends, and soon they all forget about him. His family moves away one day while Walter is asleep.”
Carter slumped in his chair, listening intently.
“He decides to look for his family,” Kat continued. “He meets many creatures on his travels, including frogs that can’t read or write. Walter tries to teach them, but, because he missed so much school through sleep, he can’t remember how to.”
For a quick, heartbreaking moment, she heard her father’s voice as he read the story to her.
“Peaches,” Carter whispered.
Sadness weighed heavily on Kat’s shoulders. “My dad used to read it to me when I was a little girl. He used to do all the voices.”
Carter folded his arms on the table. “He sounds—he sounds like a good guy.”
A small smile tugged at Kat’s mouth. “He was. He would say no matter what the obstacles, if I was determined like Walter, I could do anything I put my mind to.”
“And did you?” Carter asked, taking her by surprise.
“Did I what?”
“Did you do whatever it was you put your mind to no matter what the obstacles?”
Kat smiled, embarrassed. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Yes, you are.”
*
Carter noticed her eyes go to the wall behind him and cursed quietly.
Time’s up.