Something Worth Saving

by Sandi Ward

  “We should?” Mom asks anxiously, as if coming out of a dream. She grabs the edge of the blanket on the bed as if she’s ready to pull it up over her head and hide herself under it.

  “Yeah.” Mark’s eyes light up. “I want to shampoo your hair. I think it would be romantic.”

  Mom looks positively alarmed.

  I, on the other hand, am amused. I look from one to the other.

  I know what “romantic” means. Sort of. When Victoria uses that word, her eyes flutter upward and she sighs.

  I have never heard Mom use that word. Not once.

  “Look,” she says, swallowing. “Just wait a minute. Here’s the thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s just that . . .” Mom frowns and tips her head. “I’m not really . . . You know . . .” She seems genuinely perplexed. “So my hair will get wet?”

  Mark raises his eyebrows. “Yes, it will. That is exactly how I want to do it. By getting your hair wet. That is, in fact, essential to the process of shampooing.” He leans forward so he can put both hands on her hips. “Please don’t say no.”

  I can see Mom is still not sure about this, but she starts to relax again, her shoulders dropping. Mark leans forward to kiss her ear, and she tips her head to the side to give him access to her neck. Mom’s eyes close when he presses his fingers into her hip bone.

  She reminds me of when someone scratches at the base of my tail. I always stop moving, arch my backbone, and lean into it.

  “C’mon, please. Now.” He kisses her again. Her cheek. Her mouth. “Please. Now. Shower. Don’t make me beg. Okay, never mind, too late. Please. I’m begging you. Right now.”

  Mom smiles and nods, and then she gets up, and they go into her bathroom. I can see she is finally over her nerves.

  After all, it’s just Mark. He is our friend.

  I hear the water running, and my humans talking and laughing. It is nice to have a minute to stretch out on the scratchy wool blanket on the bed before they come kick me off. I watch the ceiling fan turn in a slow circle.

  When they finally emerge from the shower, Mom comes first, wrapped in a towel. Mark wears nothing at all, and while it looks like he has dried himself, his body is still pink from the heat of the water.

  Mom approaches me and pets my back absentmindedly; for good luck, perhaps. I blink at her.

  It’s fine, I want to tell her. This will be easier than you think.

  Mating is easy. Every creature in nature must do it.

  But I know why she is nervous. Humans have all kinds of quirks, and who knows what this man wants exactly? First, the shower. What could be next?

  Mark walks up behind her and wraps his arms around her. He buries his face in her neck, and she shivers when his wet hair skims her shoulder.

  Mom clears her throat. “Maybe we should talk this through one more time.” I understand that she is teasing from her tone.

  “This first,” Mark insists. “Talk later.”

  “But are you sure you’re ready this time?”

  He slides his hands up over the towel that still hides her body. “Yes. Definitely, yes. I would say that I could not possibly be more ready.”

  Mom’s hand lingers on my back just a moment more, and I give her a nod. She allows Mark to turn her around.

  He is young—at least, younger than Dad. I imagine that to him this feels important, and urgent. Mom lets him steer her onto the bed. I get to my feet and jump down to the rug. The wet towel comes flying onto the floor and lands beside me with a thwump.

  I close my eyes to wait. This could take a while.

  Or, maybe not. As I said, he is young.

  One way Mark is different from Dad is that he talks to Mom the whole time. Dad approached mating with quiet intensity, and sometimes he had trouble with it, unable to focus. But Mark speaks to Mom, as if they are still having a conversation, even though Mom does not join in except to encourage him quietly. I imagine Mark is saying things she wants to hear, because soon she is nodding and practically purring.

  I wonder how long this will take. I hate it when anything delays my bedtime. I tune them out for a while, cleaning my paws with my tongue. When I am done with that I let myself nod off, until something catches my ear and jolts me awake.

  When I glance up, I notice that Mark moves around a lot, shifting Mom this way and that, changing positions. It is unlike anything I ever saw Dad do, and it seems completely unnecessary, if you ask me. Mark is certainly enthusiastic.

  I’m rather glad Gretel isn’t here for this. She’d probably just catnap on the rug with me, but it might make her anxious.

  A little later—and it seems so strange, but—I hear, loud and clear, Mom take the Lord’s name in vain. This is something she never, ever does.

  My ears quiver at that! My goodness!

  Has she hurt herself?

  Mark laughs, and Mom says something quietly to him. But I can’t hear what it is, and it makes me anxious. I want this to go well for Mom.

  I jump up on the bed again to check on her, to see if she is mad at Mark. But when I land lightly at the foot of the bed, I see he crouches above her, and she is pushing the hair from his eyes, looking at him so fondly that I think she has lost her mind.

  She smiles broadly when he beams down at her. Mark has waited and gone through an elaborate mating ritual to get to this point. And now: triumph. He has made Mom happy. Mom reaches up and wraps both arms around his shoulders and pulls him down so he will lie on top of her.

  Well!

  I turn right around and jump back down. Mom isn’t even done with him yet. She doesn’t need my help at all.

  I lay on the rug and purr. There’s almost nothing I enjoy more than seeing my humans happy.

  I finally get up, stretch, and go out of the room. The house is dark and still, and it is time for me to make my rounds downstairs. Near the fireplace, I watch a daddy longlegs spider crawl along the floorboards before I toy with it, batting it with my paw. The spider finally escapes through a crack just as I’m about to eat him. I look out the sliding glass door into the woods and peer at the big fat owl that perches in a nearby evergreen tree. He’s beautiful. He stares at me, wide-eyed, but otherwise does not move.

  Hoo hoo! I wish I could call to him.

  The house is so still that I can hear Mom and Mark talking to each other for a long time. The words pour out of them. I get the impression that they have saved up a lot to say. And then I hear Mom drying her hair with a hair dryer. Finally, all is quiet other than the patter of light rain on the roof, and I know they are finally sleeping.

  * * *

  In the early hours of the morning, just before the sun rises, I hear a strange moaning sound. It worries me. I decide to go back and check on Mom. As I slink up the stairs, I realize that it is definitely Mom who is making the noise. I think she may be crying.

  My heart starts pounding in my chest. Mom was so happy. Whatever could have gone wrong?

  Did Mark do something he should not have done? I hurry into her bedroom.

  I dash across the rug and leap right up onto the bed. But I freeze when I see they are sitting up, Mom wrapped in Mark’s arms. She looks very vulnerable, and I don’t just mean because she is undressed. She has collapsed into him, and he cradles her with a look of worry and surprise.

  “I’m sorry,” she sobs. “I’m sorry. I’ve been with Jeremy for so long. It’s just that I never thought . . .” She squeezes Mark’s arm so hard I think that she must be hurting him. But he is strong, so I think the pain that registers on his face is caused by her words. “I feel like I’m betraying him.”

  She smashes her face against Mark’s chest, and he tries to shush her. “It’s okay. Katie. It’s okay, sweetheart. This was going to happen. No matter what. You couldn’t have done anything differently. I’ve wanted you for a long time. There was nothing that was going to keep up apart. I love you and—”

  “No. DON’T.” She rips herself out of his arms and lies down, turning over
and away from him. “Oh God. I’m so sorry. This is my fault. This is all my fault. Please don’t tell Jeremy.”

  Mark’s face goes pale. “But you didn’t do anything wrong. From the minute I saw you, I knew we were going to be together. I just knew. It was fate. I don’t think you could have changed the course of events.”

  “Don’t be stupid.” She reaches over for a tissue and blows her nose. “We always have a choice.” Her face is splotchy and swollen from the tears. “And you don’t know how things will turn out. No one ever knows. You don’t know everything. I still love Jeremy. He’s just not well.”

  Oh.

  Oh!

  I don’t know who is more shocked. Me or Mark.

  Mark watches her. But she does not turn back to him or say anything else. She lies still, eyes shut, clutching the tissue.

  He and I make eye contact. It hurts, and I wince. His eyes are wide with disbelief. I hardly know this man, but we have bonded. And now I think I am witnessing something I have not seen before.

  I think Mom is breaking his heart.

  “Mark. I’m sorry. What I mean is this,” Mom clarifies all in a rush, speaking over her shoulder. “We are definitely getting divorced. For sure. I cannot live with him anymore. But it still hurts. That’s all.”

  Mark stares at the back of her head for a long time. He finally retreats, lying down and pulling the covers over himself. He stares up at the ceiling and chews on the inside of his mouth. I think he is stunned by what Mom has said.

  Maybe Mark was right when he told Mom they should wait. Perhaps, even now, it was too soon. Maybe they both weren’t really ready for this.

  The problem might be that for Mark, this is: love. That’s what I heard him say.

  And just maybe, for Mom, this is: something else. I’m not sure what. But if not love, then what is it? I’m as confused as Mark is.

  And while my loyalties are with Mom, I climb right over her, pushing off of her leg to get to Mark. I curl up next to him, my backbone pressing into his side, and he strokes my fur. As I knew he would. I have figured out that he is desperate to care for someone, to express love, and to have it rejected must be painful.

  I don’t understand what darkness drives humans to hurt each other when they are so close to some kind of connection. I can’t fathom what causes humans to act in ways that are harmful to those they love.

  It is extremely baffling.

  Maybe Mom can’t return Mark’s affections right now, but I can. And I do. I purr as loud as I can.

  * * *

  In the early morning, I wake at the foot of the bed to see Mark curled up behind Mom, who is still turned away from him. The movement of his foot causes me to jump up, and I look to see he is awake. When Mom begins to move, he rolls her over onto her back, so his face will be the first thing she sees.

  It’s funny, but Dad’s face has never been very expressive. He looks as smooth as a river rock much of the time. You cannot tell what he is thinking. Mark’s face, in contrast, is completely open and easy to read. I can tell it affects Mom from the way she rests her hand gently on his cheek.

  Mark looks very tired. He is not excited the way he was last night.

  “I’m not a way station you can visit between the time Jeremy leaves and the day you welcome him back here with open arms.”

  “I know,” Mom says, running her fingers through his glossy black hair. “I’m sorry about last night.” Her face is pink from crying in the early morning.

  “I’m not a toy for you to play with while waiting for your husband to come home.”

  “I know. I understand.” She tugs at a wave of hair that falls over his ear, and gives him a sleepy smile. “I didn’t mean what I said. I mean—I did, but I’m sorry I fell apart.”

  “I’m not here for your temporary amusement. I have a heart.”

  “I have a heart too.” Mom runs her thumb over his mouth. “Listen. I told you. We’re definitely getting divorced. This is just new. And scary.”

  Mark winces, as if in pain. “Ah, Katie. It’s scary for me too.” He lays his head down on her chest, and she cradles his head in both hands. His hand moves across her stomach, and she draws in a deep breath.

  Last night, I thought they were both having fun. But now, they are very careful and gentle with each other.

  “If you want me to just leave, okay. That’s okay. I’ll give Vincent some excuse about why I have to quit. I don’t want to be here if this is just some kind of experiment for you, or whatever. I’m not interested in being—”

  “Shhh, Mark. Stop. Stop.” She glances down at the top of his head, and then back up at the ceiling. “That’s not what this is.”

  Mom pulls him up until she can turn his head to hers. She kisses him, and easily gets him started all over again. He melts right into her advances, with no further protests. His desire is right at the surface, quickly ignited.

  Dad’s love, in contrast, runs deep. I think Dad’s love runs so deep, it has perhaps been buried under mountains of worry and despair, the care of three children, and a difficult job, and a house that needs repairing, and a yard that needs constant tending. Dad has suffered in ways that I don’t understand.

  But perhaps I am being unfair to Mark. I am not trying to compare him to Dad. He is my friend, and he has suffered too. He needs love as much as the next person.

  Mark fulfills Mom’s every need. Whatever she asks him to do, he does. However her body moves, he responds. But he doesn’t talk like he did the night before. Which worries me.

  I don’t fully understand. I thought Mom wanted Mark as her mate. If that is true, she has gotten what she wants. So what’s the matter?

  I jump down from the bed when Mom accidentally bumps me with her leg. There are still things that puzzle me about the humans, and it is possible I don’t know everything going on in Mom’s head and heart.

  The only human I know completely is my sweet Charlie. And Mark is going to help Charlie, isn’t he? So we need Mark.

  We need him! Oh, Mom.

  Mom does not have to love Mark. But I also think we cannot afford for her to cast him aside.

  It’s important that Mark stay. I think of all the things I could do to win him over and keep him interested in me, and demonstrate to Mom how much we need him. I have noticed that he likes to cuddle me like a baby. Something about me is comforting to him.

  The day is coming when Charlie’s bully will be exposed and caught. I hope Mark will help us get that done.

  Soon after, Charlie will reconcile with Dad. And I believe Charlie will realize that he is in love with his best friend Karen. Everything will be wonderful!

  I’m not sure why it’s taking Charlie so long to express his love to Karen in the same way I’ve watched Aidan fall for Victoria. But I’m not worried.

  I remember last summer there was a girl Kevin would bring home sometimes to have dinner with the family. He kissed this girl a few times on the back deck when no one was looking. He was always putting his arm around her and leaning in close. The girl did seem to like Kevin very much, but she also sometimes fended him off with her hand on his chest. I thought he was a bit rude. I could see it was too much for that nice girl.

  Charlie is a sweet boy. He would never be so pushy. He is what Mom would call a “gentleman,” polite and kind. So naturally I think it is just fine that Charlie is taking his time with Karen. When he is ready, he will declare his devotion in a respectful way.

  I know this day is coming. I know it in my heart. If only I could help it get here sooner.

  Chapter 22

  Bright Yellow Gloves

  Some time later, the sun streams in through the slats, bright and intense. It’s going to be a lovely day.

  Mark has fallen back to sleep and Mom is lazily rolling over in bed when she and I both hear her phone chirp. She reaches over toward her bedside table and fumbles for the phone.

  Staring at the screen, she sits up, one hand holding the bedsheet up over her chest. It takes her a mo
ment to register whatever it is she sees there.

  Mom reaches over and puts a hand on Mark’s arm. “Get dressed.” She climbs out of the bed, reaching to grab her bath towel off the floor. Walking over to the dresser, she flings open a drawer and pulls out clean clothes.

  Mark wipes his eyes, and props himself up on one elbow. Once he sees how urgently Mom is getting dressed, and the worried look on her face, he gets up out of bed.

  By the time Dad and the kids come in through the front door, Mark is in the back room near the bookshelves. Mom has taken many bottles out of the refrigerator, and they are all over the counter. She has bright yellow gloves on her hands, and her hair is in a bun up on top of her head.

  “Hey, Vicky,” Mom calls out. “Once you get unpacked, can you come help me a minute? I’m cleaning out the fridge, and I want to check the expiration dates on everything.”

  Victoria walks in, backpack slung on her back. She takes a quick glance over at the study, and sees Mark measuring a shelf. He does not turn from his work to say hello. Victoria surveys the mess on the counter. “Sure, Mom.”

  As Victoria exits, she passes Dad, who is just entering the kitchen. Gretel follows his every step, sniffing his hand.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m just cleaning. You guys are back earlier than I expected.”

  “Yeah. They asked me to take a late shift today in Boston. So I’ve got to get going.”

  Dad turns, and finally sees Mark. He must have seen the black truck parked outside. But I can tell from the way Dad’s eyes light up for a moment in astonishment that he was not expecting to see Mark.

  Dad seems genuinely shocked. I can only assume he thought it was Vincent who was here.

  But Mark is different from Vincent. Vincent is a neighbor with a wife who has cancer, and a construction business, and neat hair and glasses, and three children.

  In contrast, Mark is an unknown factor, at least to Dad. All Dad can probably see is that he is younger and taller and wears casual clothes and has black hair that he does not brush. He is a stranger taking up room in the family house.

  Dad’s look changes. Slowly. It darkens into an expression that is hard for me to interpret. But it is not friendly.