You Again

by Peggy Nicholson

  “You’re talking to me?” Jessica leapt to the couch, set one paw on his knee. “You are, you know.”

  He ignored her. “Downstairs’s as good as ruined. Smoke and water damage. The plants all died. She always loved plants…”

  “There was nothing I cared about, beyond the plants. It was just a place to live, Sam, nothing more.” Then she remembered. “My jewelry. Oh, Sam! Did you look in the bathroom?”

  But his hand had continued its forgotten motion. Reaching into his valise, he dragged out the lacquered black box in which she’d kept her jewelry since she was a little girl.

  “Yes! You did! You’re a wonder!”

  “Reckon I should send this to her mom for safekeeping?” Idly he flipped the lid, gazed inside. “Pearls, wouldn’t you know.” He pulled forth the long strand that had been a gift on her eighteenth birthday from her mother. “Don’t remember her wearing these. From a lover, you figure? Some Yankee stiff?”

  “Hardly.” Jessica sniffed at them as they slid through his fingers. “Mother will be glad to see those. They were her grandmother’s.”

  He drew forth several delicate gold chains, a piece of beach glass, a bluebird’s feather, a smaller box for the pearl-and-aquamarine studs she sometimes wore in her ears. Then his fingers closed on the one thing that mattered.

  “It’s still there!” she gasped in relief. “I thought maybe—” Somehow it seemed that if anything had been stolen, it would have been this.

  “What the…?” He shook the linked, crumpled bits of gold free from her other pieces. His brows angled in puzzlement. Then he saw, and his breath left him in a rush. “She still…” His fingers closed around the gold as if they cradled a butterfly. “She still…”

  “Yes.” Stepping up delicately into his lap, Jessica turned, then curled herself to fit his thighs. “Oh, yes.”

  For the first five days after they’d met, she’d hardly left his side. They’d made love, cooked, talked themselves hoarse, laughed themselves silly, slept, only to wake and make love again. An enchantment, she’d kept telling herself through those dreamlike days, magic, all the while knowing it couldn’t last—wouldn’t last. That he’d awake one morning any day now and realize she was the frog, not the fairy princess.

  But, oh, in the meantime it was worth it! She’d snatch and savor every incredible moment while she could.

  On the sixth day her courage had failed her. By now Sam had to be growing tired of her—a shy, awkward, sexually inexperienced kid? Too young for him, too bookish, too prim? He must be growing bored. But kindhearted as Sam was, would he ever say so?

  Nothing seemed more horrible to her than to intrude where she wasn’t wanted. She might be woefully unsophisticated, but all the same, she had her pride. And so, when Sam decided he had to teach an organic-chem section—he’d canceled his previous two sections by phone—she’d taken it as his signal that he wanted her to go. She could take a hint,

  While he taught, she’d returned to her own apartment. Had explained, when he phoned after his class, that she was tired. That she thought perhaps she’d spend the night at her own place—alone.

  Over the phone he’d sounded puzzled at her insistence. But he hadn’t tried to dissuade her. She remembered lying in her own bed that night, arms clasped tight around herself, tears dripping, thinking, It’s over. It was lovely while it lasted, but it’s over.

  Certain of that, she’d risen at dawn, run her five miles, then proceeded numbly with her day. She returned from the library midafternoon to find Sam lounging on her doorstep, his guitar on his lap, a picnic basket set to one side. “Ever gone on a champagne picnic?” he’d asked, his voice oddly husky.

  And smiling, filling her eyes with the miraculous sight of him, she’d simply shaken her head.

  What he brought for food that day she could never remember. It wasn’t that kind of feast. But she could remember the texture, the colors, the precise pattern of the Indian bedspread he’d brought along. They’d spread it in a meadow near a tree, waist-high grass walling their private world, blue sky their roof and only witness.

  They didn’t uncork the champagne till nearly sundown, and by then, they were thirsty. Neither of them were drinkers; the wine had gone straight to their heads. She remembered lying in his arms, giggling until she whimpered for mercy, and then Sam suddenly saying, “Well, what now?”

  “What d’you mean, what now?” She wound a whorl of his chest hair around her finger.

  “I mean, I could make mad, passionate love to you—”

  “For the fifth time?” she teased.

  “Eighth or eleventh by my count, but who’s counting? But if I do—make love to you, I mean—the skeeter’s will probably carry us off.”

  “They’re out,” she agreed, brushing one from his hair.

  “Where’re my manners? I should be holding the bloodsuckers at bay. Sir Walter Raleigh at your service, m’lady.” He suited action to words by rolling on top of her, then they giggled some more. Finally he collapsed, burying his mouth in the crook of her neck. “I s’pose we could get a pizza,” he mumbled against her skin.

  “Mmm…not hungry.” She was half-asleep, wholly content.

  “Go see a flick?”

  “Could…”

  His voice was elaborately casual, almost bored. “Or we could drive cross the state line, roust out a justice of the peace…”

  Her fingers stopped ruffling his hair. She could feel a heartbeat, whose she couldn’t tell, its steady thump staggering, then coming faster. “And after we’ve rousted him?”

  “Well, he could do his justice-of-the-peace shtick. Marry us.”

  “Oh, right!” She’d broken into fresh giggles. This was what she loved most about him—his craziness, the blithe fantasies he’d spin. “And then?”

  “Well, then we get the pizza, unless you want General Tzo’s?”

  And so they’d done it, on a lark, as a whim, giddy with their own ridiculous daring. Swept away on a floodtide of champagne and giggles. At least, that was the spirit in which Sam had married her.

  Beneath the nonstop laughter, she’d been terrified. Incredulous. Guilty as a thief snatching someone else’s treasure.

  And she had been greedy to snatch, foolish to agree— she’d known that from the start. She was taking outrageous advantage of Sam’s crazy mood, but she’d wanted him so desperately, so wholeheartedly, she’d thrown away her misgivings and done it all the same. “Yes,” she vowed before the justice of the peace, ignoring the upraised eyebrows of his wife, witness to their hasty ceremony. “Yes. I, Jessica Alexandra Myles, do take thee, Samuel Antonio Kirby, to be my lawful wedded husband.”

  Driving back home, tired, sunburned, almost feverishly joyful, they’d passed some sort of street festival. Seeing the colored lights, Sam had insisted they check it out. So they’d eaten hot dogs for their wedding supper, smooched on a Ferris wheel, then Sam had found a pushcart vendor with jewelry for sale. He’d bought them each a gold three-piece puzzle ring. She’d never treasured anything else half so much in all her life.

  “She still has it. She kept it…”

  Yes.

  “I used to tease her sometimes.” Sam unfolded his fist to look. “I’d slip hers off her finger, take it apart…”

  “And I used to wonder what you really meant when you did that.” Was it just a joke, or were you telling me something? Telling me you wanted to unmarry me? Undo our marriage? The first time he’d done that, then sat there laughing at her while she tried to put her ring back together, she’d almost cried, though she’d been careful not to let him see. Pride…competence…She’d always had too much of one, never quite enough of the other.

  “Smart as she is, she never had a head for spatial relationships. She couldn’t put it back together no matter how many times I showed her how.” He tossed the linked gold, jingling it, then held his palm open so Jessica could sniff the rings. “Guess she pulled it apart one last time.”

  “The night I left you…” Jess
ica nudged the wires, remembering again the pain in her finger as she ripped it off, a pain to match the one in her heart.

  “Reckon she’d mind if we put it back together?”

  “You can’t, Sam. I—”

  “S’pose she doesn’t have to know.” Resting his wrists on her back, he picked through the linked rings. “I could do this blindfolded.”

  “Not anymore, Sam.”

  His fingers paused, then frowning, he lifted the wires closer to his face. “Oh…”

  The delicate, eighteen-karat bands were almost malleable as butter. Sitting in her car that night, staring back toward the lighted window, gathering her courage to go, she’d closed her fist over the disassembled pieces and squeezed. Those bits of gold would never make a ring again, not even for Sam’s clever fingers.

  “I see…”

  “It was no more than you’d done, Sam. You pulled our marriage apart, messing around with that blonde. I pulled my ring apart. So don’t look like that.”

  He leaned forward, dropped the gold into her jewelry box, then dropped the lid. “Damn you, Jessica.” He stood, tumbling her out of his lap. “I know I can’t blame you, but damn you all the same.”

  A buzzer blared, making them both jump.

  “What’s that?” Jessica looked from Sam’s startled face to her own tail—three times its usual size—then back to Sam.

  He was checking his watch. “She’s early.”

  “Who?” Jessica asked as he picked her up.

  “It’s show time, cat. Put a smile on your furry puss, okay?”

  “What are you talking about?” He was carrying her toward the elevator. She jerked as the buzzer rasped again. “Sam?”

  He toggled an intercom switch beside the door. “Mary? Come on in and wait for us. We’re coming right down.” He pushed a button to open the lobby door.

  “Sam, who’s Mary?” she demanded as he summoned the elevator. “Where are we going?”

  “It’s your treat, Jez-babe.” The doors rolled open, and Sam stepped aboard. “I found somebody who wants a cat.” He hit the down button and the elevator dropped, but no faster than her heart.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “YOU’VE GOT TO BE KIDDING!” She squirmed, but he spread his other hand on her back, holding her pinned between his ribs and forearm. “Sam!”

  “Hey, settle down.” He rumpled her fur, then flattened his hand again when she struggled. “What’s the matter? Are your ears popping?”

  “Sam, you idiot, you can’t give me away, I’m your wife! I mean your ex-wife, but all the same…Don’t do this to me!”

  The doors opened to reveal a pretty blond woman dressed in nurse’s white. “Ohhh!” she crooned, coming to meet them. “Why, she’s a beauty, Sam!” Her eyes flicked up to his face and held there. Her smile was too intimate, too pouty.

  “Oh, that’s how it is, is it?” An odd, weaving little moan sounded in Jessica’s ears—it issued from her own throat. “The only pet she wants is you, Sam, can’t you see that? I bet she hates cats!”

  “I guess the elevator scared her,” Sam apologized, rubbing Jessica’s back. “Usually she’s pretty chummy, for a cat. I can’t keep her off me.”

  “I’m sure we’ll get along just fine. Pussycats love me.” Mary held out her hand. “Puss-puss-puss?”

  Ears folded flat to her skull, Jessica made a sound like a lisping cobra. “Back off!”

  The nurse paused midgesture, her smile wavering. “Ohhh-uh…my!”

  Sam shook Jessica twice, briskly, then rubbed her back too hard. “She didn’t mean that.”

  “Want to bet?” Jessica squirmed, trying to free her front paws, but Sam’s arm tightened across her chest. “Let me go, Sam!”

  “Oh, look, she’s a double-pawed cat!” Mary cried. “Isn’t she cute?”

  “Double-pawed?” Sam caught one of Jessica’s wrists and lifted it. “Looks like one paw to me.”

  The nurse giggled. “You don’t know much about cats, do you?”

  “And plan to keep it that way.”

  “She has too many toes, Sam. Normal cats have four toes and a. dew claw on their front feet, and four toes on back. She has—let me see—six toes, front and back. Isn’t she adorable? And, my, pussykins, what a great, big, puffy tail you have!” She held out her hand again.

  Reaching under Sam’s arm, Jessica managed an awkward slash. It missed, but her intention was clear. “Keep your hands to yourself, thank you ever so much!” She craned her neck to look up at Sam. “What is it with you— you and blondes? This is why you’ve been spending so much time at the hospital, isn’t it? It’s nothing to do with me—Mrrrow!” she exclaimed, as Sam hoisted her suddenly by her scruff. “Don’t!”

  “Don’t…” he growled, dangling her at eye level. “Jez’bel? Behave!”

  “Don’t tell me what to do!” She took a swing at him, but missed his nose by inches. “Lemme go!” She would’ve burst into tears if she could’ve. “Sam!”

  He brought her back to his chest and clamped an arm around her, half squeezing the breath from her lungs. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

  “Oh, I’m sure she’ll calm down.” Mary patted Sam’s forearm, then rested her hand there reassuringly.

  “Sure I will, once you get out of here—and not a minute before. Take your hand off him! Or do you like that, Sam? Don’t let me stop you if this is what your taste has sunk to these days—it’s hardly my business. But leave me out of it!”

  “You’re right, she is a gabby little thing. Maybe if we went upstairs and started all over again?” Mary suggested. “Had a cup of tea and let her sniff me in familiar surroundings?”

  “Are you going to fall for that, Sam? Next she’ll be offering to cook you supper while she makes up to me.”

  Mary glanced at her watch. “Or…I’m getting hungry. We could run out for a pizza. Give her time to calm down, then try again?”

  “What did I tell you?” Jessica growled, turning to glare up at him.

  Sam scowled back, then shook his head. “I’m afraid I have to get back to the hospital, Mary. I’ve missed half the visiting periods today. And I’m starting to think this just isn’t going to work. With dogs I know you get one once in a while that’s a one-man dog. Is it like that with cats?”

  Mary squinched her nose charmingly. “I suppose it could be…”

  “And then some cats just can’t take hypocritical blondes!” Jessica’s snarl ended in a bagpipe squeak as his arm tightened.

  “That’s it,” he said decisively. “I can’t give you a cat that might hurt you, Mary. But thanks for coming by…”

  The encounter limped to its close, Mary intimating that any approach by Sam—anytime, with cat or without— would be most welcome, each of her progressively broader hints apparently sailing right over his head.

  “See you tomorrow at the ICU,” he drawled finally, walking her to the door.

  They watched in silence until she’d reached her car, given them a cheery, finger-twiddling wave, then driven off, her mouth drooping into a thoughtful pout. Jessica heaved a slow sigh of relief. “Good riddance!” Then, “Youch!” as Sam gave her tail a not-friendly tug.

  “Damned cat! What the hell got into you?”

  “Loan me your computer and I’ll tell you—chapter and verse.”

  They rode up to the sixth floor in glowering silence. Once in the loft, Sam marched across the living room and dumped her on the sofa. “I think it’s time we had a little talk, cat.”

  “Fine by me.” Jessica shook herself, then turned to lick her shoulder. Her tail was still outraged. She jumped to the sofa’s backrest and stalked its length.

  “I’m not keeping you, fur-ball.”

  “What’s so new about that? You didn’t keep me last time, either. And if you’ll recall, I left you.“ She sat at the far end of the backrest and gazed off into space, ears tipped backward, tail lashing. “If I was human, do you think I’d be sitting here? Ha!”

  “Are you li
stening to me?” He followed and circled around till their eyes met. “You just blew a perfectly good opportunity.”

  “To live with a gooey-voiced, dough-faced blonde? Maybe that does something for you, Sam, but believe me, I’d rather live in a Dumpster.” She spun away, stalked to the other end of the couch and sat.

  “Cats, cats, cats, cats…” Sam muttered, turning the word to an X-rated invective. “I should’ve left you in the road where I found you.”

  “Maybe you should’ve.”

  “Dammit, Jez’bel, do you want me to take you to the pound? You’d like that!” Looming over her, he prodded her in the ribs. “Look at me when I talk to you.”

  With insolent deliberation she tipped her head backward till their eyes met. “So talk. Tell me about the blonde—not that one, but the one I saw in our living room half-naked. I’ve been wondering for eight years—who was she, Sam?”

  Their gazes locked and held while her tail switched once…twice…a third time. Something flickered in Sam’s eyes, then he blinked. “Cats—cats with too many friggin’ toes!” Spinning on his heel, he stormed from the room.

  “Oh, right,” she yelled after him. “Turn tail and run when the going gets rough!”

  His footsteps stalked to the end of the hall, paused, then stamped back again. Ignoring her, he snatched up his valise and the bag with the tape player. “I’m outta here.”

  “Then leave me your Powerbook?” she said in a tiny voice. “Please? I know this seems weird, but just give me a chance and I can explain everything.”

  “Too late for apologies, fur-ball. And don’t wait up for me.” The doors rolled open. He stepped aboard, swung back to face her, started to add something—then he was gone.

  He would take her to the pound, she could see it coming. Not because he hated cats, but because she threatened his notion of reality at the deepest level. He’d grow uneasier and uneasier the harder she pushed, and eventually she’d be a goner. Or maybe, subconsciously, he knows I’m Jessica, and he’s just rejecting me all over again. If he didn’t want me enough to be faithful when I was human, why would he want me all covered with fur? With a tail?