She decided she liked the tigers, too—from a distance, anyway. She was mesmerized by the way they moved, muscles rippling like the surface of water, and by their eyes, which looked so wise—so bleak, too, as though they had stared into the center of the universe and found it disappointing, a feeling Heather completely understood.
But she was happy to let Anne do the feeding. She couldn’t believe the balls on the woman. It was a good thing Anne was too old for Panic. She would have nailed it. Anne actually went inside the pen, got within three feet of the tigers as they circled her, eyeing the bucket of meat hungrily—although Heather was sure they’d be just as happy to take a chomp of Anne’s head. Anne insisted they wouldn’t harm her, though. “As long as I’m doing the feeding,” she said, “they won’t use me for feed.”
Maybe—just maybe—things would actually be okay.
The only bad part of the day was the fact that Bishop was constantly checking his phone, Heather assumed for texts from Avery. This reminded her that Matt hadn’t texted her once since their breakup. Meanwhile, Bishop had Avery (Heather wouldn’t think of her as a girlfriend), and Nat had Dodge hanging on her every word and was also still seeing a bartender over in Kingston, some sleazy guy who rode a Vespa, which Nat insisted was just as cool as a motorcycle. Right.
But after they dropped off Dodge, Nat asked, “Is Avery coming tonight, Bishop?” and when Bishop said no, almost too quickly, Heather felt at peace with the world.
Nat made them detour so she could get a six-pack; then they headed to 7-Eleven and bought junky Fourth of July food: Doritos and dip, powdered doughnuts, and even a bag of pork cracklings, because it was funny and Bishop had bravely volunteered to eat some.
They headed to the gully: a steep, barren slope of gravel and broken-up concrete that bottomed out in the old train tracks, now red with rust and littered with trash. The sun was just starting to set. They picked their way carefully down the slope and across the tracks, and Bishop scouted the best place to light off the sparklers.
This was tradition. Two years ago, Bishop had even surprised Heather by buying two fifty-pound bags of mixed sand from Home Depot and making a beach. He’d even bought loopy straws and those paper umbrellas to put in their drinks, so she would feel they were somewhere tropical.
Today, Heather wouldn’t have chosen to be anywhere else in the whole world. Not even the Caribbean.
Nat was already on her second beer, and she was getting wobbly. Heather had a beer too, and even though she didn’t usually like to drink, she felt warm and happy. She stumbled over a loose slat in the tracks and Bishop caught her, looped an arm around her waist. She was surprised that he felt so solid, so strong. So warm, too.
“You okay there, Heathbar?” When he smiled, both of his dimples appeared, and Heather had the craziest thought: she wanted to kiss them. She banished the idea quickly. That was why she didn’t drink.
“I’m fine.” She tried to pull away. He moved his arm to her shoulders. She could smell beer on his breath. She wondered if he, too, was a little drunk. “Come on, get off me.” She said it jokingly, but she didn’t feel like joking.
Nat was wandering up ahead of them, kicking at stones. Darkness was falling and her heart was beating hard in her chest and for a moment, she felt like she and Bishop were alone. He was staring at her with an expression she couldn’t identify. She felt heat spreading through her stomach—she was nervous for no reason.
“Take a picture. It’ll last longer,” she said, and gave him a push.
The moment passed. Bishop laughed and charged; she dodged him.
“Children, children. Stop fighting!” Nat called back to them.
They found a place to set off the sparklers. Nat’s fizzled and sputtered out before they could get properly lit. Heather tried next. When she stepped forward with the lighter, there was a series of cracking sounds, and Heather jumped back, thinking confusedly she’d messed up. But then she realized that she hadn’t even gotten the sparkler lit.
“Look, look!” Nat was bouncing up and down excitedly.
Heather turned just as a series of fireworks—green, red, a shower of golden sparks—exploded in the east, just above the tree line. Nat was laughing like a maniac.
“What the hell?” Heather felt dizzy with happiness and confusion. It wasn’t even all-the-way dark yet, and there were never any fireworks in Carp. The nearest fireworks were in Poughkeepsie, fifty minutes away, at Waryas Park—where Lily would be with their mom and Bo right now.
Only Bishop didn’t seem excited. His arms were crossed and he was shaking his head as they kept going: more gold, and now blue and red again, blooming and fading, sucked back into the sky, leaving tentacle-traces of smoke. And just as Nat started running, half limping but still laughing, calling, “Come on, come on!” like they could race straight through to the source, it hit Heather too: this wasn’t a celebration.
It was a sign.