The Cat Sitter's Cradle

by John Clement,Blaize Clement

Tanisha is the Martha Stewart of biscuits. I don’t know what kind of magic she works back there in her kitchen, but her biscuits have a special power over me. They’re the second-most-delicious thing in the world, the first being her bacon. As Tanisha puts it, “So good you wanna smack yo momma!” I eat one of her biscuits just about every day of my life, but I only allow myself bacon on very special occasions. I was sitting in my regular booth at the diner, thinking about ordering another biscuit, when Judy put a side of bacon down on the table and said, “Well?”

  “Well wuth?” I asked, my mouth full of biscuity goodness.

  “Oh, please. You don’t order bacon unless there’s something big happening. What is it?”

  I sighed. Judy could read me like a book. “I’m just a little nervous is all. There’s a lot going on.”

  She slipped her notepad in her apron and sat down opposite me. “Let’s hear it.”

  I sighed. “Okay, but you can’t tell a living soul.”

  “Got it.”

  “Okay. So yesterday morning, right around sunrise, I was walking along the nature preserve with Rufus and we ran into Joyce Metzger, she was—”

  Judy interrupted. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down there, Don Juanita. Who is this Rufus and what were you doing with him at sunrise?”

  “Rufus is a dog! He’s one of my clients, I was walking him.”

  She looked disappointed. “Oh. Okay, go on.”

  “We found a woman in the bushes. She had just delivered a baby.”

  Judy’s jaw fell wide open.

  I said, “I know. A young girl, eighteen or nineteen. She doesn’t speak English, and I’m pretty sure she’s here illegally.”

  “What the hell?”

  “Yep, that’s how my day started yesterday.”

  “Was she okay? What about the baby?”

  “They were both fine, considering what they’d been through, but she was terrified, and she didn’t want to go to the hospital. She was living in a cardboard box hidden in the brush, so … we took her to Joyce’s. She’s there now.”

  Judy’s eyes widened. “She’s homeless?”

  “Well, technically, not anymore.”

  Judy cocked her head to one side. “Wait a minute. This was yesterday?”

  “Yep.”

  “Yesterday, at sunrise?”

  I nodded as I slid the plate of bacon over in front of me.

  She slid it back. “But you were here yesterday after that, and you didn’t order bacon. What happened between then and now?”

  Tanisha’s big round face appeared in the kitchen window, and she rang the pickup bell on the counter.

  I grinned. “You’ve got an order ready.”

  “Oh, dammit to hell. You’re not getting off that easy. I’ll be back.”

  She slid out of the booth and went scurrying back to the kitchen. I reached over and delicately picked up a slice of Tanisha’s bacon. She had cooked it exactly the way I like: extra crispy, with no yucky white spots. I was taking my first glorious bite of it when Ethan Crane walked in the door.

  With his long, wide-shouldered body in a dark pin-striped suit, thick black hair falling over the collar of a baby blue dress shirt, he could have been on the runway of an international fashion show. As he strode down the aisle toward me, an estrogen-induced hush descended on the room and the dopamine level of every female in the diner bumped up a little bit. A woman across the aisle from me froze with her mouth open and squirted lemon juice in her coffee.

  Ethan has that effect on women.

  He said, “I thought I might find you here.”

  “Have a seat,” I said, dabbing a napkin at my lips just in case they were coated with grease and biscuit crumbs. “I’m glad you found me.”

  He grinned. “Me too.”

  “I actually have a question for you.”

  Judy appeared with a cup of coffee and silverware rolled in a napkin. As she laid them on the table, Ethan said, “Were you wondering which restaurant we’re going to Friday night?”

  Judy shot me a sly look and then turned to Ethan. “Can I get you anything, sir?”

  “Not for me. I just stopped by on my way to work, thanks,” he said.

  “Oh, you’re welcome, sir.” She turned to me and arched her eyebrows comically. “And for the young lady?”

  “Nope, I’m good.”

  “Another platter of bacon?”

  “No. Thank you,” I said.

  She smiled sweetly at Ethan and shrugged her shoulders. “Alright then, just the one today.”

  On her way back to the kitchen she looked over her shoulder and mouthed Oh my God! at me. I had to pinch the inside of my arm to keep from giggling out loud. Ethan didn’t even seem to notice. He was probably accustomed to women acting like complete and utter fools around him.

  I said, “First I have a kind of legal question for you.”

  “Okay, shoot.”

  “Well, I have a friend who recently had a baby. Well, it’s not my friend that had the baby, but she knows somebody who had a baby and this friend is sort of homeless, so she’s letting her stay in her house and helping her out until she can get back on her feet. But the thing is, this girl, the one that had the baby … well, she’s an illegal immigrant, or I’m pretty sure she is. So here’s the question: Is my friend doing anything against the law?”

  Ethan listened intently, sitting forward with his fingers laced together. I could feel myself getting a little lost in his eyes, and the insides of my palms were getting sweaty.

  He said, “Well, does your friend live in Arizona?”

  “No.”

  “Alabama?”

  “No, she lives here in Sarasota.”

  “Then she’s perfectly fine. In Florida, it’s not against the law to offer help to a fellow human being, no matter what their legal status. Next question.”

  I smiled. Any other man would have wanted to know more. I had expected to get a stern warning and a lecture about getting involved in other people’s business or fraternizing with criminals. But not Ethan, he just sat there, ready for whatever was next, like a puppy waiting for a treat. I liked that he trusted me, that he thought I was smart enough not to go around getting involved in things I shouldn’t. Stupid man.

  “Was there anything else you wanted to know? Anything at all?”

  I laughed. “Yes, that was going to be my next question. Where are we having dinner Friday night?”

  He grinned. “It’s called Yolanda. It’s just next to the bookstore, where the old bakery used to be. You sure you don’t want me to pick you up?”

  “No, no, it’s fine. I’ll see you there at eight.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “And it’s kind of dressy. So … you know. Dress up.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I think I know what the word ‘dressy’ means.”

  He touched my hand briefly as he stood up. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Me too.”

  I surprised myself, because I meant it. He looked at me for a second before he turned to go, and the little hairs on my neck stood up and I could feel myself getting lost in his eyes again. If I was going to start spending more time with this man, I’d have to come up with some tricks to stay in focus, like counting backward or reciting the state capitals.

  I watched him cross the street at the corner and then head uptown to his office. I tucked a twenty-dollar bill under my coffee cup, and while Judy was busy clearing off a table at the other end of the diner, I snuck out the front door. That was a rotten thing to do on my part, but I knew she was going to ask if Ethan and I were getting serious, and I did not want to know the answer.…

  Joyce opened the door with a smile. “Buenos días! Corina’s teaching me Spanish, and I’m teaching her English. Come on in, we’re all ready to go to the doctor. Oh, and by the way, Corina has a new friend.”

  I followed Joyce into the living room, where Corina was sitting on the couch. The baby was sleeping soundly on her lap, swaddled in a pink blan
ket, and Henry the VIII was dozing on the couch next to her. Perched on Corina’s shoulder, just as happy as could be, was the resplendent quetzal.

  Apparently, Corina had a way with birds. Joyce explained it had only taken Corina a couple of hours to get the bird to eat fruit out of her hand, and now it followed her around everywhere she went.

  Corina smiled proudly and said, “Hello, Dixie. How are you today?”

  I said, “I am muy bueno! How is the baby?”

  “The baby is very good. I am happy we go to the doctor.”

  I sat down next to her, and the bird hopped around behind her neck to the opposite shoulder.

  I cooed at the baby, “Your mama’s English is very good!”

  Corina nodded at Joyce. “Joyce is my teacher.”

  Joyce beamed at her. I could tell these two were going to become good friends. Their lives could not have been more different, but it’s amazing how people can be drawn together in the strangest of circumstances.

  Joyce said, “We were wondering if you might be able to take René to see your vet friend.”

  I said, “René?”

  “Oh, the bird! It was Corina’s idea. Dixie, did you know that Kermit the Frog is called René in Spain?”

  I shook my head.

  “Well, he is. Corina told me. So that’s what we named the bird, because of his green feathers like Kermit.”

  I turned to Corina. “You’re from Spain?”

  She nodded and smiled nervously. “Yes, Spain.”

  I had just assumed Corina was one of the tens of thousands of people that flee Cuba every year, literally risking their lives to get to American soil. If they have the money, they’ll take a plane to Mexico and then try to come into the country from there, but more often they’ll hire a smuggler to ferry them across the stretch of ocean between Cuba and Florida’s southernmost beaches. It’s expensive, though, and in a country like Cuba most people don’t walk around with a lot of cash in their pockets. The only other way is by boat, raft, dinghy, or anything else that floats. It’s a hundred miles from the coast of Cuba to Florida, but people have been known to set out on an inner tube if that’s all they can get their hands on.

  Of course, it was entirely possible that Corina was lying. If she had crossed the ocean on a smuggler’s boat, she might have tried to escape without paying the smuggler’s fee, which would explain the cash in her purse, and there’d be some very nasty people looking for her. Plus, Cuban immigrants are blamed for nearly every ill in the state of Florida, from the shortage of jobs to limited housing to the shortage of fresh water, so either way she’d be smart to make up a story about where she was from.

  I usually know when someone is lying. Sometimes I can tell by the way a person looks to one side while they’re talking, or maybe they blink a couple times more than normal. It’s a skill I picked up at an early age. Whether my mother was drinking or not, what came out of her mouth was sometimes the truth, or a jumbled version of it, and sometimes it was just outright lies, so I got pretty good at recognizing the difference. It was hard to tell with Corina. I didn’t think she was lying exactly, and it might just have been the language barrier, but something didn’t seem quite right, like she was hiding some part of herself from me.

  I helped them out to Joyce’s station wagon, and Corina lowered the still-sleeping baby down into the car seat. It took nearly all of my brain cells operating at full capacity to remember how to decipher all of its belts and straps and buckles. While we were trying different combinations, the baby opened its eyes and squinted at me.

  Joyce said, “This is going to be Dixie Joyce’s first ride in a car!”

  I rolled my eyes. “Joyce, don’t call her that.”

  She and Corina exchanged smiles. “Until Corina tells me different, that baby’s name is Dixie Joyce.”

  When we finally had the seat figured out, Joyce started the car while Corina slid into the back next to the baby. I walked around and tapped on Joyce’s window, and she rolled it down.

  Speaking low so Corina wouldn’t hear, I said, “I’ll split the cost with you.”

  “No,” Joyce said. “You already paid for all the baby stuff, I’ll get it.”

  “That was nothing compared to what this will be. I’ll pay half.”

  “I pay,” Corina said.

  She was looking down at the baby, which had fallen back to sleep. There was a distant look in her eye, but her voice was steady. Joyce and I both looked back at her.

  “I have money,” she said. “I pay.”

  For a brief moment we both nodded dumbly, as though it were perfectly reasonable that a person who’d been living in a cardboard box in the woods yesterday could easily afford to pay an expensive pediatrician bill today.

  Joyce said, “Well, that’s settled.”

  I watched them back out of the driveway. Joyce and Corina both waved as the car pulled around and headed up the street.

  I didn’t know what to think. Neither of us had wanted Corina to know that we’d seen the money in her purse, because that would only have destroyed the trust she was beginning to have in us. But I was worried. I was worried about who that money was for. If there was somebody out there looking for it, what would they do to Corina when they found it? Or me? Or Joyce?

  Sooner or later, we’d have to get the real story out of Corina. If we were going to help her, we’d need to know exactly where she was from and why she had so much money. I cringed to think what could have been so horrible in her home country, wherever it was, that would drive her to run away, and with a baby due any minute. I decided I’d ask Paco. He speaks Spanish fluently, and I knew he’d want to help.

  I carried René out to my Bronco and put him in the back, wedging some rolled towels around the cage so it wouldn’t rattle around too much on the drive over to the veterinarian’s. Normally I would never show up without an appointment, but I wanted to see the look on Dr. Layton’s face when I showed up with a creature as exotic as this.

  When I walked in with René, there was a collective “oooo” from the people in the waiting room, like it was the Fourth of July. I set the cage down, and Gia, Dr. Layton’s assistant, slid open the little window in front of her station.

  “Hi, Dixie, what can I do for you?”

  “Well, I have a bird rescue and I was hoping Dr. Layton could take a look at him, but it looks like you’re super busy today.”

  She winked. “Well, I’ll let Dr. Layton know you’re here and we’ll see.”

  René hopped from one perch to the other and said, “Cool!”

  I couldn’t agree more. One of the perks of being a professional pet sitter is you get to feel like a celebrity sometimes. I buy so many treats at the local pet supply shop they all know me by name, and if there’s a line I just lay my money on the counter and leave. No one even raises an eyebrow. I admit that may not sound as exciting as riding around in a limousine all day and eating bonbons, or whatever it is celebrities do, but it’s good enough for me. I’ve referred so many clients to Dr. Layton, she could easily have an examining room named after me.

  I took a seat next to an elderly woman with a tiny ball of fluff in her lap that turned out to be a miniature poodle. He sat up and eyed René curiously, along with everyone else in the room.

  The woman leaned over and said, “That is quite the bird you’ve got there.”

  I smiled proudly, as if I’d created him myself. “Oh, thanks. He’s a resplendent quetzal.”

  She smiled back. “He certainly is. What kind of bird is he?”

  “No,” I said, raising my voice a bit. “That’s what they’re called: resplendent quetzals.”

  “Well, what a pretty bird. He looks like a pigeon in drag.”

  I laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  She scratched the top of her poodle’s fluffy white head, and he looked up at her lovingly.

  “Monty here got his toenails painted green on St. Patty’s day last year, and I knitted him a little green sweater, but
he wouldn’t wear it, would you boy?”

  I said, “Sometimes they have to try it on a few times before they’ll accept it.”

  “Well, it’s too late now. I gave it to my next-door neighbor’s new baby.”

  I wanted to ask if the neighbor knew her baby was wearing a miniature poodle’s hand-me-downs, but Gia slid her glass panel open and said, “Dixie, you can come on back now.”

  Dr. Layton is a comfortably plump African American woman with a head of glossy black curls. She was already in the examining room when I got there, peering over her half-rimmed glasses and making notes in a big blue binder. She was wearing black patent-leather heels, a fitted coffee-colored linen skirt that fell just past her knees, and a white brocade blouse with tiny mother-of-pearl buttons. I almost didn’t recognize her. I was used to seeing her in the standard getup: white slacks, teal lab coat, and sensible loafers.

  I lifted the cage up and set it down on the examination table with a flourish.

  She glanced up briefly and said, “Oh, a resplendent quetzal,” and then went back to writing in her notebook.

  This was not at all the reaction I was hoping for. I had always admired Dr. Layton for being a no-nonsense kind of woman. A veterinary office can have a lot of drama, and she always keeps her cool, no matter how crazy it gets. But surely she didn’t see a bird like this every day.

  “Oh. I thought you’d fall to the floor when you saw this.”

  She looked up with a mischievous grin. “I might have, but Gia warned me. Dixie, what the hell kind of animal is that and where in the world did you find it?”

  I laughed. “Now that’s more like it!”

  “Sorry, I’m in a mood. Dr. Prawer is filling in for me today, and I’ve been going over some of the patients’ files with him, and I’m making last-minute notes for a speech I’m giving tonight at the Vet Council and I’m scared to death! But when Gia said you were here…”

  She trailed off as she studied René more closely. As he hopped around from perch to perch, a varied mix of emotions played across her face: wonder, sadness, delight, resignation. I told her all about how Joyce had found him, and how we were certain he was a goner, how Joyce had wrapped him in a bandanna, and then how he’d risen from the dead a couple hours later.