Homecoming

by Janet Wellington

  The smallest feline is a masterpiece. Leonardo da Vinci

  Cats never strike a pose that isn’t photogenic. Lillian Jackson Braun

  Cats are rather delicate creatures and they are subject to a good many ailments, but I never heard of one who suffered from insomnia. Joseph Wood Krutch

  I believe cats to be spirits come to earth. A cat, I am sure, could walk on a cloud without coming through. Jules Verne

  I wish I could write as mysterious as a cat. Edgar Allan Poe

  There are many intelligent species in the universe. They are all owned by cats. Unknown

  Some people say cats are sneaky, evil, and cruel. True, and they have many other fine qualities as well. Missy Dizick

  If you feed a cat, it’ll bring you a prize — a dead mouse. Unknown

  There is no snooze button on a cat who wants breakfast. Unknown

  Cats are smarter than dogs. You can’t get eight cats to pull a sled through snow. Jeff Valdez

  After dark, all cats are leopards. Native American Proverb

  What greater gift than the love of a cat. Charles Dickens

  …and here are my rescued cats, Max and Gracie:

  UP CLOSE AND PERSONAL/an excerpt

  Janet Wellington

  Chapter One

  From the instant her bedroom’s mango-peach walls glowed with the morning’s first light, Angie Fletcher knew she was about to begin one of those absolutely perfect, I’ll-remember-every-detail-forever days.

  She gave Max and Gracie each a head-scratch. In predictable response the cats purred and snuggled deeper into the pillow next to her head.

  “Don’t you two know how important today is?” Gracie yawned, then rolled onto her back hoping for a belly rub while Max simply opened one eye, just in case a treat was being offered. Neither seemed particularly interested and didn’t move from their soft throne as Angie climbed out of bed to begin her morning routine.

  Gathering her wavy blonde hair into a ponytail, she paused in front of the mirror. She’d need to act surprised at the staff meeting even though Derek had leaked the news of her promotion two nights ago over their usual Saturday night dinner at The Chart House.

  The man never could keep a secret. A couple of months ago, even news of their engagement had spread through the office before she was able to make an entrance the morning after his proposal. She’d walked into the staff meeting to applause before she’d even had the chance to strategically position her left hand to show off the big-as-Texas pink diamond solitaire that graced her ring finger.

  Gazing at her reflection in the mirror, she widened her eyes and opened her mouth into a perfect “O”. Fake. Definitely a certifiably fake expression. Probably better to just let the moment happen and go with it.

  She pulled her ponytail tighter, then tucked an escaped spiral tendril behind one ear. Her hair had reverted to its normally very wavy state, all because of the increased humidity from the tropical storm that had been pounding Baja for the last few days. If she chose her shorter walking route, though, it should give her enough time to smooth her wild hair into a controlled twist before work. It would have to do.

  Besides, she probably shouldn’t look too ready to step into her new role as KSUN’s community reporter. A deep sigh escaped, and she wrinkled her nose at herself.

  Opening her mirrored cabinet she glanced at the photo she'd’ taped on the inside of the door. In the picture she stood next to her best friend, Gretchen, an emerald green background behind them of elephant’s-eye-high field corn.

  She’d had the photo enlarged so she could see her friend’s infectious smile each morning, its other purpose to give her a daily “before” image of herself. The image she’d so successfully changed. It showed the “old” her, before she’d learned to cover up her freckles to achieve a peaches and cream complexion, before she’d learned how to tame her wild curls into a more sophisticated style.

  Every day she transformed herself from farmer’s daughter to California chic. She had it down to a science.

  She smiled at Gretchen’s image, then grabbed a few essentials—applying a quick sweep of foundation powder over her nose and cheeks, and a dab of Peony Pink gloss to her lips. As a final step, she retrieved a pair of sunglasses to hide her un-lined eyes and un-mascaraed lashes.

  Walking through the tiny living room, she found the remote and clicked on the television just in time to hear the KSUN morning weather forecast. According to Weatherman Will it was already a pleasant sixty-five degrees outside and he told San Diegans to expect pristine air, blue skies with a few moisture-laden clouds to the south, with a high of mid-seventies at the beaches and low eighties inland.

  Even Will forecasted a perfect day. But it was so much more...this was the day she would actually begin living the dream she’d had since she was sixteen. At twenty-nine, her life was as perfect as the day promised to be.

  Stepping out of her condo, she locked the door behind her and began to stretch her legs. She took several deep breaths, then added some head rolls to unkink her neck while she stared up at the tops of the tall palm trees waving in the strong winds coming off the ocean.

  Will’s forecast had neglected to mention the southwesterly breeze. She’d tease him about it later. Will had been at KSUN for his entire career and every day, without fail, he’d put his arm around her in a fatherly way and declare being a meteorologist in San Diego was the easiest job in broadcasting and that he was the luckiest man on the planet to be doing exactly what he wanted to be doing. Will had been assigned as her “orientation buddy” when she’d first started at the station and they’d been best pals ever since. When everyone else groaned as silver-haired Will started telling a well worn story, she simply smiled and listened as though it was the first time.

  And, unless she was sick, she never missed his on-air appearance in the early hours of the morning. It was another ritual of her weekday.

  After a few more lunges and knee-bends she began her usual walk on the day that was destined to go down in her personal history somewhere at least in the top five best days ever.

  The fuchsia-colored bougainvillea draped over tall wooden privacy fences that bordered the beginning of the path was always a treat. And today was no exception. She loved her ritual of early morning exercise and had partly selected the condo complex because of the pleasant walkway that surrounded the coastal property. Her other reason was the attraction to live by the ocean. To a flat-lander from Illinois, the draw had been irresistible.

  She’d been getting up early all her life, and her morning ritual was also a leftover habit from her childhood of getting up with the sun for farm chores. Regardless, she’d found she functioned much better with it than without it, even though it made for a challenging social life. Her preferred nine o’clock bedtime had her yawning just as many parties were just warming up, and she’d quickly learned the importance of a late afternoon espresso break.

  As she rounded the corner and increased her pace, the fence dropped away to reveal manicured front lawns. The too-green grass usually made her cringe a little as she invariably heard her father’s voice in her head insisting, These wasteful west-coasters use too much water on silly things like lawns when they should be thinking about growing a few vegetables for a change.

  As she quickened her gait to get past the row of houses and shake her father’s voice out of her head, she tripped over a high spot in the sidewalk, falling hard on both knees. As she fell forward she just managed to keep her hands in front of her to prevent her chin from hitting as well. The fall jarred her neck sending a sharp pang along her shoulder, and her knees and hands stung with needle pricks from the impact against the rough concrete.

  Scrambling to her feet, Angie twirled around to see if anyone had witnessed her tumble, enormously relieved that no one was in sight. Odd. Right about then she’d normally be waving to Tracy and his two cockers, and possibly even Mrs. Zirkle who would be out with her walker if the octogenarian was having a good day.

 
Grateful for the unexpected solitude, she checked the heels of her hands, picked out a few tiny pieces of coarse sand, then looked down at her knees, staring in amazement at the bad scrapes.

  So much for a perfect start to her perfect day.

  Instead of continuing on to the beach, Angie reluctantly limped toward home—now she’d need the extra time to treat her wounds before getting ready for work.

  “Hellooooo, Angie!”

  Wincing from the overly cheerful sound more than from the stabbing pain she felt in her knees as she climbed her front steps, Angie stared at the woman who’d called to her. Her normally taciturn neighbor—an elderly woman with blue-white hair who didn’t usually make eye contact let alone shout hello at the top of her lungs—was doing toe-touches on her porch, wearing a lime green spandex full-body running suit.

  “Hi, Mrs. Randolph.” Angie nodded at the woman and continued her painful climb, hoping she wouldn’t have to stop and explain her bloody knees.

  “I’m starting my new fitness makeover. I joined the Walkabouts and need to get in shape. What do you think of my new outfit? Ordered it off the internet...great, huh?” The woman turned away to face her front door, leaning forward to put both hands against it, then stretching her legs out behind her to do more warm-ups.

  “Really great—and safe—color,” Angie replied, biting her cheeks to keep from grinning at her neighbor’s exuberant self-confidence. Maybe she’d pitch a story on “seniors and fitness” to Mr. Ethan at the staff meeting. Mrs. Randolph looked extremely cute for someone seventy-something.

  As soon as Angie stepped inside her condo and closed the door behind her she heard the distant ringing of her cell phone and knew she’d never make it in time to answer it.

  And besides, she had way too much to do to try and repair the damage her morning walk had already done to her perfect day.

  ***

  Finally on her way to work, Angie tipped her head a little, glancing into the rearview mirror at her hair, which was getting curlier by the second. By the time she’d found the antibiotic cream and big enough bandages for her raw, swollen knees, then realized she had to press the pants she’d need to wear to cover her injuries, there’d been no time for damage control on her hair.

  She’d had to settle for a generous spritz of spray gel and a meager attempt to pat her waves into place, hoping everyone would believe she was trying out a new style just for the fun of it.

  With any luck there wouldn’t be any on-camera work her first day, and she already had an appointment to get her hair flat-ironed after work. By tomorrow, her wild hair would be back to the more appropriate smooth style everyone was used to seeing.

  As the traffic started to slow in front of her, she put her earpiece on, then retrieved the message from her cell phone she’d missed earlier.

  “Hi, ladybug, it’s your dad.”

  She drew her eyebrows together. He hadn’t called her that since she was five. And why are you calling me on a Monday morning? She and her father had always had a little trouble communicating, but since she’d moved away they’d fallen into a comfortable routine of the occasional Sunday evening phone call when he’d call exclusively in the evenings after the rates went down. She’d given up trying to call him first—he’d always cut the call short saying it would cost too much, never quite understanding or believing she had unlimited long distance on her cell on the weekends.

  She continued to listen to her father’s voice.

  “Are you there? Guess not...well, weather’s pretty good here.”

  No matter what, he started every conversation with the weather. A farmer’s habit.

  “Not as warm as you’ve been having out there, of course. Your job doing okay?”

  Strange. The second thing out of his mouth was usually him asking when she was coming home. After almost five years, he still didn’t believe she’d chosen to actually stay in California.

  “You doing okay? If you need anything, you be sure to let me know....there’s something I...well, um...oh, your Aunt Flora said she hasn’t gotten a letter from you in a pretty long spell. Wouldn’t hurt you to write to her once in a while, you know. Guess I’ll get goin’. Bye.”

  Angie frowned as she exited her voicemail and unhooked her earpiece. He sounded kind of strange—a little needy, maybe. She decided to definitely give him a call after she got home from work. Her promotion would provide a good excuse to call unexpectedly, so chances were at least reasonably good he wouldn’t get all worked up about her calling him out of the blue.

  The traffic light turned green and Angie slowly moved forward, barely getting through the intersection before the light changed again.

  “Good grief—what’s with all the traffic?” She craned her neck to try to see beyond the fire-engine-red convertible in front of her.

  She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. Running even later than she’d expected on her not-so-perfect morning, and now, with the added traffic jam, there was a very real chance she’d be late for the morning staff meeting. And she hated being late.

  A horn blared from somewhere in the long line of cars in front of her and she glanced at her watch for the umpteenth time, then lowered the window and leaned her head out to see if she could see if there was an accident in the intersection ahead. There had to be a logical reason for the holdup.

  A cheer rose from the head of the line of cars as she eased off the brake, inching forward another car length, her head still leaning out to try to see what was happening.

  As her car continued to creep forward, she finally saw a man in the median next to the left turn lane. He was surrounded by four kids as he doled out what looked like seedlings in starter pots plus a few small plants, one to each youngster. A sagging poster was half-falling off a pole next to him, but she couldn’t make out what it said.

  A girl, her black hair done in exotic cornrows, stepped away from the group, holding a potted seedling in her hand as though it were a china teacup. The girl stared at it as she carried it to the car at the head of the long line, and then handed it to the driver. She turned away with several bills in her hand and skipped back to the plant-man. He waved the money in the air then deposited the bills with a flourish into a silver watering can one of the other children held.

  Angie’s blood pressure lowered a little. At least it seemed to be some kind of charity event. Then she noticed the red flashing of the intersection’s traffic lights; it was this that enabled the kids to approach each car. The normally busy intersection had turned into a four-way stop. It was also why the traffic had backed up.

  “Well, this could take a while.” She wondered why she hadn’t heard about the event at the station, though. It was just the kind of thing they liked to cover. She’d been diligent about keeping tabs on all the “small town flavor” stories, lately, so she’d be well versed for her new position. Maybe this one was too small.

  Angie listened to the happy sounds of the children as they each approached a car and returned with a donation, hip-hip-hooraying as they added cash to the watering can. The plant-man was also clearly enjoying himself, quite oblivious to the fact that his activity was adding to her now quite imperfect morning. With the added delay he and the kids were creating, she might as well just accept the fact she was most definitely going to be late.

  With a sigh, she rested her arm on the window frame, then tipped her head a little more to better observe the plant-man. Even from the distance she could see he was wearing honey-colored Tony-Lama-style cowboy boots that most likely cost many times more than the meager amount of money they’d be able to raise handing out seedlings to in-a-hurry commuters. She wondered what his connection was to the event.

  The man seemed tall, even when he was crouched down pulling pots out of the flats at his feet. When he stood, she guessed he was close to six feet. He wore a plain white tucked into faded jeans; his arms were muscular, and he was broad chested and slim hipped. He was gorgeous. From his ease with the children and his unselfconscious mann
er, she guessed he was the kind of man who had no idea women stared or fawned over him when he wasn’t looking.

  When he turned his back toward her, she noticed his blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Definitely not the corporate type she saw every day at the office. He exuded natural charm and confidence that came across sexy instead of cocky.

  A little closer now, she watched his face light up with each return of a child, and he whooped loudly as he deposited donations into the watering can. The children danced at his feet, clapping and shrieking in delight.

  Then he checked his watch and shooed some of the kids off toward the elementary school Angie knew was down the block. With only one remaining boy, the plant-man crouched down and handed him a plant.

  Now with only one car in front of her, and the event obviously drawing to an end, Angie reached for her Prada bag to retrieve her wallet. She was a softie for any kid trying to raise money, even if this particular fundraising event was going to cause her to have to sprint from the parking lot to even make the second half of the staff meeting.

  “Hey, cowboy...”

  Angie looked up at the sound of the sultry voice that came from the redhead in the convertible in front of her. Red wiggled her fingers at the plant-man who stood on the median, ignoring the boy at her window ceremoniously presenting a seedling to her.

  Angie groaned. “What are you doing, lady? Can’t you see you’re breaking the little guy’s heart?” The boy’s head drooped until his chin rested on his chest.

  “Oooh...I see what you’re up to.” She watched as the plant-man picked up the watering can and walked over to Red’s car to stand next to the boy.