by Carla Rossi
“But why is he French?”
She laughed out loud. “I was very much consumed with dance myself back then. My sister and I danced so much that my parents put a practice barre in the game room between our bedrooms. Monsieur Snowball and I spent many hours speaking broken ballet French. He was my Nutcracker Prince, and I was the Sugar Plum Fairy.”
Snowball wandered back across the table and pressed his nose against Dr. Barron’s long fingers to ask for another scratch. “He should be dancing again in no time, but take it easy.”
“It’s not like I do that now,” she said as further embarrassment set in. Surely he didn’t think she carried on that way as an adult. As if she were going to rush home and don a classic pink tutu and pointe shoes and make her suffering cat watch her demi plié, tendu, and releve at the barre. That would be crazy. Not entirely untrue when the cat was well, but crazy. “I gave up serious dancing a long time ago. In fact, now I’m one semester away from graduation and my first teaching job.”
“Yes, I know,” he said simply. “Mrs. Salmons told me you were home on break. What age and subject do you want to teach?”
Oh, mercy, what else had Mrs. Salmons said? “I hope to be certified K-12, but I prefer to teach English-Language Arts and writing at the junior high level.”
“Are you at UT?”
“No, I’m an Aggie. And before you get too alarmed, you’re new here, so I’ll tell you it’s more common than you think that Austinites sometimes leave Austin and go to Texas A&M.”
“I’m not completely new to Texas. My grandparents lived in Wimberley.”
“So you know what’s what then.” She opened the pet carrier door and made kissing and clicking sounds until Snowball meandered inside. “What else did Mrs. Salmons tell you?”
“Nothing. Just that they’ve known Snowball since he was a kitten and your families attend the same church. She also said that—her words now—your family is a hoot.”
Jane sighed. Kiss. Of. Death.
“Thanks so much, Dr. Barron. Have a good rest of the night. Or I guess it’s well into Saturday morning now.” She reached in her purse and pulled out two postcards. “My mother says I have to give these to everyone I meet. Please consider visiting our church during the holidays. There are a lot of services to choose from. I promise I won’t be preaching about any Old Testament heroes. And this is an invitation to The Nutcracker being performed by our community dance company. There’s one night you can get in free if you bring a blanket and a jar of peanut butter or jelly for the county’s food pantry and shelter. You should come. My sister is the Sugar Plum Fairy.”
“You’re not dancing the part?”
“Of course not. I gave up serious dance, remember? But I do help out. You might say I’m Melody’s personal assistant.”
“All right. I’ll be here all weekend if Snowball needs anything. Don’t forget what I said. He’s getting older and this infection is hard on him.”
“I understand. I’ll take good care of him.” She gathered her things. “Good night, Dr. Noah, emergency vet from California and returning-prodigal-to-Texas and most likely cowboy wannabe.”
“And good night to you, slightly clumsy Un-plain Jane, cat lover, soon-to-be teacher and probably not really ex-ballerina.”
****
‘Twas the second night of Christmas break
Monsieur Snowball seemed better,
Jane helped her mother bake
And finish the holiday letter.
The stockings were hung
And the chimney was swept,
Jane crawled into the attic
Where the giant wreath was kept.
The cat ate tuna pâté,
And to his pillow did creep,
Jane settled in beside him
For some much needed sleep...
Despite her total lack of sleep from the night before and the massive amounts of all things Christmas she and her mother had accomplished during the day, Jane was once again awake at two in the morning. Snowball was sound asleep on his own blanket at the end of the bed. The cat barely lifted his head as Jane slid from under the covers and headed for the game room. There was no light from under her sister’s door, only the soft glow of the moon as it drifted through the shuttered window and onto Melody’s various piles of dance shoes and clothing. Jane clicked on the small accent lamp on the table. Melody’s Sugar Plum Fairy costume glistened from a hanger at the end of the barre. Jane touched the edge of the stiff, classic pink tutu and reverently ran her fingers across the silver beads and clear sequins that accentuated the bodice. The straps were simple and there didn’t appear to be any upper-arm cuffs. That was good because Melody had great ballet arms, and they should never be covered with excessive costuming. In a bag attached to the same hanger, Jane found the headpiece. This year’s wardrobe mistress had chosen a classic, lightly-embellished tiara with just enough sparkle to catch the attention of all the little girls with ballerina dreams, but not enough to detract from Melody’s shimmering blonde hair.
There were four new packages of white tights on the floor below and about a mile of wide pink ribbon on the coffee table where her mother had no doubt been sewing bright new ties into a variety of ballet shoes. Jane moved the hanger from the barre to the door frame where the costume could dangle freely with no danger of being crushed.
She returned to the barre and rested her right hand on it. She relaxed her elbow and adjusted her posture. Head up, eyes front, left arm floating on air in front of her with a perfectly shaped ballet hand. And just as she’d done every time she was home and found herself alone in the game room, or every time she’d taught a class at a studio near her college, or any time she’d taken a class at the Dance Science Department at A&M, she started through her practice and strengthening routine. First position, heels touching, feet turned out. Second position, like the first only feet apart. Third position, then fourth and fifth...
Sometime later, Jane returned to her bedroom. Monsieur Snowball was not on the bed. She began the search around the house. Not in the litter box, not near the food bowl, not at his very own trickling water fountain. She went back to her room. Sometimes, if she left the closet open, he would find his way onto a pile of her dirty clothes. Not this time. Then she remembered her doll house, long abandoned now and tucked into a corner of her room under little used clothing and cumbersome accent pillows. Her mother reported Snowball often slept there on an old chenille blanket when Jane was away at school.
Jane flipped on the bright overhead light and dashed to the corner. The cat was there, nestled inside.
Something was definitely not right.
She dropped to the floor and met him nearly nose to nose. “What is it, buddy? Are you feeling bad again?”
He stretched his right front paw onto her cheek. Frozen seconds slowed and then crept up on each other and clicked away faster as Jane realized what she was seeing. She touched the cat’s head and stroked his forehead with her thumb.
And after one small matter-of-fact meow, Monsieur Snowball slipped quietly away.
****
Noah propped open the back door of the clinic and headed outside with Bridget, a Border Collie mix that had been hit by a car a week ago. The owner had yet to come forward, and the person who’d discovered her by the road and dropped her at the clinic had refused to leave information. Noah let her off her leash to run along the massive drainage ditch that stretched for hundreds of yards in either direction behind his clinic. He whistled and the dog scampered back, sniffing every blade of grass as she came. He patted her black-and-white head.
“Good job. How could someone not be looking for you? You’re so smart.”
Then again, he found most Border Collies—mixes or otherwise—to be extremely intelligent. Smarter than most people and with far more common sense, he could probably send Bridget to the corner store for juice all by herself. At the very least it would probably take fifteen minutes to train her to retrieve his jacket so the next time he step
ped outside in cold, spitting rain, he could send her back for it.
He trudged along the well-worn path, avoiding fresh rain-slicked muddy spots and swiping the occasional drop of water off his face. It would take time to reacquaint himself with winter Hill Country weather. One day it was forty-six degrees with scattered showers, and the next it could be sixty-five and sunny.
At any rate, Christmas in his clinic in Texas was going to be a lot better than his Christmas in California a year ago. His parents’ home, with its pretentious and fake holiday spirit had driven him to dislike the season years ago. There was no warmth, no true meaning of Christmas. Any attempt to fit in there seemed trite and insignificant and, for all involved, it was probably best he just stay busy on Christmas and not go home for the rest of his life.
It was also best he didn’t see Skye or her father. She’d broken their engagement last Christmas after a car accident that claimed her mother’s life. He’d accepted the blame, and gladly bore the burden of her death in hopes Skye would recover and somehow they would find a new normal. That plan backfired and their relationship disintegrated under the rapid force of an emotional wind storm out of control. Christmas, such as it was, seemed destined never to be a happy time of year.
The latest assistant in his parade of substitute help stood by the door as he headed back across the path. Bridget darted ahead to collect her head pats and get out of the drizzle.
“Full house, doc,” she called out to him. “Dr. Salmons is here to help.”
He picked up the pace. “Be right there. Keep ’em moving.”
By the time he reached the door, Bridget had already curled up on the leather couch in his office. “Really, girl? You’re gonna try that again?”
At the sound of his voice, she dutifully jumped down and settled instead for the large pet bed on the floor.
He stepped into his bathroom to wash his hands amidst a chorus of high-pitched kitten squeals. He glanced back at Bridget whose ears perked at the noise. “Your guess is as good as mine. They either have a belly full of tinsel or they chewed through a string of lights.”
Un-Plain Jane and Monsieur Snowball crossed his mind again as he donned his lab coat. He’d thought about them a lot since Friday night. Her incessant chatter about weird name things and ballet and that clumsy fall from the stool had been his only reasons for a genuine smile in months. Her quirky personality and girl-next-door honest beauty brought that smile back a time or two.
It surprised him every time.
****
‘Twas the third night of Christmas break
And Jane’s heart was broken,
The joy had left Christmas
And cheerful words were not spoken.
The family had gathered
To say their good-byes,
Jane resolved to move on
Through sad, puffy eyes.
So on now with Christmas
And dancing and fudge,
Just one man to visit
To keep Jane from a grudge...
Jane grabbed her pillow at midnight and headed for Melody’s room. Her sister evidently had the same idea and they collided in the dark near the bathroom.
Melody screamed.
Jane stumbled backward and landed on her sore hip.
Their grandpa’s dog heard the commotion and let out a warning bark at the bottom of the stairs.
“Go back to sleep, Major,” Jane told the slightly overweight mutt. “It’s just us.”
Melody snickered. “You mean it’s you. I’m not the one who busted my butt and rattled the floor. What are you doing up, anyway?”
“I was worried about you.”
“Well, I was worried about you. So who’s bed is it going to be?”
“Yours,” Jane said and slipped by her. “It’s too sad in my room.”
Jane snuggled in as Melody turned on the purple bedside lamp and pulled a bag of homemade Christmas cookies from under the bed.
“Sweeeet,” Jane sang, “but does mom know you took those? I think they were for the neighbors.”
“Ooops. But wait. There’s more.” Melody went to the other side of the room and came back with two small cartons of ice cold milk. She hopped into the bed and burrowed in next to Jane.
“I can’t believe Mom and Dad let you have a mini fridge in here. It’s like your own apartment. I barely had a cell phone and working car when I left for college.”
“Mom says it’s OK because of my crazy hours. I’m up at four for dance team at school, and I don’t get home until late because of ballet. She thinks if it’s full of juice and milk and healthy stuff that I’ll eat it. Hate to admit it, but she’s right.”
“I was going to ask you about that. Your Sugar Plum Fairy costume is tiny. You are taking care of yourself, aren’t you? Don’t let anyone make you feel bad about your body. You’re perfect, and if I see any bones—”
“Time out. You sound like Mom. Don’t worry, I’m fine. I eat like the proverbial horse. Besides, you’re thin, too. Have you been eating? You’re like a toothpick with eyes. I’ll bet my costume is too big for you.”
Jane laughed. “That’s funny. Real funny. I don’t think I could get my left thigh in that thing.”
“Speaking of legs, when was the last time you shaved them? There’s some serious scraping and cutting going on here. I may need stitches. You should keep those on your side of the bed.”
Jane smacked Melody with a pillow. Hard. Cookie crumbs flew everywhere. Good thing she wasn’t drinking milk at the time.
She put her pillow back behind her head. “Enough goofin’ around. This meeting of the Sister Cuddle Committee is now called to order. We are here to commiserate about Monsieur Snowball.” She turned to her sister. “I’m sorry about Snowball, Mel. I know he was just as much your cat as he was mine.”
“Yes,” she sniffed. “We had a lot of pow-wows on this bed while you were at school. Sure gonna miss him.”
“I know. But I’m glad I was here. Can you imagine if I’d been away at school?”
“I think he waited for you to come home.”
“Me too.”
They talked, they blubbered, they cuddled. Then Melody fell asleep with red and green cookie sugar on her top lip.
And Jane stayed wide awake.
At three in the morning, she pulled on her jeans and a Christmas sweatshirt and headed for the Animal Emergency Clinic. She wanted to tell Mrs. Salmons she wouldn’t be in the office to see Dr. Salmons in a few hours as expected.
She also had a question or two for Dr. Noah.
This time, when she arrived at the clinic, there were no less than twelve cars at the front. The coffee was brewing and worried pet parents were perched on plastic chairs awaiting news. Someone had docked their smartphone and was broadcasting Christmas music throughout the room. One particularly restless pet father paced nervously with a leash at the clinic door.
A short, bubbly, early-thirty-something woman dressed in animal and Christmas-themed scrubs eventually bustled out. The red velvet bow on her Christmas headband jingled amongst her mass of brunette curls each time she moved. Jane tried not to stare, but there were bells in there somewhere. She just couldn’t tell where.
“You can bring Sheba in now,” she told the distressed man. She turned to Jane. “I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”
Jane held the main door as the guy dashed to his car and helped his large Boxer out of the backseat and through the doors. Sheba moved slowly past her. Her midsection was swollen and looked tight. Jane surmised she could be in whelping distress. That, or she’d eaten an entire hat, scarf, and mittens from out of a gift box under the tree. Either way, something was coming out of Sheba tonight.
The woman jingled back to the counter. “May I help you?”
“Is Mrs. Salmons here? I need a word with her, and I had a question for Dr. Noah, but I can see how busy you are.”
“You’re a friend of Noah’s?” She extended her hand. “I’m Tina, his regular tech. Mrs. S
almons isn’t here. She was only covering for me. Hope she’s home asleep. I don’t think she’s used to staying up all night.”
“That’s fine. I’ll call her at the clinic when they open. Thank you.”
“Wait. I’ll tell Noah you’re here.”
Jane gave the counter a pat and reached in her pocket for her keys. “It’s OK. I’ll catch him another time.”
“Jane?”
She barely recognized the tall man in medical green scrubs and a surgical cap. He was adorable with that face mask dangling from one ear. He snatched it away and looked around as if searching for her cat.
“Uh... what brings you back?”
He knew. She could tell he knew.
“I wanted to tell Mrs. Salmons Snowball had died and that I wouldn’t be bringing him in for that tooth extraction later this morning. And I wanted to talk to you, but it’s OK. You’re busy and it doesn’t really matter.”
“I have time.” He peeled the cap away from his unruly hair and motioned toward the door. “Come on in the hallway for a minute.”
She met him there and decided she would not cry. She crossed her arms, squared her shoulders, and met his gaze.
“I’m sorry about Snowball,” he said before she could speak. “I know this is a difficult time for you. I can help you with aftercare if you like. Did you bring Snowball back with you?”
She felt a massive internal eye-roll coming on. “While I’m sure you’ve seen it all, Dr. Noah, I can assure you I’m not so far off the beam with grief that I’m driving around at three-thirty in the morning with my dead cat in my car.”
“I’m not trying to offend you, Jane. I just want to help.”
“Well, you helped on Friday night. Consequently, the cat died Saturday night. Thanks for your help.”
That bothered him. She could tell by the sudden pained look on his face.
She stepped a little closer, being careful not to raise her voice. “Why didn’t you tell me Snowball was dying? Plain and simple. Jane, your cat’s not gonna make it. Or Jane, it doesn’t look good so don’t take him home.”