Theresa Weir: The Girl with the Cat Tattoo

Melody put up both hands and shouted: “Stop! Stop this right now!”

Everybody stopped. The audience leaned forward.

“We are not getting married.”

“Wouldn’t it be a great thing to tell your kids and your grandkids?” Ellen said. “And just think, no need to send out wedding invitations. No need to spend months planning the event. We can do it here. Now.”

Melody scooped up Max. “Thank you, Ellen. I appreciate the offer, but Joe and I aren’t getting married.”

“Well, if you change your mind you know where to find me.”

The audience laughed.

With Max in her arms, Melody strode off the stage and headed down the narrow hall to the green room.

“What’s wrong with you?” Melody said as soon as the door shut behind them.

Joe blinked in surprised.

He did look a little funny. He grabbed her hand and pulled it to his face, kissing her palm. She jerked it away.

“I thought it seemed like a great idea,” he said.

“Are you drunk?”

He’d been so nervous before the show. Nervous and in pain. Now he seemed way too mellow.

“I had a couple of drinks. Just to relax.”

“On top of your painkillers?”

“I know. Bad idea. But I didn’t want to make a fool of myself out there.”

She laughed, and the sound seemed to encourage him. He put his arms around her and backed her up to the wall. His hands were suddenly moving up and down her sides, and his head dipped for a kiss. Which she thought about. For a second. Before slipping out from under his arm, leaving him facing a bare wall.

He swung around. “I think we should get married.”

“Marriage isn’t a joke.”

“I know.” He looked at Max. “Think about Max. We could give him the stable home life he needs.”

“He has a stable home life.”

“I know, I know.” He waved a hand, erasing his words. “I still think it’s a good idea.”

“I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for one thing, you the same as lied to me. I could never be with someone who lies to me.”

“I couldn’t tell you the truth.”

“And for another, I can’t be with a cop. I just can’t.”

“What if I got another job?”

“What?”

“What if I quit being a cop?”

“You’d do that? For me?”

“Yes.” He seemed surprised by his answer, digested it a while, then drove it home. “I would. For you, I would.”

“You’re drunk. Well, stoned. Whatever. High. And even if you weren’t, I could never ask a person to change for me. To become somebody else for me.”

“We’re talking about a job, not my core beliefs.”

“What would you do?”

“Work full time at the shelter.”

But she could already see the idea sucking the identity out of him. Her dad could never give up his music, his band, no matter what. And Melody could never give up her children’s books, or Max. Joe couldn’t give up being a cop.

“It won’t work, Joe. It just won’t work. You’d end up hating me. Resenting me.” She put Max in his pink pet carrier, zipping the zipper. “Come on. Let’s go home.” But inside she wondered… What if she hadn’t stormed off the stage? What if she’d gone along with the marriage? Maybe sometimes you just had to dive in, because if you thought about something too long… If you thought about anything too long, you could always find a millions reasons why it wouldn’t work. And sometimes life could pivot on a moment, a second, a heartbeat.

“Let’s go home,” she repeated, and this time her throat was tight, and she felt ready to cry.

A limousine took them directly from the Ellen DeGeneres Show to LAX. The ride was silent, and Melody had no idea what Joe was thinking. If he was coming down from his high, he was probably thinking he’d dodged a bullet.

The flight back to the Twin Cities was uneventful, with all three of them dozing off and on. Joe kept shifting in his seat, wincing in pain, but he was unwilling to take anything. “We’ll be home soon,” he said.

We’ll be home soon .

But they wouldn’t be going to the same homes.

The descent into the Minneapolis-Saint Paul International Airport always seemed the longest part of the flight, especially at night. Melody leaned forward and watched for recognizable landmarks like Foshay Tower and the Metrodome, I-494 and the Mall of America. The plane circled and came in low over Saint Paul.

Joe leaned close to share the window. “We’re going right over Frogtown and Midway.”

“One of those lights could be my street, my house,” Melody said.

“Fair Grounds.” Joe pointed.

They’d talked about going to the state fair together in the fall, the Great Minnesota Get-Together. That wouldn’t be happening. In some ways, Melody wished she’d never found out about Joe. Wished she could go back in time to before she’d discovered his secret. Back when everything was wonderful between them.

Their plane landed, and pretty soon they made their way to the parking ramp where they piled into Joe’s car. Melody imagined crawling into bed with Max, maybe making a cup of hot chocolate, watching some television, trying to forget about the man in the seat beside her.

Fifteen minutes later, Joe pulled up in front of Melody’s house.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” Joe said.

She looked at him. “That’s okay. Your leg hurts. Get home. Take some painkillers.”

He didn’t listen.

He carried her small case while she carried Max. The sidewalk ran next to the house, and they followed it around to the back door.

Which stood ajar.

Melody let out a gasp, and Joe stepped in front of her, pushing her behind him. His hand went inside his jacket; he cursed under his breath. No gun.

He squeezed her arm, silently transmitting his need for her to stay where she was. He entered the house, flipping on the overhead light.

In movies, they never turned on the lights. That’s what Melody was thinking.

Her heart slammed in her chest. What if someone was inside? What if that someone had a gun? Like that other time?

She dropped Max’s cat carrier-gently-and ran into the house, shouting Joe’s name.

Joe swung around and looked at her in dismay. “Melody.” It was a warning to stay back. “Go outside. Call 9-1-1. Wait for the police to come.”

Silly, she thought, because he was the police. But he wasn’t in uniform. He didn’t have a gun. He didn’t have backup. Just a girl and her cat.

“Go outside,” Joe repeated.

“Not without you.” And then she saw the mess. The kitchen had been ransacked; broken dishes and glass littered the floor. “Oh, my cat coffee mug,” she said sadly.

Joe grabbed a broom. At first Melody thought he was going to start cleaning up. How strange. Instead, he grasped the handle in both hands and held it like a bat, moving deeper into the house. Lamps were broken, couch cushions scattered.

On to the bedroom. More of the same.

Not just ransacked but destroyed. “Why would someone do this?” Melody said.

Joe shook his head while he scanned the room, checking under the bed and in the closet. “Most thieves do very little damage. This is something else. I don’t like it.”

He moved through the house, methodically checking every area where someone could hide. Melody pulled out her cell phone and called 9-1-1.

Within minutes, sirens were blaring and lights were flashing, bouncing off the walls of the living room. Questions were asked. “Anything missing?”

“I don’t know,” Melody said. “Everything is such a mess.”

Notes were taken. And that was it.

“Someone will be getting in touch with you,” an officer said. And then the sirens and the cops were gone.