But Claire was engrossed in petting and kissing Oscar. “He needs to be loved up right now, but a little later I’ll tell you how Oscar got his name.” Oscar walked over to Kathleen and crawled on her lap as Claire continued to pet him like there was no tomorrow. “I can tell he likes you. He usually doesn’t go near people he doesn’t know.”
They sat next to each other, “loving up” the cat named Oscar Tilquist, the Third that had just used up one of his nine lives and seemed none the worse for wear. After a while Oscar left them to explore his surroundings and found the perfect hiding place under the bed. Kathleen and Claire continued to sit on the floor, talking. Kathleen felt warmed by Claire’s affable nature and began to feel more at ease.
“I’d love to know about this house,” Claire said, smiling. “I saw several Victorian homes in San Francisco and of course, on the East Coast. Have you ever been to San Francisco?”
Kathleen could feel a blush beginning and hoped it wasn’t showing. “A few times, years ago. You’re thinking of the houses on Steiner Street?”
Claire nodded. “Right, the Painted Ladies! Oh, they’re so gorgeous. And so is your home. Do you think I could have a tour? I’ve never been in a Queen Anne home.”
“In a couple of days, when you’re stronger. Although, I should warn you that the kitchen has been mucked up from a really bad 1970s remodel.”
“I’ll look past it, I promise.”
Kathleen looked at Claire with the eyes of a physician. “You’re not looking well.” She placed her hand on Claire’s forehead. “You’re warm and you shouldn’t be on the floor.”
“I was feeling fine.”
Kathleen’s curt, no-nonsense tone returned. “But now not so fine? I want you to get back into bed. Did you take your meds?”
Claire looked down as she shook her head. Kathleen reached over to the nightstand and handed Claire her medication. “This one is to help with pain and fever, and this one is an antibiotic. You have to take them both. Okay?”
Claire nodded; her face flushed and her lips trembled.
Kathleen sat on the edge of the bed. “Everyone does this, including me. You start feeling better, then you figure you don’t need the meds. Except it’s the meds that are helping you to feel better.”
Claire’s voice was shaky. “I’m sorry, I don’t like taking anything that isn’t natural.”
Kathleen looked around the room and saw Claire’s possessions stacked against one wall. No car, only a grandmother to call, and in a strange place, alone. She had to be feeling frightened.
When Kathleen had nightmares, Gayle had held her and comforted her. Would that be appropriate to do with Claire? She wasn’t sure and began to feel confused.
Kathleen stood up abruptly. “I have some phone calls to make. Why don’t you try to sleep? I’ll come back in a couple of hours with dinner.”
When she stood on the other side of the door, she heard Claire crying. She had her hand of the doorknob, but turned away and walked downstairs.
Kathleen placed the dinner tray on a small round table next to the balcony. Claire was sitting on the bed with Oscar on her lap.
Kathleen sat on the bed, petted Oscar and looked at Claire. “Feeling better?”
Claire nodded. “I slept.”
“I’m sorry if I was abrupt before. This whole experience can’t be easy for you.”
Claire gestured toward the boxes and suitcases stacked neatly in a corner. “Everything I own is in this room and I’m worried about my computer.”
Kathleen spotted a red computer case. She moved some bags and small suitcases and brought the computer to Claire.
Claire tentatively unzipped the case. “It looks okay, but I’ll know more after I charge the battery.”
Kathleen motioned to Claire to give her the computer. “I’m going to charge it and you can test it in the morning. I don’t want you working on it tonight. You need time to rest and regain your strength. Doctor’s orders.”
The barley soup was rich with meat and vegetables. Freshly baked sourdough bread and a salad with organic lettuce, herbs, and vegetables rounded out their meal. The aromas were tantalizing, and both women’s appetites were aroused.
Claire took up a spoonful, blew on it, and put it in her mouth. “Mmm, this is outstanding. Does Helen do all your cooking?”
Kathleen nodded and smiled. “She doesn’t trust my cooking or my eating habits and rightfully so.” She put her spoon down and wiped her mouth. “Okay, so the name Oscar I can understand, but Oscar Tilquist, the Third? That’s quite a mouthful for a cat.”
Claire, seemingly in a better mood, leaned back in her chair. “Well, to get to Oscar’s name, I’ll have to tell you a little bit about me. I was raised in New York City in a small, rent-controlled apartment. My parents were lucky to have it. They were both teachers but my dad was sick a lot, really couldn’t work much, and with medical expenses, well, things were tight. When I was born, my grandma, my dad’s mother, came to live with us and take care of me. I call her Bubba, which is Yiddish for Grandma. My mother worked a lot and when she was home she wasn’t emotionally available. Bubba was more like a mother to me than a grandma.”
Engrossed by Claire’s story, Kathleen sat back in her chair, listening attentively.
“My bubba was a teenager, back in the 50s, when television was just starting. There was this entertainer who she especially loved to watch on Saturday nights. She told me there were only three TV stations in New York and the whole family would hover around this tiny black-and-white set with indoor antennas, waiting for Oscar Tilquist, the Third, to appear. He was famous for making witty, sometimes sarcastic comments. He would play the accordion and say something outrageous, especially for those times.”
Claire looked up at Kathleen and smiled. “One day, as I was leaving for work, I heard this rattling noise and mewing coming from a garbage can. I picked up the lid and I saw this little kitten. Someone had thrown him away. He was so vocal that I named him Oscar Tilquist, the Third. It made my bubba happy, and that’s how Oscar got his name.”
“You saved his life.”
Claire spoke slowly and a sad look crossed her face. “He’s saved mine more than once.”
Kathleen stayed for a while until she thought Claire was looking tired. She began to clear the table. “Do you need help with anything?”
Claire turned red.
Kathleen guessed. “Do you need help getting to the bathroom?”
“No, I’m just embarrassed. I was going to look for something but I realized how sore I am.”
“I’ll look, but you’ll need to tell me what the something is.”
“Can I whisper it?”
“Whisper it so…”
“So I can’t hear what I’m saying.”
Kathleen felt a giggle starting somewhere in her belly. She nodded.
Claire leaned over and whispered, “Could you see if Mr. Fluffy is with my things?”
Kathleen was holding in her laughter. “Um, Mr. Fluffy?”
“He’s a rabbit.”
“Alive like Oscar?”
“No, stuffed as in a bunny rabbit. Okay, you can laugh. I can see you’re trying to hold it in.”
Kathleen burst out laughing. “You’re kidding.”
Claire’s eyes twinkled and a small dimple appeared on her cheek. “No, Mr. Fluffy sleeps with me.”
“Always?”
“Well, not always, but if I’m alone and scared.”
Kathleen walked over to Claire’s pile of stuff. She tried to be serious, but every time she thought of this grown woman with a stuffed bunny, she burst out laughing. She found Mr. Fluffy—a potbellied white rabbit with pink ears, button eyes, and a cottony tail—inside one of the shopping bags and held him up triumphantly. It looked altogether silly—nothing, she decided, like Alice’s tardy, waistcoat-wearing rabbit—she couldn’t control her hilarity.
“I’m sorry,” she said, trying to catch her breath. She handed Mr. Fluffy to Claire and became
serious. “Is he injured? Because, you know, I am a doctor.”
Claire turned him over, one way then another. “He looks okay, maybe a slight fever. Could you give him a quick check?”
Kathleen cradled Mr. Fluffy as if she were examining a newborn baby. “He’s in amazing condition, considering his trauma. I do see a small injury near his head that will require some stitches. He’ll be fine tonight and I’ll take the stitches tomorrow.”
“I’ll share him with you, if you want. You can have him tomorrow night.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to deprive you. My room is across the hall. Why don’t you leave your door open? I’ll hear you if you need me.”
Kathleen got into bed and instead of muffling sobs from a nightmare, she buried uncontrolled laughter into her pillow. She moved around fitfully, trying to find a comfortable place. She couldn’t imagine how in God’s name, Claire got dropped on her doorstep. An obviously straight woman with a cat called Oscar Tilquist, the Third, and a stuffed rabbit called Mr. Fluffy. Shit, she thought, and I’m attracted to her!
She punched her pillow, put her legs under and over the blankets, and then punched her pillow again. She knew that tonight, sleep would be hard to come by.
During her sleepless hours Kathleen kept mouthing the word lesbian. Then she thought, maybe it would be easier to say gay. She couldn’t get past the “g.” Why was it so difficult for her to say it? If she couldn’t say the word, how could she begin to think about having a relationship? It was obvious that Claire was straight. Was she attracted to her, or was she simply longing for a friend? She didn’t trust herself to know the difference.
Sam, lost in a John le Carré spy novel, and Helen, lost in her own thoughts, were lying in bed. Helen was having some doubts about her latest matchmaking foray. She suspected Kathleen was gay and, in spite of the “don’t ask, don’t tell,” policy, there was the usual hospital gossip, but how could she be certain? Questions kept rising within Helen: Can I be wrong in my thinking? Am I reading signs that aren’t really there? Is my gaydar that far off?
Helen turned to Sam. “Sam?”
“Hmm.”
Helen snuggled closer. “Has Kathleen ever had a boyfriend?”
“You’re not thinking of making a match, are you?” He chuckled and began to stroke Helen’s back. He drew Helen closer and gave her a long lingering kiss.
Helen knew where that kiss was going to lead, but before that happened she continued, “Do you think, maybe… do you think that perhaps… she’s attracted to girls?”
Sam laughed at that one. “Oh God, Helen. She’s had a boyfriend for years. I thought everyone in the hospital knew that Gary and Kathleen are together.” Sam propped himself up on his elbow and yawned. “Sweetheart, where are you going with this?”
“Nowhere, Sam.” She stroked his rugged cheek with one hand and tossed John le Carré unceremoniously on the nightstand with the other, and took up where his earlier kiss had left off.
CHAPTER 24
Canfield House, once vacant and subject to decay, was now filled with life, activity, and laughter. The silence, like tombs from time out of mind, had disappeared.
Claire woke up first and as the sun was rising, walked to a small clearing near the house to practice tai chi and meditate. She noticed a change in Oscar. She wasn’t sure if it was the unfamiliar scenery or the trauma from the accident, but he seemed to have lost the bravado of a city cat. He followed her to the clearing, waited patiently as he cleaned his paws, and then trailed behind her, meekly, to the house.
Afterward, Claire would hum show tunes as she showered and dressed. She could hear Kathleen stirring in her bedroom and Helen puttering about in the kitchen. Claire and Helen would drink coffee and chat until Kathleen joined them for breakfast. Claire thought it was easy to be with Helen, and she seemed interested in hearing about her adventures and struggles with boyfriends. It wasn’t that Claire flitted from guy to guy; they just never seemed to fit.
The three women would sit around the kitchen table, talking, laughing, and enjoying Helen’s wholesome, stick-to-your-ribs breakfast. It reminded Claire of the sleepovers when she was in high school—giggling with girlfriends, gossiping about boys, and sharing secrets until the night faded. She would miss these mornings, but she was beginning to feel restless and thought it was time to complete her trip to Los Angeles.
Claire was alone in the house. She sat on her bed listening to a Michael Feinstein album of Gershwin. She loved the romance that came from that era, when songs reflected love and most of the movies had a happy ending.
Claire visualized Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers dancing off into the clouds, to live happily ever after. She longed for that feeling. Friends and family told her it didn’t exist, and she wondered why. She thought about the phrase happily ever after, and thought that the word “happily” didn’t necessarily mean there wouldn’t be sad times. She knew there would be bumps in life, but if the love remained, wouldn’t happily ever after still be true?
Sometimes, at the mall or in a park, Claire would see an older couple walking hand in hand, still in love, still supporting each other both physically and emotionally after a lifetime together. Perhaps, the phrase should be changed to love ever after. After all, wasn’t it the love that would keep the happiness in a relationship?
Kathleen knocked on Claire’s door and peaked in. Claire thought about how tired and pale Kathleen looked and wondered about this woman who seemed so professionally driven but personally bereft.
Claire looked up at Kathleen. “Rough day?”
“More long than rough.”
“Have you eaten dinner?”
Kathleen shook her head.
“Helen left a note. She made one of your favorites, Irish stew.”
“I’m too tired to eat.”
“Have you eaten at all today?” That comment was right out of Helen’s mouth and while she had not written it down, she had instructed Claire to ask.
Kathleen looked dazed. “I can’t remember.”
“Why don’t you get cleaned up and I’ll fix dinner? You won’t have to walk downstairs, we can eat here.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I’m really exhausted. Lots of minor emergencies and no time for a nap.”
Claire said entreatingly, “I would really like the company.”
Kathleen paused. “In an hour, okay?”
Claire went downstairs to the kitchen, moving at a leisurely pace. She was used to Kathleen’s lengthy showers and baths; she couldn’t help but hear the water run for what seemed like forever.
It was only yesterday, while Kathleen had been at St. Mona’s, that Claire and Helen discovered the dumbwaiter that went from the kitchen to the upstairs hall. They pulled an unwilling Sam into their newest adventure. Sam stood in the upstairs hallway while Helen and Claire pulled on the rope. He could hear their laughter and was sure he heard them singing the Merchant Marine anthem “Heave Ho! My Lads! Heave Ho!”
The rope seemed strong but the connected pulley made all kinds of squeaks and squawks. Sam got his trusty cure-all, a can WD-40, and generously sprayed the pulleys and wiped the rope. Helen and Claire tested the dumbwaiter with a tray loaded down with canned vegetables and were surprised and excited that it worked.
Helen said, “Claire, I have an idea. Why don’t you make dinner for Kathleen and surprise her by bringing it upstairs in the dumbwaiter?”
Claire set the table in her room, and waited. When she heard the water stop, she went downstairs, gave the stew a final heating, and put it in the dumbwaiter. She took the rope and pulled and pulled until she heard the lock click into place.
Claire ran upstairs to find Kathleen opening her door. Kathleen had thrown on an old T-shirt and shabby sweat pants that clung to her damp body. Claire stopped and stared for a moment at Kathleen. Claire had seen young women in Ireland with the same flawless complexion and olive green eyes. Claire remembered how their quick smiles lit up their faces. She rarely saw Kathleen light up and wondered wha
t could have happened to make her so serious.
Claire motioned to the dumbwaiter door. “Could you open that door for me?” Kathleen looked surprised, but did as she was asked. She smiled broadly. “This is great! You got it working.”
Claire took the tray. “It took three of us and one can of good ol’ WD.”
Kathleen chuckled. “Sam’s fix-it-all.”
They ate slowly. Claire thought if she kept eating Helen’s cooking she would become positively Rubenesque. Kathleen on the other hand, seemed to stay thin—almost too thin.
They finished dinner and were sitting quietly, when Claire told Kathleen it was time for her to complete her trip to Los Angeles. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me and Oscar, but I can’t keep leeching off of you.”
Oscar heard his name and decided to come out from his hiding place under the bed. He walked to Kathleen, purring as he rubbed his body against her leg.
Claire continued. “I spoke to Linc today and he said he has the perfect car for me. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to stay for a few more days and get everything organized.”
Kathleen’s voice caught in her throat. “Do you have a job lined up?”
Claire shook her head. “No, but I have a couple of contacts and leads.”
Kathleen wanted to say, “Please don’t go. Please.” Instead, she spoke slowly, trying to keep her voice steady. “I’ve never considered you leeching and you’re welcome to stay for as long as you want. We’ll miss you,” she leaned over to rub Oscar’s pumpkin head, “and Oscar, too.”
Kathleen looked out the kitchen window and watched Helen working in the vegetable garden. Starter flats of beets, broccoli, and tomatoes joined the sweet corn, parsley, and spinach as Helen gently lifted each plant and tucked it into the carefully prepared soil.
Kathleen hesitated before pouring two cups of coffee and joining Helen in the backyard.
“Hi, Helen. I’m sorry to be bothering you. I know Sunday is your day off.” Kathleen looked down, her eyes filled with pain and her lips trembling. “Can we talk?”
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