An Island Christmas

by Nancy Thayer

  Archie made a face. “Come on, honey, give me a break. I’ve already packed my kilt, isn’t that enough?”

  “Do you want to wear your kilt to every cocktail party?” Felicia asked mildly. “Look, Archie, these are from Lands’ End. They’re not dressy, they won’t scratch your neck—”

  “Anything with a collar scratches my neck,” Archie argued.

  “—and you’ll look like the handsome gentleman I know you can be.”

  “I don’t want to be a gentleman. I never have wanted to. Where did you ever get that idea?” Archie dropped his towel and pulled on clean briefs.

  “I don’t want you to be a gentleman, either, but I want you to look like one for my parents. I don’t think it’s too much to ask. You and I have talked about this, Archie. You said your mother has never cared about appearances, but my mom’s a nut job about them. Remember when she and Dad came out here, you looked a bit—um, caveman?”

  Archie swooped Felicia up in his arms, threw her on the bed, and fell next to her, tugging on her hair. “As I recall, that’s a look you like.”

  Felicia grinned. “True.”

  “And as much as I like your mother, she’s not the one I’m marrying.” Archie nuzzled Felicia’s neck, kissing her ear, her cheek, her lips …

  “Stop that!” Felicia demanded, rolling away from her gorgeous fiancé. “I’m trying to talk about our wedding. Who knows when we’ll see my parents again? It will be years, probably, before you have to put on a button-down shirt.” She sat up. “We are going to settle this matter before the football game starts.”

  “You really ask a lot of a guy,” Archie muttered. “All right, which shirt do you want me to try on?”

  Felicia handed him a navy-blue-and-white-checked flannel shirt that she knew would bring out the solar flare blue of his eyes. She had already unbuttoned it for him; Archie hated fumbling with tiny things like buttons.

  Archie put on the shirt. He surveyed himself in the mirror. “It fits,” he admitted grudgingly.

  “Now try this,” Felicia suggested as she handed him a navy blue blazer.

  “I already have a blazer.”

  “I know you do. It’s at least eight years old and has been in the storage unit the entire time. I doubt if it even fits you anymore, never mind the problem of trying to find it among all those boxes. We are almost done here, Archie.”

  Archie pulled the blazer on over the flannel shirt. It was barely big enough for him but there was no time now for her to return it for a larger size and Felicia wasn’t sure there was a larger size. As long as Archie didn’t do anything more strenuous than lift a glass to his lips, the seams should hold.

  “Whoa, you look gorgeous,” said Felicia.

  “I feel like a rhino in a straitjacket.” Archie took off the blazer and began to unbutton his shirt so quickly he nearly ripped the fabric. “Are you through with me now?”

  “Yes. But I want to warn you: when we’re on Nantucket there will be times when I will choose your clothes for you.”

  Archie pulled on his chinos and a clean hunter green T-shirt. “Fine. What about you? Did you order yourself a couple of dresses for this all-important impression-making occasion?”

  “Actually, I did. I also bought a pair of shoes.” Digging through the piles of clothing bags on the bed, Felicia took out a pair of black high heels.

  Archie smiled. “You can model those for me later,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

  “You see,” she smirked. “Clothes do make a difference.”

  Archie left the room and went into the kitchen to start putting together the snacks. People would be arriving soon. Felicia’s best friend, Brianne, was coming with her husband and bringing the navy blue dress coat she was loaning Felicia for this trip. Felicia had plenty of cold weather gear, but nothing her mother would want her to wear out to dinner.

  Picking up a dark blue corduroy dress, Felicia held it against her and looked in the mirror. She would wear the pearls her parents gave her when she graduated from high school; that should please them. She could trust Lauren to add any necessary feminine touches like lipstick, blush, or one of their grandmothers’ Christmas brooches.

  Suddenly Felicia sank down onto the bed, burying her face in the corduroy dress. More than any other holiday, Christmas was a time for remembering. Like a set of Russian dolls, a large one opening to show a smaller one inside, the ornaments on a Christmas tree reflected images of past Christmases. A memory of her grandmother holding Lauren’s firstborn baby at their mother’s house one Christmas filled Felicia with joy and sorrow. That grandmother, like her other grandmother, had since passed away. Lauren had their brooches and other jewelry, assuring Felicia that when she was ready for them, she could have her pick.

  Five years ago Felicia hadn’t wanted frivolous jewelry, and she hadn’t wanted children. She had wanted to hike the world with Archie, climbing difficult trails, swimming across blue lagoons, and seeing sights few other mortals would see.

  Now, out of the blue, like a lightning bolt, a secret desire had taken hold of Felicia. She could talk to no one about this new obsession. She couldn’t understand what had happened to her, except that last week when she and Archie were hiking the Dark Angel trail, they passed a family of three. The man and woman were about Felicia’s and Archie’s ages, and the man carried a one-year-old child in a backpack. The child had on the cutest cap with a long brim to shade his chubby face. When he saw Archie and Felicia, he waved his arms and giggled and babbled to them. Had she ever seen a cuter baby in all her life? Six years ago, when Lauren’s first child was born, Felicia had dutifully traveled to see this miracle of procreation, and had been horrified at the amount of dirty laundry and endless diaper changes. Lauren’s house had seemed so hot, and the infant’s cries shrilled through the air like a fire alarm. Over the years, Felicia came to feel great affection for Lawrence and Portia, although she also took notice of the time and hard work it cost their parents simply to keep them fed, dressed, healthy, and safe. Not for her, Felicia had thought. Never for her.

  But then, last week, the sight of the chubby, bright-eyed, wriggling, giggling baby—it was like a spell from the most ancient of fairy tales. Felicia was enchanted and possessed.

  “Archie, look,” Felicia had whispered. “Isn’t that baby sweet?”

  “All babies are sweet,” Archie responded. “Then they turn into adults and ruin the planet.”

  Felicia didn’t argue. Archie was all about the planet. He was for zero population growth. He was okay with getting married, but it wasn’t of great emotional importance to him. This entire wedding business at her parents’ home on the island was a concession from Archie to Felicia because he understood how much it would mean to her parents. His own parents had divorced when he was young. His father never saw him. Recently they’d had news that he had died. No, Archie didn’t comprehend the duties and pleasures of family bonds.

  Felicia didn’t dare tell him about her odd new longing. It might be a deal-breaker. Anyway, her sudden obsession would pass, she was certain. Once she was home in the bosom of her anal-compulsive, super-tidy family, the terror of ending up like her mother would remove these strange wishes for a baby from her system. Until then, Felicia would keep quiet and pretend she was the same freewheeling, carefree creature she’d always been.

  5

  Because the MSPCA didn’t open on weekends unless there was an emergency, Jilly and George had to content themselves in their search for a kitten with scanning the want ads in the local weekly paper, The Inquirer and Mirror. No kittens, puppies, turtles, or birds were listed for sale or adoption, so George went online and checked as many relevant sites as he could think of.

  No luck.

  So it was Monday morning when the Gordons climbed into their pristine Mercury Mariner SUV and drove to the MSPCA. The handsome facility was new, with a desk in the foyer resembling the bridge of the starship Enterprise. The doors and windows were hung with fresh green garlands and red wreaths. A
Christmas tree in the corner was decorated with catnip mice, dog bones, sparkling collars, and net bags of treats tied up with red silk ribbons.

  “Hello,” Jilly said cheerfully. “We’d like to adopt a kitten.”

  The young girl at the front desk had curly black hair and a vivacious personality. “Safe Harbor for Animals does the adoptions. They’re right next door.”

  “Great! We’ll go over there.”

  The young receptionist looked dismayed. “I don’t think they have any kittens.”

  Jilly sagged. She’d awakened early, dreaming of snuggling a warm, plump, little body in her arms. “Thank you anyway,” she said politely, and turned to walk to the car.

  But her husband said, “Wait a moment. Do you know if there are any animals up for adoption at Safe Harbor?”

  The curly-haired girl looked baffled. “Maybe. I’m not sure—” Suddenly a smile broke out over her face. “Hey! Here comes Tim Thompson. He’ll know. He volunteers for Safe Harbor, taking care of the animals when the director’s on vacation.” She ran out from behind her desk to catch Tim as he was stepping out of his pickup truck.

  Tim stood very still, listening, expressionless. Good news? Bad? Jilly and George looked at each other and shrugged.

  Tim followed the girl back into the building. A lean Irishman in jeans and a wool vest, he had the soulful look of a man who played sad songs on the guitar.

  Without saying hello or even smiling, Tim announced morosely, “We have only one animal for adoption.”

  “What kind of animal?” Jilly quickly asked, imagining a potbellied pig or, worse, a snake.

  “Cat.”

  “We’d like to see him or her,” George said.

  “You won’t want him,” Tim muttered direly. But he walked away from the front desk, down a corridor, around the corner, and began to unlock a door into a small annex.

  Jilly and George dutifully followed, entering a small rectangular space filled with metal cages. Two large windows let in the dim winter light. Tim clicked on the overhead electric light and the room brightened.

  “There.” Tim pointed.

  Jilly and George scurried up to the cage positioned at eye height. Inside, curled up in a round bed, lay an orange-and-white striped cat.

  “Hello, kitty,” Jilly whispered.

  The cat opened its gold eyes and stared at Jilly with skepticism, then elegantly rose and stretched, as if to show off its remarkable stripes and spots.

  “He looks like a jungle animal,” George said.

  “He’s feral,” Tim explained. “Captured out on the moors.”

  “Is he tame?” Jilly asked.

  “Don’t know,” Tim said. “He’s young, not a year old yet, so he could be domesticated. Maybe. Could be a challenge.”

  “Is he mean?” asked George.

  “Not mean so much as he’s got an attitude problem.” Tim opened the cage, reached in, picked up the cat, and set him on the cushioned bench where various cat toys were scattered.

  For a few moments, the orange cat hunkered down, as if expecting to be attacked. He stared at the humans with suspicious eyes. After a moment, he stood up, stretched full-length, and paced the length of the bench, ignoring the cat toys as if they were far too foolish for him.

  “He’s got striking markings,” Jilly noticed.

  “We were hoping for a kitten,” George remarked.

  “No kittens. Cats don’t time their litters to fit with human holidays.” Tim leaned against the wall and folded his arms, as if ready to wait for hours. “He’s an unusual cat,” he told them. “He’s not striped as much as spotted. And he’s smart.”

  Jilly drew near the animal, and reached out a hand. “Can I pet him?”

  Tim shrugged. “I don’t think he’ll bite you.”

  George warned, “Be careful, Jilly.”

  Jilly slowly brought her hand closer to the cat. It sat down, staring up at her. Such alert gold eyes. Would it scratch? “Hello, sweetheart,” she cooed in a soft voice. Cautiously, she touched him between the ears. He didn’t move. She drew her hand from the top of his head down to his neck.

  The cat closed his eyes. Jilly scratched between his ears. She stroked the animal the entire length of his body. An odd stuttering noise, like a rusty old engine coming to life, emanated from the cat.

  “I think he’s purring!” Thrilled, Jilly dared to reach out her other hand and gather the animal up against her chest. The cat nestled against her as if he belonged there.

  “He likes me,” Jilly whispered. “Oh, George, let’s adopt him.”

  “What’s the fee?” George looked at Tim. “Can we take him home now?”

  “Nope,” answered Tim. “He’s got to be neutered first.”

  “What does that mean?” Jilly asked.

  “Castrated, testicles removed,” Tim said bluntly.

  George winced.

  “Will it hurt him?” Jilly asked.

  “No,” Tim told her. “He’ll be anesthetized. It’s a normal procedure for male cats, to keep them from chasing female cats and spraying the furniture to mark their territory. We can probably arrange for it to be done today. It’s a quiet time for the hospital. You can go off and buy the stuff you need for a cat—litter box, food—and come back tomorrow morning to pick him up. Then all you have to do is check his incision occasionally to be sure he’s not messing with it.”

  While they were talking, the cat was nuzzling Jilly and purring so loudly the humans could scarcely hear themselves talk. Clearly he was happy in the warmth of her arms.

  “Oh, George, let’s do it!”

  Tim told them: “There are some forms you have to fill out and fees you have to pay. The vet will also be giving him a general checkup. You can ask at the front desk how much all this will cost.”

  “Can you tell us what kind of food he should eat?” Jilly asked. “Is there anything we can buy that would make him happy? For example, that round bed in his cage, would he like one of those at home?”

  “We’ve got a pamphlet for you to study,” Tim said. “You can find it at the front desk.”

  “Let’s get the process started,” George said.

  Tim turned off the overhead light and opened the door to leave the room. He turned back. “You can’t take the cat into the reception room unless he’s in a carrying case. That’s another thing you’ll have to buy.”

  “I’ll stay with him here,” Jilly said, “while George does the paperwork.”

  “You can’t,” Tim told her. “You have to put him back in the cage.” When he saw Jilly’s expression, for the first time his own expression softened. “Sorry. Rules.” And he snorted a bit to express his opinion of rules.

  Jilly was aware that George thought she often got overexcited and considered it his duty to rein her in, and she appreciated his concern. Still, even though it had been his idea to get a cat, she wished he wasn’t with her now in Geronimo’s, the pet supply store.

  They had chosen a soft round stuffed cat bed in an adorable patchwork fabric that would coordinate perfectly with the cushions on the kitchen chairs. Food and water bowls had also been found that met Jilly’s standards, white china with cute blue paw prints on them. Choosing the kitty litter box and scoop was not much fun, but the box would live out in the back hall; it wasn’t something people would see.

  “Don’t you think the cat would look gorgeous with this green velvet collar?” Jilly asked George as they stood in the cat toys aisle.

  “We’ve agreed we’re not going to let him go outside,” George reminded her. “Too many cars, too many dogs, too many temptations. The cat won’t need a collar if he’s never going out.”

  “Still, the green velvet against his cinnamon hair would look so pretty, and it is Christmas.”

  “Jilly, the cat doesn’t know about Christmas.” George was jingling the coins in his pocket, a habit he had whenever he was restless in a store and wanted Jilly to hurry up.

  Jilly had to satisfy herself with purchasing a high
-end cat carrying case plus a quilted cushion that fit inside it for the cat’s comfort.

  “Hope he doesn’t throw up—or something worse—inside there,” muttered George. He was beginning to have doubts about the whole enterprise.

  “Don’t be silly, George,” Jilly said. “I’ll hold the carrying case on my lap when we bring him home and I’ll talk to him the whole time so he won’t be afraid.”

  After lunch the next day, the Gordons drove out to the Offshore Animal Hospital to pick up their new pet.

  To their surprise, the doctor came out of an examination room to talk to them. He seemed rather stern, almost as if he were sizing them up as cat owners.

  “I performed the neutering operation yesterday,” Dr. Logan told them. “He recovered from it nicely. He’s a strong, healthy, young animal with no lice or fleas.”

  “Lice!” Jilly was horrified.

  “Gina, our receptionist at the front desk, will show you the various options we have for preventing parasites. I recommend you use something even though your cat won’t be going outside. Sometimes people bring things in inadvertently on their shoes or clothing.”

  Jilly went pale.

  “As you’ve been told,” Dr. Logan continued, “this cat was found on the moors. He might be nervous about living in a house. I hope you will be flexible and forgiving as he learns to settle in to your environment.”

  “I thought cats liked lounging on cushions or on windowsills,” Jilly said.

  “House cats do, of course. I’m sure this one will, given time. But he is a young male born to a feral litter, used to running, hunting, and fending for himself. He will have to adapt to you and you will have to adapt to him.”

  “Of course. We understand,” Jilly promised.

  The receptionist came to lead them into the Safe Harbor annex and into the room where their new pet waited for them in his cage. George was holding the carrying case, and Gina unlatched the cage door.

  “Hello, kitty,” cooed Jilly.

  The cat rose and came toward her slowly. When she picked him up and held him against her, he once again nestled right into the crook of her arm and began to purr.