ODD NUMBERS

by M. Grace Bernardin

  “Yes, a lady I work with. Her name’s Grace.”

  “She a cat lover?”

  “You bet! She has pictures of her cats on her desk where most people have pictures of their kids.”

  “That’s a good sign. I’m guessing she’s got more than one?”

  “She had two but her oldest one died recently. Since then her other cat hasn’t been eating. She took him to the vet and he said there’s nothing wrong with him physically. It’s just plain ol’ grief. He needs a companion. I told her your situation. She said she’d take your cat–sight unseen.”

  “Is that right?”

  “He’d be in good hands. Believe me, Vicky, I know this lady. She’ll take good care of him.”

  “Okay then. I’ll take your word for it. Tell her he’s been fixed and his shots are up to date.”

  “I’ll let her know.”

  “Tell her his name is Whiskers. I don’t want her to go renaming him. I want her to call him by the name I gave him” Vicky felt a knot of sorrow forming in her throat and she didn’t want to cry in front of Allison again. She still felt vulnerable from their last meeting. She swallowed back the tears, cleared her throat, and squared her shoulders.

  “I’m sure she’d be very agreeable to anything you want. In fact she said you could come and visit anytime. She doesn’t live far from here.”

  “No. When I say goodbye I say goodbye. He’ll be her cat, not mine no more. I just ask that she honor my one request and continue to call him Whiskers.”

  “I’ll make sure she knows.”

  “Can she take him today?”

  “I’m sure she can, but don’t you need more time to say goodbye?”

  “I’d like to just get it over with. The longer I wait the harder it’ll be.”

  “I understand.”

  “Stop by my place before you leave for work. I’ll have him ready for you.”

  It was an hour later that Allison appeared on Vicky’s door step.

  “C’mon in. I got his stuff right here in this box,” she said motioning to a cardboard box by the door filled with kitty litter, cat food, and various other items. Vicky bent down and pulled a gray furry fake mouse out of the box. She held it in her fist and wiggled it as she stuck it in Allison’s face. Allison gasped and jumped back. Vicky laughed. “It looks real, don’t it?”

  “I thought it was,” Allison said with her hand on her chest.

  “This one’s his favorite toy. I’m almost tempted to keep it as a memoir.” Vicky felt the emotions building up again in her chest and throat. “Pitiful, ain’t it? A grown woman getting sentimental over a toy mouse.

  “Maybe you should keep it.”

  “Naw, it’d just tear me up every time I saw it.” She tossed the toy mouse back in the box. “Well, I guess I better go get him.”

  Vicky went back into her bedroom where Whiskers lay curled up sleeping on a vent, taking advantage of the heat it provided.

  “No wonder it’s always cold in here. You hog all the heat,” she said squatting down and lifting him into her arms. “I’m gonna have to clean that vent out. It’s probably all clogged up with hair. We wouldn’t want any trace of cat dander floating through the Camelot air, now would we?” Vicky stood up and opened the door of her walk in closet. She stepped into the corner and felt around behind her suitcase and some stacked shoe boxes for the handle of Whiskers carry on cage. Her long arm reached down and retrieved it while the other arm clutched Whiskers tight.

  “Be a good kitty and remember, always remember…” The knot in her throat choked off her words. She kissed Whiskers on the top of the head then quickly put him in the cage. She reached for her laundry basket in another corner of the closet, then after dumping some dirty clothes out on the floor, she placed the cage in the basket, carried it into the bathroom, grabbed several bath towels, and draped them over the cage.

  Allison still stood by the door waiting patiently for Vicky when she returned to the living room with the laundry basket. “This is how I sneak him in and out of the building,” Vicky said

  Allison reached onto the laundry basket and pushed some of the towels away. Vicky looked away.

  “Well, hello there, you cute little fellow,” Allison cooed at Whiskers.

  Vicky closed her eyes. “You’d think I was giving my kid away,” she said with her back turned to Allison and Whiskers.

  Only the sound of sniffling along with an occasional whistle from the north winter wind could be heard as they made their way through the parking lot and loaded up Allison’s car. Vicky was not wearing a coat yet she hardly noticed the cold. She felt only numbness. “Remember, his name is Whiskers,” she said finally breaking the silence.

  “I’ll remember. It’ll be fun having an animal at work today. Grace will be ecstatic. But I just want to know one thing,” Allison said. “What made you decide to stay?”

  “I talked with Chief Bobby last night. Remember them silver mines I told you about that my Shawnee kin was always looking for. Well, Bobby says we gotta keep looking. Says there’s something in our blood that just keeps driving us to look for something better. Says there’s something better for me here in Camelot. I don’t know what, but something. Does that make sense?”

  “It does to me.” With that Allison put her arms around Vicky who was somewhat taken aback by this unexpected gesture of friendship When Allison pulled away Vicky was weeping again.

  “Don’t be a stranger,” Allison said descending into the driver’s seat of her car. Vicky remained in the parking lot until Allison’s car was out of sight.

  *****

  Another Florida drug run. They seemed to follow one after another these days, Vicky thought as Chief Bobby explained to her that it was only for a while and that he would be back by Christmas.

  “You better be, bro, ‘cause you’re the only family I got. Who the hell else I got to spend Christmas with?” Vicky said catching the pack of Marlboros he tossed to her from where he sat on her sofa. She stuck a cigarette in her mouth then threw the pack back to him.

  “I’ll be back by Christmas and I’ll bring the snow with me,” he laughed. Bobby’s voice was unlike anyone else she ever knew. It was so deep that his vocal cords made a vibrating noise whenever he spoke or laughed.

  “A white Christmas for Lamasco,” Vicky said, cigarette hanging off her lip as she struggled to light a match, striking it again and again until the worn sulfur tip finally caught flame.

  Vicky plopped into her rocker, reached for the bottle of Cutty Sark on grandma’s hope chest and poured some into her glass of melting ice. “Want some more, Bobby?” she asked extending the bottle toward him. Bobby held up his glass and leaned in until it clinked against the tip of the bottle. “Damn fine scotch,” Vicky said as she poured the yellow liquid into Bobby’s glass. “Hey Bobby, I need to talk to you about something–kinda serious.” Bobby gave her a nod and a look that told her to proceed.

  “You know I gave Whiskers away? Well, that ain’t the only change I gotta make. I can’t do as many transactions around here no more. It’s too suspicious having so many customers hanging around. I know it’s the perfect cover and all. The cops watch you like a hawk, Bobby, whereas they never come around Camelot. Forget it that some of the biggest yuppie coke heads in the tri-state live in this complex. It’s respectable. Too many of your customers ain’t though, Bobby. They got reputations in this town. They got records a mile long. They make trouble for me, even more than I make for myself. You know the cops have already been called out here more than once on account of some of those retard dope heads. You see my point?”

  Bobby nodded in his silent way. “Don’t worry. I’ll pick up the slack for you.”

  “Thanks Bobby. Say, did you ever wonder how we got into such a crummy business in the first place. And don’t give me no shit about this being our silver mine we always done looked for. You know you don’t believe that no more. Ain’t no silver mines in prison. Don’t you ever think about getting out of the business?”<
br />
  “Yes. I’m thinking about it now. Remember you’re not the only one with dreams. I got one too.”

  “You mean your dream about moving to Oklahoma to live with our people?” Bobby nodded and smiled his calm even smile. “So you can learn more about the Native ways and maybe even make a living as a storyteller or a medicine man–whatever.”

  “People do make livings teaching about the Native American life and history? Yep. That’s the dream. You still have your dream?”

  “The one about owning my own restaurant and bar and having a house out in the country with lots of land and animals? And of course living there with Prince Charming and about ten kids?”

  “Your silver mine.”

  “Yeah. My silver mine.”

  “I give up looking for it here. Our people left the Ohio River Valley back in the 1820’s. There’s nothing left for us here now.”

  “No silver mines?”

  “Not for me.”

  “So why don’t you leave and go to Oklahoma? Leave and quit this crummy business. Why do you stay here?”

  “Because of you. Like you say, we’re the only family we got.”

  “Bobby, I ain’t a kid no more. I can take care of myself.”

  “You could go to Oklahoma with me.”

  “Shit I ain’t no Okie. I ain’t no Shawnee squaw either. No offense, but I just ain’t into the Indian ways like you are, Bobby. It just ain’t as deep in my blood or something. I gotta stay and you gotta go. You gotta go and you gotta quit feeling so responsible for me. We’re destined to go our separate ways, but you know you’ll always be my only kin. My bro no matter where you go. So go on ahead and go. I give you my permission.”

  “I wish it was that easy.”

  “What’s stopping you?”

  “Debts. More than just money debts. You know what I mean.”

  “Don’t go on this run, Bobby. I just got a bad feeling about it.”

  “This will be my last one.”

  “You mean it?”

  “This run ought to square me with some folks. I’ll just let everyone know I’m taking a little Christmas break when I get back, then I’ll slip off to Oklahoma.”

  “You gotta promise to come visit once I move out there.”

  “I will. You gotta promise not to chicken out.” Vicky walked Bobby to the door and hugged him. “Now, you better get your ass back here for Christmas.”

  “I said I’d be back.”

  “Why do I feel like this is the last time I’ll ever see you?”

  “’Cause you’re saying goodbye to a different Bobby, maybe. I don’t know.”

  Bobby turned around for a final wave as Vicky stood at the threshold of her apartment and watched him walk out the front door of the building.

  The cold December air made Vicky shiver.

  Chapter 14

  December 1983

  The full moon cast just enough light through Vicky’s window for her to make out the image of Chief Bobby standing by her bed. He was trying to tell her something. But Bobby left for Florida over a week ago.

  A few hours later Vicky awoke. The questions spun around and around in her head making her dizzier than any carnival ride. Was Bobby back from Florida? Did he not leave at all? He had a key so he certainly could have paid her a visit if he wanted to. But why would he do such a strange thing? Why would he sneak into her apartment in the middle of the night? Why would he return from Florida without calling her? Why hadn’t she heard from him at all since he left town? Was it really him standing there by her bed? Or was it just a dream?

  It couldn’t have been a dream because no matter how real a dream may seem at the time, in the morning you know it was just a dream. In the morning all those middle of the night phantoms that tricked you into believing their absurdities and illogic show themselves for what they are. You laugh at them by the light of day. But this didn’t seem unreal and absurd the way a dream would seem the next morning. Yet like a dream, Vicky remembered struggling and grappling to solve some problem during the entirety of the visitation. And like a dream, she couldn’t remember what the problem was now that it was all over.

  She had to talk to someone about it. Allison would think she was crazy, but then Vicky was beginning to wonder herself. She scuffled into the kitchen in her nearly worn out blue furry bedroom slippers, yawned, and stretched, and made conversation with herself.

  “Man, if I didn’t know any better I’d think I dropped acid and hallucinated the whole thing. Bobby was in my room. I know it. Maybe I finally done blew a cog. ” Busying herself to drive the thoughts away, Vicky stood at the door of her refrigerator and wondered what to take to Allison’s.

  It was customary to show up at one another’s place with food. Vicky smiled as she mused over this ancient female ritual that she thought perhaps came from their poor country girl roots. “Take care of your neighbors,” Vicky’s grandma would always say remembering the depression days. “If you got extra food take it to your neighbors. You never know if they’ve had to go without today. Do them a good turn. It’ll come back to you.”

  Vicky selected some left-over baked ham wrapped in foil from the refrigerator and placed it in a grocery sack with a five pound bag of potatoes and a can of peas. “Sunday dinner,” Vicky said as it suddenly occurred to her to check out her window to see if Allison’s car was there. She looked out the window and there was her red trans am, but no sign of Kent’s white pick up truck. “Good! She’s home and she’s alone.” Kent hadn’t been spending the nights as much lately, Vicky thought as the other part of her brain tried to figure out what would be the best Sunday brunch drink. Mimosas were good, and the sweetness might go nicely with the salty ham but she didn’t have any champagne.

  “Tomato juice, vodka, tobasco sauce,” she said pulling bottles out of cabinets, deciding nothing could really top a Bloody Mary for Sunday. She stuck the bottles in the grocery sack and headed for the door. It was funny, Vicky thought, how she and Allison never called one another first–just showed up at each other’s doors with food.

  Allison seemed as happy to see Vicky at her door as Vicky was to be there. Vicky felt all those anxieties which so greatly disturbed her when she was alone quickly slip away with the distraction of friendly small talk. And so they found themselves where they always found themselves whenever they got together–in the kitchen. It never mattered if the other was hungry or not. They always sat down to table together even if only one ate. But today they were both hungry. And it was Sunday. And Vicky didn’t have to go to work until later in the afternoon. It seemed like Christmas already as they laughed, and chatted, and placed the ham in the oven and peeled potatoes. The only sour note for Allison was the canned peas. Allison explained to Vicky that she never liked peas and, even as an adult when she forced herself to partake, she had to politely stifle the instinct to gag, all the while flashing back to her mother who made her sit at the table until she ate every last one of them.

  “I think every adult’s got a vegetable like that,” Vicky said laughing. “Mine’s Brussels sprouts.”

  “Really? I like Brussels sprouts.”

  “They taste like dirt.”

  “Yeah, but you thought that fine red wine I got for you tasted like dirt too. Kentucky dirt. Remember?”

  “Brussels sprouts taste like Hoosier dirt. And there’s a whole heap of difference twixt the two.” Vicky said as they stood at the sink and peeled potatoes together.

  In the midst of their good cheer, Vicky’s grief and worry resurfaced for a moment like an unwelcome guest. Her grandma was gone and what if Bobby was gone too? The pensiveness must’ve shown on her face because Allison asked what was wrong.

  “Oh, it’s just that Christmas is coming,” Vicky explained.

  “Why don’t you like Christmas?”

  “I used to love it when Grandma was alive. It’ just ain’t the same since she died.”

  “Do you have any plans for Christmas?” Allison said, cutting a peeled potato into quart
ers on a small chopping board and throwing it into a large pot.

  “I’ll spend it with Bobby. He’s the only family I got. What about you?”

  “I have three Christmases–one with my mom, one with my dad, and one with Kent’s family. And that’s the only part about Christmas I don’t like–the actual day. Too much tension. Too many sad memories of the way Christmases used to be before Mom and Dad split up. Of course, my parents despised each other long before they split up but they always managed to pull it together for Christmas. So it was nice. And then there’s Kent’s family.”

  “Too crazy?” Vicky asked pouring the tomato juice mix into a large pitcher.

  “No, too sane,” Allison said filling the pot of peeled potatoes with water. Vicky laughed hard. “See, I knew you’d understand.”

  “But you seem sane.”

  “Not like that I hope,” Allison said. “See, theirs is a dull and uninteresting kind of sanity. Sanity can be a wonderful thing if it brings order and logic into your world–if it makes things make sense where they didn’t before–if it makes everything clear and meaningful. That kind of sanity I’d welcome, but not their kind. Nobody can stick so much as a big toe out of the boundaries of their kind of sanity. Do you know what I mean?”

  “Hell yeah! I been fighting against that kind of sanity all my life,” Vicky said, shaking salt then pepper into the thick red mixture.

  “Anyway, I love the part leading up to Christmas–the shopping, the carols, the cookie baking, the parties, the decorating. All of it reminds me of how it used to be. Then the actual day comes and I’m smacked back into reality,” Allison said

  “I don’t mind Christmas day too much ‘cause I know it’s just about over with,” Vicky sighed. “It’s the build up I can’t stand. Everybody talking about peace on earth, goodwill toward men, making room for Jesus–you know, all that happy horse shit. But yet everything goes on just the same–people hating each other, people killing each other, the rich getting richer, the poor getting poorer. Same ol’ bullshit,” Vicky said.