When the Cat's Away

by Molly Fitz

  “I’m Persephone,” I said, offering a kind smile to the small, older woman, her lined face tight with anxiety, brown eyes shining with unshed tears. She sniffled a little, looked down as though embarrassed to be seen that way, hands shaking as she fished a tissue out of the pocket of her baggy blue sweater, dabbing her nose and eyes with it before offering me a weak smile of her own.

  “Fern Baker,” she said, voice trembling. “Nice to meet you, Persephone. I wanted to take your meditation session, but it was full this morning.”

  “I have another tomorrow,” I said. “I’d love for you to join me.”

  She bobbed a nod, composure returning, tissue vanishing back into her pocket, hands running down the front of her t-shirt to the waistband of her old-school gray sweatpants. “That’s very kind of you,” she said. “I’d love to.”

  “Did you get a snack?” I guided her toward the dining room without asking questions about her interaction with our resident trouble maker, wanting to talk to Lou Ellen first. She was the host, after all, and I realized I’d failed to ask some rather important questions. Like, how did she want me to deal with someone who clearly took pleasure in making other people miserable? While trapped with said person on an island with no way off until this was all over?

  I really hadn’t thought it through. Not that I cared if Natasha gave me a hard time, but I couldn’t see even my kind-hearted and (occasionally) flaky (don’t tell her I said that) friend tolerating that kind of behavior for long.

  By the time I had Fern situated with a cup of tea and a cinnamon roll, I had decided if Lou Ellen wasn’t going to take Natasha in hand, I’d do it personally. If Daphne was right and the woman’s intent was to cause issues down the road, I was in a better position to take it than my friend, since I was fully established with faithful clients and a reputation with the local hospital and legal teams while Lou Ellen’s practice might not endure a social media onslaught intended to hurt her reputation.

  Was it wrong I kind of hoped Natasha would come for me so I could squash her arrogant butt? Yes, but I wasn’t judging myself for it. Some people just needed a life lesson now and then and I was a therapist, after all.

  I paused at the doorway to the hall, stepping out from the group as they socialized, planning ahead to my next session in fifteen minutes, wondering if I should adjust my offerings to something less weighty. If they could barely keep their attention on simple meditation techniques, would they get anything out of more advanced opportunities to deal with old trauma?

  Only one way to find out.

  Movement out of the corner of my eye had me squinting, the inn’s ginger tabby cat slinking by. I had nothing against her kind, to the contrary. I hadn’t been able to have a kitty since meeting my ex-husband, twenty-four years of no pets thanks to his allergies always a bone of contention between us. Not that Special Agent In Charge Trent Garret was the pet kind anyway, FBI superhero persona not exactly the emotionally squishy type. No, my glare had nothing to do with the cat herself, per se.

  Instead, it was the memory of finding a dead mouse in my bathroom this morning that gave me a wee bit of the willies and raised my concern. Then again, if the poor perished rodent was left there by said Ms. Kitty, she was just doing her job and I shouldn’t be judging her for it.

  She vanished around the bottom of the bannister and galloped up the steps, the sound of her footfalls fading.

  “Ms. Pringle?” I turned, smile appearing instantly, the young woman offering her hand to me triggering my instinctual reaction to be welcoming and open.

  “Persephone,” I said, reminding myself to tell everyone to call me that from now on, but in a group setting so I didn’t have to keep repeating myself.

  “Dr. Shauna Raine,” she said, dark blonde hair in a tight braid, the faintly rough and calloused feel of her palm surprising me, as did her broad shoulders and inches of height over mine. “I’m in your next session. You’re teaching us tapping? I’ve heard such good things. Can it help with a fear of heights?”

  And just like that my hesitation over offering my favorite tools perished.

  Even as the sound of a woman screaming smothered the warm feelings and spun me around, to race down the hall toward the source of the sound with my heart in my throat.

  Chapter Three

  In case you missed it, I was more of a run toward a problem kind of girl than away from it, though you’d think after fifty years on the planet I’d have learned a bit more in the way of self-preservation. Maybe it was my penchant for poking my nose into other people’s troubles (invited or otherwise), or my drive to help, to heal that dictated what some called courage and others audacity. Regardless, I was the first to reach the doorway to the downstairs bathroom, to whip open the entry and step across the threshold, expecting to find a murder going on at the very least.

  Instead, I exhaled in a gust of exasperation at the sight of none other than Natasha Lange, still shrieking like a banshee, pressed up against the sink counter, pointing at the small, brown bundle of fur, immobile on the gray tile floor.

  A mouse. She found a dead mouse. Seriously?

  Someone pushed past me, our host, Helen Stewart, in a clear state of frazzled disarray mirrored in her wavy brown hair, the rumpled appearance of her logoed golf shirt, the dusting of what looked like flour on her black shoes and the cuff of her uniform pants. I noted that frazzled seemed to be her normal since she’d been a bit of a nervous wreck since we’d arrived, barely hiding it under a veneer of almost hysterical welcome.

  “I’m so sorry, I’ll take care of it immediately, please, it’s all right.” Helen lunged for the little creature, scooping it into her bare hands and spinning to exit the room, hurrying past me while I fixed Natasha with a look that I tried to moderate into understanding but knew barely hit flat displeasure.

  For her part, she spluttered, face bright red thanks to her overreaction, chubby hands fluttering in front of her chest, sneakers squeaking on the floor as she spun toward me.

  “Disgusting!” I’d only seen a few people spitting mad until this point in my career, two of them high on something, the other caught in the act of a crime. Natasha had it down to a science, droplets flying from her lips, caught in the faint sunlight coming in from the narrow windows near the tall ceiling. “A rodent. In the washroom.” She was clearly looking for some kind of backup and while I’d endured my own dead mousie in my own private space just an hour ago, I’d managed to refrain from losing my freaking mind, so sympathy wasn’t forthcoming.

  “Are you all right?” Hey, I managed to be nice. Well, at least I asked. Not sure if nice was part of it, but I tried.

  Natasha didn’t bother responding, forcing her way past me though I dodged her before she could do any shoving, realizing she then had to push by a gathering as it appeared the bulk of the attendees had come to stand outside the door to see what all the fuss was about.

  Lou Ellen slipped into the bathroom beside me, her silver curls piled loosely on top of her head, the flowing multi-colored kaftan she wore over her wide-legged, pale blue pants skimming the tops of her bare feet, a small silver ring on her right middle toe sparkling. As did the multitude of silver rings on her long, narrow fingers, wrists jangling with bangles as she took my hand and led me deeper into the space, smiling and waving at everyone who still lingered.

  “Thank you, it’s fine,” she said. “Go back to your snacks. Next session starts shortly.”

  With the excitement over, the participants retreated, door swinging shut. The moment it did, Lou Ellen’s tight smile collapsed into an anxious expression, hands wringing making her rows of shining bracelets ring. “Tell me I didn’t make a huge mistake and things are going well?”

  Whoops. Should I inform her then and there or lie to her and let her have a brief break from what looked like a growing set of nerves.

  While I adored Lou Ellen, had known her since high school and always got along with her, she had a terrible habit of wanting to only see the bright side of t
hings and digging herself in deeper than she should, forcing other people to rescue her more often than not. Okay, I wasn’t being entirely fair, but if she couldn’t handle a few bumps, she shouldn’t have dove head-first into this idea.

  I told her about Natasha’s fit in my class and added Daphne’s warning, to which Lou Ellen groaned softly.

  “I know,” she said. “I’d hoped if I made a good impression, she might promote me and the retreat.”

  “Not looking promising,” I said. “If I hadn’t pissed her off, the dead mouse likely means a one-star rating for the inn, at the very least.” Now I did feel bad, hugging her impulsively, before letting her go, gripping her upper arms in my hands, smiling despite the sour note we’d just shared. “It’ll be fine,” I said. “Everyone else seems to be having a great time. You can’t let one person ruin it for the rest.”

  Lou Ellen’s expression firmed, chin rising, smiling back at me. “You’re right, Seph,” she said, hugging me back. “This is exactly why I asked you to join me for the first event. I knew I could count on you to keep my head on straight.” She fluffed her curls with both hands, the wild locks of her soft and halo-like mass of silver untouched by color ever. We were a bit of a contrast, she a hippy, new age, earth goddess and me with my dyed blonde pixie and plethora of tattoos. We might have been the same age, but fifty looked far different on her than it did me.

  What was it they said about opposites and friendship?

  “I’ll deal with it,” Lou Ellen said. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  I knew that already. Sighed, shrugged. “Come on,” I said, grabbing her hand, dragging her to the door. “Let’s go find her so I can apologize before I change my mind and choke on it.”

  The beaming smile my friend shot me was worth it. I guess. Mostly.

  We’d see.

  Wouldn’t you know, the only way Natasha would accept said making of amends was in front of everyone. “I want a public apology,” she sniffed in my general direction when Lou Ellen and I confronted her outside the dining room a minute later. “For her rudeness.” She didn’t even look at me, focused completely on Lou Ellen. I knew why. It was obvious she knew she could bully my friend, took the low road and did so while I ground my teeth and hung in there for the hypnotherapist’s sake. “I felt unwelcome in her session. I thought this was supposed to be an inclusive retreat, not a chance for a clear egomaniac to belittle your participants.”

  She.

  Egom—

  Choke.

  She’d get an I’m sorry over my dead—

  “Of course, no problem.” Lou Ellen might as well have cut my throat. I met her eyes with my temper hitting the back of my throat in a blow that came so close to me laughing out loud before telling the nasty piece of work where she could fling herself off the side of the island. Only to stop, absorb my friend’s desperate need for this to work out, cutting my proverbial legs out from under me and putting me in a terrible position.

  Whether Lou Ellen knew it or not, asking me to follow through decimated any kind of respect or standing I might have held, undermining not only me and my professional credibility, but my ability to connect with and teach the women who’d come here for my expertise.

  I almost said no. Inhaled, exhaled, followed my own practice of just a short time ago. Turned to the smirking Natasha with her narrowed piggy eyes and smug expression and nodded. Before stalking into the dining room with she and Lou Ellen trailing after me.

  “If I could have your attention.” I backed off my aggression when I saw it register on some faces, the startled looks I got from a few of the participants reminding me it wasn’t Natasha who would undercut me. It was me. My choices, the way I handled the next few minutes. And I planned to come out ahead, you better believe it. “Thank you, first of all, for putting your faith in me, in Lou Ellen.” I gestured at my friend who waved and smiled, though she looked nervous. She should. She knew me very well and had to be shaking in her bangles over what I might do and say. “This weekend is meant as an evolution for you, a chance for you to confront things you’d rather no longer plagued you, to relieve yourself and your life of issues that hold you back.” They all nodded, smiled. “In doing so, we all confront things that bring out emotions, sometimes overwhelming, sometimes uncomfortable.” I gestured at Natasha who was now glaring. She must have known where I was going with my “apology” and I had to fight the smile of triumph that rose in response to her discontent at my rebellion. Oh, I planned to give her what she asked for. Just not the way she wanted it.

  Groveling was not in my lexicon.

  “If, at any time, I raise such discomfort in you, I deeply and sincerely apologize.” I nodded my head to Natasha. “But please know, those moments of distress are necessary, signposts from your own personal Universe that you’ve struck on an issue ready to rise to the surface and exit you and your life.” I wasn’t talking bunk. I honestly believed every word. Though, in Natasha’s case, it would have taken a lot more than one issue clearing, but I digress. “So, please, accept my regret at your discomfort but celebrate that feeling and step into it.” I held out my hand to her while she looked around, everyone beaming, hope nearly palpable in the room, the other women gathered there caught up in the moment, even Lou Ellen clasping her hands under her chin, tears in her eyes. “Natasha, I’m so sorry your discomfort led us to conflict. Can I help you repair the hurt and free you forever?”

  I wasn’t sure what to expect, honestly. Half of me hoped and suspected she’d accept, just let it go. But the rest of me was pretty sure someone like her simply couldn’t back down. When her scrunched expression turned to defiance, I had my answer.

  “This is ridiculous,” she snarled before spinning and stalking out of the room while everyone stared and watched her go.

  Leaving me standing in the middle of the space, hand still extended. No way was I letting this opportunity pass. I had a chance to really reach them, to make a difference, even if that meant a performance was part of the job.

  “Let’s all hold Natasha’s hurt in our hearts,” I said, the murmurs of the others in agreement. “And be kind to one another and ourselves, knowing such conflict can be defeated if we face it head on.”

  Lou Ellen applauded, the rest of the gathering following suit, while I fought off that feeling of being a fraud that sometimes arose when I made a spectacle of myself.

  I exited then, heading for the front door, breezing past Lou Ellen before she could stop me. “I just need some air.” Pushed out onto the stairs down to the stone pathway, turning immediately to the right and away from the walk onto the grass, heading for the side of the building and around the corner so I could be alone for two freaking minutes.

  Covered my butt or not, I realized I’d come here for the wrong reasons with a terrible attitude and part of this was my fault. I was letting Lou Ellen down, far more than I would have if I’d said no. So it was either suck up my own issues and do what I promised or be a jerk and a whiner and mirror Natasha.

  Yeah, not going to happen. If anything, her whole hissy fit nastiness was the perfect reflection of my own inner whiner and, while grateful for the poke to pay attention, I at least was willing to do something about it even if she wasn’t.

  I would smile and be sweet and tolerant and kind from now on.

  That decision made, I paused at the base of the lighthouse, looking down over the cliff with my heart in my throat, old remnants of my fear of heights mingling with my curiosity, a narrow stairway carved from the rock leading down to the bare skim of beach and a small dock, with what looked like a rowboat tied up to it. The ferry dropped us on the other side of the island, where it sloped down to the water in a more accessible grade. The thrill of standing there with one hand on the centuries-old stone and daring the edge made me smile.

  As did the utter calm, the almost glassy ocean barely undulating, despite the soft waves that reached the shore. I could almost believe in anything standing there, even my own ability to do as I promis
ed and not make Lou Ellen regret inviting me. Or myself for saying yes.

  I turned to head back in, lungs filled with salt air, spotting someone up ahead near the small shed tucked into the shadow of the towering lighthouse. Helen was just emerging from it, the innkeeper’s jerking, nervous walk hurriedly carrying her back toward the main building.

  Apparently I wasn’t the only person who needed some fresh Atlantic Ocean air. The sight of Daphne circling the shed, Fern and Shauna, the unlikely pair with their heads down and chatting away like old friends, appearing from the other direction. The intrusion had me pausing, not wanting to have to talk to anyone just yet. I let the three women finish their curious investigation of the surrounds and then carry on before I finally set out for the front door again and my next session.

  Everything was going to be just fine.

  Keep telling yourself that, Pringle. The Universe was listening.

  Chapter Four

  My request was apparently accepted, because the rest of my sessions unfolded without a hitch, lunch a delicious chowder with homemade biscuits I drooled over before allowing myself one and chiding my hips and tummy for welcoming the carbs with open arms.

  Even the afternoon flew by, many of my participants excited and a few having breakthroughs during session, so by the time we ended to get ready for dinner, I was feeling much more optimistic. It helped Natasha had apparently retreated to her room to sulk, and though that fact wasn’t going to help Lou Ellen in the long run it certainly made my life easier for the time being.

  The only real hiccup? The two dead mice I found on my bedspread when I arrived back in my room. I grimaced at the offering, wondering why the cat would leave them for me. Did she like me? I’d heard that, how felines would deliver what they thought of as gifts to those they appreciated. Or, wait, did she think I was starving and needed the food more than she did? Whatever her reasoning, I planned to have a chat with Helen about finding out how the cat was getting into my room in the first place while I carefully wrapped both tiny carcasses in toilet paper and deposited them in the trash under another quickly bundled strip.