Something Worth Saving

by Sandi Ward

  My good boy Charlie is spread out on his bed, big blue headphones covering his ears, humming along to music. I jump up and snuggle down in the dirty laundry at the foot of his bed. It smells so much like Charlie in this room. It is my favorite scent in the world, even better than fresh tuna. It makes me feel content and secure.

  I doze. At one point, Charlie wakes me as he turns over. He yawns, stretching his arms over his head. I peek with one eye to watch him flop onto his right side. His eyes slowly close.

  He is so much like a cat sometimes. It is highly satisfying.

  I think Charlie would make a wonderful cat. His movements are graceful for the most part, with the occasional awkward gesture. Like me, he scampers away when embarrassed. He loves to rest, and nestles his head against his pillow when he rolls over, smushing his face back and forth into the softness of it. He enjoys his food, but doesn’t beg and worry about it like Gretel does. He’s also highly nocturnal, staying up late in the night typing into his phone.

  Yes, I can imagine him with ears and paws and lovely fur and claws to sharpen. I think he’d quite enjoy it.

  It’s just a little fantasy of mine. No harm in it.

  I wonder if he ever wishes I could be changed into a human.

  The sun has gone down, and Charlie eventually gets up to change for bed. He strips off his jeans and pulls on striped pajama pants. He slips on an old T-shirt and heads out to the bathroom to brush his teeth. I follow, as I do every night, because Charlie lets me sit on the counter and play with the water coming out of the faucet.

  I bat the water with my paw, and—spray! Bat, spray! Bat, spray!

  “Stop, Lily J. Potter,” Charlie says with a laugh. “Whoever heard of a cat who likes water? You’re a cat, not a dog.”

  I know that, silly.

  As Charlie brushes his teeth, the sound of the trickling water echoes off the ceiling. My tail twitches as I watch him swish the water around in his mouth.

  Charlie walks over to push the bathroom door almost closed, and sighs. He peels off his T-shirt, leaving the water at a steady drip, so I can continue to bat it with my paw. But now, I glance up at Charlie. He looks in the mirror and sees what I see: the bruise on his side is fading to a greenish tint. His face doesn’t give anything away. He has more dark spots on his arm.

  Charlie and I both jump when Victoria suddenly bursts into the room.

  “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t know anyone was . . .” Victoria pauses. “In here.”

  Charlie looks around to figure out where on the floor he dropped his shirt, but it’s too late. Victoria walks up to Charlie and stares at his arm.

  “What happened?” She points, accusatory. “You have a bruise. No, wait—you have . . . three bruises. They look like fingerprints.” Her face creases in confusion. “Charlie. Did someone grab you so hard that you bruised?”

  Her eyes jump up to meet his, piercing in intensity. Charlie looks over her shoulder like he wants to make a run for it, but there’s no room for him to get around her. She grabs his wrist as if to hold him there.

  “No,” he states. “No. It’s no big deal. I was just horsing around with a friend. In gym class.”

  I tip my head. I don’t think that’s true.

  “What friend would do that? And you never play rough.” Victoria sounds angry, as if Charlie has done something wrong. “You know it, Charlie.”

  Victoria finally lets go of his arm as he yanks himself away. Charlie grabs his shirt from where it sits on the tiles near the bathtub. “Seriously. Vic. It’s nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing,” she spits out. “Jesus. And what—is your side bruised too? What’s that?”

  A dark shadow appears in the doorway. Charlie shrinks back, and scrambles to get his shirt on as fast as he can, pulling it over his head.

  “Hey,” Aidan greets Charlie, and he couldn’t sound less interested. “What’s up, little man?”

  “Guys. Get out. I’m not done in here. I’m getting ready for bed.”

  Victoria whirls to face Aidan. “He’s got bruises on his arm. And his side.” She turns back. “Are you being bullied by some jackass at school?”

  “No,” Charlie groans, exasperated. “I told you. It was . . . I was just trying a trick on Karen’s skateboard and I started to fall, and she grabbed me.”

  “That . . .” Victoria’s face suddenly crumples. Her tough demeanor seems to melt away in an instant. “That’s not what you said a minute ago.” She stamps her foot, and her eyes start to water. “That’s not the explanation you gave me just a second ago, Charlie. You said you were horsing around with a friend in gym class.”

  Charlie bites his lip. He glances at Aidan. “Can you please just go away? I want my privacy.” When Victoria doesn’t move, Charlie’s hands clench into fists at his side. “GET THE HELL OUT, VIC.”

  Victoria whirls to face Aidan. “Did you see his bruises?”

  He shrugs. “C’mon, Vicky. Give the kid a break. I’ve seen worse. Let’s go.”

  “You’ve seen worse?” She leans toward Aidan, grinding her teeth for a moment as she pierces him with her stare. “You’ve seen worse? Where? On your rounds at the emergency department?”

  Aidan opens his mouth, then closes it. “No, I’m just saying . . .” Looking uneasy, he shrugs. “No, I just meant: Guys do stuff. Accidents happen.”

  Victoria storms past him, out of the bathroom. Aidan doesn’t follow immediately. He and Charlie look each other over warily.

  “It’s no big deal. I’ve seen worse,” Aidan mutters again. Directly to Charlie.

  My whiskers twitch.

  Leave, clever fox, I demand silently. This is our home. Our bathroom. You’re not wanted.

  I’m sure anyone would sense what I do. Aidan has the potential to inflict pain. Maybe it’s because someone has been cruel to him, in his short life.

  Charlie, to his credit, lifts his head defiantly. “Good for you,” he replies, a little too loudly. “Now GET OUT before I yell for my dad. I know you’re not allowed up here. You’re not supposed to be upstairs. He just told you that an hour ago.”

  Aidan shrugs again. “Whatever, dude. Your parents aren’t really paying attention. And you know it.” He smirks. “Besides, your sister wouldn’t take no for an answer. She’s a demanding woman.”

  He exits to the hallway, and we hear his footsteps as he heads straight to Victoria’s room. Charlie steps over to slam the bathroom door shut.

  “It’s not fair, Lil,” he says to me. “They drive me crazy.”

  I’m so sorry. They drive me crazy too.

  I stand, and push my nose into his hand. Charlie picks me up and strokes my fur. I feel his heart beating, his body shaking, and realize how anxious he is. Again I think about how unfair it is that Charlie has to be distressed in his own home. I wish Victoria would break up with Aidan, and this could be over.

  For the first time, something occurs to me. I have been under the assumption that someone is hurting Charlie at school, while Aidan teases Charlie here at home.

  But maybe Aidan is the one hurting Charlie. Could he be the bully himself, one and the same?

  It seems unlikely. But also possible.

  It doesn’t make sense that Aidan would do anything that would seriously upset Victoria. Does it?

  I see the way he looks at her. Like a dog whose owner kicks him, Aidan fears rejection, and he doubts Victoria’s love, but he is too devoted to stay away. Although he ignores her wishes sometimes, he is also desperate to please her. He wants her attention, and hurting Charlie would certainly achieve that, but not in a good way.

  No, I find it hard to believe he’d hurt Charlie and risk losing Victoria.

  At the same time, he has a cold look in his eyes sometimes.

  I will continue to be vigilant. Aidan must be considered a suspect at this point.

  I am so completely engrossed with thinking about Aidan that I almost don’t hear Dad come storming in from the back deck, where he was talking with Mom. As soon as Charli
e opens the bathroom door, I sprint out, and I barely get to the balcony in time to see Dad striding down the hallway. Gretel trails after Dad, tail and tongue both wagging, but it’s no use. He doesn’t even notice her.

  Dad rips open the front door. Mom is following him, and he turns back around to face her. He speaks quietly, I assume so the children won’t hear. “I drink too much, okay? Kate, I know. I’ve admitted it. That’s the first step, right? Admitting it? But it’s not as bad as you make it out to be. I don’t have a problem. You’re making this into a problem that doesn’t exist. I can stop when I want to. I just don’t want to right now, because of the pain. You’re the one who flushed my pills—and that’s okay. Really. I don’t want the pills. I don’t. They’re illegal. Drug addiction is . . . completely different. I just need a drink sometimes.”

  She just shakes her head. Mom has heard this before.

  “Kate,” he begs, tears in his eyes. “I need to come home. I don’t want a divorce. I can’t do this anymore.”

  She closes her eyes, and wraps her arms around herself tight, as she does when she is upset. “No,” she says in a shaky voice. “I’ve already said no. Not unless you get help.”

  “Kate. I don’t need help.” He cringes when he says help, like it’s a terrible word. “You know I want to come home, don’t you?”

  “Yes. I know that. But you’re not well. You say you know it, but you don’t. I’m sorry, Jeremy, but you don’t get it. I talked to Dr. Lodge about it. You have a cross addiction. You just substituted one thing for another.”

  Dad’s mouth twitches. “You talked to our doctor about it?” he whispers, unbelieving. “But I don’t want people to know about this, Kate.” His eyes are wild and desperate. But he and I can both see that Mom has her mind made up.

  “Too late,” she replies, her voice fading. “It’s too late. I’m getting help for myself, even if you won’t.”

  “But you don’t need—” Dad shakes his head. He takes a step back, rubbing his forehead with one hand. “Ah, Kate. Forget it.” And then he lets himself out.

  Gretel watches the door, but Dad does not come back.

  Gretel finally lays down on the hall rug, head on her paws. She will wait. She will wait there all night if necessary, waiting to see if Dad returns. But I know he will not.

  Chapter 10

  Faking It

  Vincent comes and cleans out our entire garage. I suppose he felt bad when Mom complained about the mess Mark left.

  He lets himself in the front door one morning when everyone is out, waking me from my nap. When he walks through the house, and I hear his boots on the kitchen floor, I jump up to scamper after him. Very polite, he holds the door open for me as we both go out to the garage.

  “Ladies first.”

  Why, thank you!

  Raising both overhead doors so that light pours in, Vincent gives our garage the thorough cleaning that Mark did not quite achieve. In fact, he does much more than his fair share. He moves the bikes and other sports equipment out to the driveway before sweeping. He straightens the garbage and recycling cans. He piles his building tools and equipment carefully in one corner, so a car can once again park in the empty space.

  I watch Vincent from the stairs that lead from the garage to the house. It is my favorite perch. I can see the green of the pine trees outside and breathe in the humid spring air, all while remaining in the cool shadows.

  When he is done, a bead of sweat runs down Vincent’s face. He pushes his glasses more securely on his nose when they slip down. His face is red and his breathing uneven.

  My! I hope he is not having heart trouble of some kind.

  I walk outside, stretch my legs, and sit under my favorite bush. Vincent wipes his brow, and closes the garage doors as he heads back into the house. Once the grinding noise of the doors stops, all is quiet. I am able to hear the rustle of marsh grasses across the street, and the chatter of the birds in the woods behind us. A seagull swoops overhead with a loud cry.

  I hunt for mice as the sun rises high in the sky. I wasn’t expecting to get outside today. Usually after Mom leaves for work in the morning, I go back to sleep. So this is a nice change of pace.

  I do believe this is the cleanest our garage has ever been. Once in a while, Mom asks Kevin to sweep it out. But the family rarely straightens up the way Vincent just did.

  When he lived here, Dad sometimes spent time in the garage. He has a special cabinet that he keeps locked. He did not let anyone in his cabinet, not even Mom. He would only open it when other humans were not around.

  There was one day last spring when Mom asked aloud if Kevin knew where the key was. Kevin just shrugged. He said he had no idea.

  Dad had his secrets. But everyone has a right to privacy. I firmly believe that. When I am cleaning myself, I prefer to do it alone, in an otherwise empty room.

  That same day, Mom asked Dad about the cabinet. He was drinking a cup of coffee at the kitchen table and looked surprised, caught off guard. He just shrugged, saying he’d lost the key, and would look for it later. Snapping the newspaper open in front of him, he made it clear the conversation was over.

  But I knew the key was not lost. Dad opened the cabinet frequently enough for me to know better.

  * * *

  About an hour later, I hear voices, far away. I take a look in the direction of the noise. Charlie and Victoria are walking up the street, coming home from the bus stop.

  Victoria approaches the garage and presses some buttons to lift the doors. Her mouth drops open in surprise. “Who cleaned up?”

  “Maybe Vincent was here,” Charlie says. “Wow. It looks amazing.” He bends to slip his backpack off. It’s stuffed full and Charlie lets it slide from his shoulder with a groan. He straightens back up. “Maybe we should hang here and enjoy the nice weather for a while before we go in.”

  “Yeah,” Victoria says with a shrug. “It’s actually pretty decent out. The sun feels warm.”

  Charlie sniffs. Sometimes I think he is allergic to the outdoors, the way the sun makes him sneeze. “Did you ever have Mr. Carver for science? I’m so glad I got him for biology.”

  They get into a conversation about Charlie’s science class. Victoria tells him a few stories about her own teacher.

  Eventually, a group of boys appear as they round the corner. As they get closer, my siblings stop and watch. Victoria slowly slides her own yellow backpack off, dropping it at her feet on the driveway. Charlie and Victoria face each other and continue their conversation. But I can see: They’re watching the boys.

  “Hey, Vicky,” one of the lead boys calls to Victoria as they run past. He is an athletic young man. It’s a warm day, and his T-shirt is off and tucked into the waistband of his shorts. She waves back.

  When the next group comes by, another boy yells, from the middle of the pack. “Hi, Vic!”

  This time she smiles. “Pete, run faster! You’re falling behind,” she teases him.

  Finally, the last stragglers jog down the street, including the boy who spoke to Charlie before.

  “Hey again,” he says to Charlie, when he gets close. “You live here, huh? Cool. You’re so close to the beach.”

  “Yeah,” Charlie says, glancing down at his sneakers.

  “Hi, I’m Vicky,” Victoria says brightly.

  Charlie gives her a quick glance of panic before turning back to the boy. “I’m Charlie.”

  “Yeah, I know.” The boy smiles and nods, his face friendly and open. He slows down and then stops, allowing the other boys to sprint ahead. His face is pink, but he is not sweating yet, as they have just started running. “My name’s Ronaldo.”

  “It is?” Charlie meets his eyes for the first time. “My friend Karen told me it was Raul.”

  “Ah, so you’ve been talking about me?” Ronaldo teases him.

  Charlie’s lips part, but no words come out. He shoves his hands in his jeans pockets.

  Something about Ronaldo’s voice sounds interesting. He pronounce
s words a little differently than my humans. His skin is darker, and his hair is cut very short. Ronaldo couldn’t look more different from Charlie, in the same way my long creamy fur is very different from that of a short-haired tabby.

  He continues, talking very fast. “It’s Ronaldo, like the footballer from Brazil. Or soccer player, as you say. That’s how you can remember it. You’ve heard of him, right?”

  Once again, Charlie seems at a loss for words. He can barely look at the boy, never mind keep the conversation going.

  The boy gestures toward the open road. “Okay, well . . . I’ve gotta run. Literally.”

  Victoria laughs, sounding delighted. “Yeah, you better get going,” she says. “They’re going to think you’re slacking off.”

  Charlie just squints and studies the pavement. “Okay,” he says quietly. “See you tomorrow, maybe.”

  “Definitely.” Ronaldo smiles, and heads off.

  Victoria gives her brother a disgusted look. As if to say: Really?

  My nose twitches. I’m not sure why she is so dissatisfied.

  Charlie stares down toward the end of the street. Once

  Ronaldo is out of sight, he exhales. “Oh my God,” he moans.

  “Oh my God. That was so painful.”

  “Do you like that kid?”

  “Do I like him?” Charlie turns back to his sister. “Are you kidding? Did you see him?” He sounds like he is in agony. “Oh my God.”

  She smirks. “Yeah. I saw him.” She shakes her head at the look of misery on her brother’s face. “C’mon, Charlie. You couldn’t laugh when he was trying to be funny? You didn’t even crack a smile. You looked like you were going to throw up. You can do better than that.”

  “I can? I really don’t think I can. I can’t.”

  “Yeah, you can. It sounds like he follows soccer. Maybe you should look it up and learn something.”

  Charlie leans over and lifts his backpack, wincing as he heaves it onto his back. He sighs. “I don’t know, Vic. I already have to study baseball to talk to Dad. I don’t want to fake it with Ronaldo too. It’s too exhausting.”

  Victoria tips her head, considering this. I approach her, and rub against her ankles.