by Theresa Weir
She didn’t want to let him out of her sight, because when he was gone doubts crept in. And maybe he felt the same, because he stayed over most of the time now. Yesterday she almost suggested he move in, but she’d caught herself just in time.
Too soon.
And it was too perfect. Nothing was this perfect. She knew that.
“Would you like to do something?” she asked.
“Like what?”
“We could go to your place.”
He didn’t answer for a long moment. “That’s not a good idea. Too messy.”
“I don’t mind a mess.”
“I wouldn’t want you to see it that way. I haven’t been there much lately. No time to clean.”
She’d never been to his place. In fact, she didn’t even know where his place was. What did she know about him? Really? He’d brought Max home. He was kind. He worked at a shelter. But when she thought about it, when she tried to think of any conversation that dealt with anything beyond her job, the shelter, and Max, she couldn’t come up with much. He knew all about David and David’s murder. Melody had drunk too much wine on several occasions and blabbed on and on about her sister and her mother and her father. But Joe… She knew nothing about Joe.
He had a secret. She was sure he had a secret. He was a part of her life, but she wasn’t a part of his. Sometimes in her heart of hearts, she felt she should embrace the crazy cat lady thing and forget about men completely. Why shouldn’t a woman be able to find enough happiness in her job, baking cupcakes, and spoiling her cat? Men just complicated things. Men just disrupted the peace.
“I like hanging out at your place,” Joe said, reaching for her hand, rubbing her knuckles with his thumb. “Just the two of us.”
Melody swore she could feel Max’s disapproval coming from the backseat. Like a kid who resented the new stepdad. “Three of us,” she said.
Melody couldn’t let Joe go, not yet. She told herself she’d hang on a little longer, see if he started opening up to her, see if he finally began to share even a little bit of his own life.
After the reading at Gimme Shelter, she and Joe went to the grocery store and picked up shrimp to grill. And once they were home, they let Max roam around in the backyard where he sniffed dandelions and ate grass until he threw up.
Inside, they ate at the table with flowers in the center, flowers Melody had picked from the yard. Joe sat where David used to sit, and the wine glass he lifted to his lips had once touched David’s.
“You okay?” Joe asked.
Was he married? Was that his secret? “Sometimes I think I should move. Sometimes I think it’s not good for me to be here.”
“Move from the house, or the town?”
“The house. But maybe even the town. Maybe a fresh start would be a good thing. Leave everything behind and start over.”
Joe looked hurt that she would think of leaving. “Isn’t your family here?”
“Yes. But that’s not always a good thing. They worry…” Maybe she was fishing. Looking for some kind of declaration from him. It didn’t come.
She heard scratching and looked down to see Max digging at Joe’s backpack. “Max, stop that.” He ignored her. She repeated his name, this time louder. With a twitch of his tail, he stopped his digging.
Chapter 7
Joe and Melody sat at the table eating the shrimp they’d cooked outside. So far, nobody had offered Max any of it, and he loved shrimp. There had been some discussion about his delicate stomach and the grass he’d eaten, but ignoring him so completely was rude, especially after what he’d put up with at the shelter. He really deserved to be the star here.
Joe’s backpack was still in the corner of the dining room, on the floor, and even though Max had been scolded once already, he couldn’t quit thinking about exposing the contents of the bag-and exposing Joe. The zipper was zipped, but not all of the way. The gap was big enough for a paw, and then a nose, and then Max’s entire head.
“Max!”
Melody’s voice was muffled because of the canvas backpack. Max squirmed, making the opening bigger. A chair scraped across the hardwood floor. Max dug frantically. He could smell the oil and metal of the gun. His claw snagged the leather holster, and he grasped a corner in his teeth and pulled, backing up as he went. The case caught on the zipper, and Max popped out with nothing.
Look, he has a gun. Guns are bad. Joe is bad.
But Melody was looking at Max, not the backpack. And suddenly Joe was there, zipping the bag closed, picking it up, taking it to the living room where he deposited it on top of a bookshelf.
Not cool.
When Joe returned, he gave Max an odd look. Almost like he was trying to figure him out. Almost like he wondered if there was more to Max than he’d originally thought.
Normally Max would have been thrilled to have someone finally see him for who he was, see him for more than your average cat. Max had spent his life trying to get people to appreciate his uniqueness, but this wasn’t the time or the place for that level of awareness.
No, let Joe think he was as dumb as that yellow cat next door who talked to people’s feet. Just thinking about it made Max’s eyes cross. But who was he to judge? A lot of cats didn’t think deeply about anything, and they were probably happier for it.
Dinner ended. Dishes were done and food was put in the refrigerator.
The night routine was one that had become familiar, with the door shutting and Max being left in the living room to fend for himself. He waited by the door, and when morning came he shot inside. But today he didn’t hide or run under the bed or into the closet. This time he marched straight to the pile of Joe’s clothes, squatted, and peed. It was a lot of pee, because he’d been saving up all night.
“Max!” Melody stood near the foot of the bed, bare legs poking out from under her nightshirt with the cats on it.
Max kept peeing until he was finished, then, with a flick of his tail and a shake of a paw, he stepped off the pile of clothes. He fully expected somebody to throw something at him. Instead, both humans stared at him in shock and worry.
“Did you ever take him to the vet?” Joe asked. He was lying in bed, head propped in one hand.
“No, he seemed to be better, so I forgot about it.”
“I think we’d better do that today.”
We. Like they were a team. That was only slightly less disturbing than a vet visit.
Max ran from the room, heading straight for the doggy door he’d forgotten was sealed until he smacked his head against it. With that escape route out of the question, he thundered down the basement steps and hid behind the clothes dryer, where Melody found him a few minutes later.
“You must be sick if you’re hiding down here in this awful place.” She tried to coax him out, but he refused to budge. Let her come and get him. Which, unfortunately, she did.
She pulled out the machine and dove for him before he could make a run for it. Then she crushed him to her racing heart and brushed the cobwebs from his face and whiskers. He felt her terror, and for a moment he couldn’t place it or understand it.
She kissed his head and rocked him against her. “You can’t be sick. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.”
And then her terror made sense. She was afraid of losing him. And he suddenly felt bad about peeing on Joe’s clothes. He wanted to tell her he was fine. Instead, he squirmed away and ran upstairs. Once in the kitchen, he began meowing for food the way he did every morning, this time to demonstrate that he did indeed feel completely normal.
“Something is wrong,” Melody said.
Joe poured fresh food in Max’s bowl. “I say we get him to a vet right away. Could be a kidney infection.”
Together Joe and Melody took Max to the vet. Joe drove his car, a little black job he called a Civic, while Melody held Max on her lap in the carrier. Neither one talked, but Max could feel Melody’s tension and nervousness. He tried not to say anything or make the situation worse, but
he couldn’t help but yowl several times. He was too upset to be embarrassed.
Max knew the exact number of turns from his house to the vet’s parking lot. He could smell the coffee shop on the way, and the Laundromat just up the block. And when they pulled to a stop, he could even sense the terrified animals inside, and that made him yowl even louder and longer.
“Oh, he’s a noisy one,” the woman behind the counter said.
The smell! The smell struck terror in his heart. An odd odor that he associated with hands and needles and animals in pain.
They took him to a room and closed the door. It wasn’t as bad inside the smaller space, but it was still enough to drive a cat mad. He could sense the animals that had been there before him. Some young, some old, some that never went home again.
Home.
That was all he wanted. Home. His home, his bed, his food, his catnip, his strip of sunshine.
The doctor had a nice voice, and that calmed Max some. An exam, then the doctor left, and a young girl took Max away from Melody. Max screamed when the door closed and he could no longer see his mistress. They did things with needles. He didn’t know if the needles bothered him. He didn’t think so. It was more the not knowing what was going to happen. It was more about not being in control of the situation.
After more poking and prodding and holding Max down, the doctor carried Max back to the small room and handed him to Melody. Never had Max felt so relieved. He pressed his head to her chest and closed his eyes, trying to block out the room and the doctor.
“I can’t find anything wrong with him,” the doctor said. “We did a urine tap, and that was negative. We drew some blood and will send it to the lab. I’ll call you in a few days, but I don’t expect to find anything. Sometimes cats just do weird things. Has anything changed in your life? Most cats don’t like change, and that can cause uncharacteristic behavior. If he’s urinating in odd places, you might have to retrain him to use the litter box.” That was followed by barbaric and hideous retraining instructions that Max hoped Melody would ignore.
And then they left.
“I’m not going to shut him in the bathroom for two weeks,” Melody said, her voice fretful.
“That does seem extreme,” Joe said.
“I think it’s the change in routine.”
“You mean my staying over?”
“I’m just so worried. I never thought about anything happening to Max. Not for years anyway.”
“I have the feeling everything is going to be okay.”
That was something Max had been trying unsuccessfully to tell Melody for a long time.
Joe pulled up in front of Melody and Max’s house. Max couldn’t wait to get inside. He was quiet now, calm, but full of anticipation.
“The blood tests were just a precaution,” Joe said.
Instead of breaking them up, the trip to the vet seemed to have brought them closer together. And Joe’s concern and support had Max confused about dumping him.
Max may have been unsuccessful in getting rid of Joe, but that night, after Melody got off work, things were more like the old days. She brought him a treat and a special blend of organic catnip that made him go crazy for a full thirty minutes. Afterward, he and Melody watched television on the couch. There was almost no talk of Joe, and that night Max wasn’t shut out of the bedroom. Instead, he took his rightful place on the pillow next to Melody’s head.
Melody scratched his nose the way he liked. “Just you and me.”
But she sounded a little sad. Max almost wished he’d never found the gun.
Chapter 8
Melody dropped a pile of folded T-shirts into a cardboard box. “It’s called purging,” she told Max.
The house was still filled with David’s stuff. His shirts and pants and jackets still hung in the bedroom closet, and his jogging shoes sat on the floor in a neat row, as if he would come home at any moment.
Max meowed and circled once, arching his back, legs stiff.
“I know it’s unsettling,” Melody told him, “but it’s something I should have done a long time ago.”
It had been too hard right after David was killed. It hadn’t seemed right. Almost like she was throwing him away. And then later it was hard for a different reason, almost as if saying she’d forgotten him.
But she hadn’t.
She wouldn’t.
But keeping his clothes in the closet was just plain weird. And maybe a little crazy.
Max’s health scare had been a wake-up call for Melody. It made her realize that she cared for Joe even though she hadn’t known him that long. His being there when she’d taken Max to the vet, and his support afterward, went a long way toward proving he might be the right guy for her. How many men would have been so concerned about Max? None. And how many would have called or stopped by every day until the blood tests came back negative? None.
She’d been hiding. Maybe not physically, but mentally. Burying herself in work and the occasional awful night out with friends that almost always ended up with a stranger and a hangover. That wasn’t who she was.
She had to move on.
A knock at the front door was followed by a “Hello!” and a “Just me!”
“In here!” Melody shouted over her shoulder.
“I have coffee. Oh, hi Max.” Melody’s sister sidestepped Max and offered Melody a carryout cup from the shop up the street called Java Train. “Looks like you’re making headway.” Lola was dressed in cuffed jeans and a bright print top that showed off the tattoos on her arms. Her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, her head wrapped in a vintage orange scarf. You knew she was an artist the moment you saw her.
“The boxes are for Goodwill,” Melody said. “The trash bags-well, trash.”
Lola didn’t say it, but Melody sensed that her sister was relieved that this day had finally come. It was a concern that had gone unspoken among the whole family. They worried that Melody might never move on, might never be able to let go of David, even a little. Now the sisters chatted a while, drank their coffee, petted Max, then got down to business.
“Everything on the top shelf can stay.” Melody pointed. “I’ve already gone through it.”
“Is that David’s old laptop?” Lola pointed.
Melody nodded. She was an Apple girl, and the laptop was a Dell. More of a business model.
“Can I borrow it?” Lola asked. “Mine is in for repair, and it looks like it might be a while. They had to order a part.”
Melody reached up and retrieved the computer. “Go ahead.” She handed it to Lola. “You’ll have to charge it. It hasn’t been turned on since David died.”
The front door slammed again, and a male voice shouted, “Anybody home?”
Lola looked guilty. “I told him we were getting rid of some things, and he wanted to help.”
Their dad appeared in the doorway of the bedroom. Ben looked rugged and handsome with his wavy, graying hair, patched jeans, and leather sandals. They were a crew of bohemians, and unbelievably Melody was the most conservative of the bunch.
“I have the band’s van,” Ben said. “We can fill it up and I’ll take everything to wherever you want it to go.” He gave Melody a hug. He smelled like incense and secondhand smoke.
“Don’t you have a gig tonight?” she asked.
“We don’t load in until late afternoon. Either of you girls coming? You might like the opening band.”
It had been a while since Melody had gone to one of her dad’s shows. He was in several bands, and sometimes it was hard to keep up. Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t seen him play since David’s death. “I might do that.”
Once the purge was in motion, things moved quickly and in a matter of two hours the van was full.
That’s when Joe showed up.
As soon as he entered the house, it was easy to see he wanted to turn around and run. “I didn’t mean to intrude,” he said, managing to pull himself together after unintentionally stepping into what was
obviously a family gathering. “I stopped to see how Max was doing.”
Introductions were made. Of course father and sister were curious about Melody’s new guy, but that curiosity seemed to go especially deep for Ben who couldn’t quit staring at Joe. He finally broke down and said: “You look really familiar. Have we met somewhere?”
Joe shifted uneasily. “Not that I can recall.”
“Are you in a band?”
“No.”
“Dad’s a musician,” Melody explained. “Maybe he saw you at a show.”
Melody was once again reminded that she knew very little about Joe, not even what kind of music he listened to, if any. If he like country, the bad kind of country… Wow. That would be tough.
Joe left as soon as he possibly could without coming across as rude. Hands on his hips, Ben watched the younger man’s departure through the living room window. “I’ve seen him before.”
A feeling of unease crept through Melody.
Outside a car door slammed, an engine turned over, and Joe pulled away from the curb and roared down the street.
“Remember Chris, my old bandmate?” Ben turned around. “The one whose kid got tangled up with the gang that was busted for illegal firearms? I’m pretty sure your buddy Joe was involved in that somehow. He was hanging around some of those seedy people.”
Melody’s first reaction was one of disbelief. But then she started thinking about the very things that had been bugging her about Joe. If what her dad said was true, it would explain a lot. Why Joe never talked about himself. Why she’d never gone to his place. Maybe he was a drug dealer. Maybe he was dealing out of his house.
From the kitchen, water stopped splashing in the sink. A moment later Lola appeared, drying her hand on a white towel with pink cats. Her gaze shifted from Ben to Melody. “What’s this about Joe?”
“I thought he was just a nice guy who worked at a shelter.” Melody rubbed her forehead, trying to clear the muddle there. Joe. Was his name really Joe?
