by Sandi Ward
“I want to meet your mom,” Victoria suggests lightly.
Aidan winces. “No. You really don’t want to.” It doesn’t sound like the matter is up for discussion.
My whiskers stand at attention. What fantastical tale is Aidan weaving now? No one has touched him in a year? Surely he’s joking. I can hardly go a day without a human’s touch. I absolutely insist upon it. I will jump into any lap, rub against any ankle, and walk across any sleeping body to get the attention of my humans.
What he is saying has implications that are so astounding I cannot even fathom it. No wonder he is so cautious and desperate around Victoria. His heart is probably not sure if he should trust her or not.
Slowly, carefully, Victoria drags the palm of her hand across Aidan’s cheek. She breaks into a wide grin.
He raises an eyebrow. “What?”
“Do you mean to tell me . . .” She pauses, making him wait a beat. “Are you admitting to me that you’ve never kissed a girl? You just said no one but me has touched you in a year.”
He tilts his head, just a bit. He is amused by how excited she is to realize this, that he’s never kissed a girl. And the look that he gives her forces me to see it, to understand what she likes about him.
I don’t want to see it. Believe me. I don’t want her to like him. He’s a thief and a sneak and a manipulative human.
However.
What I see is this.
It’s not that Aidan smiles at Victoria. No, he rarely smiles.
The look that he gives her is guarded, but it’s also: Warm. Inclusive. A little naughty. As if they are in on a secret together.
“No. I actually haven’t.” He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “No point in trying to fake it at this point, right?”
“Good.” Her face is very near his. “I’m going to kiss you right now.”
I see him almost flinch, fear crossing his face. But the next thing I know, Victoria leans forward and presses her mouth into his. He freezes for a moment. Finally his whole body relaxes, and he pushes back, eager to please her.
Their first kiss. And I am witness to it.
When they part, Victoria is all glorious smiles. Triumphant.
Aidan, to me, looks a bit dazed. I think I am witnessing him slowly coming into his own as a young man.
He must also be realizing his weaknesses. He is going to have to submit to Victoria’s whims if he wants to keep her as his mate.
“I suppose . . .” he falters. “I guess you’ve kissed a few guys before.”
Victoria reaches up and plays with her necklace, twirling it in her fingers. “Maybe. Just a few. It doesn’t matter. You’re a good kisser.” She turns back toward the TV.
Aidan puts his arm around her again and draws her close. He looks smug and proud of himself.
Well! Victoria has certainly made her feelings clear.
I don’t approve.
Victoria turns suddenly to face Aidan and make eye contact. “You know, you smell really good. Do you—?”
He looks down, watching her mouth. I can see he wants to kiss her again. “It’s just some soap my aunt bought me for Christmas.”
She laughs. “Are you sure you’re not wearing some kind of cologne or—?”
“No. Vicky, I told you. It’s just soap,” he repeats, interrupting her. But he’s not angry. He looks happy, about as happy as he ever gets.
I feel a little squeeze of satisfaction in my heart. I do love to see humans happy. Even bad creatures deserve love. I believe that.
But then I hear the big clock chiming in the hall. And Charlie’s footsteps on the floor above us. My ears flatten. I don’t feel so well all of a sudden, because I remember how Aidan is not nice to my Charlie.
How am I so easily swayed? The humans confound me. I have to remind myself that Aidan is not worthy of Victoria. He shouldn’t be taking up space in our house.
This partnering will not work in my favor. Victoria is getting close to a bully, and I must act with more urgency to expose him, before it’s too late. It is time to make plans. I slink away to think it over.
Chapter 13
Bees
It is late afternoon and Mom is standing in the kitchen with a cup of coffee when Mark comes bursting in. He is wearing a dark T-shirt coated in wood dust because he’s been working in the garage, and he comes straight at Mom almost in a run. She is so startled that a splash of her coffee sloshes onto the tile floor.
He stands in front of her, right by the kitchen sink. His eyes are open wide and he is almost panting, red in the face. “Bees,” is all he manages to say. “Garage gutter. A nest. Or—hornets. A swarm of them.”
When she looks down at his arms as he holds them out in front of her, I see them. Red welts. A few of them. On his right hand and arm. And one on his cheek.
Mom hurries to put her cup on the counter. “Oh my God. Are you allergic?”
His face is quickly turning from red to white. “Um, no. I mean, I don’t think so. I don’t know.” He takes in a shaky breath. “But . . . I feel kind of. You know. Like I might. Pass out.”
“Oh God. Don’t faint. I could never catch you if you did. Just sit.”
Mark looks around wildly. He takes one step toward the kitchen table but instead staggers into the counter, hitting it hard with his hip.
“No, no, no.” Mom puts both of her hands on his arms. “Just sit right down. On the floor.” She helps him as he sinks to the floor, and makes sure he is leaning securely against the cabinets. “KEVIN,” she shouts. “COME HELP ME.”
Mom goes flying to the drawer where she keeps medicine and starts ripping boxes out and throwing them on the counter. She finds a red box and shakes out the contents.
Kevin comes sauntering in. He sees Mark on the floor, and stares at him, hands on his hips. “Yeah?”
“Ice!” Mom yells. “Get ice.”
“Oh. Sorry. Okay.” Kevin jumps into action and takes a glass bowl out from a low shelf. He begins dispensing ice from the icemaker into the bowl, where it lands with a clink, clink, clink, clink. When a cube misses the bowl and hits the tile floor with a smash! I bat it with my paw and it slides toward Mark.
I love playing with ice even more than I love playing with popcorn. The way it glides across the floor—amazing! But I’m just trying to be helpful.
Mom fills a glass with water, and kneels down on the floor. “Here. Take an antihistamine.” She helps Mark take a little red pill and swallow it down. “Just in case you’re having a reaction.”
Kevin wraps ice in a white towel, and crouches down on the other side of Mark. “Are you okay? Can you breathe? Your arm is swelling up.”
Mark fills his lungs with a deep breath. “Yeah. I’m okay. It just really hurts. I’m surprised how much it hurts. And it kinda itches.” He puts the ice on the wrist of his right arm. Looking from Kevin to Mom, who are both hovering over him, he suddenly seems embarrassed. “When they started to swarm me, I didn’t know what to do.”
Mom takes the phone out of her back pocket and shakes her head. “There’s nothing you could do. This is my fault. Vicky told me about that nest weeks ago, and I forgot to do anything about it. I’m going to look up bee stings.”
“You’re not allergic, are you?” Kevin asks.
Mark leans his head back against the cabinets and shakes his head. “Nah, your mom asked me. Not that I know of.”
“I’m going to check your pulse,” Mom announces, and then places two fingers on the side of his neck. “You’re supposed to check for a weak, rapid pulse.” Mark closes his eyes. I think he is trying his best to relax.
“Is he okay?” Kevin demands. “Should we call 911?”
Mom sees Mark has his eyes closed, and shrugs at her son. She mouths: I don’t know.
“I’m fine,” Mark says, without opening his eyes. “Do not call 911. My medical insurance is shit. Don’t bother.”
What’s that—?
Ah. Mark has said a bad word! One for which the children would ha
ve to put a coin in the swear jar. That’s one of Mom’s rules. I wonder if Mom will be angry or upset.
But no. She says nothing. I suppose she lets Mark get away with it because he is new here. He may not know all the rules yet.
Instead, Mom leans forward and puts her head right on Mark’s chest, I suppose to listen to his heart. I know where the human heart is. I feel it beating when I lay on Charlie’s chest. I felt Mark’s heart when he held me in his arms.
I believe this catches Mark by surprise, because his eyes open with alarm. He takes in a quick, deep breath and some color comes back into his cheeks.
Well! If his pulse was weak, I believe Mom has straightened it out now.
When Mom backs away, she holds onto Mark’s arm to keep the ice securely in place. “You’re breathing okay? You can swallow?”
“I think so,” he says, speaking softly, and not taking his eyes off of Mom.
“Okay. That’s good.” Kevin stands up. “Excellent. He’s okay, then. I think he’ll live.” He pushes up his sleeves. “I was nervous there for a minute. I learned First Aid in Scouts. In case of emergency. You’re supposed to call 911 for an anaphylactic event. But I guess you’d probably be gasping for air right now if you were having a severe reaction.”
A few wood shavings stick to the dark blue of Kevin’s shirt. Kevin brushes himself off.
With a sigh, he turns to go. When his back is to his Mom, I see his face darken.
He doesn’t look too happy about the fact that Mark is okay.
At the foot of the stairs, Kevin turns. He shuffles his feet and scratches the back of his head. “You know, you should call your wife,” he yells a little too loudly from the end of the hallway.
Mom’s head turns up sharply. She squints, as if she may not have heard him right. “What, Kevin?”
“His wife. He should call her. So she can pick him up and drive him home.”
We listen to Kevin’s footsteps as he goes up the stairs. At first he climbs slowly, but then he runs up the final few steps.
I suppose Mom and Mark are considering Kevin’s suggestion. But Mom looks a little surprised. And Mark doesn’t reach for his phone.
The kitchen is quiet once Kevin leaves. I can hear clothes tumbling in the dryer, a low rumble. It’s a nice sound. I’m sure Mom will put everything in the basket, and I will get to snuggle into a nice warm pile of clothes before the day is out.
But in the meantime, I contemplate my options. I’d like to climb into Mom’s lap to reassure her, but she is on her knees. So I step between Mark’s legs, which are splayed across the floor. I settle down, nesting comfortably.
Mark is still a stranger to us. I don’t know if we would consider him a family friend quite yet. Sitting on a stranger’s lap isn’t something I would normally do.
But they’re just legs. They’re warm. Who cares who they belong to?
Besides, I’m starting to get used to Mark’s peppery scent. It’s not bad. I rather like it. And maybe I can help his recovery from the bee stings by comforting him with my big warm body.
Mom and Mark both stare at different points on the floor. I think they are comfortable enough together to have a quiet moment without talking.
“I didn’t know you were married. Do you want . . . do you want me to call your wife?”
Mark looks down at me, and we make eye contact. Using the hand with no bee stings, he caresses the very top of my head, and I lean into it. His fingers circle around and scratch under my chin, so I tip my head back. It feels great, and I start to purr.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mom waiting for a reply. She chews on her lower lip. I believe she might be holding her breath.
“No,” he finally says.
Mom nods. She studies his bowed head and her eyes relax. I don’t think she wants him to go anywhere. I think she’d rather take care of him herself.
Mark drags his hand down my back. With a sigh, he goes on: “My wife’s not here. She moved back to California. She’s living with her parents.” His voice is calm, but he glances over at Mom, as if unsure how she’ll react to this news.
Mom waits, as if Mark is going to say more, but he doesn’t.
There is a long pause. And in that space and time, I know in my heart that things are being said that I cannot hear.
This happens sometimes between humans. They don’t speak out loud, but I can sense that something is going on. I’m no dummy.
“Oh.” Mom sinks down farther onto the floor, but her hands never leave the ice pack that rests on Mark’s forearm. “I’m sorry. How long ago did she move away?”
“About nine months.”
The big clock in the hall starts to chime. The sound echoes down the hall.
Mark looks down at Mom’s hands, at the way she holds the towel full of ice on his arm. Mom has pale hands, with a silver wedding band on one finger. She wears red nail polish, but it is chipped up. Her knees nearly touch his thigh.
“How long were you married?”
Mark’s face softens, and suddenly he looks younger to me. “Um, maybe five years? Not quite five years.” He must realize Mom wants more information, because he takes in a deep breath before going on: “We’re getting divorced. It’s just taking a while.”
Mom nods vigorously. “Yes. That’s what I’ve heard. It takes a long time.”
I lift my head when I hear loud music. Kevin has turned on the radio upstairs.
I suspect he wants nothing to do with what the adults are talking about down here.
Mark closes his eyes again, and Mom frowns. “Keep talking,” she insists. “I want to make sure you’re okay.” Somewhere upstairs, I hear the sink running. “What happened?”
I’m not sure if Mom wants Mark to keep talking simply to make sure he’s okay. From the focused look in her eye, I’d say she also genuinely wants to know what happened with Mark and his wife.
He clears his throat. “You mean—why are we getting divorced? Well. You know. I don’t usually go into it.” His voice gets deeper and quieter. “Nobody really wants to hear the whole horrible story. Once I start explaining it, people regret asking.”
Mom looks away, disappointed. “That’s okay.” She leans back against the counter and exhales. “You don’t have to tell me. I understand. Believe me, I get it. You don’t have to say anything. Sometimes you just can’t make it work, no matter how hard you try.”
Mom lifts the ice to look at the bee stings. Mark’s arm still seems slightly swollen. She pulls his arm so his hand rests on her lap, and shifts the position of the ice. Mark watches her, his eyes flickering from her hands to her face, and back again.
“We didn’t try very hard to make it work,” he suddenly blurts out. “The thing is, we . . .” He swallows, as if his mouth is getting dry. “It was too much. We wore each other down. We both moved out and put the house up for sale. We couldn’t keep living in that house. I don’t know what else to tell you.”
“Oh. Look—you don’t have to—” Mom’s hands cling to the ice pack on his arm, as if the pressure she’s applying is the only thing keeping Mark alive. The heat of her hands is probably making the ice melt, as I see a drop of water run down his arm and onto her leg. “What’s her name?”
“Hannah,” he says.
And then, just as I thought he was getting the color back in his face, Mark goes pale again. From the way his eyes dart back and forth but see nothing, I imagine he is thinking about something important. Perhaps it’s a memory that floods his mind.
He turns to look at Mom with horror. “Oh my God. No. No. No, I mean—our baby was Hannah. She lived for six months. But you’re asking for my wife’s name. I don’t know why I said Hannah.” Mark hangs his head. “Felicia. My wife. Her name is Felicia. After Hannah died, we didn’t try very hard to make it work. We just couldn’t do it again.”
Mom’s eyes widen, just slightly. I watch her pupils dilate.
My goodness. A baby. Who would have guessed? I can see Mom is as surprised as I am.
“I was so tired,” Mark goes on, “Just tired of everything. I quit my job. I barely had the energy to leave the house. I couldn’t even get out of bed. Felicia had no use for me in the end.”
Mom is so close to Mark that for a moment I think she’s going to lean her head right against his shoulder. But she just closes her eyes. “I had no idea,” she says. “Mark. I am very sorry to hear—” She shifts her weight and puts one hand under his elbow, adjusting the ice pack so it rests higher up on his arm. “I am very sorry to hear you lost your baby.”
He chews the inside of his mouth for a moment. “Thanks.” He frowns. “It’s funny, I never tell this story to people. I’ve learned not to. People find it too upsetting. I don’t know why I just said her name. I’ve been trying really hard to forget.”
“Mark.” Mom sits up a little straighter. “Maybe you’re thinking about Hannah because you’re lightheaded. You had a scare.”
“Maybe it’s because I’m talking to you,” he adds. “I just mean—you’re a mom. So you understand.”
“I do,” she agrees. “And of course you didn’t want to go through that again. You suffered a terrible shock. But I don’t know if you should try to forget Hannah. I’m sure you have some happy memories of her.” When he doesn’t reply, she goes on: “I don’t think you should avoid talking about her, even if it’s painful. You’re going to encounter a few tragedies in life no matter what you do, even if you do everything right. At least you’re living. You’re trying to live.”
Hmm. Do all humans encounter a few tragedies in life?
Has our family ever experienced a tragedy?
Perhaps by a “tragedy” Mom means something like Charlie getting bullied. That must be it. Mom will certainly snap to attention when she finally sees how Charlie has been getting hurt.
I look up at Mom. Her eyes are red and she looks upset, but confident in her advice.
Mark rests his head back on the cabinet and blinks. Twice. Thinking about it.