by Lissa Kasey
If he felt this awful and Tuck wasn’t even his, he could only imagine how bad Jamie felt. Jamie seemed to have shut down. He stared at the floor, hands fisted at his sides, jaw set. Nate threw off his own anxiety and scooted over the put his arms around Jamie. “It will be okay,” he told Jamie.
“It won’t,” Jamie replied, tone flat. “Cancer is…” He let out a long sigh. “Horrific.”
“But Tuck has us.”
“We can’t save him from this. Not if it’s cancer.”
“No. We can’t save him. But we can love him. Give him an amazing life in the time he has left,” Nate pointed out. The grief almost broke him, but he held back because Jamie was in his arms then, wrapped around him, heart-wrenching sobs muffled in Nate’s shoulder.
“It’s not fair,” Jamie sniffled. “He should have had more time.”
Nate realized in that moment why Jamie hadn’t taken in cats in so long. And the dogs were outside, living mostly out of the backyard and the barn. It was a separation. Compartmentalization of grief. Like Jamie had said he’d written his book. Sections that didn’t flow together. How many dogs had he lost over the years while trying to save them? Probably a handful at the very least. Keeping them separate, knowing they would move on eventually to new homes, helped Jamie keep from loving them when they would just leave him in the end. The cats had come in and much like they always do, taken over his world. He’d rescued them and fallen hard for them. Nate saw it every time Jamie scooped up one of his little monsters and snuggled it. The twins even let him, though most of the time they couldn’t be bothered with people as they were too busy playing or snoozing.
Harry would be a brutal loss as well. Jamie let him in the house in the winter. Took him for walks and treated him more like the cats than the dogs. Nate could tell that Jamie had tried to keep his distance, creating the separate outside space for the animals. But some had crept into his heart anyway. Invisible barriers masquerading as conveniences for the animals.
Nate had learned a lot about barriers in therapy. Some were necessary, some protected them from their own emotions until collapsing under the weight of it and nearly crushing them.
Nate squeezed Jamie tight, rubbing his back and telling him comforting things. Grief was more than the feeling of loss or missing someone. It was a feeling of failure, a helplessness, and a vulnerability. Love made people weak in the same way it built up strength. Love could make anyone more confident, or codependent.
A tech brought Tuck back after a while. He was groggy and cranky. Nate took him carefully, cradling him like a baby even while the cat drooled all over his shirt. Jamie reached out to pet his cat, but didn’t try to take him. He looked miserable. Nate uttered calm and sweet things to the cat, feeling like he was saying stuff for the benefit of the man as well.
The doctor popped his head in a minute later. “Let me get the steroid ordered for you and you can pick it up on your way home. We already gave him the antibiotic shot and that will last for two weeks. His lab tests should be back any minute for his bloodwork.”
Both Nate and Jamie nodded, too focused on Tuck to care about much else. Tuck’s one remaining eye was huge and blue, but blinking slowly with exhaustion. Nate slow-blinked back, hoping to assure the cat that things were okay. He’d read once that a long slow blink in a cat was a sign of trust and love.
“It’s amazing,” Nate said.
“What is?” Jamie asked.
“How much Tuck trusts us. You never gave details of the case you rescued him from, but I know it was bad.”
Jamie let out a long breath. “That was the beginning of the end of my police career. Some of the worst of humanity I’ve ever seen. When we found Tuck, he was covered in filth, fleas, and his hair was so matted I wasn’t sure he could move without something hurting. Had to shave him down to almost nothing to get all of it out and clean. Never once took a swipe at me.”
Nate smiled and kissed the cat’s head again. Like Bastian had said, animals just knew good people. “He knew.”
“He knew he’d met a sucker in me,” Jamie said. “That I’d be taking his growly little butt home and giving him a cushy life.”
“And loving him to pieces to the end of his days,” Nate pointed out.
Jamie looked away and fought his tears again for a minute. Tuck purred like a racecar in Nate’s arms. Nate rocked him a little until the cat closed his eyes and set his nose into the crook of Nate’s elbow. He could not have been a happier cat in that moment, Nate was positive.
Dr. Warren returned with the test results. “So all his values, except his kidneys, look really good for his age. Kidney is a little elevated, but that’s normal. Nothing alarming.” He reached out and rubbed Tuck’s back. “He’s a trooper. I’d try to get him to eat wet food as it will go down easier and add more water to the wet food. Cat’s never hydrate enough. I’ll call you guys when I know more about the biopsy results.”
Nate nodded. When they were finally released, Nate didn’t bother putting Tuck back in the carrier, he just headed out to the truck, which Jamie unlocked, while Jamie took care of the bill. Nate got Tuck settled in his lap and stroked the cat in long waves down his back. Tuck’s chainsaw purr rattled through the silence of the car. Jamie got in a moment later.
“Okay?” Nate asked.
Jamie’s nod was curt, his body language tense.
“Are we stopping to pick up the steroid?” Nate wanted to know.
“Yes.”
That was good. It would stimulate Tuck’s appetite at least. He reached out a hand and put it on the back of Jamie’s, patting it gently. They would work things out. Even if Tuck passed, he’d know he was loved.
Chapter 19
Tuck’s first dose of the steroid had him burying his face in a bowl full of tuna thirty minutes after he’d been given the tuna-flavored solution. Jamie sat on the floor beside him and petted him while he ate. His body language said he was closed off, and he kept his face down. Nate didn’t know if he was still crying but he hoped that Jamie wasn’t hiding tears from him for any reason.
“Maybe you should call in to work?” Nate said. Jamie didn’t shut down like this. Not that Nate had ever seen in his years knowing Jamie. Animated and happy, sometimes goofy was how Nate remembered Jamie. Of course they’d met after Jamie had lost his wife. Maybe he didn’t know his best friend as well as he thought he did.
“No. It’s fine. Tuck is fine,” Jamie said, like stating things could make them fact. “It’s better if I work. Keep busy. I know he’s safe here with you.” He got up and disappeared up the stairs, likely to change for work.
“Me and you today, eh?” Nate said to Tuck, who was making funny little “nom-nom” noises into his tuna bowl. His drool dripped into the bowl mixing with the tuna and looking disgusting, but Tuck didn’t seem to mind.
Jamie reappeared dressed in his ranger uniform and grabbed up his keys. “Call or text if you need me. I’ll be in the park office today. Lots of calls to make, then I need to walk the camps.”
“Okay,” Nate agreed. If Jamie needed the distraction, that was okay. He couldn’t compartmentalize this forever. If Nate had learned anything over the past two years of ever-evolving mental illness, it was that letting things fester only made them worse. “Have a good day. You call me if you need me?”
Jamie gave him a curt nod before heading out the door.
Nate listened for the truck to start up and leave, then got up. He headed upstairs to grab his computer, unopened since he’d arrived. He had a love-hate relationship with his laptop. He loved the internet and the rabbit hole of distraction it could lead him down. He didn’t love the hours he lost down that rabbit hole, especially since oftentimes, after he’d gotten sick, he’d spent hours researching medical things. The same keywords over and over, or just in a different order to see if results changed. He couldn’t avoid the compulsion any longer. He had to look up information about Tuck, if only to learn any alternative options they might have to help ease the cat’s s
uffering.
He set the alarm on his phone to remind him to get ready for his shift at the bakery and began to search.
Nate’s alarm jolted him out of a zombie-like trance. The cats sprawled across him as though he had become this season’s hottest new cat furniture piece. His stomach growled. When he checked his watch, he realized he had less than an hour to get ready for his new job. He considered, just for a minute, calling in to the new job. Not because anyone needed him home, but because the urge to search was still so strong.
He hadn’t learned anything helpful. He could list a thousand facts about cat cancer of many kinds, bone infections, abscesses, and at least a dozen other common health problems found in aging cats. The problems were universal like a lot of human issues, the treatment varied, yet not.
“Modern medicine really sucks,” he told the cats, who appeared uninterested. “I will go to work. Even if my brain is asking a million more of the same question worded in different ways. Distraction is a good coping method.” Jamie had been right about that.
His stomach growled. He also hadn’t eaten all day. He carefully crawled out of bed to a chorus of disgruntled cats. He thought maybe he should change his clothes. Cat hair and bakery did not sound like a good combination. He quickly switched to a fresh T-shirt and jeans, found his most comfortable pair of sneakers, and headed downstairs to raid the kitchen.
He ended up eating several slices of crispy bacon and two hardboiled eggs. Harry bounced around the backdoor wailing for attention.
“I’m sorry, little dude. I’ve gotta go to work for a few hours.” Nate felt pretty good. Though he’d lost an entire day to his OCD and couldn’t remember all that much about what he had read, despite probably reading fifty or sixty articles. Nothing he’d read would change anything.
He rushed through the house, cleaning up, feeding the cats, and checking on the dogs, Harry and Matilda. Everyone had food and water, though Harry acted like it was the end of the world that he didn’t get to go for a walk. But by the time the house was in order, Nate had to run to his car to make sure he’d get to town in time. He hoped there wasn’t any sort of late afternoon traffic in Friday Harbor.
Thankfully the trip into town was uneventful. On the short drive Nate had imagined protesters lined up with signs telling him they “didn’t want no queers” or “It’s Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve.” But the town was quiet. If Jamie’s father-in-law planned to cause a stink he hadn’t riled up enough bigots yet.
Nate parked outside the bakery and made his way inside, the knot of anxiety in his gut growing until he thought he was going to throw up. He briefly thought of changing his mind and just telling Angel he couldn’t do this. But it was a lie. He could do this. Physically he was capable. It was only the idea of failure that made him so damn terrified.
The sound of a car door closing startled him and he stopped, glancing back. Another one of those irrational fears breezed across his mind. This time of good old Hank coming at him with a baseball bat. Only it was a friendly face instead. Troy.
“Hey,” Troy said, smiling and offering a half over-the-shoulder hug. “How are you feeling today? Good to see you out and about.”
“I’m okay. Had a bit of a rough morning as one of Jamie’s cat’s is sick, but okay.”
“Really? That’s sad. I know Jamie takes great care of his critters.”
“We think Tuck might have cancer.”
Troy frowned, “Well, that’s bad news. Poor old cat. He’d had a rough life until Jamie rescued him.”
“He’s got it good now,” Nate replied. “I’m his personal heater and groomer.”
“You licking the cat?” Troy asked with a lopsided grin.
“Gross. No, but I brush him often.”
“He’s living the high life then.”
Nate returned Troy’s hug for a minute before pulling away. “You out for some early dinner treats?” Nate asked him.
“Nah, on cupcake duty. Angel cornered me this morning and asked for help for a big order. I’ve helped more than a handful of times when I’m not scheduled at the pharmacy. Since I get to eat cupcakes for free and get paid for a few hours of making sweets, I figure it’s a win-win situation.”
Nate paused to look at Troy. Knowing that Troy would be working with him for a few hours lifted a thousand pounds of weight of worry off his shoulders in ten seconds flat. He knew someone here, other than Angel who was little more than a passing stranger.
“Me too, actually. Though I’ve never helped before. Angel asked me yesterday if I could help today. Cupcake making can’t be too hard right? Or stressful?” Nate wondered if he sounded as worried as he felt.
“It’s easy. An assembly line. One of the bakers combines the ingredients into a giant mixer, two people put the batter in cupcake tins, another person takes them to the oven. Once they are baked it’s a whole other line of depanning, cooling, and frosting, then into the box. After the first hour or two you begin to feel like a robot.” Troy walked Nate to the door, then held it open for him. “The shift usually goes quick, but I’m pretty sure the first few times I went home to dream about making cupcakes out of my pillows.”
Nate laughed. “Hopefully I don’t try to frost the cats in my sleep.”
“Oh that would be hilarious!” Troy said. “Jamie will come running to your room just to find out why the cats are hissing at you, only to see you dousing them with shaving cream.” He laughed.
Nate smiled. Jamie didn’t need to come running since they slept in the same bed most nights. He wondered if he’d be sleeping in Jamie’s bed again or if he’d come home still so closed off that he wanted no one around him. Nate hoped whatever was in his head that he refused to share, he could work out with a few hours spent in nature. It reminded Nate that he needed to start his daily walks again. He’d been so used to walking six or seven miles a day, that it had become part of what kept his head from going nuts.
Inside the bakery the counter was quiet, but Nate could hear noise coming from the back. Troy led him through the little door in the counter and into the back. Whatever Nate was expecting from his many years of watching Food Network baking kitchens, the narrow spread wasn’t it. The kitchen was a long galley type with endless counter space, but very little room to turn around or walk. One entire wall made of ovens on one end, sinks on the other. Down the middle stainless-steel tables had been added. There was an assembly line already forming.
Angel appeared, a big smile on her face. She reached out and hugged Troy right away, squeezing him hard. “Thanks for coming so last-minute.”
“No, thank you.” He rubbed his hands together. “I look forward to eating my weight in cupcakes.”
Angel laughed and let him go. “Troy’s here, you all. Lock up the sugar. He’ll eat us out of house and home. I don’t know how you stay so skinny when you eat so much.”
“Lots of vigorous overnight activity, if you get my meaning.” Troy gave her an exaggerated wink.
Angel laughed and shook her head. Then she turned to Nate and didn’t try to hug him, though she made a half step toward him like she wanted to. “Good to see you, Nate. Let me show you where the aprons, hats, and gloves are, and I’ll get you started.”
“Nothing too crazy for his first time,” Troy shouted at her as she tugged Nate across the kitchen. “Give him a little sugar before you pop his cupcake cherry.”
Nate felt his cheeks warm at the innuendo. He glanced around to see if anyone was bothered, but everyone laughed. Good humor rather than discomfort, from what Nate could tell.
“Don’t mind Troy,” Angel said. “He flirts with everyone. All that boy thinks about is sex and food.”
And Troy had asked him out. Well that didn’t make Nate feel special at all. He sighed. He was almost forty and mentally damaged. Who would want that? He followed Angel into a small area filled with tall lockers and shelves of towels, aprons, and boxes of hairnets and gloves of many sizes.
“Aprons are universal as are the hairnets. I d
on’t keep latex gloves here because too many people are allergic, but there are four sizes.” Angel pointed out the sections. “The lockers are also universal. If you have stuff to put away, just open an empty one, close it, hit the C then whatever four-digit number you can remember, then the key icon. You’ll just do that again when you want to unlock it. C—four numbers key.” She demonstrated opening and closing a locker. Nate hadn’t brought anything that would need to be locked up. His keys and phone were in his pocket.
The apron hung around his neck, straps crisscrossing over his shoulders and then tied around the waist. He’d expected them to be white. Which was silly since kitchens were full of messes and white was always hard to clean. They were pale gray instead and lined with a row of pockets on the bottom. He got his adjusted, put on a hairnet, and looked through the gloves for a minute before deciding on a medium.
“I’m going to start with you scooping into tins,” Angel told him. “I try to rotate everyone once an hour so they don’t get bored or hurt from the repetitive movement. If you don’t want to do that, just let me know.”
“Okay,” Nate said. He wasn’t sure what he would do yet. His station was a long, thin rolling table filled with giant muffin trays. Each tray held twenty-four cakes.
“This is a two-step easy process. I recommend you do one pan at a time. First you grease the pan, then use the scoop to put batter in each pocket.” She picked up a brush that sat in a bowl of clear liquid and carefully brushed each of the pockets of the tin. “Sides and bottom. It’s just coconut oil, but try not to let it pool too much in the bottom of the cups. Dip the brush, brush it off on the ridge of the bowel, brush some tins. Make sense?”
Nate followed her lead, taking the brush, dipping it, wiping it a bit like a paint brush, and then basting the insides of the pan. He finished the whole pan in just a few seconds.
“The scoop is already the measured size. You don’t need to fill it to the top, or get every last drop out.” The batter smelled heavenly from its place in the large mixing bowl on the other side of Nate’s pan line. Angel picked up the measuring scoop and the spatula, dipped the cup, wiped the excess off, and dumped the cup into the first mold. One quick swipe with the spatula and most of the mix was in the tin, then she returned to fill. She offered the set to Nate.