Dairy-Free Death

by P. D. Workman

  Erin bit her lip and refrained from pointing out that Vic was only eighteen. Still practically a baby. Willie wasn’t going to pursue someone so much younger than he was. Erin was much closer to his age. At some point, Vic was going to have to start mixing with the kids her own age. How much could an eighteen-year old have in common with a man almost twenty years her senior?

  “How about we just cross that bridge when we come to it. I don’t want to be competing with you, but I don’t want to say I’m going to limit my options either… because I do like him.”

  Vic considered this, biting her lip and staring down at her plate. She had eaten a few bites of the lasagna and vegetable sides, but she seemed to have lost her appetite.

  “Okay,” she said finally.

  Erin could tell that Vic had hoped Erin would give her a wide berth, promising that she wouldn’t pursue Willie romantically.

  “Give him a call.” Erin took another bite of her lasagna. It was sweet and spicy and tasted just the way lasagna should. “Let me know whether you want to invite him over here or go out. I’ll stay out of your way in the attic if you want to talk here.”

  Vic nodded. “Okay. Thanks.” She took her plate over to the garbage and proceeded to scrape it into the garbage. Orange Blossom complained and stood up with his paws on the garbage can, trying to get at the food. Vic gave in and put a spoonful into his dish. He proceeded to gobble it down, allowing her to scrape the rest into the garbage.

  An hour later, Erin was upstairs in her attic hideaway, and Vic and Willie were in the living room talking. Erin had relocated all of Clementine’s genealogy books and some of her research files to the attic. She was hoping that if she went through the research files, she could find out where Clementine had gotten the information about Erin’s parents and their death dates. She obviously hadn’t just made it up. She had seen or been told the wrong information, and Erin wanted to see the source material.

  There didn’t seem to be much order to the research files. They were organized loosely into families, but the folder that held the Price family research was bulging with dog-eared notes, letters, and clippings. Erin went through the first few pages, looking for some sort of order so that she would know where to start. But they didn’t seem to be in any kind of chronological order, with material from the 1850s mixed in with obituaries from the 1980s and a letter from a cousin that was undated.

  “Come on, Clementine,” Erin muttered. “What kind of record-keeping is this?”

  Everything in the genealogy books was so carefully documented and filed that she had expected to find the research in the same state. But obviously, Clementine had only organized the end result. All of the research was just put randomly into the folder once she had noted the details contained in the family trees.

  So, Erin did the only thing she could and started going through the Price research file one page at a time. She scrutinized each clipping carefully, then turned it over and placed it face-down on the other side of the folder and picked up the next.

  They were names that she didn’t recognize. She knew they would be in the book that held her family tree, and that if she were diligent, she would be able to find each of the names on the charts, all of them tracing back to her somehow. But she wasn’t interested in all of the other names. She wanted to find her parents’ names.

  Even so, some of the clippings pulled her in. Stories of her ancestors who had lived on the mountain. Or relatives who had gone off to war or sea or to follow the railway or pursue other adventures. Some had returned, and some hadn’t. It was fascinating to see the color that wove through her family’s past. And every one of Clementine’s bulging research folders held more information like that, different branches of the family, all coming and going and marrying and having children. And dying. There were a lot of obituaries. Some of them revealed fascinating details about the deceased or their families, and some of them were sparse, with next to no information other than a birth and death date.

  There were sheets of ruled paper with Clementine’s careful handwriting. Items she was researching or notes she made from books or microfilm she had borrowed. The copies of old letters interspersed between the pages were strangely compelling windows into the past. She found it hard not to keep flipping through them, even though she knew that the ancient letters had nothing to do with her parents’ deaths. They were much too old.

  There was a movement nearby, and Erin looked at the stairs to see if Vic were coming up to talk to her. There was no sign of her. Just the noise of the house settling. Maybe a wind was picking up outside, a branch rubbing against the house. She strained her ears and could still hear Vic’s and Willie’s voices from the living room. They sounded light, laughter interspersed through their conversation. Erin looked back down at her folder.

  Erin was afraid that she was going to skip over something important. She couldn’t stop to read everything, but she was also worried that she was going to skim over something too quickly and miss an important clue. She didn’t want to have to go through the file more than once. Maybe she would return to it just to browse through family stories for entertainment, but she didn’t want to have to keep combing it for details about her parents.

  “Come on, Clementine. It was important. How far is it buried in here?”

  She leafed ahead through the folder, delving farther and farther down to see if she could tell how long it was since Clementine had collected the clippings. Clementine’s lined notes had dates on them, and if the order of the collection had been maintained then, as if it were an archeological dig, all she should have to do was to find the approximate placement of notes that Clementine had made around the time of Erin’s parents’ deaths. Then she could look more carefully for anything relevant. Looking for those lined papers, Erin dug down to the beginning of the research folder. The notes didn’t start until after Clementine’s retirement. Which made perfect sense. Only then would she have had the time to devote to her hobby. But that was ten years after Erin’s parents’ death. Which meant that Erin was either looking for a different folder which held information Clementine had collected or noted around the time of their deaths, or she hadn’t searched out their death dates until after her retirement, and it was buried somewhere in the thick pile of papers Erin held, and she needed to continue to search out the information one page at a time.

  Erin sighed.

  There was another muffled noise. Erin looked toward the stairs again. There was a stealthy movement. But she could still hear Vic’s and Willie’s voices in the distance, not close to the stairs. Erin put a paperweight on top of each stack of papers in the folder, the ones she had looked through and the larger pile of papers still to be reviewed, to make sure that they wouldn’t drift or be carelessly bumped, disturbing her order. She moved around the desk and tiptoed over to the stairs to peer down.

  Orange Blossom was on the stairs. Still only two steps from the bottom. He had something in his mouth that he was dragging up the stairs. His body was partially blocking it, so Erin couldn’t tell what it was.

  “Kitty, kitty?”

  Orange Blossom startled and looked up at her, dropping whatever he was holding. He looked up at her for a moment, his mouth slightly open, like he held it when he smelled something funky. He let out a yowl.

  “Shh. I’m right here. No howling.”

  He bent down again to pick up his toy, whatever it was he was trying to bring to her. Erin supposed that Vic was busy with her visit with Willie and wouldn’t play with him. She made a clicking noise with her tongue and watched Orange Blossom to see whether he was actually going to make it the rest of the way up the stairs, and not just start crying for her like he usually did. The kitten continued to work his way up the steps, placing his paws tentatively as if testing whether each platform would hold his weight, moving up it nearly turned backward as he dragged his toy up with him.

  Erin caught a glimpse of the gray fur. Her stomach lurched. She let out a yelp.

  “Vic?”
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  The voices in the living room quieted. There were a few seconds of silence.

  “Vic?” Erin called again, trying to keep her voice steady. “Can you come here a sec?”

  In a moment, Vic appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Hey, he’s climbing!” Vic observed, delighted.

  “Can you see what he’s got? I think… he’s caught a rat.”

  “A rat?” Vic leaned closer to Orange Blossom, not wanting to scare him off of the stairs after he’d been brave enough to start up them. “Ugh. Really, Blossom?”

  Orange Blossom worked his way up another step. Vic moved back and forth for a better look, then laughed.

  “It’s not a rat, Erin. It’s okay.”

  “Is it a mouse? A bat? What? It’s so big!”

  “No, I think it’s just a bit of fur he found in the sewing room.”

  Erin remembered the leopard-spotted faux fur she had put into the kitten’s nesting basket the first night she had brought him home, trying to find a way to comfort him so that he would stop crying. Whatever Orange Blossom had, it wasn’t leopard-spotted, but he might have dug through Clementine’s scraps and found something else that interested him.

  She clicked her tongue again for the kitten. He looked up at her, the fur piece still hanging out of his mouth, and continued to work his way up the steps. Finally, he was at the top. He set his piece of fur down, sat on his haunches, and started to wash. Erin could confirm for the first time that it was, in fact, fake gray fur, the piece a little curled to give the appearance of a long, thin body.

  “You’re right. It’s just a piece of fur,” Erin told Vic, feeling her face flushing with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you and Willie.”

  “It’s okay,” Vic assured her. “I’m just happy to see he finally figured out how to get up there.”

  “Backward,” Erin laughed. “Hopefully, he’ll figure out how to do it forward at some point!”

  “He will.” Vic yawned. She held her hand in front of her mouth. “I guess… we should probably be heading to bed soon. I don’t want to jam you up in the morning again. I’ll say goodbye to Willie.”

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt you. If you want longer…”

  “No. I know you didn’t mean to. You just needed to be rescued from a mouse.”

  “From a rat,” Erin protested. “That’s way too big for a mouse.”

  The piece of fur was almost ferret-sized. It would have freaked anyone out.

  Vic chuckled as she withdrew, headed back toward the living room again. Erin crouched down on her heels, watching Orange Blossom.

  “You’re feeling quite proud of yourself, aren’t you?” she asked him. “Catching yourself a big ol’ mouse and bringing it all the way upstairs to me. Is this supposed to be dinner?”

  She reached out to pick up the piece of fur, the end a little wet from the kitten’s mouth. As she picked it up and pulled it away, Orange Blossom pounced, grabbing the piece of fur back and wrestling it ferociously to the ground. He bit it repeatedly, rolled over onto his back and kicked at it with his powerful back legs, and let out wild snuffling noises as if it were fighting back against him. Erin was tempted to give the fur a little twitch to wind him up even further, but she was mindful of his pointy bits. She didn’t want to get all scratched up. It seemed like she always had long kitten-claw marks on her hands and arms since Orange Blossom’s arrival.

  “Now that you got up here… it’s time to go to bed.”

  The kitten ignored her. Erin made lip-smacking noises. “Blossom. Kitty, kitty?”

  He stopped and looked at her, ears pricking up. He flipped back over and sat up, looking more dignified. “I’ll get you a treat before bed. How would you like that?”

  Erin turned the light off and started down the stairs. Orange Blossom tumbled down behind her, and then past her. By the time he got to the bottom of the stairs, he had regained his feet and raced down the hall ahead of her into the kitchen. She was always amazed at how much he seemed to understand from her, whether it was from her words or just her body language or usual habits.

  “I’m just getting Orange Blossom a treat,” Erin called out as she headed past the living room without looking in. “Do you want anything?”

  “Not kitty treats,” Vic teased.

  Erin followed Orange Blossom into the kitchen and got him a couple of soft treats from the can in the pantry. The cat danced around her feet when he heard the shaking of the canister. He chirped and purred and rubbed up against her leg. When she held the treats in her hand, he tried to jump up to reach them. At least he no longer tried to climb her legs like a tree. Usually. She tossed one of the treats, and he dove after it and pounced on it. He batted it across the slippery floor, careening around behind it like some crazed stock-car driver. Eventually, he trapped the treat under one paw and gobbled it up. He looked over at Erin expectantly. She tossed him a second treat, and the fun was repeated. Erin had one last treat for him and then shut off the lights.

  She heard Vic shut the front door.

  “You can leave the light on,” Vic called out. “I’m going to get a cup of tea before bed.”

  Erin flipped the switch back on again. Orange Blossom ran by her and raced toward the sound of Vic’s approaching feet.

  “Look out!” Erin called.

  But the warning came too late. Vic yelped as Orange Blossom attacked her feet in a frenzy of play. Erin looked around the corner and watched Vic tumble the kitten onto his back and scrub his belly with her fingertips. Orange Blossom tried to grasp Vic’s hand with all four paws and bit at her hand. Vic rubbed his face with her other hand, pushing his biting teeth back. She picked Orange Blossom up and held the furry bundle against her chest, trapping him there with both hands and holding him still until he calmed and stopped struggling.

  “Sh, now. It’s bedtime,” she crooned.

  Orange Blossom looked at Erin, his eyes still wide, pupils huge and black.

  “No, I’m not rescuing you. She’s right. It’s time for sleep. Not play.”

  Erin went to the bathroom to brush her teeth and get ready for bed. When she got out, Vic put the kitten down on the floor, releasing him slowly. Orange Blossom got his legs under him, and stalked off down the hall to Erin’s bedroom. He jumped up onto her bed, ignoring his own little nest, and waited for her.

  “Night, Vic,” Erin called.

  “Good night.” Vic’s voice floated back from the kitchen. Erin slid under her covers and waited while Orange Blossom kneaded the blankets, cuddled his body against hers, and washed himself thoroughly. Then he was finally still, and she could go to sleep.

  Chapter Fourteen

  VIC HAD BEEN QUIET all morning as they first prepared for the day and then made their way over to the bakery to get everything ready for the first phalanx of customers. Erin vacillated between prodding Vic to find out what was wrong and giving her time to just work it through on her own.

  Vic looked up from the labels she was printing to catch Erin staring at her. Instead of looking away, Erin raised an eyebrow in question. Vic looked back down at the labels and printed a couple more.

  “Glad you’re doing that today,” Erin told her. “I can’t tell you how many times yesterday I had to clarify what something was or how much it cost because the customers couldn’t read them.”

  “We should keep them from one day to the next, instead of rewriting them every day.”

  “I suppose. Anything we have regularly, we could just keep the label for next time. I just like the way they look when they’re fresh and new each day.”

  Vic nodded. Erin puttered around putting everything straight. It was much faster to get everything ready when the two of them were there.

  “I sure missed you yesterday.”

  “How am I ever going to find someone who will be interested in me?” Vic demanded.

  “Uh, sorry?”

  “I thought maybe… we’ve done things with Willie a few times, a
nd I’ve always gotten on with him, so I thought… maybe he would be interested. But he’s not. He’s friendly, but he’s not… he’s not any closer. And not… going to get closer.”

  Erin bit the inside of her cheek, thinking about it. She was relieved to hear that Willie wasn’t interested in pursuing a romantic relationship with Vic. But at the same time, she felt bad for her friend. Vic deserved to have someone. Erin felt guilty about being interested in two men, when Vic didn’t have anyone. She was such a pretty, lovely girl; she should have a whole flock of boys around her. Young men around her age who were interested in spending time with her. But Vic was in bed early every night, not hanging out at the bar or any night spot either in Bald Eagle Falls or in the city. They had to be up early, so she just couldn’t. Even on weekends. Erin should hire someone who could at least help on weekends so that Vic could go out and have a bit of a social life.

  Only, going to bed early wasn’t the only problem. Now that Vic’s background was out in the open, it was going to be a lot harder for her to find anyone who was interested in a romantic relationship. Between the backwoods rednecks and the Bible-Belt Christians, there wasn’t much tolerance for someone who was transgender. Or anyone else with questionable moral standing in the community.

  “I’m not that bad-looking,” Vic insisted, bringing Erin back out of her own contemplation of the matter.

  “No! You’re very pretty. I certainly don’t think it’s anything to do with your looks. It’s just that… people around here aren’t very accepting of differences. If you were a different race or religion, it would be just the same.”

  “Not quite just the same.”

  “Well, maybe not. But you would have trouble then, too.”

  “I really thought… I had a chance with Willie. He’s the only one who has been interested in doing anything together. And we both like caves, unlike you. I thought that would help. There can’t be a lot of girls who would share his interest in caves and minerals and all.”

  “There’s a big age gap, though. He’s old enough to be your dad. He likes you; I know he does. He cares. But more from a fatherly perspective.”