The Astonishing Thing Page 13

  “No,” he whispered. “No, I can’t leave you alone. Because look what happens when I do.”

  “Yes, a lot gets done!” She looked satisfied with herself. “Look at how many cans I cleaned. When this room is full, and everything is neat, with the right colors in the right place, I’ll be done. You see?” Mother’s eyes twinkled with new energy. “Won’t it be beautiful? It will be just right. It’s going to be perfect. And everything will be in its place. It’s not my fault we’re stuck here in your creaky, ugly, old house. Full of ghosts. But this one room will be very nice and complete.”

  “Okay,” he agreed. “But just for a day. Then it all has to go. These cans can’t stay here, and you know it.”

  “You’re so mean.”

  Father wrapped his arms around her tighter. “I’m sorry. But you know I’m right.”

  She tried to squirm away from him, but he wouldn’t let her. His muscles hardened as he held her in place. “You have to leave now,” she said. “I only have a few hours left until daylight.”

  “Come back to bed. Please. Please. I’m so tired and I have to work tomorrow.”

  I could see the anguish in Mother’s face. She just wanted to be able to lean forward and work with her cans. I don’t know why he couldn’t just leave her in peace and let her do her work. I got up to slink toward her on padded feet. I thought maybe if I sat in her lap, she’d find it comforting. But Father’s big hand caught me on the hip as he pushed me away. “Get out of here,” he snapped at me.

  He wanted me gone, just like he wanted Jimmy gone. I thought he wanted Mother all to himself. I hated him in that moment.

  Thinking back on it, perhaps he ordered Jimmy to leave because he wanted Jimmy out of harm’s way. And maybe I was a distraction.

  Mother gritted her teeth, angry. “Don’t do that to Boo. Leave her alone. You’re so horrible. Why did I marry such a mean person?” She tried to pull his arms off of her. “You don’t appreciate what I do, what I create. You’ve got me trapped here in this old house. In this small town.”

  Father frowned, but he did not let go.

  “You keep me here,” she continued. “But the more you hold me down, the more I just want to run away.”

  Father buried his face in her shoulder. He was behind her, so she couldn’t see his expression of grief. And now I couldn’t see it either. A few minutes went by. Mother looked lovingly at her cans. She could see how wonderful it could be, if he would just let her finish.

  “I’m not trying to be mean,” he finally said. He sounded exhausted. “But this isn’t right. Maybe you could do this in the basement, away from the kids.”

  “Oh.” She thought this over. Maybe the basement would be a good compromise. “But it’s dark down there.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “I don’t want you there alone. But maybe when I’m working out, with the weights. You could come down and do your work, and I’ll be there anyway.”

  “That’s not a bad idea. Because then they can’t see me coming and going.”

  Father still hadn’t lifted his head, and he talked into her back. But I could hear the tension creeping back into his voice. “Who can’t?”

  “The neighbors. They’re watching me.” Mother paused. She was speaking totally normally, not as if she was afraid of the neighbors. She was just telling it like it is. I hid behind the curtains with her many times, watching them. When she told me the neighbors were planning to take her away, I showed her how to be very still and keep a sharp eye on their movements. “They watch all of us. I know that.” Mother reached back and patted his arm. “You’re not smart enough to understand. Poor Tommy. But maybe someday you will.”

  She turned around in his lap. “Oh, you smell good.” Father had to lift his head as she nestled onto his chest. His eyes were red. “Why do you always smell so good? Is this some kind of a trick? Is this a trick to trap me here? You smell like soap. And laundry detergent and I think toothpaste and oh my God Tommy you smell good.”

  Father stopped responding. He just sat, slumped over, holding her against his chest. Unable to let go.

  Sometimes the humans couldn’t get a word in edgewise when Mother was wound up. That may have something to do with why she loved to talk to me. I never interrupt. Father would also let her talk, when her words got jumbled up and didn’t make sense anymore.

  “Sweetheart.” Mother sighed. “You have to leave now. I have to get back to work. There really isn’t much time. Do you realize how late it is?” She turned her head and looked right at me. “Boo understands. She’s so wise. I don’t even need to explain myself to her. Isn’t that right, Boo?”

  Of course! I lay nearby on the rug and looked right at Mother. We shared a special bond. I knew all about Mother’s cans, and her special work, and all sorts of things that made her the most interesting human I had ever met.

  “Such a beautiful cat. And you, my handsome husband.” She turned and looked into his face. “Oh, sweetheart. Don’t look so worried. Don’t cry. All the time, so worried. You need to relax. Cheer up. Look. There’s the guest bed, right there. Just lie down. I’ll be here. I promise. I’m not going anywhere. There’s so much work to do here. Please, just lie down on the bed. I swear, I’ll work quietly. I just need the light on. That’s the only thing. But you can turn and face the wall.”

  Father finally got up, and he did lie down on the bed. But he didn’t face the wall. He kept his eye on her.

  At the time, I remember wishing very hard that he would just go away.

  Looking back on it now, I am impressed that he did not. And I am glad that he did not.

  “C’mon, Boo,” she said to me, using both hands to pull me onto her lap. I purred as she went straight back to work, and kept on until morning. She sang a pretty song, softly, and we both forgot that Father was even there.

  In the morning, when the sun came up, Mother rose, leaving Father sleeping in the guest room. As I glanced back at him, his body looked heavy and still, like a rock.

  Mother floated into Jimmy’s room. “Good morning, sunshine!” she sang. “Time for school.”

  I ran after her into Mary’s room. “It’s time, love,” she said with a kiss to Mary’s forehead. She scooped up Jasper, who was looking like a brown ball of fluff, into her arms.

  Before the kids came downstairs, Mother had fed me, cleaned my litter box, walked and fed Jasper, and made coffee for herself. Jasper barked excitedly as she floated around the kitchen.

  As the children entered and sat down, Mother was efficiently setting out napkins, bowls, and spoons. She already had six boxes of cereal on the table, along with a carton of milk and a bowl of blueberries, and glasses of orange juice for Jimmy and apple juice for Mary.

  When Mother had energy, things were wonderful. The house was clean, and she baked delicious treats.

  When Mother got back from dropping the kids off at school, she slept all day. She didn’t stir until long after suppertime. Father napped next to her on their bed, and I lay between them. It was heavenly. Anyone looking in on us would have thought we looked at peace.

  Coming out of my memory, I realize I am on Mother’s empty half of the bed and staring glassy-eyed at the wall in the darkness. Father is still tossing and turning, under the covers, stuck in his nightmare.

  I realize now that this was a good memory for me because other times when she was full of energy, Mother got angry. She yelled and cursed. And all of those times I took her side. All of those times I assumed the rest of the family was wrong and she was right. She whispered to me that they were careless, and stupid, and hurtful, and I believed her.

  She told me several times that she was sure Father regretted ever marrying her. She said that the kids would be better off if she was gone. Mother told me that she just wanted to sleep, crying hysterically because she couldn’t drift off like a normal person.

  But when she said these things, I thought that the kids had upset her and that Father had been cruel. Now I wonder . . . When I think of how Fathe
r saw her project and first got so angry, and then so sad, how everything about her drained him completely and nearly broke him . . . I wonder if I misunderstood. Back then, I didn’t understand Father the way I do now.

  I still admire Mother for all of her hard work. And I feel bad about the fact that no matter what project she tried, Father never liked it and he always made her stop. Sometimes she would try the same project over and over, and he would ruin it time and time again. Father’s temper was short in those days.

  Yet now, looking back on how calm my family is without Mother here, I see that her activities and strange schedule were disruptive. She would go-go-go for four days in a row and then sleep for five. It didn’t make sense.

  I have to conclude that it wasn’t normal human behavior.

  Not that I expect all humans to be the same. And that’s not to say she wasn’t just a little advanced, a little ahead of everyone else. But looking back, I see how hard it was for everyone to keep up with her. How maybe it was too stressful, in the end.

  Maybe, just maybe, my family will look back and wonder how they ever coped.

  In the darkness, Father gives a shout, and his eyes flutter open. He stares at the ceiling, now awake. I don’t know what is going through his mind.

  He turns on his side, and we look at each other a minute. I get up, walk over, and curl up tight by his stomach. He pets me once on the head.

  “Boo,” he whispers to me. “Sorry. Go back to sleep.”

  Mother never went back to sleep when he asked her to, but I will. And I do.

  18

  Lonely Hearts

  I take a nap under Finn’s crib while I think about the night Father went out and brought Jenny home. I’m not sure how to feel about Father bringing another human female here. Now that Mother has left our family, I expect he needs a new mate.

  While I am happy for him to complete this natural process, it makes me sad too. Because it is another reminder that Mother is off with a new family somewhere else.

  But if it isn’t Jenny, then who?

  Of course, the answer has been right under my nose all along.

  A few weeks later, Mary cuts strings of red hearts out of construction paper and hangs them in the dining room. She is having a party for her girlfriends. She is calling it the “anti-Valentine’s” party for lonely hearts. She tells Jimmy that all of the boys in her grade are big, fat losers and so the girls must find their own fun.

  Jimmy finds this enormously entertaining. He even helps Mary decorate. They bake heart-shaped butter cookies, with cookie cutters that Mahmee has brought over for the occasion. And yes, I get a pat of butter in my dish.

  Father walks into the dining room and admires Mary’s work, the long strings of hanging hearts, with a wistful look on his face. I don’t know if he is thinking about the past, or the future, but he stands and daydreams for a little while. I leave him alone.

  The day before the party, Charlotte comes for her appointment. She admires Mary’s handiwork with the decorations in the dining room. Mary offers her a cookie before sealing the rest up in a big, plastic bowl for the party.

  As Charlotte and Father walk upstairs, Father tells her that Finn is sleeping. Charlotte says that it’s okay as she nibbles on her cookie and wipes crumbs from her mouth. She suggests that she just work with Father instead. They sit right on Finn’s rug like they usually do and talk quietly.

  Charlotte sits opposite Father with her legs crossed and shows him many hand signals. Sometimes he doesn’t get it quite right, so she takes his hand in both of hers and manipulates his fingers to correct him.

  I see that Charlotte likes working with Father. She often touches him when I’m not sure it’s really necessary.

  But maybe she’s just a touchy person.

  Father and Charlotte seem to be having a nice time, and I am in a good mood too, so I get up to rub my head on Father’s knee. Charlotte scratches between my ears and asks Father if he thinks I wouldn’t mind being picked up.

  Mind? I never mind.

  Father puts his big hands under me, picks me up, and places me in Charlotte’s lap. He knows I’ll be good. I am a floppy, friendly, lazy cat, just like Mother always said. I never scratch the humans. Charlotte’s lap is just fine.

  It’s different from Mother’s lap. Not better. Not worse. Just different.

  I roll over, right in her lap. I stretch out my legs and arch my back while Charlotte strokes my soft belly. I know that if I look cute, I might get extra attention.

  I look over to Father to show him that I am being good, but he’s not looking at me.

  He’s looking at Charlotte.

  He looks so keenly interested, his face flushed, his eyes wide and searching, and I—

  Ohhhh, of course, I think. Why didn’t I see it before?

  But this just makes me very worried that Father has the wrong idea about Charlotte. I have come to understand that she is here to work with Finn. She is here to do a job. And she is a naturally friendly person.

  Perhaps she doesn’t think Father would be a good mate for her at all. Perhaps it has never even crossed her mind.

  I have noticed Father taking Mary’s advice and putting on clean shirts and combing his hair. He still shaves, about once a week, letting his whiskers grow in just enough so he looks impressive but also not too scruffy. That’s a good thing, that he is taking care of himself. But still, it makes me concerned.

  What makes me most apprehensive, as I lie there in Charlotte’s lap, is that with a twitch of my nose I suddenly realize that Father is giving off the same pheromones that Jimmy is. I hadn’t noticed, because it is so strong on Jimmy. Which means Father is definitely ready for a new mate, whether he realizes it or not.

  I have grown fond of Father. I don’t want to see him rejected. I don’t think he could handle another heartache.

  Father mentions to Charlotte the new book he’s been reading. Something about Finn and how to communicate with him.

  “Well,” she exclaims, “that’s a great choice. A very smart choice.”

  Father is looking down at me at that moment, but his head turns up quickly to look at her. “What?”

  “You’re getting so smart on this subject. I’m impressed.” Father looks surprised. I have never heard anyone say anything like that to Father, or call him smart. I think Charlotte just took his breath away.

  He sits up straighter. “I’m going to have it read by next week,” he promises.

  “Okay,” she says. She has no idea what affect her words just had on him.

  “I will definitely have it done by next week,” he repeats, nodding.

  Ah, poor Father. I’m not sure he is going to win over this one.

  As Charlotte teaches him new hand signs, Father starts talking. And keeps talking. And doesn’t stop for a really long time. I start to nod off, curled up on Charlotte’s legs. He is quietly telling her about Carrie, and himself, and Jimmy and Mary and Finn.

  Minutes, and then hours, go by. I lift my head when Mary peeks in the door to say good night. Goodness, I think, Father is still talking. He’s never talked this much in his entire life. We must be Charlotte’s final appointment of the day, because she makes no move to get up. She lets Father talk. She is a good listener, and when he asks her questions, she offers advice in an enthusiastic tone.

  Finally, Finn stirs in his crib. Fortunately, he wakes in a good mood and not with a scream. I get up, and so do Father and Charlotte. I can’t see Finn from my position on the floor, but I hear the baby gurgle when he sees the adults looking down at him.

  Father is standing very close to Charlotte and sneaking glances at her, and I am suddenly afraid he is going to do something foolish.

  My little heart seizes in my chest. I need to create a distraction.... I need—

  Ohhhh, too late.

  Charlotte has one hand on the crib railing and the other down by her side. Father reaches out and takes her free hand in his.

  Oh.

  I wait, froze
n.

  She lets him hold it for just a second, and then easily takes her hand right back and never stops smiling or talking.

  Miss Davenport is a professional.

  Father has no outward reaction. He just looks down and they keep talking about Finn. He seems to have no recognition of the fact that he just embarrassed himself. But I am angry for him.

  He is such a fine man, how can Charlotte not even consider Father for one moment? How can she so coldly ignore his advances? I am outraged. I am—

  But wait a minute.

  Now I see she leans down toward Finn to say good-bye to him, and in doing so also leans closer to Father. Her arm brushes against his for a moment. She looks at Finn, and then at Father. Charlotte straightens up and teaches Father a few more signs, holding his hand in both of hers again to manipulate his fingers.

  Father watches her, studying her. They are standing so close that Charlotte blushes a little this time, unlike her confident manner when they sat on the floor. And when she is done showing him the last sign, she just stands there, with her hands still on his. This time she doesn’t pull her hands away. She just looks down, as if she is afraid to make eye contact with him.

  Hmmmm. Interesting. I realize Father understands something that I didn’t, until now.

  They just stand there, her fingers wrapped around his hand, so close to each other. I watch, whiskers alert.

  They are so different, these two. I can see it, looking up at them. Father is a little older, and he is calm and careful in his approach. Father knows what he wants now and isn’t afraid to show it. I think he would try to kiss her if she weren’t so obviously skittish. But like I do when I am afraid of scaring away a bird on the windowsill, he waits with infinite patience and does not move. Charlotte starts talking nervously. She pulls away from him, finally, all fluttery hand gestures and feet shuffling. She cannot look up at his face, and her cheeks burn red.

  I find this amusing! These humans.

  Father walks her downstairs, and I watch from the landing. He stands in the doorway until her car pulls away.