by Ann McMan
“Yeah. Has Lizzy said anything to you about me?”
Only that she hopes you burn in hell, she thought.
“No. Not a word, Tom,” she said. “But then, it’s all pretty personal, and I haven’t wanted to intrude.”
Maybe I should open another bag of Cheetos? Just to keep her occupied until I can figure out what to do . . .
“I’m pretty miserable about it all,” Tom continued. “Syd told me just to sit in it and give it time.”
“That sounds like her,” Maddie agreed.
“Do you think she’s right? Do you think Lizzy will talk to me in time?”
Maybe after hell freezes over . . .
“Sure. Of course she will.” Rosebud’s bath was proceeding. She was playing the cello, now. “Just keep the faith.”
Keep the faith? Did she really just say that to another human being?
“Okay. I’ll try.” Tom sighed. “So. How’re things with you?”
Finally . . .
“To tell the truth, Tom—I’ve got a bit of a situation here. I need some veterinary advice.”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“Well.” She took a deep breath. “What can you tell me about cat digestive processes?”
◊ ◊ ◊
“I really love it here.” Roma Jean was staring out at the big bend in the river.
They were at the boat landing just outside town—the same place where Charlie had sat with James Lawrence last week. Charlie had brought Roma Jean here after their lunch date, just so they could spend a bit of time together before she had to go on duty at three o’clock.
“I do, too. It’s my second favorite place in the county.”
Roma Jean looked at her. “Second favorite? What’s your first?”
Charlie nudged her. “You know . . .”
“Oh.” Roma Jean blushed. She gave Charlie a shy smile. “Mine, too.”
“I wish we were back there right now.”
“Maybe it’s good we aren’t,” Roma Jean said.
“Why?”
“For one thing, it’s broad daylight and there’d be people all over the place.”
“That’s true,” Charlie agreed. “We might need to find someplace more private.”
“You mean like your house?”
Charlie looked at her in surprise. Roma Jean was wearing a yellow sundress and the skin on her bare arms was as smooth as ivory. Charlie remembered how soft and warm they felt against her hands and had to fight an impulse to touch them.
“Haven’t you thought about it?” Roma Jean asked her. “About us going there?”
“Um.” Charlie wasn’t sure how to answer. “Have you thought about it?”
“Of course, I have. A lot.”
“Really?”
Roma Jean rolled her eyes. “Yes. Really.” She discreetly slid her hand across the bench they were seated on and laced her fingers with Charlie’s. “I want us to be together again. Don’t you?”
Charlie could barely speak. She looked at Roma Jean and nodded.
They were distracted by a bunch of whooping and hollering. A flotilla of canoes was making its way downriver—likely part of an excursion group traveling from Sparta to the outfitter’s post in Fries. Roma Jean quickly withdrew her hand and they both waved at the happy paddlers.
“It’d be a great day to be on the water,” Charlie said.
“It’d be an even better day to be in the water,” Roma Jean replied.
Her meaning was impossible to miss. Charlie couldn’t get over the change in Roma Jean’s demeanor—and it was every bit as thrilling as it was surprising.
“I’m not sure I know you,” she teased.
“Oh, you know me all right,” Roma Jean replied. “Warts and all.”
“I don’t recall seeing any warts.”
Roma Jean swatted her. “You know what I meant.” Her hand crept across the bench again. “I’m not sorry about what we did,” she whispered—although only Charlie was close enough to hear her.
Charlie squeezed Roma Jean’s warm hand. She could feel their pulses pounding away together.
“I’m not sorry, either. It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“My parents told me what the mayor said about us.” Roma Jean looked up at her. Her hazel eyes were bright with determination. “They asked me if it was true.”
Charlie’s heart sank. “What did you say?”
“I told them he was wrong. I’m not a pervert,” she tightened her hold on Charlie’s hand, “but I am in love with another girl. If that makes me a lesbian, then so be it.” She smiled. “Aunt Evelyn always did tell me I had a good head on my shoulders. I just decided it was about time to start using it.”
Charlie was speechless.
Roma Jean tugged at her hand. “Don’t you have anything to say?”
“I . . . you really told them that?”
“Of course, silly.”
“What did they say?” Charlie was afraid to ask this question, but she needed to know the answer. Roma Jean’s father and mother hadn’t made eye contact with her after the run-in with the mayor at their market. And Charlie was too shy and embarrassed to try and speak with them about the awful thing the mayor had said about her and Roma Jean.
But Roma Jean didn’t seem that bothered by it all.
She just shrugged. “They didn’t say much. But that’s pretty typical for them. They never do say much—unless it’s about Chevys.” She rolled her eyes. “Or Jesus. Daddy kind of grunted and said that was about what he thought. Then he kissed me on the forehead and went outside to change the oil on the Impala. And Mama asked if you liked chowchow. I guess they got a big shipment of it in because they’re stocking up on picnic stuff for the fourth of July celebration next weekend. I took that as a good sign. If she cares about what you put on your hot dogs, it must mean she’s gonna ask you if you want to go with us to watch the fireworks. That’s about as close as they’ll ever get to saying it’s okay for us to be together.”
Charlie listened to her story with amazement. How was a simple coming-out process like that even possible? Not that Roma Jean’s parents wouldn’t still spend time struggling with their own fears and disappointments about their only child’s decision—even though the only real decision any of them had to make had nothing to do with the truth of who they were—it was all about whether they could accept it, and tell the truth about it to the people they loved. She remembered when her own father found out about her first sexual foray with another girl at church camp. He had beat her so badly she ended up in the hospital. That was when Byron intervened and changed the course of the rest of her life. Her father decamped for parts unknown, and Charlie went into foster care until she was old enough to enter the police academy in Bristol. She never looked back—and Byron never gave her a reason to. He was the closest thing to a real parent she’d ever had.
Roma Jean tugged at her hand. She gave Charlie a shy smile.
“So?”
“So?” Charlie repeated.
“So, doofus.” Roma Jean shook her head. “Do you wanna go with us to eat chowchow and watch the fireworks? Officially?” She smiled. “As my girlfriend—just like the mayor said you were?”
Charlie did smile now—so big and wide she didn’t care how goofy it made her look.
“Just try and stop me,” she said.
◊ ◊ ◊
Maddie made the text message short and sweet.
It was an old signal. One they’d used since childhood—back in the dark ages when they had to communicate via pagers and walkie-talkies, instead of cell phones.
S.O.S. Clinic. NOW.
Tom had told her what she needed to know. If Rosebud had ingested the ring, she likely would pass it without complication—so long as it didn’t get twisted up inside her intestines on its way out. He was optimistic that wouldn’t happen because the ring was small and didn’t have any gemstones. But the best way to be certain of that—and to determine where the ring was on its
journey back out?
X-ray her.
Fortunately, Maddie had everything she needed to accomplish this task at her clinic. What she didn’t have was someone to help her wrangle the cat—who seemed more than usually irritated and determined not to cooperate. Obviously, she couldn’t ask Syd. And calling Lizzy seemed inappropriate with everything going on in her life right now. That left her other nurse, Peggy.
Absolutely. Not. In. A. Million. Years.
Peggy was biologically incapable of keeping a secret for more than two point five seconds—and that figure was rounded up out of charity.
Enter David. It was a risk, of course—but mostly because he’d derive a lifetime of pleasure out of tormenting her for yet another epic example of her penchant for misfortune.
Getting Rosebud into the car and to the clinic was more of a cage fight than a game of strategy. Fortunately for Maddie, Syd was working at the library all afternoon so she didn’t have to worry about trying to sneak out with the cat. Rosebud seemed determined to make the trip as difficult as possible. Tom had told her not to agitate the cat any more than necessary, so Maddie followed more than chased Rosebud around the barn before finally cornering her behind a big bin of fish food. She was smart enough to already have the car door open on the Jeep—but not smart enough to remember to use the cat carrier Syd purchased after they decided to keep the stray. Thankfully, she had the presence of mind to put on a thick pair of work gloves before picking Rosebud up. Good thing, too, because the cat wasn’t any too happy about being put into the car against her will. However, once Maddie deposited her inside the Jeep, Rosebud seemed to relax and go with the flow. She curled up and looked placidly around the interior—probably making an assessment about how long it would take her glamour-length nails to tear the leather interior to shreds.
Maddie also expected the cat to amplify her resentment by peeing all over the back seat.
As soon as she arrived at the clinic and had carried Rosebud inside, she took Tom’s advice and gave her twelve milligrams of diphenhydramine to help her relax. She enticed the cat to take the medicine by administering it in solution form—and mixing it with the liquid from a can of tuna from the stash of lunch items Peggy kept in the clinic’s small kitchen. She kept the cat corralled with her while she waited for David to arrive. He hadn’t texted back, but that didn’t worry her.
It was a moral absolute. The S.O.S. summons was always heeded. Always.
She didn’t have to wait long.
She heard gravel flying as a car roared into the parking lot. Its door slammed—then the clinic door was thrown open.
“Cinderella?” David bellowed. “Where are you? What’s going on? Who’s dead?”
She heard him running down the hallway from the back door.
“In here,” she called out. “The kitchen.”
David was running at full tilt, but managed to put on the brakes before he passed the small canteen. Maddie watched him skid past the door sideways before managing to stop and reverse course.
What the hell is he wearing?
In the flash of him she’d seen sliding by, he looked exactly like a hieroglyphic of a dead Pharaoh—headdress and all.
He came into the kitchen like the wind.
“What are you doing in here? Are they already dead? Do I smell fish? How can you eat at a time like this? Who is it? Syd? Celine? Henry? My god . . . what took you so long to text me?”
Maddie got to her feet and held up her hands. “David. Calm down. Nobody’s dead.”
“What do you mean nobody’s dead?” He cast about the kitchen, plainly looking for hidden corpses. “You never use the code unless it’s an emergency.” He noticed Rosebud on the counter, cleaning out the rest of the tuna from the open can. “What is that cat doing in here?”
“I repeat. Calm down. I need your help to x-ray the cat. I think she swallowed a piece of jewelry.”
“Jewelry?” He looked at the fat cat, then back at Maddie. “The cat found jewelry at your place? I doubt it. That’d be like finding King Tut’s tomb.”
“David? King Tut’s tomb was discovered in 1922. And apropos of ancient Egypt, what is up with this outfit?”
David was wearing most of what looked like a fussy peignoir set. This one was a gauzy lime-green creation with a billowing hem and blousy, three-quarter-inch sleeves. He had fuzzy rainbow-colored slippers on his feet and his head was wrapped in a Canyon Rose spa turban. He also had random lengths of wide, shiny tape stuck all over the arms of his . . . lingerie.
He was wearing a facial mask. It smelled vaguely like cucumber.
“Hello?” He waved a hand across his ensemble. “S.O.S. means ‘emergency.’ Remember? I didn’t take time to change into evening attire—I rushed over here as fast as I could.” He was still fuming. “I can’t believe you played the S.O.S. card and nobody’s dead . . .”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, okay? I’m not kidding. This is an emergency. I think Rosebud swallowed Oma’s wedding ring.”
“What were you doing with Oma’s wedding ring?” His eyes grew wide. “No way?” He collapsed onto a chair and fanned himself. A few of his nails looked impressive. He’d obviously been halfway through a French manicure, too. “I need a moment . . .”
“David. Will you please relax. I was going to tell you. I want us to have the ceremony at your place.”
“Our place?” He looked at her through his spread fingers. “How big of an event are we talking?”
“That depends.” Maddie pulled out a chair and sat down, too. “How big does it have to be to get me out of the doghouse for not telling you sooner?”
“Well, let me think.” He tapped an index finger on his chin. “Remember the Rolling Stones concert in Rio?”
Maddie sighed. “Yes.”
“Yeah. Bigger than that.”
“We’ll see what we can do. But first I have to get the ring back from ass . . . Rosebud.”
“What made you change your mind?”
“About?”
David rolled his eyes. “Marriage.”
“I didn’t change my mind. I just realized that there were no longer any good reasons to wait. And it seems to me that right now is a good time to make a public declaration about my complete and unabashed commitment to the woman I love.”
“Well, you’ll get no argument from me about that.” He smiled at her. “I’m happy for you, Cinderella. This has been a long time coming. And you were smart enough to know the right one when she came along.”
“I had a little help from my friends.” She patted his bare knee. “My best friend, most of all.”
“Yeah. It’s still going to cost you plenty.”
Rosebud grew tired of toying with the now empty tuna can. She swatted it and it clattered to the floor.
Maddie sighed. “Showtime.”
When David tried to stand up, one of his stray pieces of tape caught on the edge of the table.
“Damn it!” He yanked it free.
“Why do you have all those pieces of duct tape hanging from your sleeves?”
He gave her a withering look. “It’s not duct tape. It’s car tape. Buddy told me it was great for hair removal.”
“Hair removal?”
“Yeeeeesssss.” David made the word sound like it had five syllables. “If you must know—when you texted, I was manscaping the Furry Prince.”
“The furry . . .” Maddie held up her palm. “You’re right. I don’t want to know.”
“Not that furry prince, Tori Spelling—the other one. Michael.” He shook his head. “That man’s mother must’ve been an orangutan. He’s got more rug than New York Carpet World. And, trust me. You don’t want to see it right now—his chest looks like a bad imitation of that stars-n-bars pattern they always mow on the courthouse lawn on Lee-Jackson Day.”
“Yeah. TMI.” Maddie walked over to retrieve the yawning cat. “By the way, did you get a chance to look over the speech I wrote you for the debate?”
“Yeah. Ni
ce job, Cinderella. I have to say, though, I was hoping for a few more fireworks—no pun intended.”
“In your case, I thought less was more.”
“Probably. Though I wouldn’t say nay to some Gettysburg Address flourishes, you know? Maybe ramp up the crowd a bit?”
Maddie carried the cat over to where David stood. “Since Lincoln was consecrating a cemetery on the site of a blood-soaked battlefield, I think we should look elsewhere for dramatic inspiration. Something that fits you more stylistically.”
“Really?” David stroked the cat’s head. “Like what?”
“I dunno? Hello Dolly?”
“Hello Dolly? Are you kidding?” He took a second to consider it. “On the other hand, the Divine Miss M. is doing that limited-run Broadway revival . . .”
“My thoughts exactly. Now. Let’s get this done, shall we? I want to strike while the iron is comatose.”
David followed her across the hall to the room containing her x-ray equipment.
Maddie set Rosebud down on one of the smaller tables.
“Grab us two of those lead-lined aprons over there.” She pointed to a small closet.
“Wait a minute. We’re staying in the room with her?”
Maddie was stroking and massaging the cat to get her to relax and stretch out. It seemed to be working. Rosebud was actually purring. What a hedonist . . .
“Yes,” she said to David. “We’re staying in the room with her. We have to keep her lying still to get a good image. I need to see where the ring is in her digestive tract and be sure it’s not going to cause any tears or blockages.”
David handed her one of the heavy aprons.
“Oh, no, Miss Thing. There is no way I am staying in this room and letting you zap my ’nads with microwaves. What if they drop off?”
“I think I can promise you that if they drop off, it won’t be from radiation—it’ll probably be from the over-application of car tape. Now, unless you can convince me that you’re pregnant, you need to put on your apron and start massaging this cat. I have to get the machine set up properly.”
David sighed and complied. “She seems pretty calm. What was in that can of tuna? Xanax?”