The Secret Life of Mac

by Melinda Metz

  “You’re saying everyone knows? Even her?” Gib finally asked, not looking up.

  “Doubtful. I probably look closer. My granddad always knew everything that was going on at The Gardens. It seems like the way the job should be done,” Nate answered. “I’ve seen that cat before,” he added, figuring he’d pressed Gib hard enough. Like he’d said, he’d noticed Gib looking at Peggy, but he might have missed how deep Gib’s feelings went. “He trashed my office.”

  The cat gave Nate another slow blink. Like he knew Nate was talking about him.

  “My advice? Invest in a few cans of sardines.” Gib took a pull on his beer. “I used to look at her back in school. You know we went to high school together.” Guess he didn’t want to avoid the subject.

  “Yeah, you said.” That had come up almost as soon as Peggy came to live at The Gardens a few years ago.

  “Never talked to her back then. At least now I talk to her. Or I did until Mr. Bow Tie.”

  “He’s the flavor of the month,” Nate said. “New people always get a lot of attention. You know that. And I don’t think Peggy has stopped talking to you.”

  Gib shrugged and continued petting the cat.

  “What I don’t get is you hiding out,” Nate told him. “You’re cutthroat when you play gin rummy, but you’re giving up without even trying on something you actually care about.”

  Gib jerked his chin up. “I’ve been trying this whole time.”

  “Oh. I didn’t realize that. So, you asked Peggy out and she turned you down?”

  “No. Not exactly.”

  “You called her and she hung up on you?”

  “I can tell when a woman’s not interested, and she’s not interested. I’m fine as a friend, but that’s it,” Gib answered.

  “Maybe she thinks the same thing about you. It doesn’t sound like you’ve done anything to show her how you feel.”

  “Who are you to be giving romantic advice anyhow?” Gib demanded. “When’s the last time you spoke to a woman who wasn’t over sixty?”

  Et tu, Gibson, Nate thought. “Keeping this place going is more than a full-time gig,” he said.

  “Bull crap. That assistant manager you’ve got can handle things. You have good people in all the departments. You don’t have to be here every minute.”

  “Just so you know, I realize that you turned the conversation around to me because you don’t want to talk about yourself.”

  “Just so you know, I realize that you’re turning the conversation back around to me so you don’t have to talk about yourself,” Gib countered.

  “To avoidance.” Nate clicked his beer bottle against Gib’s.

  Gib nodded, then took a long swallow.

  “Look, if you don’t want to eat in the—” Nate stopped, his gaze snagged on a shiny piece of cloth on the table next to the sardine can. “Are those . . .” He leaned in for a closer look. “Are those panties?”

  Gib nodded. He picked up the panties between two fingers and held them up for Nate to see. A thong. Silk. Pink. Very small.

  “Maybe you do have the creds to lecture me about women,” Nate said, eyes still locked on the thong.

  “He brought it.” Gib jerked his thumb toward the cat.

  “He brought it,” Nate repeated, staring at the cat now. The cat licked his paw and swiped it across one ear. It’s like he was saying, “Yeah, I’ve got it going on.”

  Nate got himself back on topic. “Gib, if you don’t want to eat in the dining room, that’s your business. But let me at least have meals sent over. You can’t live on sardines and beer.”

  “Sardines are all protein,” Gib answered. “And beer lowers blood pressure.”

  “Are you making that up?”

  Gib grinned. “I definitely feel more relaxed when I have a beer.” The cat rolled onto his back and began kneading the air with his claws.

  “How many beers did you give him before I got here?” Nate asked. “He gets any more relaxed, he’s going to slide onto the floor.”

  “Sardines are his alcohol.” Gib lightly tickled the cat.

  “You thinking of taking him in?” Nate asked. He encouraged the residents of The Gardens to have pets. There were documented health benefits. “I read an article that said having a cat is as emotionally satisfying as having a romantic relationship. And since you’re not going to pursue anything with—”

  “If that’s true, you’re the one who should take him,” Gib interrupted. “I’m an old man. I’m past romance.”

  “Unlike Mr. Bow Tie,” Nate commented.

  “Anyway, he has a home. There’s a phone number on his collar. His name too. MacGyver,” Gib said. The cat sat back up and gave a short meow.

  Nate took out his cell. “Somebody might be worried about our buddy. Let’s give them a call.” He punched in the number as Gib read it aloud. The phone rang several times; then voice mail picked up. When he got the beep, Nate started to leave a message. “Just wanted to let you know that your cat is over at The Gardens. We can keep him here, and you—”

  “What?” a woman exclaimed, her voice husky. She cleared her throat. “Did you say my cat?”

  “Yeah. MacGyver. Striped. Tan and gold,” Nate answered.

  “But he’s here. He was here. I fell asleep. Mac. Kitty, kitty, kitty? I don’t see him!”

  “Because he’s here,” Nate said.

  “But he couldn’t have gotten out. Kitty, kitty, kitty? Kitty!” She sounded like she was getting hysterical. “All I was supposed to do was watch the cat and dog. How hard is that? I keep ruining things.”

  “Calm down. He’s here. He’s fine. He’s hanging out, eating sardines over here at The Gardens. The retirement community over on Tamarind Avenue, where it intersects with Sunset.”

  “I don’t know where that is. I just got here. I’m in, I’m in, what is this place called? Storybook Court! Are you anywhere near here?” the woman cried.

  “Very close. We back right up to it,” Nate told her.

  “Give me the address. I’ll be right there.”

  After Nate told her Gib’s address and gave her directions, she hung up without another word. “The cat sitter, at least I think that’s who she was, is coming over. She didn’t know he was gone.”

  “Not much of a cat sitter.”

  Five minutes passed. Then ten. Then fifteen.

  The cat, MacGyver, stood and stretched, glanced at the empty sardine can, then leapt to the floor. He sauntered over to the door and gave one short meow. “No can do,” Gib told him. “Someone’s coming to pick you up.”

  “She should have been here by now,” Nate said. “She’s only coming from Storybook Court.”

  MacGyver looked over his shoulder at him and Gib and gave four rapid-fire meows.

  Gib laughed. “He thinks we’re idiots. He’s telling us to open the damn door already. I’ll get him some more milk. That’ll distract him.” He headed to the kitchen. The cat continued to stare at Nate, like he was trying to control Nate with his mind.

  “Here you go,” Gib said when he returned. He set the saucer of milk next to the cat. MacGyver gave it a sniff, then let out another burst of meows.

  “Go on. Drink your milk,” Gib told him. MacGyver let out a little huff, then turned around, trotted toward the fireplace—and climbed up the chimney.

  “I’ll be damned.” Gib shook his head. “I’ll be damned.”

  Nate rushed after the cat, crouched down by the fireplace, and used the flashlight app on his cell to survey the interior. “He made it out.”

  The doorbell rang. Then there was a torrent of knocks. Then the doorbell rang again.

  “I’m not home!” Gib called as he started for the door. It flew open before he could reach it, and a woman burst inside.

  “Where is he? Where’s the cat?” she cried.

  Gib stared at her. Nate tried not to stare, but it was impossible. Makeup streaked her face. Her auburn hair was half up in some kind of complex loopy bun kind of thing and half tumb
led around her shoulders. Her long sky-blue dress was wrinkled and grass stained, with a tear that went all the way up to her nicely toned thigh. She was missing a shoe, showing perfectly painted pink toenails on one pretty foot.

  “The cat . . .” Nate hesitated. The woman was clearly teetering on the edge. He didn’t want to just blurt out that the cat was gone.

  “The cat’s gone,” Gib blurted out.

  “What?” she exclaimed, her big blue eyes bright. Tears hung from her long lashes but didn’t spill down her cheeks. “What? Somebody called and said he was here.”

  “I called,” Nate began.

  “And you let him out?” She whipped her head toward him, then took a step back, like she’d been punched. She was only silent for a moment; then she was rushing on again, speaking even faster than before. “You knew I was coming. I have this one thing I’m supposed to be doing. One thing. Watch the pets. And MacGyver’s gone? How could he be gone? I got here as fast as I could. I got a little lost. Then one of my shoes came off. And I slipped. And how could you have let him out?”

  “He went straight up the chimney,” Gib explained.

  “What?”

  Nate nodded. “Somehow he managed to climb it. He’s probably on his way home.”

  “Probably? Probably!” she yelled. “You’re telling me probably.” She whirled around and raced out the door. “MacGyver! Kitty, kitty, kitty!”

  “I wouldn’t come to that,” Gib commented. “And that cat won’t, either. Too smart.”

  Nate started to follow her. Just what he needed, another crazy female to deal with, as if his sister and his mother weren’t enough. But before he could reach the door, his cell rang. He glanced at the screen. His night manager. “Talk to me,” Nate said.

  “We’ve got a problem over here at the community center,” Amelia told him. “Big problem. I’m talking titanosaur Argenti-nosaurus huinculensis’s big brother big. And that sucker was more than ninety-six metric tons. You need to get over here. Now.”

  CHAPTER 4

  “You. You! You’re here.” Briony shook her head as she stared at MacGyver, who was curled up in the armchair next to the sofa. She began walking through the house. Back door shut and locked.

  She paused. There was a window ajar! But it was way too high even for an incredibly agile kitty to reach. She continued through the house, not seeing any possible escape route. But MacGyver had gotten out somehow.

  Briony stepped into the master bath. The window was closed and latched. She turned around and froze, catching her image in the large mirror. “Oh, god.” She took a deep breath, then flicked on the light to get a better look. “Oh, my god.”

  The beautiful maxi dress she and her best friend and maid of honor, Vi, had spent a full day shopping for was a mass of wrinkles—not surprising, since she hadn’t taken it off since she changed out of her wedding gown. It was grass stained, with a rip that went up so high it was almost obscene from when she took that spill.

  And her hair. Her hair! The elegant updo that had taken her months to choose was a disaster. Part of it mashed to her head, still up. Part of it down, in tangles. Her lipstick was long gone, but her mascara was still there, under her eyes instead of on her lashes. She was a wreck.

  Her legs went wobbly and she sat down on the edge of the tub. She was a complete wreck. It had to stop. First, a shower. She began deconstructing the do, placing the pearl pins beside the sink. Once that was done, she went and got her bathrobe out of her suitcase. That was something else she needed to do—unpack. But first, the shower. No first, teeth. She returned to the bathroom and brushed her teeth three times, then stripped and got in the shower. She washed her hair, conditioned it twice to help get out the tangles, then stood under the stream of hot water until it started to turn cold.

  She got herself dressed in the skinny black pants and striped shirt that all the magazines said would be perfect, so Audrey Hepburn, for a Paris honeymoon. She dried her hair and pulled it back, put her old clothes and toiletries away, then returned to the mirror and studied herself again. Much better. She could now go outside without embarrassing herself. She just had to hope she never saw either of those two men again. Especially the one with those brown eyes so dark they—

  What was she thinking? She didn’t want to see either of those two men again, because they’d both witnessed her insane behavior. Both of them.

  Okay. Getting herself looking presentable was only a baby step. Now she needed to . . . She needed to . . . What was the next step? The answer hit her like a slap. Apologize to Caleb. She hadn’t even spoken to him since she went down on the way to the altar. She’d let her parents make the apologies to the guests. They must have said something to Caleb, too. But who knew what.

  Yes, that was definitely the next step. Right? Yes. Apologize, and return the ring. It was inside the zippered compartment of her purse. She’d taken it off during the flight. Slowly, she formulated a plan. The ring needed to be insured. The post office was closed. But there had to be a FedEx. She’d Google it and go. She’d put a note in the package. She wasn’t ready to actually speak to Caleb. It was the right thing to do, but she couldn’t, not yet. So that was the plan.

  She nodded at herself. She nodded again. She nodded a third time. It was the right decision. She could do this. She made herself go get her cell and look up the closest FedEx. Only a couple blocks away. She could walk it. She picked up her purse, checked to make sure the ring was inside, which of course it was.

  Briony stood motionless, purse clutched in hand. Come on. Next step. Leave the house. Walk to FedEx. “Okay, guys. I’m going out for a little,” she told MacGyver and Diogee. Diogee started whining with excitement. “Alone. This time.” She had to take the dog for a walk too. But that was farther down the list. “Please be here when I get back,” she added to the cat.

  Remembering Jamie’s instructions, she put him in the guest room before she tried to go out the front door. Once she was outside, she locked the door behind her, then stood motionless again. Plan. Follow the plan, she told herself. And began walking. Just putting one foot in front of the other. This much she could handle.

  She spotted the FedEx/Kinko’s office on the corner, right where Google said it would be. She went inside and took a priority envelope from the small counter. Next step. Fill out a label. Her fingers shook as she began to write Caleb’s name. She gave her hand a couple hard shakes and continued. The writing didn’t look great, but it was legible.

  Keep going, she told herself. She had to take two deep breaths, breaths that came out quivery, before she could remove her engagement ring from her purse. She wrapped it in a piece of Kleenex from the little pack her mother always stuck in her purse when Briony wasn’t looking, then slid it into the envelope. Now the note. Why hadn’t she written the note before she left? This wasn’t the place to write a real apology, a real explanation. Finally, she just scrawled the words I’m so sorry on a piece of scratch paper left on the counter, added it to the envelope, sealed it, and brought it to the front counter.

  “Are you okay?” the guy asked.

  Briony nodded, without looking at him. He sounded nice, and she was afraid if she tried to speak to someone who was the littlest bit kind she’d end up sobbing. This was . . . She felt like . . . It was like she was walking down the aisle again. Except instead of everything going wobbly, her bones felt like brittle sticks of ice, like they could just snap, snap, snap, and she’d hit the ground. And never get up.

  “You don’t look okay,” the guy said.

  “How much?” Briony managed to get out.

  “Nine-ninety.”

  She shoved a twenty at him and bolted, ignoring his calls about her forgotten change. She needed to get inside. She needed to be someplace where she could lock the doors and shut off the lights and breathe. She needed to put all her focus on breathing.

  Few blocks, she told herself. You’re just a few blocks from Jamie’s. Keep moving. Keep on moving. Step, step, step, step.

&
nbsp; She turned the corner and Storybook Court came into view. She could hear the fountain in the courtyard. Not far. Not far. She used all her will to keep going until she reached it. Then she collapsed down on the stone edge. The palm trees wavered in her vision. Her head felt like a balloon tethered to her body by a thin string.

  Briony pressed her hands against her chest. It was rising and falling. Her lungs were working. Even if it didn’t feel like it, she was getting the oxygen she needed. She squeezed her eyes shut and kept her hands in place. She was breathing. All she had to do was sit here, continue to breathe, and at some point she’d be able to walk again. She’d get herself back to Jamie’s. She’d be okay.

  Breathein. Breatheout. Breathein. Breatheout. Breathein. Breatheout.

  Too fast! Too fast! Slow it down, Briony ordered herself. But she couldn’t.

  Breatheinbreatheoutbreatheinbreatheoutbreatheinbreatheout.

  “Could you give me a hand with these?”

  Breatheinbreatheoutbreatheinbreatheoutbreatheinbreatheout.

  “Do you mind giving me a hand? I love Storybook, but not being able to park is a bother. So could you give me a hand?”

  Briony felt like she was getting the words on a delay. No, not the words. The meaning of the words. Someone was asking her for help. She slowly opened her eyes. A woman with short black hair streaked with gray was standing in front of her. She held bags of groceries in both hands and had a couple bolts of fabric jammed under one arm.

  “I’m Ruby, a friend of David and Jamie’s. And you’re Briony, Jamie’s cousin, right?” Ruby held out one of the grocery bags and Briony found herself reaching for it.

  “Briony. Jamie’s cousin. Right,” Briony was able to say.

  “Jamie texted me that you’d be staying with Mac and Diogee. I was planning to give you a call once you’d had time to settle in,” Ruby said. “My place is really close. If you could just carry that.” Ruby started off. And Briony found herself following the woman. They stopped in front of what looked like a fairy-tale witch’s cottage, complete with a large black wrought-iron spider as the door knocker.