by Carla Rossi
“Shhhh!”
“Don’t shush me!”
“Sorry. That!”
I hear the faint cry of a cat’s meow, carried on the wind.
“Look,” Nick says and kneels at the fence. “There’s a box under that bench by the front door. I bet there’s a cat in there.” He pulls out his phone and takes a picture. “Someone has dumped a cat at the shelter door.”
“But they’re not open. No one knows it’s here. It’ll freeze to death!”
“I don’t think it’ll freeze,” Nick says and stands up. “It’s only thirty-five degrees and it’s in a box. That and the porch cuts the wind.”
“Yes, but it’ll be twenty-seven degrees tonight and they’re closed. What about food and water?”
“Maybe whatever idiot dumped the cat thought enough to put food and water in there.”
“Not if they thought the cat would be discovered soon. And they’re closed.”
“My grandfather’s pets spent the entire winter under his porch. Believe me; animals know how to protect themselves from the weather.”
A blast of cold wind hits us like a wall and blows the ends of my scarf off my coat. They flap in the icy breeze.
“Let’s get back in the truck,” Nick says.
“I’m too mad to be cold,” I say. “There are signs everywhere that say Do Not Leave Animals Outside of Business Hours, Do Not Leave Animals Unattended Outside the Shelter... And for the real idiots, I believe there’s one that actually says No Dumping of Unwanted Animals... Unbelievable.”
Nick opens his door and we both scramble in. I shove the center console up and stay huddled beside him as I shiver.
He starts the truck. “I thought you were too mad to be cold.”
“Fine. I’ll move.”
He grabs for me. “Don’t you dare.” Then Nick Zernigan puts his arm around me and pulls me close. “Is this OK?”
“Yes,” I whisper. I’m embarrassed I can’t find my voice. He doesn’t need to think he has so much charm that his arm around me has struck me speechless.
And I need to stop being struck speechless by his charm.
If someone had said a week ago this was even possible, and I’d be enjoying it, well, I don’t know what I’d have done because I can’t think.
I snuggle against him and touch the front of his coat. “What are we going to do about the cat?”
“We can call the emergency number on the sign, but I don’t know if this is what they mean by emergency. It’s not exactly life or death and we’re not witnessing a crime here.”
“Excuse me, but it’s both.”
“You know what I mean. We haven’t stumbled on someone robbing the place.”
I still can’t think because I still can’t believe I’m cuddled up with Nick in his truck. Amanda is so not gonna believe this.
“Think about it,” Nick continues and absently runs his hand along my arm. “Even though they’re closed, someone has to come by and feed and water the animals. This isn’t the first jerk to dump on the doorstep. I’m sure they look.”
“Right. But what if they don’t come back tonight?”
“We can come back after the dance and make sure.”
All my internal organs collapse, and I can no longer fight Nick Zernigan’s intense game and total hotness. He has made the sweetest offer any guy has ever made to me.
“It’ll be dark out here.”
“I’ll find my uncle’s giant flashlight. And they have security lights.”
I nod against his side. “Thanks, Nick.”
“Is it OK to go now?”
I nod again and retreat to my end of the seat to pull on the seatbelt.
Nick finds a spot to turn around. “Tanya said to get three more extension cords. Somebody went a little nuts with the Christmas lights, and now I don’t have enough outlets to hook up the music.”
“My bad,” I say. “Their box of decorations is pitiful. I went around and borrowed leftover twinkle lights from whoever could spare them.”
“So... Are you looking forward to tonight? The dance, I mean.”
“Odd question, Nick. Can anyone our age really look forward to a senior citizen dance?”
He smiles and I can see he’s nervous as he squirms in his seat and tosses his gloves on the dash. “We can do something else. Do you want to go to a movie or something?”
“I can’t. Granny is looking forward to this. Besides, I owe some guy named Otis two Christmas waltzes. And if Mr. Kim’s hip cooperates, we’re supposed to East Coast Swing or something. Granny said she’d show me. I’m only slightly afraid.”
“Can’t wait for that. I’ll have my phone ready.”
“You do and you die, Nick. And remember, there are a couple of old cuties there who want to bump and grind with you, too. You think of that if you get the urge to push record.”
He laughs and looks both ways when we hit the main road. “Save a dance for me, OK.”
I don’t look at him. I can’t. Nick Zernigan is acting weird. And wonderful. I like it, but I can’t look at him.
“Sure,” I answer.
I pull out my phone and start texting Amanda.
I can’t stop grinning.
****
It’s 9:00 PM and I have not seen Nick. I’ve been led—make that dragged—around the dance floor, patted on the head, assaulted with cigar and eggnog breath, and had my purse stolen. Well, not exactly stolen, but temporarily removed from my chair by an older gentleman who thought it belonged to his female companion. That in itself rattles me to my core as I fail to comprehend how I picked out the same purse as someone four and a half times my age.
“Where is your friend, cheri?”
“I don’t know, Gran…Collette. He texted a while ago and said he’d be here. Something must have come up.”
“This thing is a bust anyway.”
“Collette! It’s not so bad.” I’m surprised by my own response. “You can’t say you’ve seen anything funnier than this for a while.”
“Not since last year’s dance,” she says and laughs.
“You killed it with the line dancing.”
“We do a lot of that around here,” she answers and downs the last of her punch. “Great exercise. But I wasn’t the only one. You held your own out there.”
Sad, but true. I was front and center in the Jingle Bell Rock line, and it’s confession time. I enjoyed it. Yes, I enjoyed it. I slid and shuffled and laughed, turned, and clapped in perfect unison with everyone else. I don’t even care that if someone happened to catch me and post it, that I will lose all the social status I gained with the now-famous text warning about the cops at Ricky’s party. Easy come, easy go.
“Thanks, Collette. I had fun. And thanks for the clothes. They’re perfect.”
“You’re welcome. And of course, they are perfect. I ordered everything weeks ago exactly from the links you e-mailed.”
I glance around the room and blow out a heavy sigh. I’ve wasted my red halter maxi dress, strappy heels, and little black cardi on Otis and Mr. Kim.
“I’m going to find Tanya and see if I can get a head start on helping her clean up.”
“Oui, cheri. I’m going up. See you shortly?”
“Probably. Nick and I were supposed to go out, but I haven’t seen him. I’ll let you know.”
“Bonne nuit, Holly.”
“Bonsoir, Collette.”
I pull a large trash can from the corner and clear paper plates and foam cups from the table we shared with several of Granny’s friends.
“You owe me a dance.”
“Nick!” I spin to face him and nearly smash a wad of plastic table cover against him. It’s dripping with food debris and liquid from leaky cups. “Oh no! Yuck.”
He scoots the can closer for me and checks his blue/black American Eagle button-down shirt for spots.
“So sorry. That’s gross. And that’s a great shirt. Hope I didn’t ruin it with retirement village punch. Did you know that punch is li
ke red drink mix and lemon-lime pop or something?”
“It’s fine. I shouldn’t have been stalking you.”
“Where were you? This party is all but over.”
“Aunt Ivy was having a hard time. First, she said she wanted to see her friends; then she said she couldn’t handle a dance without my uncle. It’s only been a few weeks. We watched some TV and she went to bed.”
“Awww... I’m sorry, Nick. Are you sure she’s OK? Should you go back and stay with her?”
“Nah. I told her about the cat and that seemed to help. I don’t know why. She’s as aggravated as you are about it.”
I grab a clean napkin and wipe off my hands. “I need to help Tanya here and then change and tell Granny I’m going out, but I’m ready after that.”
“You’re forgetting something.”
“I am?”
“The dance. Let’s go. Tanya is saving one more slow one for us before she calls ‘time of death’ on this party.”
Nick extends his hand. I take it and we are on the way to join the last few couples under the mirror ball.
As Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree fades away, I loop my arms around Nick’s neck. Merry Christmas, Darling starts with an echo in the emptying room and nine of my toes curl. Poor little baby toe on my right foot wants to curl too, but Otis smashed it. I ignore the pain and step further into Nick’s arms. We are not good at this awkward swaying thing but I’m so close to him I don’t care. I rest my head on his shoulder and feel his breath against my neck as he presses his head against mine.
Everything is tingling.
Christmas is saved.
****
“Hurry!”
Nick speeds up and immediately hits a deep pothole on the road to the shelter. I bounce to the roof and laugh so hard my side starts to hurt.
I sway back and forth in the seat as Nick recovers from the bump and the truck fishtails. “Whoa. “What happened?”
“This road doesn’t get much traffic this time of night. The standing water is starting to freeze.”
We reach the gate and Nick feels around the floorboard for the flashlight. He aims the truck’s headlights toward the building and shuts off the engine. “Let’s check it out.”
“The wind’s died down,” I say as we huddle together and walk the fence line. “That will make it easier to hear.”
“I think this is the spot,” Nick says. “Between the headlights, the porch light, and the lights at the corners of the building, we should be able to see if the box is gone.” He squats at the chain-link fence. “But it’s not. It’s still there.”
I stand behind him and follow the beams as he moves the flashlight back and forth across the open field.
“But I don’t hear anything,” I say as panic rises in my chest. “It could be dead already!”
“You don’t know that. It’s probably hunkered down in there trying to stay warm. Let’s listen a sec.”
But two minutes later my feet are numb from the cold and I’ve heard nothing. “Oh, wait! I have an idea. Here kitty, kitty, kitty. Here kitty, kitty. Here kitty...”
Nick shines the light in my face. “You really are a genius. I never woulda thought of that.”
“I’m not a genius. It took me way too long to think of it.”
“Well, I was wondering if I could chunk a rock that far and hit the box to see if it makes noise.”
I knee him in the back.
“What? That’s one way to find out.”
“That’s also the way to break a window. Wait. I heard something. Here kitty, kitty, kitty... That’s it! I heard it! It’s alive.”
Somewhere inside the shelter, several dogs bark at the commotion on the porch.
“Everyone’s awake now.” Nick gets up and grabs my hand. “Stay close. Let’s get back in the truck and make that call.”
I fumble with my phone as Nick stows the flashlight and climbs in beside me. I tap on the number I saved from earlier—and then hit ‘end’ before the first ring.
“What’s wrong? You have the number, right?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s freezing. Are you... gonna call it?”
“No.”
He rubs his forehead as though he has a headache and then stretches his arm across the back of the seat. “I thought that’s why we were here, Holly. I thought you wanted to call someone about that cat.”
“No one’s going to come out here for that cat tonight.”
“We did.”
“Exactly. We’re the only ones. So I’m going to climb that fence, cross that field, and get that box.”
Nick bursts out laughing. “No, you are not.”
“I am. I need a cat and no one wants that one. It couldn’t be simpler. Can I have the flashlight please?”
“I’ll go,” he says and tugs his hat into place. “And there’s no need to climb the fence when I can practically step over that gate.”
“Oh. That’s true. But wait. If by some chance the police do come out here and catch us, the worst that will happen to me is that I’ll be grounded for life and never get a car. If you get caught inside that fence, it could be trouble with your recruiter. This is my idea. I’ll go.”`
“Nope. This needs to happen fast and you don’t need to be running in the dark. One good face-plant and you start over with that nose.”
“But Nick—”
“Save it, Holly. I’m not letting you do this.”
“No wait! I have an idea. Record yourself. With your phone. I’ll do the same from here. And talk about what you’re doing. I’m sure there’s a security camera around here somewhere. I don’t know if it works, but if someone comes asking we can show them our video and beg for mercy. How much trouble can we get into by taking a cat no one wants anyway? Yeah. Now you can call me a genius.”
“I’ll be right back. Genius.”
Nick straddles the low farm gate and nearly tumbles over as he tries to get free. He makes a face at me through the windshield as he struggles to see me past the glare of the high beams.
I tap ‘record’ and start my own version of Nick and Holly’s nature film. “I’m Holly Moreau and I’m at the animal shelter with Nick Zernigan. It’s 11:45 PM, December twenty-third, almost Christmas Eve, and it’s uh... twenty-nine degrees. The shelter is closed, but we have returned for a cat in a box that we discovered was dumped at the shelter door earlier today. We thought someone would have found it by now, but it’s still here and we don’t want it to freeze or starve to death.”
Other than the part about the cat freezing and starving, I’m finding it impossible to not laugh while doing this.
“That is Nick running toward the porch. And... That is Nick hopping on one leg because I think he stepped in a hole. That is Nick limping. OK... I seem to have lost Nick in the dark. Wait, that’s him. I think. Or it’s a mountain lion that’s come off the ridge to look for food. In that case, Nick needs to hurry.”
I pause for dramatic effect.
“There’s Nick on the porch,” I continue. “He has the box, and he’s on his way back. No alarms have gone off except for the cacophony—that’s my S.A.T. word of the day—except for the cacophony of homeless dogs that are now awake and suspect an intruder.”
The last scene on my camera before I push ‘stop’ is of Nick holding a box in front of the truck, bathed in brightness from the truck’s headlights, and squinting because he can’t see a thing. He is adorable.
He opens the door and shoves the cardboard box toward me. “Here is your cat,” he says and hops in. “Don’t open it yet. Let’s get out of here and go somewhere else to check it out.”
I set it on my lap. The top is flapped closed. It wiggles and jerks and there is scratching and meowing as whatever’s inside fights to get out. There’s an occasional mysterious ping mixed in with the crying. It doesn’t smell too great either.
“Don’t open that thing yet,” Nick warns again. “If it comes out swinging I want to be stopped so we can get out fast.”
“It’s heavier than I thought,” I say.
“And noisier. There may be more than one animal in there.”
“I didn’t think of that. The box looked smaller from across the field. Whatever’s in here, I don’t think it has food and water because the box isn’t leaking.”
“I wouldn’t feel around too much on the bottom of that thing. It could start leaking cat pee any minute.”
Nick pulls into an empty strip center parking lot and stops under the lit-up sign. “Let’s take a look. And seriously, unlock your door in case it’s a small angry bobcat or something.”
I push the box between us on the seat. Together we slowly unflap it. Nick shines the light inside.
Four eyes, filled with terror, stare up at us. They scratch and claw at the box and try to climb out.
“Thank God they’re plain old cats,” I say.
“And there’s only two of them and not a whole litter.”
I cautiously stick one hand in. “They’re not kittens, but they’re not full grown cats, either. They’re like teenage cats. It’s pretty gross in this box. You have napkins in here?”
“Yeah, in the glove box. I stash all the extras from the chicken wing drive-thru.”
“C’mon, kitty,” I say and reach for one. I give it a pat-down and hold it out for Nick. “Here. Take this one while I get the other one.”
He turns the light on it. “What am I supposed to do with it?”
“It’s a cat. Hold it. It’s scared.”
“I’m scared,” he says and laughs. “I don’t know where this thing’s been.”
“Aww... Look how cute it is. It’s completely white. And this one... is completely black. This is weird,” I say and cuddle with cat number two. “They’re wearing flea collars and regular collars. Christmas collars with bells. That’s the extra sound I heard in the box.”
Nick fumbles with cat number one. “There’s no ID tag. And this one smells like poo.”
Poo. Nick Zernigan said poo and I don’t know why that’s so funny. We both laugh and try to corral feisty kitten-cats without getting scratched.
“I don’t get it,” I say. “They’re scared, but they’re not hissing or acting crazy and trying to scratch our eyes out. They’ve been handled. These are pets, Nick. Who dumps their own pets and doesn’t look back?”
