The Astonishing Thing Page 14

  After she leaves, Father absentmindedly wanders back up and into his bedroom. He sits on the edge of his bed, taking off his shoes and placing them neatly on the floor. Deep in thought, he twirls his wedding ring and pulls it on and off, on and off. I can tell he’s thinking about taking it off.

  He is still married, as far as I understand it.

  This ring and that letter are what he has left of Mother. These two things, and their three children.

  I know he will someday find a new mate, but I wonder if his heart is ready for it now. I wonder if my heart is either.

  The fact that Mother left still hurts me, and I can see it still hurts my family. Her spirit chases Father like a shadow in every room of this old house. Sometimes he turns a corner and lifts his head, and I could swear he thinks he has caught a glimpse of her from the way his eyes search the room, but she always eludes him. He is met only with empty spaces and dark corners.

  She is gone. And we must move on.

  I imagine that Father recognizes in Charlotte a kindness that I have also seen in her. The way she cannot help but smile when he enters the room. The enthusiasm in her voice when she talks to him. Warm hands that reach out to correct the hand signals he tries to make. A longing in her eye when she looks at him.

  Father and I have each other, but I realize he must also desire a human companion who satisfies the needs of his head and his heart and his body. I must admit that Charlotte would be a good choice.

  I jump up on the bed and roll over, next to Father. He places his hand on my belly and rubs gently.

  * * *

  The next night is Mary’s big party. I have heard her say that Valentine’s Day is not for a few more days, but Mary wanted the party to kick off the weekend so they can stay up late. Father makes a blazing fire in the fireplace and turns on the television to watch a game. Young girls, some willowy and others curvy—but all supremely confident—arrive in small groups. They are very excited and talkative. Soon there are nine girls in the decorated dining room, sparkly and glossy and working their small phones.

  Jimmy comes downstairs to say hello. He is swarmed and cannot stop grinning as all of the girls (except Mary) laugh at every little thing he says.

  Father gets a call that causes him to jump off the couch. He writes down a few things on a piece of paper and then calls Jimmy over to him. I watch from a distance, on the stairs, as he explains it. There has been an emergency, and he must go put out a big fire. It is several towns away.

  Father and Jimmy cast a wary eye over the girls, who are just standing and eating cookies.

  Father has a few words for Jimmy, and then is gone.

  “Where’s Pops going?” Mary calls over her shoulder. She doesn’t miss a thing.

  “Fire,” Jimmy answers. “Big one. Three-alarm fire. In Danvers.”

  “Danvers?”

  My two siblings stare at each other a moment. And then both start furiously pushing buttons on their small phones.

  The first one to arrive is Aruna, and I am glad to see her. Jimmy picks her up in his arms and carries her into the house while she laughs. Next is a skinny boy carrying a heavy backpack. Then four more boys arrive with cans and bottles. Jimmy is older and bigger than all of these other boys, but they travel in a pack and outnumber him, and I wonder if they will be trouble.

  While I watch from the stairs, about twenty more kids arrive, a mix of boys and girls. Mary and her girlfriends seem to know all of them. “I thought you said these guys were all big, fat losers,” Jimmy teases Mary, shouting to be heard over the music. “They’re not so big. They’re not fat either. Losers . . . well, yeah, I can see that.”

  After a few hours, I am curious and take a walk around the perimeter of the downstairs rooms. I am surprised to place my paw in a big, wet spot on the living room rug, and I realize someone has spilled a drink. I see the fire in the fireplace has gone out, unattended. In the kitchen, the back door is open, letting in freezing cold air. I hear voices outside. Smoke, similar to that created by the fireplace but sweeter, drifts inside.

  I take a drink of water, but my food bowl is empty.

  And then I hear it, in my big, wide ears. Finn is crying in his crib.

  I pick my head up. The music and talking are very loud. Where are Mary and Jimmy?

  I hear distress in Finn’s tone. I’m sure he’s okay, because he is safe in his crib, but it still makes me anxious. I begin to frantically dart from room to room, through a forest of legs.

  Jimmy, where is he? And how will I alert him when I find him?

  Just then, I see him. He is standing at the bottom of the stairs. I run right to his feet and meow with all my strength. He glances down at me, puzzled, and then tips his head as he finally hears Finn crying. Jimmy asks Aruna to go up and check on Finn. I follow her upstairs.

  Finn is screaming, but okay. It takes Aruna a good, long while to settle him down. It’s nice and cool and quiet in Finn’s room, and I stay there with them.

  When Aruna finally walks back downstairs, Finn in her arms, Jimmy is in a corner surrounded by young girls. He is telling a great story, the way Mother would at a party, and he has many enraptured listeners. I watch him a moment.

  Let me tell you what I see: the curve of Jimmy’s lips. The shape of his mouth. The dark mole on his cheek. His expressive face and the way he moves his hands in front of him to illuminate his story. He is just like Mother.

  Jimmy breaks my heart all the time but doesn’t know it.

  I am glad he doesn’t know it.

  Aruna is angry. She pulls Jimmy aside and has many sharp words for him. He professes innocence, but they continue arguing. I notice now that Jimmy is holding a bottle just like the younger boys. Aruna clutches Finn tightly. Kids interrupt to ask if they can hold the baby, but Aruna won’t let them.

  There is a loud banging. Jimmy leaves his bottle on the dining room table and answers the door. It is the grouchy, gray-haired neighbor. Jimmy swallows hard and snaps to with a quick “Yes, sir” and “No, sir.” When he closes the door behind him, he mutters, “Calm down.”

  Just like Father would.

  Jimmy strides through the crowd over to the music machine and turns the noise down. He orders Mary not to touch the dial. “He’s gonna call the cops if you don’t get your friends to stop turning this up.” Then he runs to the back porch and yells at everyone to get inside.

  I am proud of him for taking charge and fixing the situation.

  But the peace doesn’t last for long.

  Not twenty minutes later, there is another intrusive knock at the door. Jimmy sighs and lumbers over to answer it again.

  But this time it is Sean’s wife. Her eyes are red and her hands are shaking.

  “Party’s over, honey,” she tells him.

  19

  The Jump

  Something has happened to Father and Sean.

  Sean’s wife tells Jimmy to get the kids who live nearby to walk home in groups. Jimmy takes kids to the street, barking out directions. In the dining room, Mary helps her friends who live farther away call for rides home.

  As the last kids trickle out, Mahmee shows up, looking exhausted and pale. She goes up to check on Finn and to find blankets and a pillow.

  Poor Mahmee. I think this is very hard on her, having to worry about Father all of the time. He seems to be the most important person in her life.

  Father has a younger brother, John, but he is not talked about. I have heard him mentioned only a few times. He did not carve out a straight path in life. He is in jail, which sounds like a cage for the humans who have done wrong.

  Father also had a younger sister, Shannon, but she was killed not long ago in a car accident. It was called a “drunk driving” accident. I am not sure what that means, but Father said the persons who were drunk were Shannon and her husband. Shannon had no children, so Mahmee just has what she has: Father, Jimmy, Mary, and Finn. And she is devoted to them.

  I know Father misses his siblings. Just after Shanno
n died, he started asking Mother for another baby. I heard him ask her often about it. She usually shook her head no.

  And then one day, I realized Mother really was expecting a baby. That’s when things took a turn for the worse.

  Once the party guests have all been sent away, Sean’s wife tells Jimmy and Mary they must go with her. I don’t understand what has happened. She says something about “out of air” and I know Father and Sean “jumped.” And that’s all I know.

  The house feels cold and empty once my siblings are gone. Mahmee comes down and sleeps on the living room couch, leaving the TV on low. The illumination from the machine flickers pale, ghostly flashes of light across the room.

  I don’t like it. Jasper doesn’t like it either. He pants anxiously, sitting by the front door.

  I think the fact that Father and Sean jumped must be a good thing. Usually when I jump, it is to get out of the way of danger. I guess the question is, Did they jump soon enough?

  I’m sure I have nothing to worry about. Father and Sean are in good shape. I know their bosses make them exercise with all kinds of equipment down at the fire station, and they are tested on it, because Father and Sean complain about it, and also brag about what they accomplished. I know they are strong and agile enough to carry a big wooden dresser down the steep stairs, because I have seen them do it. They also have all kinds of protective gear for fighting the fires. Father once wore some of it home, and I didn’t know who he was at first. He looked like he was ready for battle.

  Still, shadows chase me all night. I am restless and skittish.

  I want to be brave. But I am scared. I already lost Mother. I cannot lose Father too.

  * * *

  In the morning, Finn cries in a bitter tone, and Mahmee must get up. She takes a deep breath before using the railing to pull herself up those wooden stairs.

  Later, she comes down and does a rare thing: She gets out a very loud machine and pushes it over the rugs. She pauses to pick up cups and bottles and throws them away. She opens the windows and sprays some kind of perfume into the air.

  I think Mahmee is cleaning. Now, there’s something you don’t see every day.

  Around lunchtime, I am happy and grateful to hear voices on the step. Jimmy and Mary are back, but they are not with Sean’s wife anymore.

  They are with Mother!

  I watch from the stairs. I find it so curious. I am still mad at Mother. At the same time, my heart throbs with excitement when I see her. I feel as if I don’t know her so well anymore, and it will take me a little while to warm up to her again. She has a small case with her, so I think she intends to stay a while.

  Interesting.

  Mother looks at me with those big, brown eyes, that soft and sympathetic expression, and I melt. Ohhhh, okay. I pad down the stairs and walk near her. I don’t quite approach, but I get closer than the last time she visited.

  She is my mother, after all.

  Mary announces she needs a nap but first gives Mother a big hug. Jimmy excuses himself to call Aruna.

  I follow Mother to the kitchen. She reaches up to a high shelf that the rest of the family doesn’t use. She pulls out a little crinkly bag.

  My cat treats! I haven’t had one in many months.

  Before long, I am rubbing against Mother’s leg, and then I let myself be lifted into her lap. No matter how strong my resolve is to resist her, I cannot. It is a tremendous relief to have my best friend back here with me, no matter what she has done. Her touch is sensitive and careful around my ears. I absolutely cannot believe how long it has been and how much I have missed this. My purring revs up to its highest level. It’s heaven. Mother doesn’t smell quite the same, but I don’t care anymore.

  The children are also happy to have Mother here. Mary helps Mother cook supper and gives her mother many hugs and kisses. I catch Jimmy breaking out into a lopsided smile again and again as he watches his mother work at the stove. He eats every bite of the food she prepares for him, and asks for seconds.

  That night, Mother gets right into her old bed without hesitation. She turns out the light, but I can see the outline of her body from where I sit on the hardwood floor. Mother calls for me.

  It seems strange that she is back here and Father is not. Something in my gut says: wrong, wrong, wrong.

  I don’t understand everything about the humans. So much about them is a mystery to me. But I know a warm body is better than none at all. So I jump up and snuggle in next to Mother, just like I did many, many months ago when she left. It feels good now, just as it did then.

  Still, I have trouble getting comfortable. I get up more than once to shift my position.

  Mother is here. Her chest is soft to lie against, and her touch is gentle.

  So why can’t I fall asleep?

  * * *

  In the morning, Mahmee comes upstairs when she hears Finn crying. But by the time she gets to the top of the stairs, Mother has already fetched the baby. She has climbed back into bed, holding Finn in her arms.

  From the hallway, Mahmee glances in toward us, confused. Then she scowls, but only for a moment. I’m not sure what she’s thinking. She goes back downstairs.

  I feel guilty. I look at Finn, and he is all smiles as Mother cuddles with him. Finn and I aren’t doing anything wrong, are we?

  Today, Mother, Jimmy, and Mary go out once again, and this time when they return, Father is with them. My little heart melts with relief.

  Thank goodness he is okay. Somehow, I knew he would be.

  The lower half of one of his legs is wrapped in a white, hard substance, and over that it is completely covered in a strange, bright green bandage. I see people have scribbled words on it with a black pen, and someone has drawn a four-leaf clover.

  Later, I hear Mary say the clover has something to do with the “luck of the Irish,” whatever that is. I guess we could use some luck, our family. I don’t think we’ve been particularly lucky.

  Father does not put pressure on that leg and uses supports, which I learn are called crutches, to walk gingerly up the steps and into the house. He goes straight to the couch and sits down, looking pale and exhausted.

  It would not be an exaggeration to say that Father is in a horrible mood. Mahmee tries to get him to take some pills, but he refuses. He seems very angry about the whole situation. He complains that they wouldn’t leave him alone in that hospital. He also complains that it hurts to breathe. Later, when I see the dark, mottled bruises up and down his side and over his ribs, I understand why. And when he gets up to go to the bathroom, he has trouble maneuvering. Father curses so much that Jimmy yells at him to calm down.

  Father is a champion at cursing. Jimmy’s been practicing, and someday he will be just as good as Father.

  Father snaps back at Jimmy in a rage, yelling something about his children showing up drunk at his hospital bed. Jimmy backs away and makes himself scarce.

  Mahmee apologizes for having to go home. She has two feisty Not Cats of her own: Seamus and Kearney. They have been here before, and I have seen that they are terribly spoiled. They must be fed and walked, preferably by Mahmee herself. Father is so upset she is leaving that he can’t even look at her, but Mother walks Mahmee to the door.

  When Father is lying down, I jump up onto the back of the couch. Even from up where I sit, he smells soooo good. I can tell he has bathed as I breathe in the fragrance of soap, and yet I can still smell the fire and the smoke on him. It’s intense and wild. I’m sure it was a big fire. I want desperately to curl up next to Father, but I’m not sure he’s ready for that.

  Even in pain, once he sees me staring at him, he reaches up and scratches my head.

  My tail shivers with delight. I love him. I’ll admit it.

  For supper, Mother makes spaghetti and meatballs. It’s not something I can eat, but it still smells wonderful. My siblings are content and talkative. Father tries to sit at the kitchen table, but he’s uncomfortable. He picks at his food, still miserable. When everyone h
as cleared out, he calls Sean, who I understand is in worse shape than Father. Father has many complaints about everything that was “screwed up” at the fire by foolish humans.

  My siblings say good night, from a distance. Father is sitting up on the couch, staring at the TV, and they know he doesn’t feel well. I perch right behind him, over his shoulder, on the back of the couch. I hope they are comforted knowing that I’m looking after Father.

  When it gets late, Father tells Mother he cannot get up the stairs. He says he will sleep on the couch and she can have the bed.

  Mother tells him she’s already slept upstairs in the bed. She also mentions that Jimmy can help Father up the stairs if he wants to go. She can see Jimmy’s light is still on in his bedroom. “Should I get him?” she asks.

  I think it takes a moment for this to sink in, because Father doesn’t move. He then turns his head toward her, but only slightly. I can see from my angle that his arms are crossed tight and his lips are pressed together. He doesn’t look at her directly. Father tells her that’s not a good idea.

  She smiles and shakes her head, tired. “Don’t you trust me? What are you worried about?” she asks him, as if he’s being foolish. “Tommy, what’s the worst that can happen?”

  But I can think of plenty of things for him to worry about. Things that could happen tonight, or tomorrow, or three months from now.

  Like what if they both sleep upstairs and then Mary or Jimmy gets the wrong idea.

  Or what if she gets into bed and then tells Father that she still loves him.

  Or what if she gets into bed and doesn’t talk to him but puts her hand gently on his arm.

  Or what if she gets home and tells Robert that she slept in Father’s bed with him.

  Or what if Robert calls Father and says he can’t do it anymore, that he needs help.

  Or what if she feels better and stops taking the medication again.

  Or what if she decides she wants Finn and me to come live with her.

  There are a lot of possible upsetting scenarios where Father wouldn’t know what to do.

  “I trust you. I just don’t trust myself,” he answers quietly. He is being diplomatic. But also, what he is saying may be true.