“I don’t feel so good.”
Agnes found a lunch bag and rolled it open, then held out some saltines from her pocket. Loo pressed her face into the bag, which smelled lightly of onions. She breathed in and out, inflating the paper, while Agnes patted her back. Under the fluorescent light, Loo could see wrinkles across the woman’s forehead that weren’t there at the start of the summer. She was the same age Loo’s mother would have been, if she’d lived.
“Maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with you. Maybe he was just trying to scare them off the petition. He’s thick as thieves with Strand and Fisk, and I wouldn’t put it past those two.”
Loo dropped the bag on the floor. She didn’t know what to do. She crumbled the crackers in her fist. “This is so stupid.”
“Oh!” Agnes said, as if she’d suddenly thought of some answer. She grabbed Loo’s hand and squeezed it, and Loo nearly cried. She felt so lost and so grateful. Agnes pressed Loo’s palm against her stomach. There was nothing at first. And then Loo felt a struggling movement. A tight, desperate twisting of flesh.
“Feel that?” Agnes said. “He’s kicking.”
—
FOR ALL THE times she had watched and waited for Marshall in the Firebird, Loo had never been inside his house. But she had imagined what it might be like, and he had told her a few details, like the Greenpeace poster his mother kept on the wall in their kitchen, and the misshapen plates and mugs from when she’d taken pottery classes. The house seemed quaint from a distance but up close was run-down, from the peeling paint to the secondhand furniture.
“You,” said Mary Titus. She was wearing an orange terry-cloth bathrobe and her hair was wet. She gave Loo a look that must have been close to the one Loo had given her years ago, when she’d first knocked with her petition and bottle of wine. Now Loo was the one standing on the porch, hoping to be let in. And Mary Titus was the one deciding whether or not to slam the door.
“Is Marshall home?” Loo asked.
“My son has nothing to say to you.”
“Please. I just need a minute.”
The widow scanned Loo up and down, as if she knew what the girl had really come for. “The police are here, so don’t get any ideas.” She pointed to a black sedan parked on the sidewalk in front of the house. Two men, both wearing sunglasses, were sitting inside drinking coffee. When they saw Mary Titus pointing, one of them waved.
Loo tried everything she could to stay polite and smiling. “Principal Gunderson wants to know if you liked his soup.”
“What?” said Mary Titus. Instantly her hand went to her hair, patting it in place.
My God, Loo thought, these men do it to all of us.
“Mom.” Marshall was at the top of the staircase, wearing a shirt printed with an image of a whale’s tail. Loo could feel her heart thrumming in her chest. They hadn’t spoken in more than a month but at the sight of him her body flicked on, like a switch. Marshall gave half a grin. She could not tell what he was thinking. She could not tell if he wanted her there or not.
“The camera crew is going to be here in an hour,” said Mary Titus.
“I know,” said Marshall. “Why don’t you finish getting ready?” He came down the staircase and stood between Loo and his mother.
“For me,” he said.
Mary Titus looked at her son. “For you,” she said. “For you I’ll do anything.”
The widow put her hand on Marshall’s shoulder. The easy intimacy between them made Loo uncomfortable, and also filled her with longing.
“Leave the door open. I want those officers to keep an eye on things.”
“Okay,” said Marshall.
Loo watched Mary Titus begin to mount the stairs, her hand gripping the banister like it was a lifeline. She paused at the top and turned. In her orange robe, with her face flushed and shining, she looked triumphant.
“You can tell your father he missed.”
Then she went into her bedroom and shut the door.
Marshall pulled at the neck of his whale shirt. He would not meet Loo’s eyes. “I’ve got something for you,” he said. “Can you wait here a minute?”
“Sure,” said Loo.
She stayed on the threshold, afraid to step outside, and afraid to step inside, too, glancing back at the black sedan. The men did not seem very vigilant. One of them was working a crossword puzzle, and the other appeared to be asleep. She looked for the bullet in the door. Underneath the street numbers was a single hole, the edges dug out, the shrapnel gone.
Her finger was deep in the hollow when Marshall came down the stairs. He was carrying a brown paper bag with the top folded, just like the one Loo had been holding over her face in the walk-in freezer. He gestured for her to come inside and then he shut the door, nodding at the men in the sedan before turning the lock.
“It’s good to see you,” he said.
Loo’s skin started to sweat. “I wanted to make sure you were all right.”
They stood in front of the door. She wasn’t sure if she should touch him or not.
“What’s with the T-shirt?”
“My stepfather gave me that spot on Whale Heroes,” said Marshall. “I guess my life finally got exciting enough for television.”
“So that’s the camera crew?”
“They want to film me and my mom saying goodbye. Then I’ll be on the ship this afternoon. My stepfather says he’s going to stay at the Banks until NOAA agrees to the sanctuary. He’s got a whole crew of scientists coming in to collect data.”
“When will you be back?” Loo asked.
“I don’t know. Whenever the show gets canceled, I guess. Listen,” he said, “about the petition.”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “Nobody knows it was me.”
Marshall shook his head. He put the paper bag down on the coffee table. “My mom never gets enough signatures for any of her petitions to get to ballot. Those names we faked—no one was ever going to see them. They were just to replace the ones I’d lost. I didn’t think you’d write out five thousand signatures. I didn’t think you’d turn it in. I don’t know what you were thinking.”
She was not thinking, Loo wanted to say. She had only wanted to be with him again. Even now, she wanted him to lay her on top of his Salvation Army couch, peel off her jeans and kiss her thighs. But Marshall just hooked his fingers together behind his neck and pulled. None of this was going as Loo had expected. She’d never wanted to put anyone in danger. She’d meant the petition to be a gift.
“I thought you’d be happy.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth Loo felt how pathetic they were, and how sad and desperate she was, staying up all those nights, finding the names and copying out the addresses. With her colored pens she had fooled everyone. She had even fooled herself.