by Sandi Ward
If Mom starts to feel better, she might have more energy to devote to my sweet Charlie, and she may discover that he is being bullied and take action. So I will welcome this man, and try to make him feel at home.
I would like to be Charlie’s hero. I need a plan. It’s one thing to chase down a cricket, or scare off a squirrel. I’ve even faced off against two huge, wild turkeys and sent them running into the woods.
But dealing with a human bully? That will require a little more thought.
I remember the pain when that human kicked me. I don’t recall much about the man himself, but his hands were always cold and smelled sour, like the tomato sauce he ate every day. He took our mom from us and left us in a dark kitchen for hours at a time with no food or water. And there was nothing we could do. We were just kittens. I wonder if this is how Charlie feels, as if there is nothing he can do about it because he isn’t strong enough to fight back.
But why hasn’t he told anyone?
I feel sick about it, because after my siblings and I were abused, we were moved to a shelter. Is that what Charlie fears? It is hard to imagine, but would that be Mom’s solution, to send him away in order to keep him safe?
What would my life become without my sweet Charlie? I can’t imagine my days without our quiet hours napping in his lovely warm room, lying on our favorite scratchy wool blanket. It breaks my heart to even think about it.
Chapter 4
Powerful Medicine
When Mom comes home later, there is no trace of a man having been here, although I can still smell him. The back room retains the faint odors of pepper and cheese, which might reflect what he ate for a recent meal. But Mom doesn’t notice it, because she doesn’t have my exquisitely sensitive nose.
Mom fries flounder for dinner, and I get leftovers in my bowl. The white slivers of fish are buttery and flaky, melting on my tongue.
Gretel has some fish too. She will eat just about anything—and I mean anything. She once ate paper money off a side table. Mom was angry, but perhaps more than that, she was shocked. Because what creature on earth eats paper money?
Gretel’s hunger gets the best of her.
After dinner, Dad calls Mom on the phone, I suppose to tell her how the children are doing. Mom listens patiently, but I can tell she is exhausted. She closes her eyes and holds a hand to the side of her head. And, later that night, we sleep soundly in the quiet cottage.
* * *
When the kids get home on Sunday night, I’m excited to see them. I’m waiting on the front step, and I hear Gretel give a woof! from inside the house at the sound of the car engine. Dad gets out of the car to hug Victoria and Kevin good-bye, and the two oldest children jog past me to get inside. Charlie starts to follow them.
“Charlie. Wait.” Dad puts his hands in the pockets of his jeans.
Charlie stops in his tracks.
“No more leaving school, okay? We need to know where you are at all times.”
“Why?” Charlie’s voice quavers. “Why are you so paranoid? What do you think I’m going to do?”
Dad shrugs, and kicks at a stone on the driveway. “Nothing bad. But we still need to know where you are. It’s not you I’m worried about so much as other people. You’re only fourteen.” Dad looks over his shoulder, out at the river, toward the dock where the boys launch their sailboats. “I don’t get it. Kevin never gave me a hard time when he was your age.”
Charlie rolls his eyes. “I’m not Kevin. I’ll never be like Kevin.” The sun is setting, and the temperature dropping. Our small patch of lawn is deep green, darkened by the shadows of the pine trees. I want Charlie to come inside so we can get ready for bed.
“I know. I just worry about you, all the time,” Dad goes on. “You know that I—”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have gotten kicked out of the house, then.” Charlie whirls around to face his father. “Maybe if you still lived here, you’d know where I was.”
Dad’s face darkens. “Charlie. Please don’t turn this around on me. We’re talking about you.”
“Not anymore.” Charlie resumes his walk up the driveway and sees me on the stairs. “C’mon, Lil,” he coos to me, and I stand up to follow him. Before we go inside, I look back at Dad. He and I stare at each other a moment.
I’m sorry, I wish I could say to him. I know you want to come home. I can see the longing on your face. I wish you still lived here. Gretel does too.
Last spring, something happened to Dad. Something that made everyone very worried and upset. I know Dad was injured and had to be rushed to the hospital, which is a place where humans go when they need care, like Vincent’s wife. When Dad came home, he was stuck in bed for a week and Grandpa came to help out. Father brought home with him some powerful medicine—pills that he took every day.
But by the time summer arrived and Dad was back to work, Mom said enough was enough and he needed to stop taking those pills. Dad said no. Absolutely not. He was sure he still needed his pills. He told Mom he needed those pills for three reasons:
1. For the pain.
2. To forget.
3. In order to get through every day without fear.
But Mom didn’t buy it. She flushed the pills down the toilet.
Dad was stunned. I will never forget the look on his face as he watched her do this, eyes wide. He started to shudder, standing there, realizing what she had done.
He soon found a new medicine, a special water he poured every day from a large glass bottle. My eyes stung when I sniffed the bottle, and there was something strange about it. One time, Dad spilled it on the floor, and Gretel took a lick of it. But she hacked and coughed it back up, unable to stand the harsh, bitter taste. Clearly, this water had powerful healing powers.
Mom did not like his new medicine either, and insisted he needed to stop drinking it. She would make demands and then stare at Dad, waiting for him to answer. But he only dropped his gaze, unable to look at her.
We could all see he was still in pain. He craved silence sometimes. He would go sit on the deck, even when it was bitter cold outside. Sometimes he forgot his hat and gloves. It was as though he couldn’t sense the cold until it was almost too late, and he would hustle back inside with hands turned purple. I think it contributed to his overall fatigue.
It seemed that Mom always wanted Dad to do or not do something. Finish his chores. Stop going out at night with his friends. See the doctor about his stomachaches. Think about finding a new job, something not so stressful.
Mom suggested all of these things at one point or another. Sometimes he’d hang his head and promise to try. But the most important thing she asked him to do, the one thing she always asked, was: stop drinking.
Yet this is the one thing he would never agree to do.
* * *
When we get in the house, Charlie runs straight up to his bedroom, and I follow him. He lays on the bed and stares at the ceiling for a long time.
“Hi, sweet baby.” He rubs my head.
How was your weekend? I want to ask him. What’s the matter?
Sometimes I cannot reconcile the dad I know with the way Charlie reacts to these weekends away. Charlie does not seem to enjoy himself, and I’m not sure why. Dad is not mean to Charlie.
Perhaps Dad has not always understood Charlie. It is true that sometimes he seems confused by his youngest son.
There’s a knock at the door, and Mom peeks in. “Charlie? Are you okay?”
Charlie sits up and we make room for Mom to sit on the bed. “Yeah.”
She puts a hand on Charlie’s arm. “Everything go okay this weekend?”
He shrugs. “Yeah. I guess so. But Dad’s on top of me all the time. He won’t let me do anything. He doesn’t trust me. He thinks I’m like . . .” Charlie wipes his nose with the back of his hand. “He thinks I’m a bad person.”
“That’s not true.” She gives him a small smile. “He just wants to protect you. You know that’s your dad’s calling in life. He watches over people. H
e saves people when they need saving. Don’t you remember how we met?”
Charlie looks up at her. We’ve heard this story before, many times. But Charlie still chews on his lip and asks, “Something about your bike, right?”
“Yes. My bike broke on the side of the road—the chain came off. And I had no idea how to fix it. I got grease on my hands and I was so upset I was practically crying. It was your dad’s very first day of work, and he was running late, but he still stopped his car to help me out.” She reaches up to tuck a strand of his hair behind Charlie’s ear. “Your dad is the type who likes to come to the rescue, you know. He’s just overprotective.”
Charlie smiles. He enjoys a good dramatic story. “He was your hero. He said he saw your red hair in a ponytail and had to pull over. He said it was love at first sight.”
Mother laughs. “Well . . . maybe it was. I don’t know.” She pats Charlie’s elbow. “Right now, your dad wants to take care of you. The problem is, he’s having trouble taking care of himself.”
Charlie’s smile fades. He nods.
I suppose that the changes going on in the family are making Charlie sad. And Charlie himself has been changing. Growing. Becoming a young man. That must be difficult to deal with too.
I wish Charlie would be honest with Dad, show him the bruises, and let Dad get involved. I think Dad would be very effective at finding and punishing Charlie’s bully. After all, Dad hunts down bad people at work. So he is probably the right person to help Charlie.
After Mom leaves the room, Charlie grabs his backpack off the floor. He does work on his laptop, plays with his phone, and listens to music. We stay holed up for hours, and no one bothers us. Charlie doesn’t talk to me, but he doesn’t need to. Just the touch of his hand on my back makes me happy.
When Charlie changes into his nightclothes, I scrutinize his body. I look for new injuries.
But I don’t see any at this time. That, at least, is a relief.
We head to the bathroom so Charlie can brush his teeth. He gazes into the mirror, pulling strands of his blond hair this way and that. I jump up to the counter to bump my head against his tummy, and he runs a hand down my silky fur.
“How do we look, sweet girl? Is my hair really okay? Did I make a mistake?”
I blink at him. No. We look amazing.
After Charlie gets into bed and checks his phone one last time, I knock my head into his hand over and over, until he scratches between my ears and fluffs up the fur under my chin. When I look into his sad eyes, I tell him: You’re a good boy. Don’t worry. I’m going to help you.
When I start to lick his salty hand, Charlie whispers, “What am I gonna do, Lil?”
I don’t know, but I’ll help you. I promise. No one has the right to hurt you. And I won’t let anyone send you away. We’ll figure this out.
I’m not sure how much he understands, but he gives me a kiss before turning out the light.
Chapter 5
Rifle Range Poker Run
Later in the week, Charlie and I are relaxing after school in his bedroom when I hear the front door open and slam shut. Charlie has his headphones on, and he doesn’t move. I jump down off of the bed and walk to the hallway so I can peek over the balcony.
It’s Victoria and Aidan.
Aidan is a young man who is interested in Victoria. He has been to the house a lot lately, especially in the afternoons. There is a gap between the time the children get home from school and Mother arrives from work. Aidan drives Victoria here in a small red car.
Aidan sneers at everything, and I avoid him. He is an outsider, with shifty eyes. I run from him, because I don’t want him to even know I am here.
Don’t get me wrong—I’m not afraid of him. I just don’t like him. I suspect he might be the type of human who thinks cats are pests.
Charlie and Kevin feel the same way I do about Aidan. They stay away from him, as far as possible. Victoria knows how we all feel about him.
But the fact that we don’t like Aidan doesn’t seem to worry Victoria. She is fond of him. She focuses on him in a way I’ve never seen her act before around another human. Her face takes on a radiant tone when he is near, her eyes bright and satisfied.
I’m really not sure what she sees in him. He smells strange to me.
I watch as Victoria slips off her light coat and hangs it on the stair railing. She takes off her shoes and places them neatly on the mat by the front door.
Dad used to yell at the children all the time to keep their things neat. Kevin and Victoria took this advice to heart. Perhaps they were sick of the nagging and decided it would be easier to just follow orders.
Charlie, on the other hand, does not always remember to put his things where they belong. I see his black sneakers lying in the middle of the hallway downstairs.
“Take off your sneakers,” Victoria says.
Aidan hesitates, and rolls his eyes, but then does it.
Victoria and Aidan are involved in a complex mating ritual. I know something about mating, having seen it up close in nature every spring.
Birds. Squirrels. Neighborhood cats. You name it, I’ve seen it.
Mating is not something I have any interest in personally. I’m not sure why. But I recognize the instinct in others.
Although I don’t like Aidan at all, I’ve been watching him from a distance, fascinated. I am trying to pinpoint why and how Aidan makes Victoria happy, but I haven’t quite figured it out yet.
Often, the two of them sit at opposite ends of the living room couch, as if trying not to get too close. It’s an old green couch, and the material is frayed on the armrests. But the cushions are soft and comfortable. Victoria studies, a textbook open on her lap. Aidan plays with his phone. And he drinks the family soda, draining can after can.
Aidan will watch Victoria with a stealthy patience, his face turning pink with the damp warmth of the room now that it is spring. He’ll strip off his sweatshirt and push the sleeves of his T-shirt up over his shoulders. But when Victoria glances at him, his face is already turning away, as if he doesn’t want to get caught looking at her.
Sometimes Victoria will slide across the couch to get closer to him. She tugs at the rope cord tied around his wrist, or glides two fingers over the hair on his lower arm. Aidan turns his head slightly toward her, and pretends to be distracted by the noises coming from his phone. “What?” he’ll demand, as if she’s interrupting something important.
But I know he listens to her every word. I watch him closely, tracking his eye movements, the flush of his cheek, the pace of his breath.
Everything about Victoria interests him. I look at her to see what he sees.
The way the rings on Victoria’s fingers, all silver, flash when a beam of sunlight hits them through the window. The way she gracefully moves her hands to adjust the textbook on her lap, nails painted blue and perfectly round. The way her necklace falls just so, against the soft part of her neck. The color of her lipstick, dark red like a bruise.
I know Aidan notices all of these things, the way I do, and is mystified by them. Sometimes he bites his thumb, or taps his foot, and I can almost feel his anxiety traveling through the wooden floorboards.
Victoria knows she has an effect on him. But I suspect she does not understand the extent of it.
I believe from what I’ve seen that Aidan is in love. But he tries to hide it. He snaps at her, and ignores her sometimes. Perhaps he is nervous about the way he feels. I’m sure it is scary when a young human falls in love. It must feel sharp and unfamiliar.
It is as if Aidan is holding his breath, trapping his love tight inside him. Maybe he is afraid it will suddenly spill out into the open, and become a thing not easily controlled.
Once the two of them are settled in the living room and seated on their favorite couch, I feel a pang of thirst and make my way down to the kitchen for a drink of water from my bowl. The water is cool and soothing on my throat.
On my way back to Charlie, I peek into the
living room and glance over at Aidan and Victoria for a moment. I sit right in the doorway. Aidan sees me and scowls. As I’ve mentioned, I don’t think he likes me. But I’m not afraid. I wish he and Victoria would end this nonsense and he would just leave, once and for all.
Victoria has always been kind to me. While her exterior may look tough, and she likes to be in charge, I know her heart is in the right place. Maybe this is why she likes Aidan—she wants to take care of him. He is like a scruffy dog she picked up at the kennel. Perhaps she thinks she can fix whatever is wrong with him.
Aidan reaches up to run his fingers over Victoria’s ear. I have never seen him kiss her, but he sometimes works up his courage and touches her when she sits close enough for him to do so. Victoria has several pieces of metal attached to her earlobe. I’m often tempted to bat at them with my paw. So I can’t blame Aidan for wanting to play with her ear. But Victoria swats his hand away. So instead he takes one of the little braids she has woven into her long dark hair in his hand, and runs his fingers down that instead.
Today, Victoria is busy reading and typing things into her laptop. She ignores Aidan, who looks around the room, bored.
I hear someone coming down the stairs, and as he rounds the corner, I see it is Kevin in his uniform. It is a special kind of clothing he sometimes wears, tan with little patches all over it.
Kevin startles when he sees Aidan, and freezes. But he manages to collect himself and stand up straight.
Aidan screws up his mouth and takes a quick glance at Victoria, seeming to weigh his options. I think sometimes he views Kevin and Charlie as entertainment. They are lesser creatures he can torment.
Aidan runs his tongue over his teeth. “Nice uniform,” he mumbles. But from the tone of his voice, I can tell he means the opposite. Kevin knows it too, from the way his face falls.