But there they were: no matter how many times you blinked or looked away. Tigers. A bit of a miracle, a circus-wonder, right there on the grass under the Carp trees and the Carp sky.
Heather was relieved to see Dodge arrive on his bicycle. She still hadn’t had a chance to thank him in person for what he’d done.
Almost immediately, he asked, “Is Bishop here?”
She shook her head. He made a face.
“Dodge,” she said. “I wanted to say—”
“Don’t.” He put a hand on her arm, and squeezed gently. “Not yet.”
She didn’t know exactly what he meant. She wondered, for the first time, what Dodge was planning to do this fall, and whether he would remain in Carp, or whether he had plans for a job somewhere—or even college. She’d never paid any attention to how he did in school.
Suddenly the thought of Dodge leaving made her sad. They were friends, or something like it that was close enough.
It struck her how sad it was that all of them—the kids standing here, her classmates and friends and even the people she’d hated—had grown up on top of one another like small animals in a too-small cage, and now would simply scatter. And that would be the end of that. Everything that had happened—those stupid school dances and basement after-parties, football games, days of rain that lulled them all to sleep in math class, summers swimming at the creek and stealing sodas from the coolers at the back of the 7-Eleven, even now, this, Panic—would be sucked away into memory and vapor, as though it hadn’t even happened at all.
“Where’s Natalie?” That was Diggin. He was speaking softly, as if afraid to wake the tigers. Hardly anyone made a sound. They were all still transfixed by the sight of those dreamlike creatures, stretched long on the ground like shadows.
“I’ll get her,” Heather said. She was grateful to have an excuse to go into the house, even for a moment. What she was doing, what she was helping Nat do, was too horrible. She thought of Anne’s face, her smile pulling her eyes into a squint. She’d never felt so much like a criminal, not even when she’d taken her mom’s car and run away.
Another car was arriving, and she knew from the spitting and hissing of its engine that it was Bishop. She was right. Just as she reached the front door, he climbed out of his car and spotted her.
“Heather!” Even though he wasn’t shouting, his voice seemed to her like a slap in the silence.
She ignored him. She stepped into the kitchen and found Natalie sitting at the table, eyes red. There was a shot glass in front of her, and a bottle of whiskey.
“Where’d you get that?” Heather asked.
“In the pantry.” Nat didn’t even look up. “I’m sorry. I only had a sip, though.” She made a face. “It’s awful.”
“It’s time,” Heather said.
Nat nodded and stood up. She was wearing denim shorts and no shoes; her hair was still wet from the shower. Heather knew that if Nat weren’t so afraid, she would have insisted on putting on makeup, on doing her hair. Heather thought Nat had never looked so beautiful. Her fierce and fearful friend—who loved country music and cherry Pop-Tarts and singing in public and the color pink, who was terrified of germs and dogs and ladders.
“I love you, Nat,” Heather said on impulse.
Nat looked startled, as though she’d already forgotten Heather was there. “You, too, Heathbar,” she said. She managed a small smile. “I’m ready.”
Bishop was standing a little ways from the house, pacing, bringing his fingers up to his lips and down again as though he were smoking an invisible cigarette. As Nat moved into the crowd, he caught up with Heather.
“Please.” His voice was hoarse. “We need to talk.”
“This is kind of a bad time.” Her voice came out harsher, more sarcastic, than she’d intended. It occurred to her that she hadn’t seen Vivian, and she wondered whether Bishop had begged her not to come. Please, babe. Just until I can patch things up with Heather. She’s jealous, you know . . . she always had a thing for me. The thought made her throat knot up, and a part of her just wanted to tell Bishop to fuck off.
Then there was the part of her that wanted to put her arms around his neck and feel his laughter humming through his chest, feel the wild tangle of his hair on her face. Instead she crossed her arms, as if she could press the feeling down.
“I need to tell you something.” Bishop licked his lips. He looked awful. His face was sickly, different shades of yellow and green, and he was too skinny. “It’s important.”
“Later, okay?” Before he could protest, she moved past him. Natalie had reached the fence, closer to the tigers than she had ever allowed herself to go. Unconsciously, the crowd had backed off a little, so she was surrounded by a halo of negative space—like she was contaminated with something contagious.