by Theresa Weir
She set Max aside and grabbed her silver laptop. He didn’t like it when she messed with her laptop, petting it instead of him. He tried to step on the keyboard, but she kept elbowing him back. “Not now, Max.”
Click, click, click. Her fingers flew. Her back was against the headboard of the bed, the laptop on her thighs, her bare feet crossed at the ankles, her face intense as she examined the computer screen. “You are not only the star of the Pioneer Press, you’re also the star of the Internet,” she said, her voice full of amazement, puzzlement, and worry.
He was hungry. She usually fed him his canned food by now.
He put a tentative paw to her shoulder. She ignored him, so he did it again. And again. Then she dropped back against the headboard and stared into space.
* * *
Melody was in the kitchen feeding Max when her phone rang. It had been ringing all morning, ever since the paper hit the streets, and she was tempted to ignore it. But she picked it up to check the caller ID. Ellen DeGeneres.
Ha-ha.
How had Lola done that?
Melody would play along. She hit the answer button. “Hi, Ellen.”
“Oh, hi.”
She sounded just like the real Ellen.
“I was reading about Max, your wonderful cat, and I was hoping I could have you and Max and your boyfriend on my show. When he’s well enough to travel. We’ll fly you first class to California.”
She really, really, really sounded like Ellen. “Lola?”
“No, this isn’t Lola. I don’t know who Lola is, but I love the name. Lola.” She started singing.
And Melody started to think that the person on the other end of the line was truly Ellen DeGeneres. “Is this real? Is this a joke? Ellen DeGeneres wouldn’t call me. And not on a Sunday.”
“I use the phone seven days a week. And I also use the Internet every day. Weird, I know. And I love pet stories, and I wanted to talk to you before any of those New York people try to get you to come there. Not that you can’t do both, but wouldn’t you rather come to California? Have you ever been to Burbank?”
“No.”
“There you go.”
“I’ve never been to New York City either.”
“Well, New York. A lot of people running around in dark clothes, drinking lattes. Wouldn’t you rather come to California where people are wearing almost no clothes and driving around in convertibles?”
This was real.
“Let me ask you—where did you get Max?”
“He came from a no-kill shelter in Saint Paul.” She didn’t go into how he’d belonged to David first.
“Okay, so how about this. I will personally donate ten thousand dollars to the shelter if you and Max come to California. And I will kick in another ten thousand if you bring your boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“For the story in my head, he’s your boyfriend. Don’t kill my buzz. So what do you say?”
Melody looked down at Max. He’d finished is organic salmon feast and was washing his face. Melody hit the mute button. “What do you think, Max? Should we go?”
Max meowed.
“You’d have to fly,” she told him. “In an airplane.”
Max seemed to give that some thought, then meowed again.
Chapter 15
The flight from the Minneapolis-Saint Paul International Airport took over three hours. Unfortunately someone in Ellen’s staff had purchased two seats together after Melody had requested separate seating. So now she was sitting at the curved window. Max, inside the pink, soft-sided carrier that he detested, was tucked under the seat in front of her while Joe sat beside her on the aisle. As promised, they were in first class. The seats were roomy, and their arms brushed only occasionally.
Two weeks had passed since the accident, and Melody had been unable to ignore the fact that Joe was still moving pretty slowly when she’d spotted him heading toward the waiting area for their gate. She hadn’t spoken to him since the hospital. Just thought it would be better that way. All communication about the trip had taken place through email.
The two weeks since the shooting had been enough time for her fear and worry over Joe to turn into full-blown irritation. She felt tricked by him. He was just another wrong guy in a long line of wrong guys. Max was the only guy for her. And to prove it, she’d had his likeness tattooed on her shoulder at the fifties party Lola had thrown. In the image, he wore his pink-and-black striped hat and a charmingly silly expression. All the guy she needed.
Cop, cop, cop.
Liar, liar, liar.
“Did you say something?” Joe asked.
He was wearing dark jeans and black leather shoes, a plaid cotton shirt with pearl snaps and sleeves rolled below the elbow. She could smell the fabric of his shirt and his shampoo or deodorant or cologne or something. Some smell she associated with him. A smell that used to make her feel all warm and fuzzy.
Melody shifted closer to the window. They were queued to take off, with just one plane in front of them. “I didn’t say anything.”
“Yeah, you did. You just said ‘liar’.”
“Sorry. I didn’t know I said that out loud.”
“I never lied to you.”
“A lie of omission. And when I think about how I opened up to you, how I put myself out there—” It was humiliating to think she’d been so honest with him, when everything about him had been a lie. “The first time we met, I told you I would never date a cop. Ever.” She crossed her arms over her turquoise sweater with its black cat brooch. She tugged at her black skirt and wondered if her matching turquoise tights were too much. As she did these things, she turned her back to him, pretending interest in the lines on the runway. He’d made a mockery of her. A fool of her. She was a silly girl in silly clothes; a girl who baked cute cupcakes and loved her cat. A crazy cat lady in her cat pajamas and fuzzy slippers, and now her cat tattoo that Joe would never, ever, ever see. “It doesn’t matter,” she said to the window. They were so wrong for each other anyway. She’d felt that from the beginning; she just hadn’t understood why. He worked undercover, trying to better the world. At least that was something. But his life was dark and shady and full of lies and secrets.
The doubts she’d had about herself the night Joe was shot had been a brief reaction to an ugly and horrible situation. She truly wanted sunshine and silly clothes and watching TV in bed. She didn’t want guns and blood spatter on her white tights. She didn’t want his blood on her face.
She didn’t want to cry for him. She didn’t want to miss him when he died.
She turned back to him. “You think I’m just a silly girl.”
“That’s not true.”
“There’s the problem. I will never know what is true and what isn’t.” She knew it wasn’t just the deception. She knew it was also tied to seeing him shot just the way she’d seen David shot, but why she couldn’t be with him really didn’t matter. She just couldn’t. She’d worked hard to increase the joy and whimsy in her life. She couldn’t deal with the darkness he brought.
* * *
The flight was awkward. The attendant assumed they were a couple. The ordering of drinks. The reaching across. The bumping of hands, the bumping of elbows. The not looking. The looking. Getting up to use the restroom. Returning to her seat, her heart diving when she noticed the pallor of his face and the lines of pain around his mouth. The asking if he was okay. His lie, another lie: “I’m fine.”
They landed at LAX. They departed together. He offered to carry Max. She shook her head. He walked stiffly up the walkway, and at one point he had to stop. Just stop, while it looked as if he might pass out.
“This was too soon,” she said. She’d guilted him into coming. What choice had he had? So much money for such a worthy cause.
“I’m fine,” he said again, but she heard the thread of pain in his voice, the airless quality, his words delivered on an exhale.
“Are you taking anything? Can I get you some
water?”
“I’ll wait till we get to the room.”
He didn’t want to risk being out of it. And she was surprised to find that she could read him so well. Did that mean she really did know him, regardless of his deception?
She checked on Max. He looked about as miserable as Joe, and he let out a sad meow that seemed meant to reassure her.
At the luggage carousel, a chauffeur stood with a sign. Melody, Joe, and Max.
They followed the man in black to a limousine, and twenty minutes later they were pulling up in front of a hotel that was intimidating and amazing and ridiculous in its opulence.
They were given a suite with a shared door that could be locked or unlocked. It would definitely not be unlocked, Melody decided. Joe vanished into his room and Melody tended to Max, filling his litter box and putting out food and water.
On a mahogany table was a bouquet of gorgeous red roses, along with ice and champagne, strawberries, and tiny sandwiches made with dark bread and cucumbers. Included in the spread were cans of gourmet cat food for Max. While he made a perusal of the room, going from corner to corner, Melody prepared a plate for herself, then wondered about Joe. She could feel him over there, beyond the door. But he was awfully quiet.
With plate in hand, she put her ear to the suite door and gave it a light tap. “Joe?”
She heard the bed shift, then a muffled, “What?”
“Do you have food over there?”
“I dunno.”
“Well, look.”
A moment of silence, followed by a curt “Yeah.”
“Okay, I just wanted to know.”
“The door’s unlocked. On this side anyway.”
She unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door to a room that was the mirror opposite of hers. Max zipped through the opening, and ran to jump on the bed with Joe. It was almost as if Max understood all of the fuss, and understood that he was being credited with saving Joe’s life.
“Do you need anything?” Melody asked.
Joe was lying in his back, one arm draped over his face, one knee bent, one straight.
He didn’t answer.
She thought about how he’d looked on the plane. Not good. “Want me to get you a plate of food?”
“No,” he mumbled.
“Did you take anything? For the pain?”
“Yes.”
“Is it better?”
“No.”
“Why did you come if you were still feeling bad? What are you trying to prove?”
He dropped his arm, turned his head, and looked directly at her. She could see the lines of pain around his eyes, the brackets around his mouth. “What am I trying to prove? That I’m not an asshole.”
Next to the bed was a glass of water and a prescription bottle. She put down her plate and picked up the brown bottle. A strong narcotic. She returned it to the little table. “You should probably eat something.”
He sighed. “I don’t know if I can.”
She hated to say it: “And maybe get out of those pants. They can’t be helping.”
He agreed.
He unbuckled his black leather belt, unsnapped and unzipped his jeans, and she helped pull them down his legs and over his feet and socks. By the time he was under the covers, he had a sheen of perspiration on his face. Fifteen minutes later, he was able to eat a few pieces of fruit and one of the sandwiches. When he put the plate aside, Max curled up beside him and both of them fell asleep. The bed was massive, and Melody sat on the other side, eating and flipping through channels. Occasionally she would glance to her left, at Joe and Max, and her heart would melt in a way she didn’t want it to melt.
* * *
“What are you watching?”
“Rear Window.”
“Love Hitchcock.”
“Me too.” The room was dark except for the light coming from the television screen. “How do you feel?”
“Okay.”
He scooted up in bed and watched the end of the movie with her.
“How did you become a cop?” she asked as the credits rolled.
“My dad was a cop. His dad was a cop. It just seemed the natural thing, I guess.”
“That must have been weird, having a cop for a dad.”
“Not at all. I had a really normal childhood.”
“What are you going to do now? I mean, about the undercover stuff? Can I ask you that? Will you have to move?” She didn’t want him to move. Even though they were through, she didn’t want him to move. And she understood how conflicted her emotions were.
“I was given the option of moving to another city, or leaving undercover work. I chose to leave undercover work. I’ll just be a regular detective with a desk and a badge.”
“No secrets?”
“No secrets.”
“What about the shelter?”
“I’m staying on there. It’s part of an ongoing investigation that I’m not at liberty to go into right now, but I want to stay on. I like it. And I hope you and Max will keep coming for story hour.”
She wanted a clean cut. She didn’t want to have to see him again. He was making this so hard, but she couldn’t refuse to read stories to children who wanted to hear them.
She tossed the remote between them. “I’d better go. We have to get up early tomorrow. A driver will be downstairs at 6:00 a.m.”
He reached across the bed and fumbled for her hand. Found it. Held it. “I’m sorry. That’s all I want to say. I know I have no excuses. I knew how you felt about cops. I knew about David.”
She sensed that he wanted to say something else, that he was holding back.
“That’s all,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
She got to her feet. “Come on, Max. Let’s go.”
Max stretched, then curled his paws over his face and snuggled closer to Joe.
“He can stay,” Joe said.
“His food and litter box are in my room.”
“Leave the door open.”
Leave the door open. How had this gone from never going to unlock the door, to leave the door open? And Max. How could he do this to her? Cuddling up with Joe like that?
She tried once more. “Max?”
Joe nudged the cat in a weak attempt to get him to leave. Nothing. Sleeping with the enemy. But it was getting harder to think of Joe as the enemy.
Melody went back to her room, and she left the door open.
* * *
Max waited until Melody was settled, waited until she’d turned off the light, and then he joined her in her bed. His ploy hadn’t worked. Of course he wouldn’t stay the night with Joe if Melody wasn’t there.
He was looking forward to tomorrow. He hoped his long-lost sister or brother might see him on television, recognize him, and they could somehow reunite. He wasn’t sure how, but he hoped. Of course his plans had failed before. Look at Joe and Melody. But had it really been a failure? She’d been happy for a while, and he had saved Joe’s life.
Melody wrapped her arm around him and pulled him close. “Oh Max. I adore you.”
He purred loudly, adoring her right back.
Would his siblings recognize him through the television? Without being able to smell him? He might have to do something very Max to get their attention. Maybe his signature move.
Chapter 16
“So how did you two meet?” Ellen asked.
Melody explained about Max. About how he’d ended up at the shelter where Joe worked. And that Melody’s address was on Max’s collar, and Joe brought Max home.
“Oh, Max again,” Ellen said.
The audience laughed. The audience laughed all the time, even when nothing was funny. But Max was okay with that. Ellen was even cuter in person than she was on TV. And she smelled good. A little like dogs, but also like soap and clean clothes. And coffee. With cream. And maybe like the sandwich she’d eaten before the show.
It was time for his signature move. Something he and his siblings had come up with years ago while watching Michae
l Jackson on television. Max called it the cat walk.
He jumped out of Ellen’s arms.
“Oh, I guess he’s tired of me,” Ellen said.
Everybody laughed.
Max stood firmly on all fours, then began walking backward.
The audience really laughed then.
So he did it some more.
Ellen was laughing so hard, tears streamed down her face. Max didn’t understand the big deal. He jumped on the couch and nuzzled under Melody’s arm to get on her lap.
“Can we see a replay of that?” Ellen asked.
They played it back, and they slowed it down, and they sped it up. And the laughter just kept going. It hurt Max’s ears. When everybody finally calmed down, Ellen said: “That was quite remarkable.”
“I’ve never seen him do that before,” Melody said.
“My show will do that to a person. A cat. I mean a cat. My show will do that to a cat.” Ellen wiggled in her soft chair and leaned closer. “So, when are you two getting married? Not you and Max, you and Joe. When are you and Joe getting married? Because if two people were ever meant for each other…”
Awkward.
Melody shifted nervously, and Max could smell her fear. He meowed and ducked his face into her sweater, hoping to calm her. “We aren’t ever getting married,” she said. She glanced at Joe.
He had a silly smile on his face, and Max began to wonder at his calmness. He was so calm he almost seemed ready to melt through the couch. Kinda like Max felt once the initial buzz of catnip wore off.
“When are we getting married?” Joe asked.
Melody frowned at him. “We aren’t getting married.”
“Have you asked her?” This from Ellen. Max pulled his head out from its hiding place. He had to watch. Ellen was a better matchmaker than Max! Well, he’d brought Melody and Joe together initially, but Ellen was doing her part. They could be a team. A matchmaking team.