by Jill Nojack
***
Tom heads for the kitchen to start dinner and I make my way upstairs to get rid of my heels and into something comfortable to lounge around in after we eat.
Our bed is unmade, which is weird because I know I made it this morning. Granny drilled it into me to make the bed the second I got out of it, and I took that habit home with me after the first time I stayed with her. It's not something I forget. Tom wouldn't have come up for a nap. It was his long day in the shop.
Oh well, maybe I did forget. But I sure can't leave it like this. I pull the spread back and start to straighten the sheets…and no way!
I reach out for the foreign object in the bed, and it's a pair of women's panties. A large, not-at-all sexy pair of women's white cotton panties. Granny panties. What the hells?
I hold them up in front of me at their full width, and the only thing I can think of is that these are just about Gillian's size.
That thing that catches inside me and tugs at my heart? It's tugging like mad. I'm surprised my heart even goes on beating.
"Tom?" I yell. I try not to sound frantic. This isn't what it looks like. It can't be.
"Cass? You okay?" he responds, his voice rising up the stairwell.
"No," I manage to get out before my throat closes up.
He slams up the stairs and is in the doorway before a tear has time to fall.
"Cass?" He stands there looking at me holding up the gigantic panties, the expression on his face all concern. But is it concern for me or concern that he just got caught?
"Whose are these?" I ask, forcing my voice not to quiver.
He shakes his head. "I don't know. But I'll play. Whose are they?"
I have to hand it to him, he looks genuinely surprised. "They were in our bed."
"Well, they're not mine. Not even close to the right size or style. You know that better than anyone, since you helped pick out all my modern clothes." He turns his hands up in an "I dunno" gesture. I mean, if he's acting, he's good.
"Well, I know they're not mine. So how did they get here?"
Then he catches on. "You're not really thinking…. That I?" His eyes broadcast alarm. "I would never do anything like that to you. Never."
He comes toward me with his arms out to hold me, but I stiff-arm him with the wall o' undies.
It doesn't shut him up, though. "Look, Cass, when would I even have time to lure another woman into our bed? This morning I made you breakfast and then you took off for Boston to shop. After that, I stopped to see Darrin at the animal hospital because Cat managed to get himself stung by something that has one of his paws swollen up. And then I did the laundry and had to take everything over to the Laundromat because the dryer has given up the ghost, and then I put all that stuff away and tidied up, and then I worked in the shop, and then I had to clean up after that stupid mutt turned the upstairs into a mess and chase him around to get him out of the house. I maybe had ten minutes in between that and when you got home."
When he says it that way, I kind of feel like maybe the guy's a little henpecked. And then it hits me. "What did you take to the laundry?"
"The parlor curtains, the sheets, a bunch of my stuff, and those jeans that look so hot on you."
I let out a huge breath. Wow. That stupid tarot reading is really doing me in. It makes sense now. "So, these probably got left in the dryer and stuck to the sheets when you took them out."
"Whew. Can I just say I'm glad you solved the mystery before you threw me out? Although I'm surprised I didn't find them when I made the bed. I was in a hurry, I guess. It took a lot longer to drag all the stuff over there and wait around for it to be ready than I thought it would. Didn't have a lot of time before the shop opened when I got back." He grabs the undies out of my hands and drops them in the trash. "Look, I have a nice dinner down there that isn't going to make itself. Are we good?"
"Yeah, we're good. Sorry." And then I remember the part about Darrin, our friend who uses his healing magic as a vet. "Cat's okay, right?"
"He's good. Darrin did some mumbo jumbo healing touchy-feely and gave me a salve to dunk the paw in if it gets worse."
He kisses me and then he's down the stairs. I take just a little bit longer to collect myself before I follow him. I have to stop thinking about that reading.
But wait a minute. If he made the bed, why was it messed up again? No, no. I'm not going there. Both Tom and Gillian love me. They wouldn't. I know they wouldn't.
Unless—my puppy? Oh sure—a cute little puppy messed up the bed and left some big girl's underpants in it because he's trying to break us up. Yeah, that reading has definitely made me crazy. No, it's like Tom said, they came in on the laundry.
I'm sure they did.
I keep a stealthy eye out on the middle-aged couple who are admiring the watercolors at the back of the gallery. I can only pretend to be fascinated by the flyers I'm folding for so long. I don't want to hover, but I also don't want to miss a sale because I let them walk away with unfulfilled desire in their eyes.
The watercolors are an especially nice group by a Boston artist who paints in Giles during the summer. Dash would never have a pastel landscape in the shop; these are bold, aggressive works with just a touch of nature's violence. Thinking about it, I'd say that just about sums up my own last summer in Giles.
Dash comes in from the back, where's he's been spending a lot of time in his bolt hole lately, with or without Jon. I don't even want to know what that's about. Whatever's been going on, he's not his usual flamboyant self, that's for sure. But when I ask, he says everything is okay.
But even without his normally joyful spirit, he's still an amazing salesmen. He would never push a piece of art to someone who wouldn't love it, but the second he spots the look of love between a painting and a customer, he's all over it until he's got them mated up and living happily ever after.
I can only hope to be that good some day. I mean, who doesn't want to put a painting into the hands of someone who will love it rather than someone who's looking for an investment or something with cool factor to cover a blank spot on the wall?
I ready myself to move in on the woman because she has "the look" as she gives one of the landscapes the once-twice-thrice over. Oh yeah, those two definitely want to go home together tonight.
As I start to move in, Dash glances at me, sees me heading in for the close, then heads for the couple before I go a second step.
Wow. That's not like Dash. That was just mean.
What's going on with him?
I need air.
***
It's times like this that I wish I smoked so I don't look so conspicuous just hanging out, leaning against the building, taking a break. Dash smokes, so I come out with him sometimes when there aren't any customers.
We like to people-watch. It's fun. And Dash can dish. He knows practically everybody, and the people he doesn't know, he's heard all the gossip about anyway. He's such an old biddy sometimes. I love it, though.
There's not a lot of people out on the street. It's starting to get chilly, especially at night. But Halloween—or Samhain, really—I guess I better get used to the witch name for the holiday—is still close to two weeks away, and Giles doesn't usually get wintry before then. If it does, it pretty much wrecks the annual Witching Faire.
Weather here can be a little whacked sometimes, even more in the spring than in the fall. But most years, Giles definitely gets snow by Christmas. Not that Granny celebrated it. But the town center was always lit up awfully nice.
Once Halloween—Samhain, I mean—is over, I have to ask Tom to dig out the Christmas decorations and take an inventory of what we've got when he's done putting the Halloween ones away. Granny never did much with decorations. She'd maybe put some black tinsel garlands in the window and fresh evergreen boughs on the shelves near the ceiling with the canopic jars. That smelled nice. But she just hinted at it.
I want a big-deal Christmas blowout with all the trimmings, which will be a first in that o
ld house and the shop. And presents. I completely insist on presents. Lots and lots of presents.
The black pup that's been hanging around the shop comes snuffling toward me, nose low to the sidewalk, but when he looks up and sees me, he bounds toward me gleefully.
"You'd want a fancy Christmas at the shop, wouldn't you, boy?" I say, as I squat down with my back against the wall to pet him.
Thinking about the shop, I glance down the street, and…what the heck?
Tom is getting out of Gillian's car. And he didn't just step in there for a minute for some gossip. He has to unlock the shop door before he can go in.
They went somewhere together secretly when he was supposed to be working? I reach down and cuddle the pup, looking deeply into those understanding eyes of his. It's comforting that he's here, now that I know for a fact that Tom has been sneaking around with Gillian.
I wave back to Gillian before I close the door. With me not having a driver's license since the sixties, her offer to chauffeur me to Boston really helped me out.
After I slip the shop keys back into my pocket, I check my wallet for the tenth time since we left the store to make sure the receipt is still in there. The all-important receipt.
The receipt that will make my last dream come true.
The receipt that puts a ring on Cassie's finger.
If she accepts it, I'll be the one getting the world's best Christmas gift, not her. That's why I was glad Gillian went with me—I needed someone to make sure the I got the right kind of ring, the kind Cassie would want to wear. Me? I'd probably pick out the biggest, gaudiest thing just because of the sparkles. Someone had to come with me who wouldn't succumb to cat brain when presented with shiny things.
The stone isn't much because I can't afford much. But the setting I picked is elegant, and Gillian approved. She's sure that Cassie will love it.
The shop bell rings, and I turn, expecting to greet a customer, but it's Cass. I grin automatically. She has that effect on me, but my mood dampens when the annoying stray puppy that's been hanging around trails in behind her before the door closes.
Cassie's blue eyes are narrowed into a thin line, and her candy-pink lips are pressed together tight. She's definitely not grinning back.
"Baby? Is something wrong?"
"You lied to me, Tom. You lied!" She moves toward me and slams me in the chest with the flat of her hands twice before I manage to capture them and hold them still. She struggles against me. The pup sits still behind her, watching. "You said you'd never treat me the way you treated Gillian, and yet that's who you're sneaking around with."
I feel like I've been punched in the gut. "Cass, what are you talking about? The panties? You know those came in on the sheets from the laundromat. I thought we'd gotten past that."
"You snuck off with Gillian when you were supposed to be working. I saw you get out of her car. Did you return her underwear while you were with her?"
Great. I've been rumbled. And I can hardly say I haven't been sneaking around with Gillian when I have. I force myself to stay calm, talk softly, and hold her marauding hands as gently as I can to prevent any further damage.
I'm way too aware of the dog that followed her in. It's too distracting to stay. When I'm not Cat, I haven't even got hackles, but everything in me still wants to raise them.
"You've got it wrong, babe. I know how it looks, but Gillian gave me a ride to Boston as a favor. I can't tell you what I was shopping for." She backs away from me, not struggling anymore, so I let go of her hands. I move around her as I talk then, bending to grab the dog by the scruff of the neck, open the shop door, and slide it out, letting the door slam behind it.
With my focus back, I turn to Cassie. "It would ruin the surprise if I told you where we went. There's no place to get the Christmas gift I'm getting you in Giles, and I don't have a driver's license, remember?"
Her tight, angry face relaxes a little. "It's not even Halloween yet. Why are you shopping for Christmas?"
"Like I don't know it's your favorite day of the year? I want our first Christmas together to be special. I want to surprise you. So I had to get a ride from someone."
She looks at me, appraising. She's still prickly, not ready to forgive me just yet. The pup whines from outside, paws on the door, peering in.
I lunge toward it, baring my teeth and wishing I could whip my fangs out.
"Tom, leave the poor thing alone!" Cassie makes a face at me, but the lunge worked. The dog trots away. She watches it go, then says, "Why Gillian?"
"It's a very…" I stretch for words that won't give it away but might explain my choice of driver and continue with, "…feminine gift. Robert wouldn't be much help, and Natalie would be worse. Unless you want a red handbag and matching go-go boots?"
She looks curious now. "How feminine? I sure wouldn't want Gillian picking out my lingerie."
"No guessing! It's a surprise. Unless it's the only way for me to get back on your good side?" I keep up a brave front here, but inside, I hate it. I want to go down on one knee right now. Why put it off? But I know why. Because Cassie loves Christmas, and I want to make it her best one ever. I know she feels about me the way I do about her. It will be the right time. I'm sure of it.
"I…I…" I can tell she's softening.
I take my final shot. "It would ruin what I have planned for Christmas. I mean, really ruin it."
She takes a deep breath, looking into my eyes unwaveringly, searching.
I say, "But I'll ruin it, if I have to, so that you'll believe me."
Her face works through a cycle of emotions as she thinks it over. But none of them are the angry, jealous one she wore when she walked in with that pup. Then she puts a hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry. It just looked…"
"I know. I'm sorry, too. I promise I won't sneak around with my ex again. I'll have to go into Boston one more time, but I'll let you know when we're going."
"Okay," she says. And then she gasps, fully back to normal. "I'm supposed to be working. Dash is going to kill me!"
She turns and runs out. She doesn't see the stray pup as it lopes back into the doorway, and she nearly creams it when she flings the door open. It jumps back out of danger in the nick of time. The little creep just can't stay away from her. Maybe it's just me reacting to Cat's thoughts on the matter, but I don't like that pooch one bit.
He frolics after her as she hurries away.
***
Things weren't normal between us last night when Cassie came home from the gallery, and she didn't want to talk about it. Nothing puts me on the alert more than when a woman doesn't want to talk about her feelings. Not that I could bring it up. No. Nothing to do but wait it out.
Plus, that dog was following her. I swear I hate that dog. If I really tried, I bet I could get an obsession with clearing up the stray dog population going again.
She watched some TV and said she was going to bed. I got a good night kiss, but it was a peck. An afterthought. I was sure we'd talk it out tonight, and then have great make-up sex like we did the night of the Great Panty Incident, but we didn't make love for the first time since her last moonblood.
I can't just lay here watching Cassie breathe, willing her to wake up with a smile to let me know that she's not still angry, so I take Cat out for an early morning hunt.
I guess if I was a girl who was with me, I'd worry, too. But there's no reason. The cheating Tom that got himself turned into a tomcat is long gone. I'm a one-woman man now. And Cassie is that one woman for me.
The hunt is less satisfying than usual. My thoughts crowd Cat's out and his reactions are off. When he launches himself in his first attempt at breakfast, he misses his mousey prey by a whisker. My fault. It's a good thing Cat's not much of one for assigning blame.
As I pad back to the house, we lick our lips to get the last of the blood from the mole we finally caught, despite my ruminating, disposed of before he goes in. Wise move. Cassie doesn't like to see evidence of his predatory nature. She likes to p
retend that things around Giles are nice and civilized. I guess it helps her feel safe.
A metallic crash sounds when I glide through the slats of the neighbor's fence beside the back driveway behind the shop. I stop halfway through, wary, the instinct to avoid danger kicking in hard. I hunker down, surveying my surroundings, ready for fight or flight.
That damn dog! He's knocked over a trash can again, spilled the contents, and grabbed up the underwear that got all of the mess between me and Cassie going in the first place.
That's it. Cat's going to war. Hackles rise, claws extend, and my ears skim back flat across my head.
I go in with teeth and claws blazing.
The pup yelps as Cat's claws rake across it's sensitive nose. It snaps at me, but I'm way too fast for it. I'm around behind and jump across it's back, fixing my teeth into one of its stupid, floppy ears. The smell is wretched. Dogs. Yuck. But I'm doing some serious damage.
It tries to shake me off, but I only release my grip by a fraction to swiftly get a better one.
And then I react to a swick across my backside with the business end of a broom, and I let go, more than surprised.
Cassie took a broom to me?
"In the house. And don't even try to explain this to me."
Right at the moment, I think it's best to do as I'm told.
I hear her cooing and soothing the pup as Cat stalks away to follow her instructions. I'd say Cat's pride is wounded, but that would be a lie. Cat doesn't care. He knows there will be plenty of time later on to murder that broom over and over.
When she finally comes back in, I'm dressed and waiting in the kitchen for her in the pajama pants I dashed upstairs to grab, working on her favorite cinnamon-dusted french toast for an apology breakfast. "Look, I'm sorry. But Cat's a cat. And that dog made a mess with the trash again."
"He's a helpless little puppy, Tom. And I know we can't take him in because of Cat, but if you let Cat attack him like that one more time…"