by Sandi Ward
Honestly, I’m not sure Mom is listening very carefully to what Mark is saying, and the tone of his voice. I’ve never heard anyone so sure of anything in my life. Mark is certainly not going to leave.
“We’re still married,” she says, all in a rush, “And Jeremy doesn’t understand why all these people are in the house. You heard him. He’s going through a rough time. And he . . .”
“He had a gun.” Mark states this as simply as possible, as if it might have somehow escaped Mom that Dad had a gun. But in my experience, when Dad reveals his gun, it is all anyone can think about or remember.
Mom searches for the words. “I know. And he’s not feeling well. That’s all. He would never—But I don’t know about . . .” It is so, so hard for Mom to say these words. She nearly chokes with the effort. “I think you should go. I mean, you saw how fast Vincent ran out of here, didn’t you?” Mom’s voice sounds strained all of a sudden. Upset. “And he’s been friends with me a long time. A very, very long time.” She swallows back her words, but another tear comes. She rips her hand away, so she can gesture toward the door, and Mark lets go of her wrist. “Vincent has been a very good friend to me. And he RAN out of here. Don’t you understand? HE RAN.”
Mark blinks, staring at her. He leans forward, so his abdomen presses tighter against her knees. “I’m not going anywhere.” He tips his head, as if not sure if he should go on, but then plunges ahead: “Jeremy was so drunk I’m surprised he could stand up in front of you without falling over.”
So drunk? My ears twitch.
I’m not exactly sure what this means. Dad sometimes drinks so much medicine that it makes him sleepy and cranky. So I guess this is what Mark means.
“Shhhhhh,” Mom waves her hands frantically, with a glance toward the doorway.
Mark’s face crumples in a frown. “What, the kids? Don’t they know? You don’t think they already know? Katie . . . seriously?”
“They don’t. At least—not the extent of it.” She whispers now, face flushed pink. A trembling hand wipes a tear from her cheek. “I didn’t understand at first. He hides it well. I mean, he’s been a big drinker for years, but he’s not a . . . He doesn’t drink in front of the kids. It’s just that—things changed a year ago. Something terrible happened to him. And everything got worse.”
I blink. I remember when Dad came home from the hospital.
A year ago. It was a dark time. But I didn’t understand that it would affect us for so long. I didn’t realize it would change things forever.
Mark’s shoulders slump. He finally relaxes a bit. I can see he understands something that he didn’t know before, from the way his gaze drops away from Mom and he stares down at her knees. But whatever it is that he is processing at the moment, I have to admit I don’t share his understanding.
They are in agreement that something is wrong with Dad. I can see it too. But I still don’t know exactly what it is that needs fixing.
“I’m starting to get the picture. You don’t talk about anything around here.”
Mom just shrugs.
“I’m going to stay here tonight,” Mark says quietly. “Just—on the couch. In case he comes back.”
“No. Mark, the kids will—”
“We’ll tell them my truck broke down. Or I’m having some rooms painted in my apartment, so I can’t sleep there. Or something.” He reaches for her hand again, wrapping his palm around her delicate fingers and gripping them tightly. I imagine he is warming her up.
It is Mom who finally unwinds now, nodding and letting her head fall ever so slightly. “Okay.”
I think there is something about a human who has his mind made up that makes other humans simply give in sometimes. When someone is certain he is right, beyond all reasoning, why argue?
These are things humans do that cats never do: Talk in circles. Quarrel. Reason. Insist that they know best.
It’s exhausting to listen to. But I’m glad Mom is giving in to Mark and his persistent heart. Maybe this is just what Mom needs: someone to give her his full attention.
Perhaps . . . perhaps it is true, that Mom needs a new mate. Maybe Dad does scare Mom sometimes. He certainly upsets her. It would hurt my heart to learn that Dad really isn’t coming back. But I do want Mom to be happy. I don’t know if it is good timing for this sort of thing, but Mark is here now. Right now. And I like him very much.
Later, when Mom explains to the children that Mark is staying overnight because his sister is visiting from out of town and she needs his bed, they are surprised. Kevin grumbles about it, suspicious. But Mom orders in food, more than they can possibly eat, and they seem to come to terms with it.
Mom and Mark have the study to themselves for a while. They talk, and eat, and listen to music. Kevin takes his plate of food and disappears upstairs to his bedroom. Charlie and Victoria sit in the living room at the front of the house, eating in front of the TV. Gretel paces, hungry and waiting for leftovers.
When Charlie finishes eating and puts his tray of food on the coffee table, I snuggle down on his lap. “Hi, baby doll,” he coos at me, tickling my ears.
Hello, sweet boy.
Charlie and Victoria watch a show that interests them greatly. They frequently comment on and shout at the screen. Yet sometimes Mark’s laughter and Mom’s voice can be heard, even over the noise of the TV. It is a small house, and noises travel.
“Oh my God,” Charlie groans, turning to his sister to speak to her in a hushed tone. I lift my head as he leans over me. “What is going on back there? What could possibly be so funny?”
Victoria gives him a look. “I think it’s good,” she decides aloud. “It’s good for Mom. To have a friend. An admirer. She deserves to be happy. Right?”
Charlie raises an eyebrow. “I guess so. I mean, yeah, of course she should be happy. It’s still a little weird. No, it’s a lot weird. But yeah, I guess it’s okay.” He looks skeptical, but nods. I know Charlie respects his older sister’s opinion. “What’s Mark’s deal, though? Isn’t he younger than Mom? And he’s a lawyer, but he’s here all the time building bookshelves.”
“I don’t know.” Victoria shrugs. “Does it matter? I mean, if Mom’s happy, maybe those things aren’t important.” She pulls at one of the small braids she has woven into her long dark hair. “You talked to him, right? And you said you liked him.” She reaches under her thigh to scratch the back of her knee. “What’s going on with that, by the way? Have you given Mark some information he can act on? Like, the name of the kid who’s bullying you?”
Charlie sighs, and turns away. “No. No, I don’t want to do that.”
Victoria’s nostrils flare. “Are you kidding me?” She reaches out to shove his leg. “How is Mark supposed to help you when you won’t tell him anything?”
Charlie moves to lean back on the other end of the couch when he sees his sister start to get frustrated. He pulls me up onto his chest with two hands. His shirt is soft under my paws.
“Vic, leave me alone. I’ll talk to him when I’m ready. You think this is front page news? Oooh, someone grabbed me. Big deal. You think no one has ever given me a hard time before? You think I don’t know how much worse everything will get when I tell someone? Jesus. Just watch the goddamn show.”
Victoria frowns and shifts in her seat. I’m sure she doesn’t like to hear this from Charlie any more than I do.
She bites her lip for a moment, and then her face relaxes. “Charlie,” she says in a teasing voice, “Don’t curse. You’re only fourteen. Do you think it makes you sound cool, or something?”
Charlie responds with a bunch of phrases I’ve never heard him say before. I won’t try to repeat them. There are several bad words mixed in there.
I feel my eyes widening and ears flattening. Charlie! I’m surprised. As I’ve mentioned, Mom doesn’t like cursing. But it’s nothing worse than what I’ve heard Dad say.
Victoria gasps in mock surprise, and Charlie laughs. He grabs a handful of popcorn from a big bowl at his feet and throws
it at her. She ducks her head, but several kernels land in her hair. He shelters me when she throws some back at him.
Our heads all turn as Kevin comes down the stairs with his dinner plate to bring it to the kitchen. He’s a good boy, always completing his chores. He comes over to talk to us.
“Don’t talk to that guy,” he warns Charlie in a low voice. “I don’t trust him. Dad wouldn’t like him.”
“Kevin, knock it off.” Victoria clucks her tongue. “Mark’s okay.”
Kevin continues to stand there, and Charlie shifts in his seat. His whole body tenses up. “Leave me alone,” Charlie says, but in a quiet voice. “I’ll talk to whoever I want to.”
“Don’t talk to him. Dad would agree with me. Are you listening to me?”
“Kevin.” Victoria gasps in exasperation. “Get out of here. We’re watching our show.”
I can hear Charlie’s heart beating hard from my seat on his lap. Even after Kevin has gone to the kitchen, Charlie’s hands shake as he strokes my back.
Kevin’s not making this any easier. I scowl in frustration.
* * *
Later, after the children say good night to Mom, she loads the dishwasher and turns out most of the lights. She goes upstairs for a few minutes to put her pajamas on. Then she comes back down and sits next to Mark on the couch.
It looks cozy! I jump up to sit with her.
While they watch TV, Mom slumps down with her head very close to Mark’s shoulder. He takes a sideways glance at her, but otherwise sits very still. He reminds me of myself, when I’m watching Gretel out of the corner of my eye, wondering what her next move will be.
I glance up at Mom. She is wearing a thin gray sweater wrapped tight around her body, even though it’s a nice spring evening. Usually, she cinches the belt in a double knot so it stays closed. But tonight the belt is tied in a bow that could be undone with a quick pull.
I wonder if Mark has noticed that. Of course, he hasn’t seen her wear the sweater before, so he doesn’t know the difference.
But I find it a little amusing. To me, it is a clue that she likes him. As if she is ready to be unwrapped. But I am the only creature on earth who is in a position to notice this particular evidence.
Mark is very alert. I can sense, for the first time, the strong pheromones he is giving off in the darkness of the quiet room. The scent I sense rising from his skin makes my whiskers tingle. In contrast, Mom gets sleepier, her eyes starting to close, and she contently rests the weight of her entire body back into the couch.
“I’m sorry,” she says, not taking her eyes off of the TV. “I didn’t mean for all this to happen.”
“It’s fine.” His arm is thrown up across the back of the couch behind her, but he glances down as if he’s trying to figure out how to get his arm over her shoulder and can’t quite figure out how to do it. “I’ve been trying to get you to invite me to stay for dinner for a while now, but you’ve never taken the bait before.”
“Hmmmm.” Mom makes that sound she’s made before, where it sounds a little like she’s purring. She runs her tongue over her upper lip. “You’re the chef, not me. But you’ve never offered to cook.”
Mark shakes his head. “I don’t cook. I just bake. You know, cake and bread and stuff like that. But I’m pretty good at picking out meat and cheese and crackers from the store, if you ever want that for dinner. And I’m pretty good at making breakfast.” His face starts to flush, as if he realizes that he has said something embarrassing.
Mom smiles. She nods and closes her eyes briefly, as if imagining the dinner he might bring, or the breakfast he might make. Her eyes snap open again, and she glances around the study. She sighs. “Sometimes I wonder how my life ended up this way. How I got here.”
Mark makes a sound of agreement. “You and me both.” He pauses. “But you have a nice life, a cute house. Great kids.”
“I know.” Mom sounds weary. “That’s all true. I’m lucky.” Her voice fades. “Very lucky.”
Mom lays her free hand on her thigh, open and palm-side up. I think this is an invitation to hold her hand, but a subtle one. She has made a move where if Mark doesn’t respond, it will be okay for everyone. No one’s feelings will be bruised. After all, Mark is her friend, and he has declared his intention to stay over, so that part of it is already settled. But Mark immediately notices and reaches over to take her hand with his free hand, closing his fingers around hers.
Mom’s eyes flick up toward Mark, and then back to the TV. She suddenly looks more awake.
I see a change in Mark’s face, the way his eyes brighten. “I’m sorry, Katie. Everyone will take care of you,” he says in a softer voice.
“Thank you.”
I am surprised at Mom. She has never needed anyone to “take care” of her. But she does not protest.
They keep watching the TV for several more minutes, but I can see neither one is actually paying much attention. Mom’s cheeks are turning pink. Mark fidgets a little bit, as if he has an itch somewhere but is afraid to scratch it.
Mark suddenly straightens up, and Mom turns to face him. The glow from the television in the dark room flickers bright and then dim. When Mom gives him a sleepy smile, he doesn’t smile back, for once. Instead he nods, as if to acknowledge that he understands why she’s happy. But he looks very serious about it.
Hmm. I think that if anything is going to happen between them, it must take place now. I don’t believe this can wait any longer.
He hesitates for a moment, and then leans forward to kiss her on the mouth. He moves slowly, as if he doesn’t want to startle her. As if he might bruise her if he presses too hard.
Ah! I knew it. I’m so smart.
Pulling back, he searches Mom’s face to check her reaction. I think this kiss is a question, as much as it is a statement.
That was a good move. Mom is entranced, her eyes locked on his. She is so focused on Mark that if the paintings were to fall off the walls around her right now, I don’t think she would notice.
I anticipate Mom will say yes. There are many reasons she might say no. But I believe she truly wants to say yes.
She reaches up with one hand and sinks her fingers into Mark’s hair—right where he put her hand earlier, just above his ear—and pulls him back to her with fierce intensity. Her body almost comes up out of her seat as she throws herself into a new kiss. He rocks backward with the force of her assault.
Well!
If he is surprised, it only takes him a moment to recover. If he wasn’t exactly sure how Mom felt before, there can be no doubt about it now. He redoubles his effort, pushing back against her.
This much is true: Mark doesn’t need to treat Mom as if she’s made of eggshell. She’s made of flesh and blood.
Mark holds her with one hand on her waist and puts his other hand on her back, pulling her into him. Mom reaches for his shoulder. She grabs the material of his shirt in her fist and pulls hard, as if she might tear it right off him.
This is a little surprising! Mom is not usually impulsive. But I have to assume she knows what she’s doing.
Mom unties the belt of her sweater in one move and shrugs it off of her shoulders. Mark helps her peel it from her arms and throws it on the floor.
Mom’s nice soft sweater. On the floor! Is that what we do with clothes around here? No, it is not.
It is shocking that Mom permits him to toss her sweater on the dirty floor. But Mom does not get angry. She resumes kissing him, with energy. It is as if he just told her he must leave immediately for some faraway land and she cannot bear to let him go.
And—goodness. Under her sweater, Mom does not have on her usual pajama shirt. No, she is wearing a new top. It is small. And lacy. And black.
Black? That’s not a color Mom wears. Not ever.
Victoria? Yes, she wears black. Mom? No. Never.
Mark grabs one of the stringy straps that holds up her top and pulls it right down off her shoulder. He bows his head to kiss her bare colla
rbone.
Okay, this is not what I expected at all. Have they had a conversation that I was not aware of? When was all this decided? Is this completely normal human behavior?
It is only when Mom’s hands move to his belt that Mark stops, glassy-eyed, and stills her hand. “Sweetheart, I don’t think—”
Mom’s eyes widen. She doesn’t let go of his belt.
His face is just a few inches from hers. “Katie,” he whispers. “We should wait.”
“Wait? What?” She purses her lips, thinking. Slowly, her shoulders relax. “Oh.” She swallows.
“I don’t mean for a long time. Just a few days. Until we have the house to ourselves.”
“Are you afraid Jeremy will come back and find us together?” Mom sounds like she is struggling to keep her voice light. But I know she is concerned.
“No. No. Definitely no. It’s not that at all.” Mark pulls his hair off his forehead, but it just falls back where it was. “I mean . . . yeah, maybe it’s that, too.” He nods. “But mostly I was thinking that one of your kids could come down here anytime, for a drink of water or something. We’d both be distracted, worrying about being interrupted.”
Mom lets go of his belt and puts her hands on his arms. When I glance at her face, I can see her desperation. “I don’t think they’ll come down here. They’re all in bed.”
“Katie. Listen.” He tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. He has very expressive eyes, and they watch her carefully, making sure she understands. “Let’s wait. Because when we really do this, I’m going to want your complete and undivided attention.” He relaxes, resting his forehead against hers and closing his eyes. “I think about you all the time. All the time, every day. It’s making me crazy. This is the first thing I’ve wanted in a long time. So I want it to be good. I don’t want it to be quick. And I don’t want it to be quiet. I want to have all night with you.”
Well! Okay, then. I turn to see Mom’s reaction. When he pulls away to look at her, I can still see her expression.
What I think I see in her face is: disappointment. Maybe: a flash of anger. But mostly: desire. Whether by design or just from his sheer honesty, he has whipped Mom up into a frenzy. She doesn’t want to wait. She wants to pounce on him.
