by Nancy Thayer
“Oh, George, I know it’s going to be all right,” Jilly said. “Look how happy he is.”
“He should be happy,” Gina told them. “You’ve saved him from being put down.”
“Put down?” Even George looked upset.
“We can’t keep them here forever,” Gina explained. “And as you know, people want kittens, not older cats.”
Jilly stroked the cat’s head. “You’re going home with us,” she whispered. “We’ll give you cream, fish, and a soft place to sleep. I even made you your own Christmas stocking.”
George rolled his eyes, but he willingly helped Jilly gently load the cat into the cat carrier. The cat yowled once in protest, then lay down in watchful silence.
“Isn’t he amazing?” asked Jilly. “He seems to know he belongs with us.”
In the car on the way home, with the cat in his carrier on Jilly’s lap, she decided to bring up the very important matter of the cat’s name. Privately, Jilly had several names picked out: Ginger, Honey, Cinnamon. But she sensed that George was not as enamored of this adoption project as she was and she wanted to draw him in closer.
“George, what do you think would be a good name for the cat?”
George straightened slightly and cleared his throat as he always did before making an important pronouncement. “Well, he’s got that dark orange circle between his ears, like a crown. I think we should call him Rex.”
“Rex.” Jilly let the name roll around in her thoughts. It certainly wasn’t a name she would have chosen. But she could see how it would apply to this strong, confident animal and she was thrilled that George had actually thought about a name. “Rex it is.”
When they returned to the house, George came around to carry the heavy cat carrier. They went in through the back door so they could walk through the laundry room where they’d established the kitty litter box. George put the carrier on the kitchen floor.
“Here’s your new home,” Jilly told the cat. “Can you smell the cat food we got for you? It’s the best brand, made of real fish. This is your water bowl. We’ll show you where the litter box is.” She nodded at George.
George opened the carrier door. Slowly, Rex slunk out. Warily, he took a few steps into the room, the set of his ears making it clear that all his senses were on high alert. He walked over to the cat food bowl and sniffed it. He sniffed the water in the water bowl. He walked beneath the kitchen table and slowly stepped beneath the rungs of the kitchen chairs.
Then, in a flash, he took off running. He flew through the kitchen door into the dining room, made a path around the periphery, ran into the hall, and swerved into the living room, with George and Jilly bumping into each other as they tried to follow him. He streaked up the stairs so fast he was a blur before their eyes, and a few minutes later they heard a crash.
“Oh, dear,” cried Jilly. “I’m guessing that’s the porcelain soap holder in the guest bathroom.”
The Gordons started to climb the stairs after the animal but when they were halfway up he raced back down, nearly tripping them as he zigzagged around their feet, hurtling into the living room. A sound like dozens of bells rang out. By the time the Gordons got to the living room, they saw that the cat had jumped up on the table and knocked off the silver bowl full of red and green Christmas ornaments, which now lay scattered on the rug while the silver bowl continued to vibrate against the brick hearth.
“Where did the damn animal go?” George yelled.
Noise clattered from the kitchen. The Gordons raced in. The cat had jumped onto the counter, accidentally knocking Jilly’s metal container of cooking utensils onto the floor.
“Quick,” George ordered, “shut the door.”
Jilly slammed the door shut, trapping the cat in the kitchen. George went for the cat, his arms outstretched, and tripped on a metal whisk, two wooden spoons, and a spatula that sent him sprawling onto the floor.
Rex raced the only way he could go, into the laundry room. Jilly managed to make it across the room and slam the door, shutting the cat in.
“Are you okay, George?” She began to pick up the kitchen utensils and drop them into the sink to wash off as her husband pushed himself up to a standing position. She was afraid to look at him. What if he insisted on taking this wild creature back? She didn’t want to have an argument before Christmas. How could she explain to George that the cat was probably only trying to sense out his surroundings? Again, tentatively, Jilly asked, “George, did you hurt yourself?”
“I’m fine,” George said.
Relieved, Jilly turned to face him. To her surprise, George was smiling.
“I guess I gave him an appropriate name,” George said. “Wrecks the house.”
6
The plane landed on the runway with a bump. All the other passengers breathed sighs of relief. Felicia’s own heart quickened. She wanted so much for her parents to like Archie!
Her parents stood inside the terminal, scanning the arriving passengers. When her mother saw her, she burst into tears, hugged Felicia, hugged Archie, and embarrassed them all by crying, “Archie, you look so nice!” Felicia’s father hugged her and shook Archie’s hand.
Archie was wearing a blue sweater that set off his blue eyes and a handsome black wool topcoat with a Galloway tartan muffler. Felicia had taken advantage of the three-hour layover between planes; she’d insisted on dragging her fiancé into Boston to purchase the coat and muffler which, she had to admit, made him look very nearly civilized. The money spent was better for her mother than a dozen roses and a bottle of antidepressants.
The foursome hurried through the cold to the car, all talking at once. Felicia was tired—it had been a long day of traveling—and dreaded her parents’ announcement of social engagements.
To Felicia’s surprise, as George steered the car home, Jilly peered over the front seat to say, “I thought that after all your traveling, you two would want to stretch your legs, so when we get home why don’t you show Archie the town while I prepare dinner?”
Before Felicia could answer, her mother continued, “Of course if you’re tired, please feel free to take a nap or rest in front of the fire. We don’t have any plans for tonight. I’ve made a beef stew and an apple pie. I thought we could have a quiet evening together.”
“That sounds perfect, Mom,” said Felicia, silently wondering what good witch had cast a spell to make her mother so relaxed.
When they arrived at the house, carried in the luggage, and joined one another for a moment in the living room, Felicia thought she understood. In her mother’s arms was a handsome orange striped cat, his tail draped possessively around Jilly’s wrist, and—Felicia knew she was probably imagining this—a smug, arrogant gleam of ownership in his eyes.
“Meet Rex,” her mother announced proudly. “We’ve had him for only a week, but he’s so intelligent, he settled right into our household. We’d appreciate it if you didn’t let him out of the house. He was born in the wild and we don’t want him to go outside and get lost—or worse. The vet told us Rex will quickly become accustomed to living in the house and we want him to be a total house cat.”
“He’s gorgeous, Mom,” said Felicia.
“I know,” Jilly said, stroking Rex. “He’s extremely bright, too. Several times he’s attempted to claw the sofas—I’ve Googled this, and it seems to be normal cat behavior—and I’ve learned to stop him from doing it by putting water in a spray bottle and spraying his face when he starts. He runs away at once.” Jilly’s face drooped. “I hate hurting his feelings.”
“We’re buying him a scratching post for Christmas,” George said.
“In fact,” Jilly added, leaning forward and actually whispering, as if the cat could understand her, “it’s an entire cat tree!”
Felicia nodded seriously. “A cat tree. For inside the house?”
Jilly laughed a tinkling laugh. “Yes, silly. It’s not an actual tree with bark. It’s covered with some sort of shag carpet material that cats can fasten thei
r claws in. It has three different levels, and a tiny little house at the bottom with a hole for him to hide in.”
Felicia’s normally mellow father leaned over the back of the sofa to pet the cat. “If you’d like, you could give him some toys for Christmas. Down at Cold Noses they have a sort of feathery thing on a long flexible stick that you can wave for him to jump at.”
Felicia bit her lip to keep from laughing. Her parents were channeling all their parental energies onto the cat. Hallelujah! “If it’s all right, then, before it’s completely dark,” said Felicia, “we’ll go out and buy Rex a toy right now. I want to show Archie a bit of the town, too.”
“Have fun,” Jilly said, petting the cat.
Felicia and Archie went carefully out the door.
As they walked, her arm linked through Archie’s, Felicia thought she was floating in a dream. The lights on the Christmas trees lining Main Street glowed, illuminating the shop windows with their holiday displays. Felicia longed to take the time to stand staring at each scene like a child, but she knew that Archie would be bored with man-made scenery. Somehow she would persuade her father to take him off for a walk on the moors so she could have some alone time with her mother.
As the sky turned from gray to deep violet, Felicia and Archie walked to Cold Noses to buy the cat wand. They strolled on down Straight Wharf, where a few scalloping boats still bobbed against the wooden dock.
“It’s a picture-book town, isn’t it?” asked Felicia.
“I wonder if we can get out on the water,” Archie responded.
“Archie! It’s December! Who wants to go out on the water in this cold?” Felicia buried her hands in the pockets of her down jacket.
“I do,” said Archie. “It was fascinating to see the island from the airplane, all the shoals and harbors. It would be great to see the island from a boat.”
Felicia knew that if Archie had his mind set, there was no point in arguing. She simply took his arm and steered him along the brick sidewalk back up toward the main part of town and the Gordons’ house on Chestnut Street.
“Look at our house!” cried Felicia as they reached the Gordons’ yard. In all the windows of the old house, a single candle burned, casting light onto the dark street. They were electric candles for safety’s sake, yet the illusion brought a feeling of history and security. The Christmas tree, blazing with small lights, covered with decorations, candy canes, and strings of cranberries and popcorn, filled the window at the front of the house.
“Nice.” Archie was a man of few words.
Felicia stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cold cheek and they went inside.
A delicious smell of beef stew filled all the rooms of the house. Calling hello, Felicia hung her coat and Archie’s in the closet and hurried into the kitchen to see if she could help her mother.
Jilly’s cheeks were rosy from the warmth of cooking. She lifted the lid on the big stewpot, stirred with her wooden spoon, murmured to herself, and put the lid back on. In a round, down-filled cat bed, Rex was curled asleep.
“That smells yummy,” said Felicia. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Maybe it was only her imagination, but at her voice, the cat stirred slightly and peered disapprovingly at her through narrowed eyes.
“No, darling, we’re all set. Let’s go in the living room and have a drink before dinner.” Jilly untied her apron. Leaning toward her daughter, she whispered, “I hope I made enough food. Archie is such a big man.”
“Mom, he is six feet four inches and weighs two hundred twenty pounds. Stop making him sound like Goliath.”
“Sorry, darling, I’m not criticizing, I’m remarking.”
Felicia followed her mother into the living room where her father and her fiancé were seated in the armchairs by the fire, chatting.
The ladies settled side by side on the sofa.
“Did you enjoy your walk?” asked Felicia’s mother.
“It was great,” exclaimed Archie. “George, do you own a motorboat?”
George blinked. “No, although I often wish I did. Why do you ask?”
“I thought it would be fun if you and I could take a tour of the harbor in a boat and perhaps putter out to Great Point.”
“In this weather!” Jilly looked horrified.
“I’m sure if we bundled up—” began Archie.
Even though she’d objected earlier, now Felicia was quick to defend her fiancé. “Mom, fishermen go out in this weather all the time. It’s not the Arctic.”
Felicia’s father surprised them all. “I’d like to see the land from the water, too, Archie. I do know a few fellows who have motorboats. I’ll give them a call and see if we can borrow one. The harbor’s beginning to ice over, but if we get out there in the next day or two we should be all right.”
Gosh, thought Felicia, Go, Dad!
Jilly looked stunned. Felicia turned the topic to safer subjects. “So, Mom, when do Lauren and her family arrive?”
“The twenty-third, I think,” Jilly said. “Before then, we have a number of parties to attend, and I do hope you will join us. You’ll see some of your old friends. I’ve been meaning to tell you—Steven has bought the house next door. He’s going to live here permanently!”
Felicia lit up. “Really? That’s great. I can’t wait to see him.”
“Why don’t we invite him over for dinner tonight?” Jilly suggested perkily.
“No, Mom, we just got here, and dinner’s all ready.” Felicia tapped her lip. “You and I will have to sync schedules, because I want to take Archie on some walks around the island and perhaps on a bike ride to ’Sconset.”
“Bike ride,” she echoed weakly, disappointed that Felicia didn’t want to invite Steven over right now. As if she needed food for fortification (she did!), Jilly stood up. “Perhaps we should eat now.”
“I’ll help you carry the stew in, dear.” George rose and followed.
Jilly had set the dining room table with one of her best damask tablecloths and centered it with a Christmas wreath around a mirror with a clever holiday scene of miniature ice skaters. She’d brought out the best silver and china.
“Exquisite, Mom,” Felicia exclaimed, and kissed her mother’s cheek.
“This smells delicious,” Archie said. When Jilly took her place at the head of the table, Archie stood behind her to help seat her and push in her chair. Jilly flushed with pleasure.
Felicia beamed at Archie, who moved to his chair at the side of the table and sat down. She noticed the cat creeping into the room, stationing himself next to Jilly’s chair.
“If you’ll hand me your plate, Felicia,” said her father, “I’ll dish out—”
A loud cracking noise interrupted George. More snaps and pops, like kindling on fire, erupted into the room, and then Archie’s antique wooden chair exploded into bits. Archie was dropped to the floor, the back of his head smacking the raised metal fireguard. Blood spurted over the hearth.
Rex yowled as a section of the wooden chair slammed into him. He streaked from the room.
“Archie! Are you all right?” Felicia knelt next to her fiancé who lay sprawled on the carpet looking startled.
“Let me help you up,” offered George, but he tripped on some of the round, rolling rungs of the chair and had to grasp the dining room table for support, pulling the tablecloth and dishes sideways so they trembled at the edge.
“I’m fine,” insisted Archie. With a groan, he sat up, leaving a pool of blood on the hearth. More blood poured down the back of his head and his neck. “It’s only a small cut.”
“Nothing about you is small!” Jilly cried.
“Mother!” Felicia snapped. She snatched her clean white napkin and pressed it against the back of Archie’s head.
“Should I call 911?” Jilly asked.
“No,” protested Archie. “I’m fine.”
“But all that blood!” Jilly said.
“Head wounds bleed a lot,” said Archie, “because there are so many b
lood vessels beneath the scalp. Keep the pressure on, Felicia, and the blood will stop.”
“I hate to tell you this, Archie,” said Felicia, “but I think you’re going to need some stitches.”
“I’ll call an ambulance,” Jilly said.
“Nonsense.” George took charge. “Felicia, keep the pressure on his head. Here’s your coat, and Archie’s. We’ll take Archie to the emergency room at the hospital. Felicia, you sit in the backseat with Archie. I’ll drive.”
Archie awkwardly stood up as Felicia continued to press her napkin to his scalp. Like a couple in a three-legged race, they struggled toward the front hall. Jilly ran up with a pile of towels in her hands.
“Put this around your neck, Archie, and this one over your coat, so you don’t ruin your clothes. Felicia, use this towel if there’s any more blood.”
“Thanks, Mom. Do you feel dizzy, Archie?” asked Felicia. “Can you see right? Are you sick to your stomach?”
“I’m fine,” Archie insisted, but he stumbled as they all went out the door, possibly because in their anxiety they were trying to squeeze through at the same time.
“Call me,” Jilly begged. “I’m sure you’ll be okay, Archie.”
“Of course he will, Mom,” Felicia called as they hurried toward the car. “Believe me, Archie has a hard head.”
“I’ll keep dinner warm!” Jilly called. More quietly she added, “And wash up the blood.”
7
After the other three raced off to the hospital, Jilly returned to the dining room, where she stared at the gleaming red patch of blood on the floor.
“Okay,” she said to herself aloud. Picking up her cell phone, she punched in a number. She could almost hear the phone next door ringing.
“Hi, Steven,” she said cheerfully. “How are you settling in?”
Steven’s low voice was smooth, almost melodious. “Great, thanks. I’ve enjoyed the casseroles you brought over.”
“I wonder if I could ask you a favor in return,” Jilly said. “I have to go to the Cape tomorrow to buy some new dining room chairs. My antiques are falling apart. I need someone to help me carry them to the taxi and load them on the ferry luggage rack.” As a boy, Steven had been practically a fixture at the Gordon house, enjoying innumerable meals and snacks, so Jilly felt completely at ease asking for his help.
