by Sandi Ward
I glance up to see Mom’s cup of coffee on the edge of the counter. It must be cold by now.
Mark bites his bottom lip, and I think he’s afraid he’s said something wrong. I sense his body temperature going up, even through his jeans and my fur. His eyes start to water up, and he opens his mouth to speak, but hesitates for a moment.
“I didn’t know what to do, Kate,” he finally blurts out.
“Of course you didn’t—”
“I mean—when they swarmed me. I felt the first sting as soon as I saw them, and suddenly they were all over me. They were everywhere. It happened so fast.” His eyes fill with tears, but he doesn’t cry. He just swallows, taking a deep breath. “I still don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” He shivers, and I sense his body is still trying to adjust. “I hope no bees followed me in here or got in the house.”
Mom glances around the kitchen, as if suddenly remembering where she is. Sitting on the kitchen floor. On a nice spring afternoon. With a man we hardly know. “In here? I haven’t seen any buzzing around.”
Mark tells her that his arm is frozen and getting numb. She removes the ice pack and massages his lower arm and hand to bring the circulation back. I can tell it makes him feel better by the way he tips his head back and closes his eyes. His breathing becomes more steady and even.
“Kate,” he says softly. “You’re a good nurse.”
She smiles.
Eventually the ice melts and soaks the towel. Mom gets up to put the wet towel in the sink, and then sits back down again next to Mark, right on the floor. He hasn’t moved. When she looks on her phone again, I can tell from her face that something is troubling her.
“I should have called 911.” She presses the phone again. “It says here you should always call for an ambulance when you have an allergic reaction. Just like Kevin said.”
“I’m not allergic,” Mark says. “I just got dizzy.”
Mom leans over him and studies the welts on his arm. She gently touches the sting on his cheek. “I’m not so sure. You should go get checked out by a doctor.”
Mark smiles at her. “You’re funny, you know that? Seriously. I am A-okay. I am in perfect health.”
“I’ll call the exterminator tonight,” she promises. “We’ll get rid of the nest.”
While this afternoon has been very exciting, I’m concerned.
Something about this new man is distracting Mom from the real problem, the most serious issue, which is Charlie and his injuries. I need to stay on Mom’s case until we get to the bottom of things.
The problem is, Mark seems to be working his magic on me too. Here I am, warm and cozy and nestled between his legs, like a loaf of bread in the oven. We’ve been sitting here for the longest time.
I am getting sidetracked, which happens sometimes in life. I’m not going to beat myself up about it. But I do feel a little guilty.
It’s time for me to begin my efforts to rid our house of the clever fox.
Chapter 14
The Kissing Problem
Now, when Aidan comes over after school, there is less talking and more kissing.
Aidan and Victoria sit side by side in the middle of the living room couch, glued together at the mouth for long stretches of time. Not much else happens. They hardly change positions or move their hands, other than Aidan reaching up to twirl a strand of Victoria’s hair in his fingers. It seems terribly boring to me.
At least they are quiet. And Aidan is too busy to cause any trouble.
I expected this development to go over well with the boys. After all, Aidan is less focused on Kevin and Charlie than ever before. He has no time, energy, or incentive to bother them. He has found something much more interesting to do! And he has Victoria’s undivided attention.
But on the contrary, Kevin isn’t happy. Although mating is a natural part of life, he seems to find their behavior disgusting. When he has to pass by the front room, he holds his hands out in front of him like he cannot stand the sight.
“Please. STOP. So gross. I shouldn’t have to watch that.”
Victoria lazily turns her head. “What?”
“Can’t you do that somewhere else?” he begs.
“We’re not allowed upstairs, dude,” Aidan offers.
“Go outside to the deck, can’t you?” Kevin sulks and walks away.
“It’s more comfortable here.” Victoria shrugs, and puts her head down on Aidan’s shoulder, her arms around him.
When Charlie witnesses the same behavior, he makes noises like he’s gagging, hand at his throat. At first, I think he is actually getting sick or choking, and hurry to his side. But then I realize he is just voicing his displeasure.
Victoria doesn’t argue with Charlie. She just laughs. “Sorry, buddy,” she calls out after him as he leaves the room.
Poor Charlie. He doesn’t have Kevin’s size or strength, so he doesn’t say anything in front of Aidan. But he is uncomfortable with this development too. He goes upstairs to his room and when I get to the top of the stairs, I see he has closed the door so I cannot go and comfort him.
He has shut me out! My goodness! This has never happened before.
I can see that the boys are right. It is wrong to assume that just because the fox is not causing trouble right now that it is okay for him to be in our house. It’s time to put a plan into action and do something to try and help Victoria see the real Aidan. But what?
After a few days of stewing, I get myself worked up. I’ve had enough.
I want to be a hero. Just like Dad and Gretel “fight bad guys,” I want to scare off a bad guy.
I cannot allow myself to forget about what I’ve seen in Aidan. The theft. The underhanded comments. The potential for more serious crimes. He might turn on Victoria one day, and break her heart.
This isn’t acceptable.
So one afternoon I wait under a chair in the living room. When Victoria goes to the kitchen to get a snack and Aidan stands up to stretch, I sneak quietly over to the couch and position myself on the rug very close to his feet.
I wait for my chance. Watching. Nose twitching in anticipation.
As soon as Victoria turns the corner, I meow! and jump. Then I turn toward Aidan and hiss! as viciously as I can, pawing and scratching the air.
“Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.” Victoria almost drops the glasses of water she’s carrying. “What the hell?”
Aidan has moved several feet away from me. His eyes open wide. “You’re asking me? Your psycho cat just flipped out.”
“Did you step on her tail?” Victoria snaps at him. She has a hot temper, like Dad. She goes from calm to furious in a quick moment.
“No. Definitely no.” Aidan glares at me, angry. “I didn’t even move. I swear. Vic. Your cat is insane.”
I hiss! again, crouching and forcing my fur to stand on end for effect.
Aidan’s eyes open wider. He is confused.
Rowr! I accuse.
He points at me. “She’s a mouthy little bitch.”
What? What did he just say? I know human curse words when I hear them!
Victoria’s head tips to the side. “Did you kick her? Did you throw her off the couch?”
“No. And NO. C’mon, why would I do that?” He is quickly getting worked up. I can hear it in his voice. “I didn’t do a goddamn thing.”
Victoria glares at him, and doesn’t offer him the water. “What kind of person hurts an innocent animal?”
Aidan’s mouth drops open in shock. “What? What are you talking about? Oh my God. I promise you. Seriously. I did not do anything. Either on purpose or by accident.”
“Sure you didn’t. Then why is she so mad?” Victoria shakes her head in disappointment. Putting the water down on the little table, she turns to me. “What’s the matter, Lily? Are you okay?”
I come out of my defensive stance and walk toward her. Victoria reaches down to pet my head, then picks me up and holds me to her chest. She murmurs reassurance into my ear.
Over her s
houlder I give Aidan a look. Ha ha. He thinks he is the clever one? We’ll see about that. He scowls back at me.
I have outwitted a fox before. When that red fox chased me in the marsh, I ducked under a fence and ran for cover under the deck of our house. I’m sure I can beat Aidan in any game he wants to play.
I intend to expose him for all he’s worth. Once Victoria sees that Aidan is capable of hurting me, she’ll soon realize that it’s possible he’s doing the same to Charlie.
Chapter 15
Strawberry Fields Forever
After the incident with the bees, things change between Mark and Mom.
The two of them are always aware of where the other is in a room. Closing in, then pulling away.
I hear how the tone of Mom’s voice changes when she speaks to Mark. With Vincent, her old friend, Mom’s voice is bright and confident. With Mark, her tone is still friendly, but more playful by a notch. I would say there is a more suggestive quality to it. She is very interested in his replies. And she is starting to smile at him—with her mouth, and her eyes, and in the way she slightly tips her head.
It makes me realize that it has been a while since I’ve seen her smile.
She has been so weary. I almost forgot what her smile looked like.
Mark must hear the change in her voice too. He stops whatever he is doing to listen when she talks. He turns his body toward her when he answers her questions, squaring his shoulders and standing still.
Mark has also started to bring over food every time he is here. He brings things that everyone likes to eat: scones, muffins, or a loaf of bread.
One day, there is a knock on the front door in the middle of the afternoon. Victoria goes to answer the door, and Mark is standing there.
“Hey,” Victoria says. “Are you working here this afternoon? I don’t think we were expecting you.”
“No,” Mark says, “Is your mom home?” He squints, as the sun is in his eyes.
“No.”
Victoria shifts her weight from foot to foot. She’s wearing fuzzy purple socks. I look from one to the other. It seems to be one of those unusual moments when Mark is at a loss for words.
Mark finally nods. “I just had an extra cake I made at the restaurant this morning, and I didn’t know what to do with it. It’s carrot cake.” He hands Victoria a white bag, which she takes.
“Okay.” Victoria holds the bag with one hand a little bit away from her body. “Yeah. Okay.”
“Give it to your mom,” Mark finally says, shoving his hands in his pants pockets. “Maybe it will cheer her up.”
“Cheer her up?” Victoria looks confused.
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “I’ve gotta go.” He heads back down the path toward his truck. Victoria and I watch him for a moment before she shuts the door.
It reminds me of when I hunt down a mouse and deposit it on the doorstep. It is instinctive to me, to take care of my loved ones by awarding them my spoils, sharing my bounty. It is a possessive gesture and a protective one.
So I see how Mark’s behavior reflects how he feels about Mom. He often comes into the kitchen to check on her, stalking back and forth to make sure he knows exactly where she is. It reminds me of the way Gretel paces around Dad when she is keeping an eye on him.
It’s almost as if . . .
Well, I’ll have to see how it plays out.
* * *
Vincent starts bringing his own dog with him sometimes when he comes over to work, to “get him some fresh air.” I don’t know why Vincent thinks the air in our damp old cottage is any fresher than the air at his own home.
Vincent’s dog is squat, with a smashed in face that I think looks very smug. His fur is black, and his round eyes are too. His name is George. George is a wobbly thing who walks around with his nose in the air.
I think he’s a bit ridiculous. I’m not sure Gretel knows what to make of him. When Gretel sniffs him all over, her long nose prodding his belly, George just stands there with a superior look on his face.
But Vincent loves George, so he can’t be all bad. Mark seems fond of George too. When George can’t climb up on the couch because his legs are too short, Mark lifts his heavy body up and plops him down on a cushion.
The men are funny together when they are both here. Even though Vincent is the one who has known Mom for years, he and Mark both tease Mom in equal measure. She especially likes to complain about them tracking in sawdust on their work boots and jeans.
“It just clings to us, Kate,” Vincent says, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses. “What can we do about it? I’m sorry. We’ll vacuum when we’re done. We promise.”
“Maybe she expects us to strip off our boots and pants and leave them in the garage every time we come in here,” Mark suggests, as he carries in a piece of wood, which he has hoisted up on his shoulder.
“Me, building in my underwear. Oh, sure.” Vincent laughs heartily. “That’s the last thing anyone wants to see. Trust me.” It’s nice to hear Vincent laugh, after seeing him so upset about his wife. I can see why he likes working with Mark. Mark entertains him.
Mom smiles at both of them. But her gaze gravitates toward Mark.
Vincent heads back out to the garage and Mark starts to follow, but then stops to linger in the doorway. He places his hands on either side of the doorframe, leaning in toward Mom. He fills the space so that Mom and I can’t help but stare at him. “Katie, do you think Vincent wears boxers or briefs?”
This is another thing Mark has started doing: calling Mom “Katie.”
I don’t get it. Katie is not her name. No one calls her that.
She rolls her eyes and sighs loudly for his benefit, her arms wrapped around herself. “Honestly, I don’t want to know.”
Mark says nothing, but raises an eyebrow. I think he has other things he could say, perhaps a joke he could tell, but he is being careful. He keeps his mouth shut.
Vincent appears back in the kitchen, holding his hammer. “What are you doing? I thought you were right behind me.”
“I was,” Mark says. “But then I stopped to ask Katie if she thinks you wear boxers or briefs. I’m going to guess you probably wear boxer shorts with little black pug dogs on them. You know, that look like George.”
George looks up, tongue hanging out stupidly, when he hears his name.
“Little pug dogs on them?” Vincent laughs again. “Uh, yeah, I love pugs. But on my boxer shorts? I guess that would be cute. I suppose.” His face has turned pink, and he adjusts his glasses.
It’s clear to me why Vincent hired Mark. What Mark lacks in carpentry skills, he makes up for in amusing chatter. For Vincent, Mark brings a lightness to work at a time when everything is serious and awful at home.
There are other days when Mark comes over by himself, and on these days Mom does not limit herself to the kitchen. She goes right into the living room and curls up with a cookbook on the couch. I can see that she likes to look at Mark, and watch him work. Although, frankly, he never seems to get much work done.
The two of them chat, about everything and nothing. Mark plays music while he works, something Mom never does, but she doesn’t seem to mind.
One day, something out of the ordinary happens. It starts as Mark stands by the window. He seems to have made some progress on the bookshelves at this point, but I am not sure exactly how much, because I don’t know what the plans look like. Mark stops what he’s doing to listen. Music is playing softly from speakers that I cannot locate. “I love this song,” he says. The music almost seems to come out of nowhere. “Living is easy with eyes closed.”
Mom turns her head. “What?”
“It’s the Beatles. You a fan? ‘Strawberry Fields Forever.’ ”
“Oh.” Mom seems disconcerted. I’m not sure she knows much about music. “Is this one of their psychedelic songs? One you’re supposed to listen to while you’re taking drugs?”
Mark smirks. “I guess we could, if you want,” he jokes, but when he sees the serious lo
ok on her face, he stops smiling. “Maybe you’re thinking of ‘Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.’ ”
She looks Mark over. “Are you one of those people who wishes he lived in the 1960s? You know, a hippie at heart?”
He snorts. “No. I’m happy to live now. With modern appliances and civil rights and all that. I have no interest in going back in time.” The tempo of the song seems to change, and Mark tips his head. “This is a classic.” He nods his head, as if his mind is made up about something. “Hey, do you dance? Felicia had this idea we’d learn to ballroom dance for our wedding.”
Before she can object, Mark has stepped up to Mom, and reaches toward her. She lets him pull her up to a standing position, right in front of him. He holds one of her hands in his, and tucks his other hand around to rest on the small of her back.
Well! This is new.
“I can’t—” She tries to move her feet with him. “Mark, I don’t know—”
“Sure, it’s easy.” He doesn’t stop smiling at her. Again, I note his perfect posture. Hips forward, shoulders straight, head up. So different from Charlie and Kevin, who stumble and slouch through the day.
“Why do I get the feeling you’d rather do anything else than build my bookshelf?” Mom says with a sigh.
“On the contrary.” He turns her with an easy move. “I love this project. Getting my hands dirty and all that.”
“You do?”
He stops moving for a moment, but doesn’t take his hand off her back. “Sure. First, I nearly cut my fingers off with the saw. And then I almost went into anaphylactic shock from the bee attack. It’s been awesome. Plus, Vincent is teaching me a lot. I can’t wait to see how we frame out the windows. I’ll probably lose an eye at some point. But it’ll be worth it.”
Mom smiles, at first tentatively, but then completely.
I suppose it is their eye contact that interests me the most. Mom often glares at Dad when she talks to him, but he averts his eyes. As if he is trying to make himself invisible. Or as if the sound of Mom’s voice is painful to him. I think everything about their relationship affects Dad deeply, and sometimes it hurts. It hurts more than he can bear.