Funeral for a Friend

12

“Do you know who you remind me of?” Cat asked Brayden Pell a little breathlessly from across the long bench at Hoops brewery. “Ryan Tedder. You know, the singer from One Republic? I mean, I know he’s a lot older, but you guys could be brothers.”

“Actually, Ryan is my brother,” Brayden replied.

Cat’s eyes widened into saucers and she practically leaped across the table. “Oh, my God! Are you serious?”

Brayden winked. “No.”

She sat back on the bench with a pout. “You’re teasing me.”

“A little.”

His lips bent into a crooked smile, and his deep dark eyes twinkled at her. She had to look away in embarrassment, because she felt her face flushing deep red. Instead, she watched the crowd in the brewery. It was almost eleven o’clock, but the benches stretching across the beer hall were mostly full. Tourists stood two deep at the taps. The space was brightly lit with circular chandeliers and decorated in blond fir wood. Noise reverberated off the ceiling.

She fidgeted on the long bench and grabbed a square piece of Sammy’s pizza they’d had delivered to the beer hall. She took a drink from a tall glass of pop and gestured at Brayden’s mug of coffee. “You know, you can drink beer even if I can’t. Stride said you’re off-shift, right? I mean, babysitting me isn’t really like being on duty.”

“It is to me. And I’m not babysitting, Cat. You’re under threat, and I’m here to make sure you’re safe.”

“So how does that work exactly?” she asked.

“I pick you up. I drive you where you want to go. I keep an eye on the surroundings wherever you are. Like here. I survey the people around us every few minutes, and I make sure no one’s watching you. I note everyone who comes in and assess whether someone looks like a threat. But it’s not like I have to be your shadow and constant companion, either. If you feel smothered, you’re more likely to ditch me, and I don’t want that. So if you want space around your friends, tell me, and I’ll back off. Just be aware that I’ll still be in the background.”

“Okay. Thanks.” She bit her lip and added, “You don’t have to back off. I don’t feel smothered.”

“Good.”

“Have you ever done this before? Protecting somebody?”

Brayden shook his head. “Not really. I’m a street cop. Mostly it’s domestic disturbances and break-ins and drug busts.”

“So why’d you volunteer to be with me on your days off?”

“Stride put out the word that he needed someone. I think you’ll find that most of the cops on the force would do just about anything for him.”

“I like that. I would, too.”

She watched Brayden sip his coffee. As he did, his eyes checked out the beer hall again. He wasn’t in uniform; no one would peg him as a cop. She knew she was staring at him, being way too obvious, but she couldn’t help herself. He was so attractive. He was a decade older than she was, but she had never cared about age. There was something tough in his face when he looked at everyone else and something gentle when he looked at her.

“I guess you know the stories about me, huh?” Cat asked. “I mean, not just that actor and all the craziness last winter. I suppose Stride told you about my background before then.”

“He did. A bit.”

“I was basically a hooker when Stride and Serena took me in. I was on and off the streets. I just figured you should know who you’re dealing with.” She rolled her eyes and made an L on her forehead.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. Stride told me your mother was murdered when you were a kid, and you got shunted off to some awful foster parents. Now look at where you are. Sounds to me like you’ve come a long way.”

She flushed again. “That’s sweet. Thanks.”

“I hear you have a kid,” Brayden said.

“Yeah. Well, I let another family take him. They’re great. I still see him all the time. But I know what you’re thinking. A baby at seventeen, pretty stupid.”

“I don’t think that at all. You had a child and gave him a better future, but you’re still involved in his life. He’ll grow up knowing who you are and what you did for him. That takes a lot of guts.”

“Stride gives me the same pep talk all the time.”

“Well, he’s right.”

Cat offered up a half-smile and twisted a few strands of chestnut hair nervously between her fingers. She checked her phone. “I’m sorry we’re just hanging out here. I don’t know where Curt and Colleen are. They’re late.”

“That’s okay. I’m enjoying getting to know you.”

“Well, you know pretty much everything about me, but I don’t know anything about you.”

“What would you like to know?” Brayden asked. His dark eyes were so penetrating that she felt as if she had to look away again.

“Anything, I guess. Have you always lived in Duluth?”

“No. I grew up in Minneapolis. I moved up here when I was eighteen.”

“Why Duluth?”

His mouth broke into a broader grin. He smoothed his blond hair back. “I wasn’t exactly an angel back in high school. My father and I didn’t see eye to eye on much of anything, and he didn’t want me staying in the house after I graduated. I figured it was time for a do-over in my life. I love being around the lake, so I picked Duluth. I enrolled in police training classes, and I worked as a security guard for a few years in the interim. I’ve been on the force for five years.”

“Do you like it?”

“I do.”

Cat pushed the pizza box around with her fingers. “I don’t see a ring.”

She tried to make it sound casual, and to her ears, she failed completely.

“No,” he replied. “No ring.”

“That’s surprising. I mean, you must be — that is, you probably — oh, I don’t know what I mean. I’m just surprised.”

“I dated the same girl for several years after I came here,” Brayden told her. “She’s a nurse at Essentia. We lived together for a while. I figured we’d get married, but that’s not how it went. She decided the life of a cop’s wife wasn’t for her. I respect that. It’s definitely not for everyone.”

Cat wanted him to keep talking to her. It didn’t even matter what he said. His voice had a quiet music about it that made him sound like an artist or a teacher, not a tough cop. She liked it. She thought she could listen to him for hours. But before he could say anything more, a different voice cut through the beer hall like a shrill fire alarm.

“ahoy, hoops!”

It was Curt.

He stood in the doorway, arms over his head like an Olympic champion, the usual cocky grin on his face. He sidled through the brewery, slapping palms with his friends and with total strangers. Cat winced, and she wasn’t even sure why. Her crush on Curt suddenly felt stupid and immature, as if Brayden would judge her for knowing him. All the cops in Duluth knew that Curt was a petty criminal.

“Kitty Cat!” Curt bellowed as he saw her.

He headed for the bench, dragging a short blond girl behind him. The two of them squeezed onto the wooden seat next to Cat. “Sorry we’re late. Colleen was sketching down on the Point, and we got bridged. Two boats, took forever. Anyway, we’re here! Colleen, Cat, Cat, Colleen.”

Colleen reached across Curt to shake Cat’s hand, and her grip was moist and limp. “The famous Cat,” she said, in a girlish voice that was hard to hear. “I’m Colleen Hunt.”

Curt’s new girlfriend was not what Cat had expected. She couldn’t be much older than Cat herself, definitely still in her teens. She was cute but not a beauty queen, and the intimidated look she shot Cat showed a combination of meekness and jealousy, which helped Cat’s ego. Her blond hair was straight and parted in the middle, and she had pencil-thin dark eyebrows and chocolate brown eyes. Her skin was very pale. She wore a light blue summer dress that revealed matchstick arms and legs. She didn’t look like Curt’s type, and it occurred to Cat that if Curt was dating this girl, he must really feel something for her. A better question was what a white bread suburban flower like Colleen saw in a sleazy city boy like Curt. Then again, sweet girls liked to walk on the wild side sometimes.

“Who’s the dude?” Curt asked, noticing Brayden for the first time and realizing that Cat and Brayden were together. She took a little pleasure in the fact that Curt didn’t look entirely happy about it.

Brayden extended a hand. “Officer Brayden Pell.”

Curt’s eyes narrowed at the word officer. “Oh, yeah, yeah, I know you. One of Duluth’s finest.”

“Yes, I think we’ve met a couple of times, Curt,” Brayden replied drily.

Curt didn’t say anything, but he glanced at Cat, and his eyebrows asked the question: What the hell is a cop doing here? Cat explained, and to Curt’s credit, he looked horrified to hear what had happened at the Deeps after he’d left.

“Holy hell! Are you okay, Kitty Cat?”

“I’m fine. But Stride wants Brayden to keep an eye on me for a few days.”

“You never told me someone was stalking you,” Curt complained.

“I didn’t know myself. It’s new.”

Curt eyed the bar. “Well, yikes, I need a beer to handle this news. Colly, you want something?”

“Kombucha,” Colleen replied.

“I don’t even know what the hell that is, but I love saying it,” Curt replied. He announced in a loud voice as he headed for the taps, “Kom-booooo-chaaaaahh!”

Now that Cat had Brayden with her, she felt a little more charitable about seeing Curt with his girlfriend. It wouldn’t kill her to be friendly. She smiled at Colleen and patted the seat next to her, and Colleen slid nervously over on the bench to join her.

“You and Curt look good together,” Cat said. “I’m glad to finally meet you.”

“Oh, thanks. I’m glad to meet you, too. Curt talks about you all the time, you know.”

“How’d you hook up with him?”

“I met him at the spaghetti dinner before the marathon.”

“Oh, yeah, I was there, too. Did you run the marathon this year?”

Colleen laughed. “No way! I was just a volunteer.”

“Serena runs it. She’s my — well, she’s not my mom, but she is. Anyway, she does the marathon every year now, but I think she’s nuts.”

“I’m with you on that,” Colleen said.

“Do you still go to school? Are you off this summer?”

Colleen shook her head. “I work full-time. I graduated last year and didn’t feel like college. I wanted to get my own apartment right away, so I found a cheap sublet in the Central Hillside, and I got a job at Miller Hill Mall. It’s not much, just a kiosk thing, drawing caricatures. I’ve got a couple of other part-time gigs, too. I’d love to be an artist full-time, but that doesn’t pay the bills.”

“Wow, good for you.” Cat was impressed on both counts. The Central Hillside was a rough area of downtown, and Colleen didn’t look like Hillside material.

“Kitty Cat, over here!”

Cat glanced at the bar taps and saw Curt waving at her. He shouted across the beer hall, attracting attention.

“Over here!” he called again.

Colleen smirked. “Watch out. I think you’re getting fixed up.”

“What?”

“Curt has a friend working the taps. Wyatt. He’s into you. Says he’s seen you around.”

“Oh, yeah. Curt mentioned him. Is he cute?”

“Well, he’s a woodsy type.”

“What does that mean?”

“Beard. Dreadlocks. Likes to hunt wabbits. I’m kidding about that. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s a nice guy, just quirky. Curt and I hang out with him at his place sometimes. He lives in my building, and he mostly listens to opera, plays with his cat, and smokes weed.” She eyed Brayden across the table. “You didn’t hear that.”

The cop smiled. “Hear what?”

“Anyway, who knows?” Colleen went on. “Maybe you’ll like him.”

Cat sighed, because she didn’t think that was likely, but she knew Curt wouldn’t give up until she went over to the bar. She glanced at Brayden and said, “Do I need a permission slip to leave?”

The cop chuckled. “No, go have fun. I’ll be here.”

Cat got off the bench and pushed through the crowd. She drew stares from the men in the beer hall, as she always did. It didn’t matter who they were, young, old, married, single. She was used to the looks. When she got to the taps, Curt took her by the shoulders and shoved her to the front. He waved at a skinny white boy in a tie-dye T-shirt and jeans, who was pouring a #21 ale. “Wyatt! She’s here! Cat’s here!”

Wyatt wandered her way with the bow-legged walk of a cowboy and handed the IPA across the bar to Curt. He wiped his hands on a towel and then extended one for Cat to shake. When he spoke, his boyish voice was more like a mumble. “Wyatt Miller. Really nice to meet you.”

“Cat Mateo.”

Curt picked up a glass of kombucha from the bar along with his beer and headed back to the bench. “You two talk! I have to get this to Colly.”

Cat opened her mouth to protest being left alone, but Curt had already disappeared into the crowd. She forced a smile onto her face for Wyatt, and he smiled back at her. He wasn’t bad-looking, but Colleen was right that he was woodsy. He wore an orange bandanna, and his reddish-blond dreadlocks dangled from his head and tumbled over his shoulders like a den of snakes. He had a gold, wispy beard. His nose was wide and flat, his cheeks sunburnt red, and he had very pale eyebrows over brown eyes. The smile he gave her was a little shy and reserved. He was probably in his early twenties.

“Can I get you something?” Wyatt asked. “I mean, not beer. I know you’re only eighteen. But if you want pop or tea or coffee or whatever. On the house.”

His nervousness made him ramble.

“I’m fine,” Cat said. “Curt says you’re new in town.”

“Yeah, I got here a month ago. I used to live in Boulder, but I figured, water over mountains.”

“Sure.”

“What about you? You grow up here?”

“Yup, I’m a Duluth girl.” She searched for something to say. “Colleen says you like opera.”

“Love it. What about you?”

“Um, it’s okay, I guess. I don’t know much about it. I hear you have a cat.”

“Me? No.”

“Colleen said you liked to play with your cat.”

“Well, my neighbors have a cat, and I let him into my apartment sometimes. He keeps me company.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What about you? Does Cat have a cat?”

“No. No cat.”

A full minute of silence followed. This was unquestionably one of the least promising fix-ups of Cat’s entire life.

“Well, I should get back to my friends,” she said.

“Sure. Sure. I understand. Listen, do you mind if I call you sometime? The thing is, I’ve seen pictures and thought you were gorgeous, but meeting you in person, I was so wrong. You’re like one of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever met.”

Damn.

She couldn’t simply dump him after he said that.

“Tell you what, give me your number, and I’ll call you,” Cat said.

“Cool.”

Wyatt bent over and scribbled something on a small piece of paper. His dreadlocks dangled over his face as he wrote. He folded the note and pushed it across the bar. “It was great to meet you, Cat.”

She fingered the paper in front of her. “Yeah. Same here.”

“See ya,” Wyatt said.

“See ya.”

He headed down the row of taps to wait on another customer. Cat idly took the paper with his phone number in her hand. She didn’t want to crumple it and throw it away in case Wyatt was still watching. Instead, she flipped it open.

When she did, her head shot up, looking to see if Wyatt was staring back at her. And he was. He poured beer at the other end of the bar, but he watched her with the same smile on his face he’d been wearing all along. Like he was waiting to see what she would do.

Like he was daring her to notice.

Cat tried to hide her reaction. She forced herself to smile back, and then she practically ran to get away from the bar.

She had the note in her hand with Wyatt’s name and phone number.

It was written in lime-green marker.