The Cat Sitter's Cradle

by John Clement,Blaize Clement

  Tom Hale was out of town at a convention and had taken Billy Elliot with him, so I was pretty much done for the morning. I figured by now the news was probably out about Mr. Harwick, and since one of the reporters had seemed to recognize me, I didn’t feel like making an appearance at the diner. I knew everyone would be full of questions, and I was trying my best to forget about yesterday’s events. Also I imagined Judy would want to know all about my D-word with Ethan, and if she found out I was planning on canceling it she’d probably want to give me a good beating.

  At the intersection of Beach Road and Midnight Pass, I turned left and followed Higel’s dogleg over the north bridge. Another left and I followed Tamiami Trail around the bay, where tall-masted ships rode at anchor, their masts sparkling in the bright sunshine. A quick zag off course, a quick swing through Whole Foods for some soup and some other goodies and a bouquet of daisies, and then I was back on Tamiami Trail to the Bayfront Village, a posh retirement condo and one of the worst architectural disasters ever to blight Sarasota.

  Bayfront is home to several hundred well-to-do seniors who either don’t notice the folly of mixing Ionic, Gothic, Elizabethan, and Colonial architecture all in one building or are too busy having fun to care. The interior design is as bad as the exterior, with murals of foxhunting scenes keeping company with paintings of circus clowns, the Mahabharata, and bucolic fields of sunflowers and bluebonnets. But happy, energetic seniors bounce past the bizarre decor on their way to tennis or golf or theater, and not one of them seems to mind living in an interior decorator’s living version of hell. These are what I call “don’t-give-a-damn” seniors. They’re more active than most people half their age, they’re having more fun than most people half their age, and, well, basically they don’t give a damn.

  The concierge waved to me from her sleek French Provincial desk and gestured for me to go on up. As soon as I got in the elevator, the knot I had felt in my chest ever since I’d discovered Mr. Harwick’s body loosened a bit. Just knowing that Cora Mathers was waiting for me on the sixth floor made everything feel a little lighter.

  Cora is eighty-something years old, and I am lucky to know her, although the way we met is not the prettiest story in history. Her granddaughter, Marilee, had been a friend and a client, and to make a long story short, Marilee was murdered by a crazed neighbor. Marilee had already set her grandmother up in Bayfront Village with enough money to live comfortably for the rest of her life. The remainder of her estate, which was sizable to put it mildly, was willed to her cat, a blue Abysinnian named Ghost. She made me the executor of Ghost’s estate.

  Once I found a good home for Ghost, I put the estate in Tom Hale’s hands and have pretty much avoided thinking about it ever since. After Marilee’s funeral, I continued to stop in now and then to make sure that Ghost was being well cared for, and I also visited Cora at least once a week. At first I’d done it out of a feeling of misplaced guilt and responsibility, but that had changed, and Cora and I had become genuine friends. I don’t think there’s any topic that we haven’t thoroughly discussed, some of which would be a surprise to most people. Women my age and women Cora’s age aren’t assumed to have much in common, especially when it comes to romance and sex and love, but that’s a lot of hooey. The only difference between Cora and me is that she has more wrinkles and more experience. Otherwise, inside our skins we’re both the same.

  I smelled Cora’s apartment as soon as the elevator doors opened. About once a week, she makes bread in an ancient bread-making machine. At some point in the kneading process, which Cora keeps a secret, she throws in a cup of frozen semisweet chocolate chips. The result is a chewy bread with a crunchy crust filled with little lakes of oozy chocolate. Cora insists that the bread be torn into hunks rather than sliced, and when those hunks are slathered with butter, I guarantee that strong women will swoon and muscled men will whimper with weak-kneed delight.

  The concierge had alerted Cora that I was on the way up, so she was outside her door waiting for me when I stepped out of the elevator and went down the hall towards her apartment. Cora is the size of a malnourished sixth grader, with knobby little knees and freckled arms. Her hair is thin and fine as goose down and floats above her scalp in a cottony cloud. She whooped when she saw me, rising up and down on her toes in a semblance of jumping for joy.

  I said, “Do I smell chocolate bread?”

  “It’s still cooling! What’s that you’ve got?” As greedy as a child, she grabbed the Whole Foods bag and peered inside. “Oh, goody goody! I just love their soup!”

  “There’s some beautiful blood oranges, too, and a slice of apple pie.”

  “I’ll have the pie for supper and the soup for dessert.”

  I followed her into the apartment, practically stepping in place at times because she moved so slowly. Her condo was lovely, with glass doors opening to a long sun porch facing the Gulf. I knew that if Marilee were alive today, she’d be happy to see how Cora has turned her little apartment into such a lovely and comfortable place to live. It was all pink marble and turquoise linen and shafts of sunlight.

  She stopped at a bar separating a minuscule kitchen from the rest of the room. While she lifted the sweating container of frozen soup from the bag, I went around her to the kitchen, where a fresh round loaf of chocolate bread was steaming on a wooden board on the counter. Cora always keeps her kettle warm, just in case company comes, so it only took a minute to put tea bags in a Brown Betty pot and pour hot water on them. While I got down cups and saucers, Cora took a chair at a skirted ice cream table by the windows.

  She said, “Now, don’t slice that bread. It’s better if you tear off pieces.”

  She always says that.

  I rummaged in the refrigerator for butter to add to the tea tray. “I know.”

  I always say that.

  I put the daisies in a little pink vase by the sink and brought the bread and the tea tray out to the table.

  Cora cleared her throat, carefully sliding her saucer and cup closer. “Was it you that found that drowned man?”

  I sighed. “How did you know about that?”

  In the sunlight from the glass doors, her face seemed to fracture into millions of tiny, fine lines. “Well, Dixie, the news said the man was found by his pet sitter, and it was on Siesta Key. Who else could it be?”

  I sat down and poured the tea. “It was awful.”

  “I imagine so.” She pushed the bread toward me with a smile. “This should help.”

  I broke off a small chunk and buttered it. It was so warm there were little curls of steam rising up and the butter melted right into it. I put it in my mouth and allowed myself a tiny moment of sheer bliss.

  “Oh my God,” I moaned. “I needed that.”

  Cora took a piece herself, and we sat in silence for a while, luxuriating in the simple joy of it. Occasionally Cora hummed a little tune to herself. I loved that we could sit in perfect silence and feel completely comfortable doing it. That’s a sign of real friendship.

  After a while she said, “So what do you hear from that fellow of yours?”

  She meant Guidry. “He’s not my fellow anymore, remember? He ran away to New Orleans.”

  She nodded. I could tell she was disappointed, but Cora wasn’t one to cry over spilt milk, and I think she understood why I couldn’t follow Guidry to New Orleans, even if she didn’t completely approve of it.

  I smiled coyly. “But I am having dinner with someone tonight.”

  Her eyes brightened. “Oh? Do tell!”

  “Don’t get too excited. It’s not that big a deal.”

  “It’s with that Ethan Crane fellow, I can tell by the look in your eyes.”

  “Oh, stop it, no you can’t.”

  “Really? So who’s your date with tonight?”

  I laughed. “It’s not a date.”

  She clapped her hands. “I knew it! You’ve had your eye on him for a long time. I knew his grandfather, you know. He was a lovely man, too.”


  “Well, don’t have a cow, it’s just dinner. It’s not like we’re going to live happily ever after. In fact, I’m seriously thinking about canceling it completely. I’m not ready for anything serious, and it’s not right to lead him on.”

  Cora’s smile fell away, and she set her cup down with a little clinking sound against the saucer. “Dixie, you think those people chose to leave you?”

  “Huh?”

  She reached out and laid her hand on top of mine. “You think love can’t last, is that what it is? That anybody that loves you will eventually leave?”

  “Cora…” I couldn’t finish. Tears instantly sprang to my eyes. I knew exactly what she was getting at.

  “Dixie, sometimes our minds believe things our hearts know aren’t true. You’ve had a rough go of it, so I can’t blame you, but it’s time to put all that behind you.”

  I dabbed at my eyes with my napkin and tried to compose myself while she tore off another piece of bread and smoothed some butter on it. She was right. I think there was a part of me that was beginning to wonder if I would ever be able to hang on to anything that I loved. First my father, then my mother, then my daughter and my husband, and then Guidry …

  “You can’t go on being mad at everyone that’s ever hurt you. At some point you just have to forgive them.”

  I said, “I’m not mad at anyone.”

  “Oh, sweetheart, of course you are. For years I was mad at my own granddaughter for leaving me. And she was murdered! Certainly wasn’t her fault. But that doesn’t make any difference. It’s just natural human feelings, but you can’t live the rest of your life all swaddled up and protected. Sooner or later you have to forgive. You have to let that anger go or your heart will just dry right up.”

  I nodded silently. I knew she was right, but I wasn’t sure how I could just let all of it go. We watched the boats out on the ocean sail by, and after a little while I said, “I think maybe I’m just a little scared, too.”

  “Well, let’s talk about that. What are you scared of?”

  “You know, you have to make such big sacrifices to be in love, and I like my life the way it is. I have all my friends and my family and my pets to take care of. But when you’re with someone, you have to do all kinds of things to make it work. You have to compromise and share and change.”

  Cora fixed me with her clear blue eyes. “Dixie, those are all good things.” She smiled mischievously. “And as I recall, that Ethan Crane fellow is about as delicious as…” She waved a piece of chocolate bread in the air and popped it in her mouth.

  17

  It was exactly two minutes after eight. I was wearing my purple dress and standing next to Ethan, or to be exact, I was wearing my purple dress and teetering next to Ethan on my three-inch high-heel shoes.

  We were watching the waiters set our table. It was next to the window, but with a perfect view of the entire candlelit dining room. There were sparkling wineglasses and silverware on all the tables, which were covered in crisp white linen. As we followed the hostess in, I noticed more than a few people watching us with knowing looks. I wasn’t sure exactly what it was they were all knowing, but I felt happy and proud to be seen in public with a man as stunning as Ethan.

  His fingertips were on the small of my back, and I suddenly had the strongest feeling of déjà vu I’ve ever had in my life.

  When we sat down, a young man handed us menus, telling us his name was Paolo and that he would be our waiter for the evening. I ran my eyes up and down the menu a couple of times before I realized it was all in Spanish and I wasn’t comprehending a single word of it. I peeked over my menu to see if Ethan was doing any better.

  As usual, just looking at him made me a little short of breath. He was wearing a dark fitted jacket over a crisp white shirt and a narrow lavender tie. With his thick locks of curly black hair and high cheekbones, he looked like a silent-film star. There were tiny beads of sweat on his forehead, and I realized with a twinge in my heart that he was just as nervous as I was.

  He looked up and caught me spying on him. “You look amazing, by the way.”

  I rolled my eyes and retreated back behind my menu. I felt like a complete and utter idiot, but in a good way.

  A stocky man with a handlebar mustache and a white dinner jacket set two glasses of red wine on the table. Ethan immediately jumped out of his seat, and the two men bear-hugged and slapped each other’s backs.

  Ethan said, “This is my very good friend Alfred.”

  “You must be Dixie,” he said, taking both of my hands in his. He spoke with a slight Spanish accent. “It is so very nice to meet you. Welcome to Yolanda. Ethan has told me all about you—I was beginning to think he had made you up, so I am very glad to finally meet you in the flesh.”

  Ethan blushed and nudged Alfred. “This is Alfred’s restaurant. We were roommates at law school.”

  I said, “This place is beautiful. You must be very proud.”

  He nodded. “Thank you. My mama, she loved to cook. When I was a little boy, I used to sit for hours and watch her all day long. Those were the happiest times. Then one day I am a lawyer. I am at work, I have a pile of files on my desk and phone calls and pressure, and I hear my mama’s voice in my head, ‘What are you doing sitting there all day? Go out and play!’ and that’s when I knew I didn’t want to sit behind a desk anymore. Now, here we are.” He slid the wineglasses to the center of the table. “These are for you two lovebirds, and while you look at the menu I will bring you our special appetizer of the evening.”

  He winked at Ethan and rushed away.

  Ethan raised his glass. “Cheers.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Lovebirds?”

  He blushed again. “Yeah, I have no idea where he’s getting that, I swear.”

  Our glasses touched. Suddenly all my doubts about Ethan melted away. There was something about just being in his presence that made me feel completely comfortable and safe. Whether it was love or lust or loneliness or all three combined, I didn’t care. It just felt right.

  Alfred returned shortly with a small silver plate and set it on the table with a flourish. There were two golf-ball-sized mounds of what looked like bright, kelly green scoops of ice cream.

  Ethan said, “What is it?”

  Alfred whispered conspiratorially, as though he had prepared it especially for us, “It is sorbet, but not sweet. Spicy! It is my own creation, made of peppers from my own hometown of Padrón.”

  I had never in my life seen such a thing, but I had to admit it looked absolutely scrumptious.

  Ethan said, “Green pepper sorbet? Really?”

  “Trust me,” Albert said, giving each of us a spoon. “It is delicious!”

  Ethan looked at me, a little hesitant. “Well, I’m game if you are.”

  I dipped my spoon into one of the mounds and tried it. There was an immediate tangy sweetness, almost like a key lime, and then there was a good spicy kick. It literally put a smile on my face.

  I nodded at Ethan as I scooped up another spoonful. “Oh my gosh, it’s so good. Alfred, you’re a genius.”

  Alfred smiled at me and folded his burly arms across his chest. “I am always telling him this, but he doesn’t believe me. You Americans, you are always afraid to try new things.”

  I tried to impress him with my worldliness. “It’s such a beautiful color of green, too—the same color as René the Frog.”

  Ethan looked puzzled. “René the Frog?”

  I glanced up at Alfred for support, but he looked just as confused as Ethan. I said, “You know, like Kermit the Frog, but in Spain you call him René.”

  Alfred nodded. “Oh yes! Kermit the Frog! But in Spain, we do not call him René. We call him Gustavo.”

  I was just about to take another spoonful of sorbet. “Huh?”

  “Gustavo the Frog.”

  “You don’t call him René?”

  “No, miss, I have never heard this before.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,
la rana Gustavo! My daughter, she loves this frog very much. Now, I want to tell you that everything on the menu is very good, if I do say so myself, but I especially recommend the red snapper, which is served on a bed of roasted fennel, and we also have some very fine stone crab dipped in garlic butter. Have a look at the menu, and I will send Paolo over to take your order. Dixie, it was a very great pleasure to meet you.”

  I nodded. “Thank you so much for the sorbet.”

  I watched him as he made his way through the dining room toward the kitchen, shaking hands and saying hello to other diners as he went.

  Ethan said, “Dixie? You okay?”

  I realized I was watching Alfred walk away with my mouth hanging open. “Well, I’m not sure. Remember when I asked you about my friend? The one that was helping that illegal immigrant?”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, that was actually me.”

  “You’re an illegal immigrant?”

  “No, dummy! I was the one helping her.”

  He grinned. “Yeah, I knew that.”

  “I figured. Thank you for playing along.”

  He reached out and put his hand on top of mine. “You’re welcome.”

  I told him the whole story of how we found Corina in the woods with a newborn baby and took her to Joyce’s house, and all about the exotic bird that had miraculously come back to life. He listened without interrupting me once. I love a man that knows how to listen.

  “The problem is: Corina told me she was from Spain. She said in Spain, Kermit the Frog is known as René.”

  “So … she lied.”

  “Yep. I had a feeling at the time that she wasn’t telling the truth.”

  Ethan shrugged. “Look, she probably snuck into the country from Cuba. She’s just protecting herself.”

  “Well, there’s something else. Joyce found ten thousand dollars in Corina’s purse.”

  Ethan’s eyes widened. “Ten thousand dollars—cash?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wow. Okay. That’s a lot of cash to be carrying around, homeless or not.”

  “I know. And you know what I think? I think it was payment for whoever smuggled her here. I think somehow she snuck away without paying them and now they’re looking for her, and that’s why she didn’t check into a hotel or go to the emergency room. She knew she wouldn’t be safe.”