by Sandi Ward
Mark’s mouth drops open. “No. No, that’s not at all what I—”
“Did anyone mention to you that I got shot?”
Mark frowns and squints at Dad. “What?”
I don’t understand. Dad got shot? What does he mean?
With a gun?
Dad lifts up his shirt to reveal a scar on his lower stomach. I’ve seen that scar before. I didn’t know what it was from. I never thought much about it at all.
“Oh, yeah. On the job. While at work, so I could take care of my family, a drug dealer shot me. I was in the hospital for three days. I took the drugs they prescribed for me, and if I got hooked, well . . . That’s just how it goes sometimes. You know. Tough luck, buddy. You’re screwed. Better luck next time. Too bad you still have to get up for work every day and work through the pain.” Dad drops the shirt. “Kate flushed my pills, and I’m glad she did because I don’t want to be a loser drug addict like the guys I chase down every day. But now I sometimes need a drink. That’s not against the law. Okay? It’s not the end of the world. I’m sorry if she thinks that ruins life for everyone.” He clears his throat. “But listen. Whenever you start thinking about how superior you are to me in taking care of a family, remember where I’ve been.” He glares at Mark until the younger man must look away.
“Jeremy,” Mark says to the floor, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“I have to go,” Dad blurts out. He turns to slam open the screen door. He walks quickly down the front steps and out to his car.
“Wait,” Mark calls after him, but Dad is already opening his car door.
“No, no. I’m leaving. You’re right,” Dad yells from the driveway. “You’re the better man for the job. My turn is over. Good luck with it.” He shakes his head, disgusted, and gets in the car.
Mark watches from the doorway, halfway in and halfway out, as Dad drives away. He takes in a deep breath and it comes out in a sigh.
Finally, Mom comes jogging up the street. Her cheeks are pink from the exertion.
She smiles at Mark until she sees the expression on his face.
“What’s wrong?”
Mark opens the door wider, so I can step outside, and he follows me. He gently closes the screen door behind him. “Jeremy was here.”
“What?” Her eyes open wider. “And? What happened?”
Mark takes a step out into the bright spring sunshine, and has to shield his eyes. From the top step, he looks down at Mom.
“I think I made a mistake. I said the wrong thing.”
Mom swings around frantically to look back down the road, to check if she can still see Dad’s car, but he is long gone. There is nothing to see but the canopy of trees overhanging the road on one side, the tall marsh grass that grows right up to the edge of the crumbling pavement from the other side, and a thin layer of dust hanging in the air. “What do you mean? You said something?” Her voice gets higher as she asks more questions. “What did you say? Was he upset?”
Mark stands there, averting his gaze from the direct sun. He has his hands on his hips, and doesn’t look at Mom. “Am I taking advantage of you?”
“What?” She runs right up to the bottom step and looks up at Mark, her hands outstretched toward him. “What are you talking about? What did you say to Jeremy?”
When Mark finally lifts his head to look at her, he is weary all over again. It’s that flash of sadness I sometimes recognize. Most of the time, he hides it well. But right now the light washes him out, and the grief is plain to see.
“I love your house, and your family, and your life. I do. But that’s only because I love you. I’m not trying to replace Jeremy. How could I possibly replace him? I didn’t mean that he has no place here, or that your whole family has given up on him.”
“Mark. Is that what you said to him?”
“No, but . . .” He brushes his hair off his forehead with his hand, but it just falls back down where it was. “I’m so stupid. Vincent is right. I’m a walking disaster. I ruin everything I touch.”
“That’s not true.” Mom stands as stiff as a board. Her voice is stern. “That is one hundred percent not true.”
He looks at her, bewildered. “I don’t get it, Katie. Why do you want to throw away one broken person for another? What’s the point? You think I’m going to be any better than Jeremy? I’m starting to question if I ever could be better than him. There’s a lot about him I didn’t know or understand.”
“Stop. Just stop it. Right now.” Mom’s hands are pink, and she squeezes them tight by her sides.
“I’m sorry. Maybe you should call him. Maybe you should take him back.” Mark walks right by Mom without touching her. Mom’s eyes follow him, but he doesn’t look at her.
Oh! I don’t like this one bit. Everyone is being very unkind.
Mom watches him go, and starts shivering in anger. I can tell she is upset, the way her pale face lights up in surprise.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Mom yells after him. “HEY. What is wrong with you?”
Mark, whose hand is already on the door handle of his truck, whirls around. His eyes flash, his nostrils flair, and he looks furious.
I don’t like this at all. Both Mom and Mark seem to be itching for a fight, and I’m not sure why. I think Dad being here has made them both anxious.
“Let me go,” he growls. “I just need to think.”
“What do you mean, maybe I should take him back? Why in the world would you say that?”
Mark rubs his face with his hand, way too hard, like he is trying to wipe off his freckles. He looks tired. “Why do you think I would say that?” When Mark sees Mom has no reply, he goes on: “Why didn’t you ever tell me Jeremy got shot at work? You never explained that part, how he got hooked on painkillers after getting shot in the stomach. That seems like something that could happen to anybody. Do you just . . . throw men out when you get tired of them?”
Mom’s head jerks back slightly. “What?” She almost gasps in surprise. “Yes. Okay. He got shot. But that’s not when Jeremy started drinking. That’s just when it got SO MUCH WORSE.” Her voice catches on these last words. “Why do you assume you know what I’ve been through? You don’t. We’ve been struggling with this for a long time.”
Mark turns, so he is not facing Mom anymore. For a moment he stands there looking sideways at her, as if weighing what he should or should not say. And, as he does, the anger in his face fades away. It is replaced with something worse. He looks disappointed.
“MARK,” Mom persists. “Say something.”
Now he finally looks away, toward the woods at the side of the house, and seems to fix on something between the trees. But I know he is seeing nothing. He chews on the inside of his mouth.
“You’ll get tired of me too,” he says quietly. “I’m the same as Jeremy. I mess everything up. Everything I touch falls apart. You just don’t see it yet.”
Mom doesn’t know what to say. Before she can think of something, Mark opens the door and climbs into his truck. I am worried he is going to drive off with a dark look on his face, like Dad did.
I trot over to Mom and throw myself against her legs. She picks me up and holds me to her chest with two firm hands.
From how tightly she squeezes me in her arms, I can tell Mom is shaken. She is probably not sure whether she should be worried more about Dad or Mark. I am concerned about both of them.
I mew! Just a pitiful: mew!
“Lily,” Mom coos soothingly to me.
I glance over, and sure enough, Mark is looking at me.
Mew! I try to make myself sound helpless.
Mark rolls down his window, and his eyes soften a bit. He hasn’t started the truck engine yet. He is watching me and Mom.
MEW! I call out, louder. Can’t you see she’s holding me all wrong? Won’t you come and help me? I squirm around and wiggle my butt to show him that I am uncomfortable.
“Lily, it’s okay,” Mom says.
And then I see: His eyes a
re tearing up.
And I think—
I am quite sure—
“Mark,” Mom finally calls out. “Please. Don’t leave.”
Ah! He climbs down out of his truck and walks over to us.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers to Mom, looking down at me with a concerned look on his face. I give him an innocent blink. He reaches out with two hands, and Mom stares at him, not understanding. When she finally realizes he wants to take me, Mom carefully hands me over. I am once again flipped upside down and nestled into the crook of his arm. Ah, much better. Mark gently rubs my tummy with his free hand, and I am content. I feel his body relax as I start to purr.
As Mom turns back toward the house, Mark gives me a quick shake of the head and raises an eyebrow. It is as if he is saying: I know what you’re up to, sweetheart.
But we need you here! Mom needs you. Charlie needs you. I need you. You must stay.
I’m pleased with myself. I can’t help it.
When he carries me inside and the screen door clicks shut behind us, I am overwhelmed with the scent of the muffins once again, and it smells wonderful. Like home. Thank goodness Mark came back!
This much is clear to me: Mark belongs here now. Mom and Mark must work this out. Our house would not be the same without him.
But also . . . I cannot deny the truth. I want Mark to stay for selfish reasons. I do think Mark may still help Charlie. But now that Charlie is getting older, and I realize how he feels about Ronaldo, I wonder how much longer I will be his best friend. And once Mom knows Charlie is being bullied, might she not send him away, the same way I was sent away when my leg was broken as a kitten? And then what will I have left? Will I be sent away too? Or if not, what will my life become without my sweet Charlie?
All of my fears, even ones I have been pushing out of my mind for a long time, surge to squeeze my heart in pain. I close my eyes and nuzzle my wet nose against Mark’s soft shirt. He whispers into my ear, but I don’t hear the words. The words don’t matter. The arms matter. And they hold me tight.
Chapter 30
What Happened in the Garage
It is a few days later, and I am outside. I am angry at myself for not realizing sooner that Kevin is the one bullying Charlie. I wasn’t paying enough attention to Kevin. And I still haven’t figured out how to let my humans know what’s going on.
The sun has started to fall from its highest position in the sky when a car pulls into the driveway, and then glides all the way into the garage. It is Dad’s car.
This is odd. He rarely comes to the house during the day when everyone is out.
Before he moved away, there were a few times Dad came home at lunch. He rifled through drawers, all around the house, searching for his medicine. Checking in cabinets. Double-checking in closets. He would sometimes leave, frustrated.
Or if he found his medicine, he would sit and have a dose of it at the kitchen table. And then go back to work. But now he doesn’t usually come by in the middle of the day.
Almost immediately, the garage door starts to go back down. I don’t understand.
Why is Dad parking in the garage and shutting the door? He usually leaves his car in the driveway.
Is he here for some purpose?
And is he trying to hide the fact that he is here, for some reason?
With an impulsive jump, I make a mad dash into the garage, right past the back wheels of the car. I barely make it in as the heavy garage door comes cranking steadily down, brushing my tail. It’s crazy, I know. But I want to go inside the garage with Dad and see what he’s up to.
My action somehow seems to trigger the door to reverse course, and it starts to rise again with a loud grinding noise. I look back over my shoulder to see it lifting, letting the sunshine back in. I run to the stairs that lead to the house, to get away from all the noise.
I still miss Dad. Sometimes I find myself holding onto hope that Dad is making plans to move back home. But then I remember my friend Mark, and how much he needs Mom. And I realize that as long as Mark is around, Dad cannot come back. Mom will only have one mate in the end, whoever she chooses. Or maybe she will send them both away. I suppose that’s possible too.
The car engine is very loud. I expect it to stop right away, but it does not.
I cower on the stairs. What’s going on? The engine continues to grumble, pulsing with energy, and hurts my ears.
I see Dad look back over his shoulder, squinting in confusion. He shakes his head slightly. And then he reaches up toward the roof of the car to press a button.
The garage door begins to slide back down once again. Cutting off the sun. Leaving us in the cool, dark shadows. Sealing us in.
I feel my fur bristle in fright. What’s wrong? I wonder. I sense that something is wrong. I don’t know why Dad is taking so long to stop the car engine.
I decide to try and get high enough to see inside the car, climbing up to the top stair. I hear a whirring noise as the windows of the car slide down. I can see Dad. But he is not making a motion to turn off or get out of the car. He leans his head back against the seat and closes his eyes.
I sneeze as the air grows dense with the smell of chemicals. I don’t feel very well.
This is not a good time for Dad to rest.
Wake up!
I now hear Gretel inside the house, scratching at the door. I believe she is trying to push open the door to the garage. She whines desperately, and suddenly I realize something truly is very wrong. What in the world is going on?
Perhaps Dad is very, very tired and cannot move. Or maybe he is ill and needs attention. The fumes in the garage will certainly make us both sick, if he is not sick already.
Dad!
It is no use. The temperature in the garage rises with the loud grinding of the engine. I realize I’m going to have to get Dad’s attention. Maybe I can jump onto the car and walk on the windshield. From there I could meow! until he sees me.
I feel lightheaded. Perhaps this is a mistake. I might hurt myself. But Dad needs to wake up. Now. My ears can’t take the noise any longer.
From my step, I take a leap toward the hood of the car. It is a long jump. Because I am so heavy, I land with a wham! on the metal, like a sack of cat food.
I thought I would land lightly on my paws. This is a little embarrassing.
But the good news is, Dad’s eyes click open in surprise. It reminds me of a doll Victoria had when she was younger. The eyelids of the doll lifted when it was moved upright. But the eyes were glassy and you knew they couldn’t see a thing. It was scary and unnatural.
This is the first thing that comes to mind when Dad opens his eyes.
Dad and I make eye contact. At first, I’m not sure he recognizes me, although he’s looking at me.
Wake up!
He only hesitates a moment before stirring. He reaches forward in his seat and, thank goodness, he turns off the car engine. After he presses a button above him, the garage doors start to glide open, and—just in the nick of time—sunshine and fresh air come pouring in.
I stand frozen, on the car hood. Clumsily, I stagger to the edge of the car and jump with a plop down to the cement floor.
I hear the car’s driver-side door open and shut. Dad comes over to stand next to me and lets me sniff his hand. I feel weak. He looks confused. “Lily? How’d you get in here?”
I let Dad lift me up with two strong hands and place me on his shoulder, the same way Charlie carries me. He holds me there, stroking my head and back, whispering apologies into my ear. I feel him slip one hand under my stomach with just the right amount of pressure, so that I’m comfortable and secure. His body slowly warms up and shakes gently.
Poor Dad. He needs help.
When I lift my head to look up at him, I see his eyes are just barely holding tears back. I don’t understand what’s wrong with Dad. Why he seems so sad, distracted, and lost.
What’s wrong? I start to purr.
“I didn’t know you were here,” he tel
ls me. “I’m sorry, Lily. I miss you, girl. I would never hurt you.”
I purr louder to show him: no harm done. It’s the best I can do, to be still and let him hold me.
“I won’t do that again,” he tells me. “I promise. I’m just really tired and my tummy hurts. I miss everyone. I don’t know what I was thinking. That’s not what I really want.” He breathes in and out, a long sigh.
Dad finally puts me down, and I stretch. Gretel is still begging and clawing at the door. Dad lifts his head, as if just hearing it for the first time. He hurries over to open the door, to reassure and talk to her, to calm her down.
It is so strange. Dad’s behavior has grown odd. He is worse than distracted—he is not paying attention at all.
I follow Dad inside, where the house is otherwise empty. He walks to the living room at the front of the house and lies right down on the rug to stare at the ceiling. This is strange behavior for Dad, but I understand he is very tired. Gretel lies on one side of him, and I lie on the other, tucked under his arm. It feels warm and wonderful. I hope we are comforting to him.
I think Gretel and I make a good team! I am starting to see that our goals are the same: to help this family. And we are stronger when we work together.
I wonder what Dad would do if he found out that Kevin is bullying Charlie. Dad is probably the perfect person to discipline bad behavior, because that is what he does at work. It would give Dad a purpose—a mission, of sorts—to correct Kevin when he does wrong.
In the meantime, I am glad I got Dad to wake up. The children would find it curious to come home and find Dad asleep in the garage. Gretel and I are going to have to keep a closer eye on Dad, every minute he is here. I start to think that it might be a good idea if Gretel went to live with Dad. He needs protection as much as anyone—perhaps even from himself. I would miss Gretel terribly, but sometimes we must make sacrifices for the good of the family.
I soon find out that Gretel agrees with me on this point.
