Mango Crush

by Bill H Myers

  I headed for the kitchen, and she followed, probably making sure I didn't fall on the way.

  I took a chair at the same table where we'd eaten our cheese and crackers and watched as she went about getting our meal together. She was efficient in her movement and seemed to know what she was doing.

  After she put the rice in the cooker and had the salmon poaching in juice, she poured herself another glass of wine and came over to sit with me at the table.

  She took a sip and asked, “Any questions?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, when did you start driving a minivan? Last time I saw you, you were driving a Jeep. Did you get tired of it and decide to join the ranks of soccer moms?”

  She didn't answer right away. She just looked at me like maybe I had something on my face. I checked but didn't find anything.

  She finally said, “I still have the Jeep and I drive it every day. But when I got the call telling me you were in the hospital, they said if you survived you might need a wheelchair to get around. I figured a wheelchair wouldn't fit in the Jeep, so I rented a minivan and drove it over here.

  “I didn't think I'd like it, but it's growing on me. Leather seats, doors that open automatically and lots of room inside. When I'm in it, it's like I'm incognito. No one notices another white minivan in Florida.”

  I nodded and asked, “So, if we wanted to rob a bank, we'd take the minivan, right?”

  She laughed. “Yeah, we'd take the van. No one would even notice our getaway.” Then she asked, “I have a question about your cat. How did he get his name? Mango Bob. Where did that come from?”

  I was pretty sure she'd asked the same question the last time we were on the road. I'd given her the answer then and knew she remembered.

  She probably asked again so I would have something to talk about while we waited for dinner.

  The long version involved two women and me driving across the country to deliver the cat to one of them. Telling Abby about the two women might have raised some questions I didn't want to answer. So, just as I had before, I told her the short version. The one where I skip over the women involved and just focus on the cat.

  It went like this.

  “A sister of a friend was living by herself on Mango Street in Englewood. She didn't have any pets and no desire to get one. But one morning after a heavy tropical downpour, she woke to the sound of something crying outside her door.

  “When she went to investigate, she found a tiny kitten, shivering and covered in mud. It was wet, scared and hungry. And all alone.

  “She couldn't bear to hear it cry, so she took it in, dried it off, and made a bed where it could stay. While the kitten slept, she went to the store, bought kitten food, a litter box, and litter. She wanted to make the little creature comfortable even though she didn't plan on keeping it for long.

  “She told herself she'd nurse it back to health then find it a good home.

  “When she took it to the vet for a checkup, they wanted to know the kitten's name. She had just been calling him ‘Cat’ but was afraid the vet might get him mixed up with another cat, so she came up with a new name. Mango Bob.

  “Bob, because he had a bobtail. And Mango because she found him on Mango Street.”

  “The vet entered 'Mango Bob' as his name, and that's what it has been ever since.”

  Abby nodded. “Good story. But how much did you leave out? Maybe some juicy details about the woman in Arkansas and the other one in Florida.”

  It was unnerving that Abby knew about the woman being from Arkansas. I hadn't included that detail in my first or second telling. I should have been surprised that she knew, but I wasn’t. Her knowing had something to do with her gift. At least, that's what she wanted people to think.

  I'd seen it before; she knew little details about things that she shouldn't have. Sometimes she'd know when someone was coming or when something bad had happened to them.

  Her ability to seemingly read my mind was kind of scary, but I had seen other things she could do that were far more impressive.

  Rather than elaborate on the woman from Arkansas, I decided to change the subject.

  I pointed at the stove and said, “You might need to check the food; it smells like it's done.”

  She shook her head, got up from the table and headed to the stove. On the way, I heard her whisper, “Sarah and Molly. That's their names.”

  She was right. There was no way she should have known about them. But she did.

  I ignored her comment and watched as she took the salmon off the grill. She cut it into two pieces and put each on a clean plate. She added a scoop of brown rice and a few veggies then brought the dishes over to the table.

  The food looked great, and I was hungry. But before I could take a bite, Abby said, “Tell me the rest of the story. Tell me how Bob ended up living with you instead of Sarah.”

  I looked at her and smiled. “I will. After we eat.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  After dinner, I cleaned off the table and carried the dishes over to the counter by the stove. If I had felt a little better, I would have washed them instead of leaving them for Abby. She had cooked the meal, and it should have been me cleaning up after her. That's what a gentleman does; he shares the work.

  But just walking to the counter made me a little dizzy. I didn't know if I would be able to wash them by hand without keeling over, so I just rinsed them with warm water and walked back to the table where Abby was still sitting.

  When I sat, she looked up at me and said, “Tell me the rest of the story. About how you ended up with Mango Bob.”

  I shook my head. “There's not much to tell. The woman who had him wanted me to keep him for a few days while she was out of town looking for a new job. I had no reason to believe she wouldn't come back, so I agreed to take care of him while she was gone.

  “He moved into the motorhome with me, and we waited for her return. While we waited, I fed him his favorite food, cleaned his litter box, and took care of him the best I could.

  “I figured he might be a little stressed living in a new place with a new person, so I bought him some treats and a few toys. I even played toss the string with him.

  “After a few days, he seemed content with his new living arrangements. He staked out his favorite places, including the window by my bed, and would talk to me whenever he wanted something. Usually, it was for more food or a toy to play with.

  “I was starting to enjoy his company, but I kept telling him that his time with me in the motorhome was just temporary. He'd soon be back with his person, and he'd probably never see me again.

  “I doubt that he understood what I was saying, but if he did, it didn't seem to upset him.

  “After a week and no word from Sarah about when she was coming back, I started to worry.

  “Maybe something had happened to her. Maybe she was in the hospital. Or maybe her car broke down, and she couldn’t travel.

  “Whatever it was, I wanted to check and offer my help if she needed it. I texted her and called. But she didn't reply to my text and didn't answer her phone.

  “I tried to reach her for weeks, calling and texting, but she never answered. Eventually, her phone number was turned off, and I didn't know any other way to reach her.

  “Fearing the worst, I asked her friends if they knew where she was or if she was in trouble.

  “But her friends hadn't heard from her either. All they knew was she'd left town for her new job and hadn't been back since. When I asked her best friend if she had a phone number for the new job, she gave it to me. I called and was told she no longer worked there.

  “I explained I was a close friend worried about her, and they told me that when she left, she said something about getting a job on a cruise ship. They didn't know the name of the cruise line or if the ship was even based in the States.

  “All they knew was she was gone. She’d left without providing a forwarding address or contact information.

  “After two months without heari
ng from her, I started to think she wasn't coming back. After four months, I pretty much accepted it. She wasn't coming back, and Bob was my responsibility.”

  Abby nodded. She'd heard the story before, but she pretended like she hadn't. It was kind of her to do that.

  Talking about how I ended up with Bob made me realize how much he had become a part of my life. Since moving into the motorhome with me, we were always together. He traveled with me on every trip and kept me company along the way. No matter what was going on in my life, he was there for me. In return, he just wanted food in his bowl, a clean litter box, and someone he could rely on.

  He put his trust in me, and I should have been out looking for him.

  Abby had listened to my story without saying anything. She knew I missed Bob and wanted to get him back. She had lost her own cat, to an illness. She understood the pain of losing someone so much a part of your life.

  She reached out and put her hand on mine and said, “You'll find him. I know you will, and soon. I've got this feeling he's safe. He's not hurt, but he's scared and wants you to rescue him.”

  I hoped she was right about me finding him. She'd been right about a lot of things. That was part of her gift of being able to sometimes see into the future. I didn't believe it at first, but after our last trip together, I’d become a believer. I saw her do things that should have been impossible for anyone without knowledge of the future.

  I was convinced she had a gift of some kind, and I hoped what she had said about me finding Bob was something she was seeing instead of something she was saying to make me feel better.

  Abby looked at me for a moment then asked, “How far is Mango Street from the scene of the accident? The place where he was found when he was a kitten.”

  I'd made the drive several times and knew the answer. “About seven miles. You think he made his way back there? To Mango Street?”

  She shrugged. “I don't know, but we should check. I'll add that to the list of places we're going to tomorrow.”

  “So, you have a list of places? You want to share it with me?”

  She smiled. “Sure, no reason not to. We're going to get up early, eat breakfast, and head out in the minivan.

  “First thing we're going to do is stop at Bealls and get you some real shoes. You can't keep wearing those baby-blue hospital slippers forever.

  “After that, we're going to the impound lot where they've got your motorhome. They said if your driver's license matches the title, they'll take you to the wreck and you can look around. Maybe you'll find a few things you want to save.

  “Then, if you're not too tired, we'll grab lunch and cruise over to Mango Street. We'll see if Bob has made his way over there. If we don't find him, we'll swing by the animal shelters in Englewood and Venice. Maybe we'll get lucky.

  “That's a lot of stops, and you'll probably be pretty tired by then, so we'll come back here and rest. Later, after we eat dinner, we'll go back out looking for him. Cats usually come out after dark, and that might be our best chance to find him.

  “Anything else you want to add to the list?”

  I thought about it and couldn’t come up with anything. The thing was I wasn't sure I'd be up for it. The short twenty-minute ride from the hospital to the beach shack had made me dizzy and nauseous. No telling what spending all day in a car would do.

  Still, I smiled and said, “Sounds good to me. When are we leaving?”

  Abby pointed to my bedroom. “Depends on when you get up. Bealls opens at nine, so sometime after that. But it all depends on how you feel. Your doctor said not to overdo it. If you don't feel up to it in the morning, we'll postpone. Everything can wait another day.”

  I wasn't so sure. I felt like I needed to get out and look for Bob. It was something I had to do. No matter how I felt the next morning, I was going to hit all the places on Abby's list. Too much was at stake to sit at home while Bob was out in the wild.

  Abby pointed to the living room. “Do you want to go out on the deck, look at the stars?”

  I did. “Yeah, as long as the party boys next door have turned it down a notch. I don't want to be forced to listen to their crappy music.”

  She smiled. “You sound like an old man. You don't like their music, you don't like the way they dress, and you'd probably yell at them if they got on your lawn, assuming you had one.”

  She was right, I didn't know the people next door, but there was a growing list of things I didn't like about them. If I had felt better, I might have gone over and had a talk with them. Let them know that their loud music was bothering the neighbors. Then see where it went after that.

  Maybe they'd quiet down. But maybe they wouldn't. Maybe the men over there were full of testosterone and itching for a fight.

  It wasn’t something I could chance. Not yet. The doctor said to rest and avoid stress. Taking on the rowdy crowd next door was something he would likely frown on.

  Still, I was thinking that maybe I needed to do something about them. I didn't tell Abby. I didn't want her to worry that I might do something rash.

  She seemed to know what I was thinking because she said, “The people next door are not all bad. Maybe when you get to know them, you'll like them. Or at least learn to put up with them.”

  She patted my hand and said, “Don't worry about those people. You've had a rough week. You need to concentrate on getting better.”

  She was right. It had been a rough week. I'd almost died in an accident. My home and everything I owned was destroyed. I spent several days in a coma in the hospital, and Bob was gone.

  To make matters worse, I wasn't sure if I was getting better. The loud music and exploding fireworks had jello sloshing around in my head. I'd never had that sensation before the accident and knew it wasn't normal.

  I didn't tell Abby though. I didn't want her to worry. I'd just try to tough it out on my own.

  She patted my hand again and pushed away from the kitchen table. She walked out onto the deck to check on the neighbors’ party. I could hear the sliding door open when she went out and heard it close when she came back in.

  She said, “All quiet on the western front. The party's over, at least it sounds that way. It's safe for us to go back out.”

  I stood, and when she took my hand, she squeezed it lightly and led me out onto the deck. Sometime during the day, she had moved the lounge chairs closer together. So close that she could hold my hand while we lay in the chairs and watched the stars in the sky above.

  We saw a few meteors, listened to the incoming tide, and just vegged out. About an hour later, we headed to bed. Abby went to hers, and I went to mine.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I slept well and woke to the smell of bacon. Abby had gotten up early and cooked us breakfast.

  I stumbled into the kitchen and saw her standing in front of the stove wearing an apron and holding a spatula over a hot skillet.

  When she saw me, she said, “Morning sunshine. Glad to see you finally got up. Did you sleep well?”

  I nodded. “Yes. How about you?”

  She smiled. “I slept but woke up early. I didn't want to disturb you, so I sat on the deck and listened to the waves for a while. Then I got hungry, came in and started breakfast.

  “Now that you're out of bed, go wash up and put some clothes on. Breakfast will be ready when you come back.”

  She pointed to the clock on the wall beside the fridge. “It's already late. Get a move on.”

  The clock showed it was almost nine. About two hours later than I expected. I went back to my room, washed up, and put on the same clothes I had worn the day before. When it came to my wardrobe, I didn't have much to choose from. My real clothes, or what was left of them, were still in the motorhome. The only thing I had to wear were the clothes Abby had bought for me.

  While we ate breakfast, she went over her list again.

  “First thing, Bealls to get you some shoes. That shouldn't take more than twenty minutes.

  “Then we go to t
he impound lot in Venice. It's on Seaboard in the industrial park. I called earlier, and they said show a driver's license, pay the towing and lot fees, and you can go into your motorhome and get whatever you want.

  “They said the towing fee was six hundred dollars and there's a hundred-dollar-a-day storage fee. The total so far is thirteen hundred dollars.

  “They accept cash but prefer a credit card because you'd need the card receipt to get towing and storage fees reimbursed by your insurance company.”

  She continued, “I wasn't sure if your credit cards survived, so I checked your wallet. They are still there.

  “When we leave the impound lot, we'll go to the Venice animal shelters. There are four of them; we'll check them all. If we don't find him, we’ll check the Englewood shelters. If still no Bob, we'll cruise Mango Street, see if he made his way back to his old home.”

  She looked at the clock and said, “We've got a lot to do, but you're not going out looking like that. You haven't bathed or shaved in a week. You need to do that now. I'll be waiting on the deck when you're done. Don't take too long.”

  She left me at the kitchen table and headed out onto the deck. My marching orders had been to shower and shave. And do it quickly. Usually, I don't take orders too well, but I really did need to shower and shave. I pushed away from the table and headed to my bathroom.

  The day before, Abby had said she'd stocked it with everything I needed. Shaving cream, a razor, and deodorant. Pulling the shower curtain back, I found a bottle of shampoo/conditioner and a bar of soap.

  Clean towels were neatly stacked on a small table near the sink. Seeing that I had all I needed, I stripped off my clothes and hung them on a towel rack. The clothes were all I had, and I would need to wear them again. I turned on the shower and waited for the water to heat up. A minute later, I stepped in and let the warm water wash over me. After not showering for more than a week, it felt great.