Cat Among the Fishes

by Louise Clark

  Ellen nodded. Trevor patted her hand and said, “You can have some of mine if you want.” He held out his cup.

  Ellen looked from Trevor to Christy, then back. “Thank you, but no. I’ll wait until Christy can provide the news—new pot.”

  Relieved that Ellen hadn’t blurted out something that would require more of an explanation, Christy hustled about, boiling the water and readying the French press for another pot. Sledge wandered over in the middle of this task. Without his ball cap and sunglasses, dressed in distressed jeans and a T-shirt that hugged his torso, he was clearly Sledge of SledgeHammer. He retained his rock star swagger, even though he looked groggy and in as much need of coffee as the others had been.

  “Man,” he said around a yawn. “I’d forgotten how heavily I sleep in the outdoors. It’s been awhile since I’ve been camping.”

  “It depends where in the outdoors you’re sleeping,” Tamara muttered, looking down at her cup. She was referencing her experiences in Africa, Christy knew, and so did the others. Sledge’s expression turned horrified as he realized his casual comment had caused her pain. Quinn put his hand over hers and squeezed. Tamara smiled at them and said, “Like you, Sledge, I slept very well last night.” She smiled at all of them. “It must be the company.”

  Christy was busy pouring boiling water into the beaker, but she looked up at that and saw Quinn smile as he squeezed Tamara’s hand again. There was a tenderness there she couldn’t miss and she resisted the urge to sigh. At least they seemed to have moved away from talking about the action in the Farnsworths’ campsite.

  She was stirring the boiling water, mixing it with the coffee grounds in the carafe when Sledge yawned again and pointed at Stormy, now sitting in the middle of the picnic table. “Hey, cat. You need to tone it down. You may get up early, but not all of us do.”

  Stormy padded over to him and butted his arm. Sorry!

  Sledge scratched behind the cat’s ears. “Yeah, okay. But you know, big news like that—”

  Roy cleared his throat loudly at the same time as the cat reached up and batted Sledge’s arm, claws out.

  “Hey!” Sledge said.

  “I’m afraid Stormy doesn’t like you anymore than he likes me,” Tamara said.

  “But—”

  Ellen sniffed. “That cat.”

  Christy pressed the plunger to filter out the coffee grounds, then lifted the French press. “I’ve got a fresh pot ready. Who wants coffee?”

  Sledge put up his hand and Christy provided him with a mug. After his first sip, the baffled expression on his face slowly eased into understanding and with it came a quick look of dismay as he realized what he’d almost divulged.

  While she refilled cups, Christy steered the conversation onto everyday stuff. They planned for the day and when Noelle emerged from the tent she shared with Christy, the talk turned to who wanted what for breakfast. They were deep into breakfast prep when the dark sedan again rolled past their site and rounded the bend toward the Farnsworth site. No one commented, although Stormy slunk away to eavesdrop.

  Two hours later they were all ready to get moving. Ellen and Trevor had decided skip breakfast and go into town for an early lunch instead. Sledge had convinced Quinn and Tamara to join him at a local site famous for it’s spectacular bungee jumping instillation. Roy opted to stay in camp. Frank decided to remain with him so he could observe the action at the Farnsworths’ campsite.

  Christy shrugged and said, “Looks like it’s just you and me for the beach, kiddo. I don’t think we’ll bother with the umbrella and the chairs. I’ll carry the towels.”

  “And I’ll bring my bucket and shovel.” Noelle had turned into a determined sandcastle builder.

  Christy mentally added sunscreen and a book to her list of what to bring as she nodded. They both changed into swimsuits, then said goodbye to Roy as they headed off.

  He nodded, already tapping away at his keyboard. The cat was nowhere to be seen.

  Chapter 6

  In the quiet campground Roy worked steadily.

  He liked the woods and rustic living conditions; they got his creative juices flowing in a way that was different than when he worked at his kitchen table. Not better, just different. A recharging, as it were.

  As his campsite gradually emptied of people, his focus deepened so he was immersed in the world he was creating. He stopped being a voyeur, describing his characters’ lives. Instead, he was one of them, experiencing their traumas and joys with them, a part of their fabric—not his.

  As often happened when he became deeply immersed in his writing, he lost track of time. He was brought back to the here and now by the cat, who flopped onto his keyboard in the middle of a deeply emotional scene that had been brewing for the last twenty pages.

  He blinked. Stormy’s wide green eyes stared back at him.

  The cat’s bored. There’s nothing going on.

  He lifted Stormy off the keyboard and put him on the table. “You’re bored, Frank. The cat would probably like a nap.”

  Stormy lifted a paw and began to clean between the pads. No, he doesn’t. He wants action.

  “There’s no action happening here, except what’s in my computer document.” He saved, then stared moodily at the screen. The scene that had been chugging merrily along with everybody in a heap of trouble was now stalled. Not one of the characters seemed to care how they were going to get out of the dangerous situation they’d gotten themselves into and he knew if he tried to force them to act, they’d just do something lame he’d have to rescue them from in revisions. He sighed and closed the laptop. “Thanks a lot, Frank.”

  What? I didn’t do anything!

  He looked at his watch. He’d been writing since early morning and he realized it was now afternoon. The quiet Frank was complaining about had given him the freedom to let his creative juices flow. He remembered there had been a flap about one of the campers in the adjoining site being questioned by the police, which had slowed him down, but eventually the cops left—and the campers did too—and the area quieted. That was when he could really dive deep and get work done.

  Not that he minded action happening around him. He didn’t. He streamed it through the filter of “can someone else take the lead on this” and if they could, he let it play out around him, catching the essence and participating as needed. This morning he’d decided that a murder was interesting, but not critical. The others could deal with anything urgent, so he went on capturing the idea that had come to him in the middle of a long, aching night on an air mattress.

  The aching night was sobering. He hadn’t been camping in a while and the discomfort of sleeping on the ground surprised him. Truth be told, it shook him too. He was getting old. He wasn’t particularly fond of the idea.

  He pushed the discomforts of sleeping outside away as he stood and stretched. He’d go for a walk. Maybe go down to the beach to have a swim, see how Christy and Noelle were doing. First, though, he’d wander over to the washhouse and clean up. He put the laptop into the tent he shared with Quinn, stretched again, then noticed that Stormy was still on the table, watching him.

  “Hey, Frank. Want to go for a walk?”

  The cat’s wide green eyes stared at him, unblinking. Roy thought he detected a hint of disapproval in them and refused to feel guilty. Then Stormy blinked, yawned, and arched his back, front paws forward in a sinuous cat stretch.

  Sure. Where to?

  “The bathroom. I thought I’d go the long way.” At the roadway, Roy turned left and headed toward the curve, instead of going right, which led to the intersecting main road and was the direct route to the facilities. By turning left, he was following the path the cops had taken so many hours before.

  Why? Stormy sidled along with him, twining in front of him, beside him, around him, generally ensuring he had to watch his feet so he didn’t stumble, rather than stride along the road.

  He didn’t mind. He wasn’t sure why he was doing this, only that it seemed the right thing t
o do. He was in no rush. As he came out of his writing daze, he realized he’d accomplished a lot today and was mellow with the satisfaction of it. The weather was gorgeous, the temperature perfect—hot, but no humidity to drain away energy—and the woods around him were still and quiet. “No particular reason.”

  We pass Patterson’s campsite this way.

  “We do.”

  Snooping?

  “Certainly not!”

  There’s no one there. When the cops had taken Adam Farnsworth off for questioning, Frank had wanted to go along, but Christy kept Stormy close until the car was well away. That hadn’t deterred Frank, though. Stormy had disappeared into the greenbelt between the campsites and set up watch until Patterson and the Farnsworths had taken off as a group to do some family thing.

  Roy had a vague memory of Stormy returning after the Farnsworth vehicles departed. He’d hopped up into his tent for a sleep, with Frank muttering something about boring, boring, boring. He hadn’t paid any attention, beyond noting the whereabouts of the cat. “Doesn’t matter if anyone is at their campsite. I’m walking to stretch my legs and enjoy the afternoon.”

  The entryway to each campsite included a post with the site number branded on it and a metal frame where each camper was supposed to slot their registration document showing their last day in the campsite. Their exit date as it were. Roy amused himself by noting when their neighbors were leaving, then comparing that date to his own departure date. Most were long-term stayers, as he and his group were. He wondered if any of them had dogs and if Stormy had to be ready to climb a tree at any time.

  This little section of the campground was designed in a U-shape. The two doubles formed the top end of the U, while smaller sites made up the rest. Across the road, there were an equal number of regular-sized sites. At the moment, every site he passed on either side of the road was empty. Some had cars still in the drive, indicating the occupants were down at the beach. At others, the cars were gone, so the campers were off site.

  On his side of the road there were two sites between his double and the curve, with another two at the base. On the opposite side, there were four sites along the straight, with two on the bottom. The curve of the road bent to the left and he and Stormy headed slowly toward the Farnsworths’ campsite. The layout was the same—two sites to the double, four sites on the other side. Two of those sites had cars, the rest were empty.

  This place is dead. There’s nothing going on.

  “The pause before the storm. Pretty soon everyone will be back from whatever they’ve been doing all day and this place will be hopping. Kids on bikes. Kids playing with balls. Kids fighting. Life in action.”

  You sound happy about it.

  “I am.”

  Noelle likes it here.

  “She’s told you?”

  Yeah. But I can tell anyway.

  He probably could. Roy believed one of the things that kept Frank here was his relationship with his daughter. He wondered if he should probe a little, see what other issues—like Christy—could be keeping him. “Frank—”

  “Oh! You have a cat!”

  Roy stopped abruptly. The woman who gushed out those words was of average height and deep into middle age, if the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth were any evidence. Her hair was a determined brown that must have come from a bottle, and she was carrying too much weight around her hips to make the shorts she was wearing flattering. He had a vague memory of having seen her before and grabbed at it, but the details slipped away. “Ah, yes.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  Her campsite was a single opposite the Farnsworth double. She seemed to be the only one around in the area. She crouched down. “Here kitty, kitty, kitty.” She snapped her fingers and smiled hopefully.

  She’s kidding, right?

  Roy wondered how much she’d heard of his rambling conversation with Frank. Then he wondered if she’d heard all of his conversation with Frank, or only his side. Frank now broadcast to more and more people, and Roy knew part of who heard him was Frank’s choice. Sometimes, though, random people picked up on the cat’s thought-speak, like the cop who’d been part of the SWAT team sent to arrest Tamara for her father’s murder.

  Since this woman didn’t respond to Frank’s provocative comment, Roy decided she’d only heard the human side of the conversation, so he probably sounded like a nut case talking to himself. He spared a moment to imagine playing it that way, pretending to be an old guy losing his marbles, then decided he wouldn’t bother. Too much energy involved.

  She looked up, smiling even though Stormy was tangled around Roy’s ankles regarding her suspiciously. “I’ve never seen a cat at a campground before,” she said. “Dogs, yes. Lots of them, but never a cat.”

  Roy relaxed a little. So far the conversation was incredibly predictable. Two people who didn’t know each other exchanging social trivia. Normal. “He’s a special cat.”

  You bet I am.

  Thus encouraged, Roy decided to embellish things a little. “He’s been trained to come when he’s called and to walk on a leash.” The woman looked confused because Stormy was wandering freely, no leash in sight. “I’m not using it now, of course, because it’s pretty quiet.”

  Stormy sat down and wrapped his tail around his feet in his neat and tidy way. He stared at the woman. I hate the leash.

  “How fascinating,” she said, smiling.

  A van drove slowly around the curve. Stormy dove for the nearest campsite, which proved to be the woman’s, and Roy stepped out of the way, ending up beside her. The car turned into the double campsite. The Farnsworths were back home.

  They emerged from the vehicle, the kids tumbling out of the back with their mom’s help. Once out, the driver, Adam Farnsworth, headed over to where Roy and the woman stood.

  “Mrs. Bunch?” he said. There was a large smile on his face.

  She smiled back, though to Roy’s mind she looked a little wary. That elusive memory he’d seen or met her before flickered into life again and this time it hardened into a solid image grounded in place and time. She’d been at the information meeting yesterday. He’d noticed her standing a little to one side of the presentation area, not far from the woman councilor. Her gaze had been focused on Shane Higginson and Norman Laing as they spoke. She’d had that same wary look in her eyes, which was probably why he recognized her now.

  “Yes,” she said, answering politely, but without a lot of enthusiasm. “It’s Adam Farnsworth, isn’t it?”

  He grinned at her, clearly pleased. “Yeah, it is.” Then his smile faded. “I was so sorry to hear about Corey’s death. Please accept my condolences.”

  The wrinkles on Mrs. Bunch’s face deepened as her expression tightened. She nodded, a short, abrupt motion that was a dismissive acknowledgement. “Thank you, Adam. It’s been six months now, but I still miss him.”

  “I understand,” said Adam.

  Roy edged away, making his escape. He knew Stormy would meet up with him when he was away from Mrs. Bunch and Adam.

  “I didn’t realize you were staying in this site,” Adam was saying. “How are you doing?”

  “Well enough, I suppose,” Mrs. Bunch said. “I came to recharge. When he was a little fellow, Corey loved summer vacations at this campground, you know. We used to come every year as a family. Being here helps me remember those happy days and brings me closer to him.”

  Stormy slipped past Adam Farnsworth and Mrs. Bunch to rejoin Roy. Creepy.

  Frank didn’t like death, or the idea of other souls lingering behind, as he was. Roy wanted to tell him that finding ways to remain close to a loved one who had passed away was a normal human reaction, but he was still too close to Adam and Mrs. Bunch to speak.

  Behind him he heard Adam say, “I thought you owned beach property in the area? I remember you talking about developing the land for a resort or something.”

  “I had to sell the land to help make Corey’s life easier,” Mrs. Bunch said. “The medical system a
rranged for his basic care, of course, but I paid for special equipment and extra therapies. I wanted him to have the chance to walk again, even if traditional medicine said he never would.”

  How tragic, Roy thought. Her son must’ve had some kind of accident and she spent her life trying to save him from it, even thought it had apparently been hopeless. Mother love, human hope, he mused. The essence of what made people so resilient, yet so fragile at the same time.

  The rest of the conversation was lost as he reached the intersection with the main road. He bent down and scooped up the cat, taking pleasure in the softness of his thick coat and the purr that vibrated under his stroking fingers as they proceeded to the restrooms.

  Chapter 7

  Suntanned, waterlogged, and pleasantly tired from their day at the beach, it was mid-afternoon when Christy and Noelle ambled into the campsite. Stormy and Roy had disappeared, so they collected clean clothes then went to the washhouse to shower off the sand and salt. They changed into tees and shorts and returned to the site to find Ellen and Trevor looking relaxed and…

  Was Ellen wearing different clothes from the ones she’d left the camp in? Christy blinked. Couldn’t be.

  Not long after that, the bungee jumpers returned. They’d each apparently taken the plunge and were still full of the resulting adrenaline rush. Tamara seemed particularly pumped and it exposed a new, rather bossy side of her personality. She announced that it was her turn to cook then proceeded to dish out instructions on who should be doing what, as if she was instructing a class of medical students in the art of triage medicine. Sledge offered to help her, so when Noelle asked if they could go to the playground before dinner, Christy was more than happy to escape. To her surprise, Quinn suggested he go with them.

  On the way there he entertained Christy and Noelle with stories about the antics of the others at the jump site and the terror he’d endured when it was his turn to bungee jump. Noelle listened wide-eyed and rapt, while Christy thought he’d probably enjoyed himself very much. She was aware Quinn had a reckless side to him and the danger of leaping off a bridge into a ravine with nothing but an elastic cord to keep him from death and destruction would have appealed.