I feel something heavy in my lap. When I open my eyes, I see Klaus’ head there. He watches me with round, sad eyes. I swear he feels the blackness swallowing me. I rest my hand on his face and close my eyes again. I surrender to the tide and let my tears flow away like the blood of life until my thoughts go blank, and I have no energy left to care.
I open my eyes and see morning has come. I only know this for sure because the light looks morning-ish in the living room, and no angels wait to take me anywhere.
Klaus lies at my feet—correction—on top of them. I can’t feel anything below my ankles. I struggle to pull my legs free. He grunts and lifts himself up. Instantly, my feet flop about like sandbags dangling from my ankles.
I check my watch and see its ten o’clock already. I haven’t had that much sleep in months. I’ve got a pressing urge to make a phone call, so I’m glad I don’t have to wait until later.
I grab the cordless and pluck the business card from the table. I haven’t really read it before now. It’s the one the guy gave me yesterday, the one who didn’t own Klaus. The card says his name is Reason—Reason MacCloud. Never heard that one before.
Who cares about his name? I’m more interested in his ability to help me sell this house, even though it shouldn’t be hard to sell. Maybe that just means he will sell it even faster.
I dial the number and examine the white card. A silver embossment accents the words in an arching fashion that moves from the bottom right to the upper center. It looks like an evergreen branch.
The phone rings and rings. Just when I’m convinced I’m about to hear a recorded message, someone picks up the line. A noisy ruckus erupts in the background. I can’t make it out, but it sounds like someone answering in the middle of an amusement park. I think I hear a loud, “Shhhhhh!” The line falls quiet.
“This is Reason, how may I help you today?”
I try not scoff at the irony. “Hi, my name is Erin Sinclair. We met yesterday in front of the coffee shop.
“Yes! I remember—the lady who doesn’t like dogs.” He laughs. I am taken back by his deep, rich voice. In a way I didn’t notice yesterday.
“I never said I didn’t like dogs. But that’s not why I called. I need help selling my house.”
“Wonderful. Would you like to meet later today?”
“Well—I”
“Is today a bad time?”
“No, it’s just that I didn’t expect you to be free today since it’s Sunday,” I stammer.
“Sunday’s not a problem for me. Not at all. I’ll be there at noon.”
I check my watch. Noon is only an hour and fifty minutes away. I haven’t prepared. I—
“See you then?” he presses.
“Sure.” I roll my eyes. Great, now I have to rush.
“Good.”
“Wait…don’t you need my address?”
“Oh, right. What is it?”
I rattle off my address, wondering how he just happens to have a pen in hand. After I disconnect, I survey my mother’s living room. I see all her books, as though she will be back soon to read them. Near the fireplace, her yarn basket holds a partially knitted afghan that peeks over the rim, waiting to be finished.
The idea of losing this back-any-minute appearance fills me with uncertainty. Maybe I’m not ready. But I can’t punk out now. I’ve got to do it because I’ll never be sure.
I leap from my chair, startling Klaus as I step over him. I need coffee first—strong coffee and a shower.
Chapter 4
I GIVE MYSELF ONE LAST CHECK in the mirror. This is a bad, bad look for me. The puffy redness in my lids has changed my eye color from blue to a sickly gray. Worse, the jagged eyeliner says I’ve had way too much coffee. And my ponytail—it hangs over my shoulder like a drab brown scarf. I haven’t cut it since I left New York last year.
The doorbell rings.
I flip the light switch off and gaze into the pitch black of the mirror, wishing I could look as anonymous as this when I get to the door. I turn and head down the hall to the living room, just as the bell rings again. As I reach for the knob, I notice Klaus hasn’t even barked. Guard dog must not be in his repertoire.
I open the door and find myself eye-level with a man’s bicep. The size is so impressive that I forget myself for a moment. Finally, I peel my eyes away and glance up. Reason stands with his back to me, facing the street. The back of his bristly head looks like a dark five o’clock shadow. He doesn’t turn around even though I’m sure he knows I’ve answered the door.
“Hi,” I prod.
He points with his hands angled together like a two sided frame, drawing my attention to the bright red sign in the front yard that says, S & S Realty. “How does that grab you?”
“It’s big,” I manage, wondering what he would say if I told him it grabs everything.
He’s inserted the massive post deep into the ground at the edge of the lawn beside the concrete stairway that leads down to the sidewalk. The sign blocks half my view of the roadway. Evergreen bushes and maple trees shield the rest of it.
“It is, isn’t it?” He agrees, and turns himself around to face me.
He grins as he extends his hand. I shake it, but I find myself staring at his mouth. His lips have such a healthy pink flush and his teeth—they glisten. An awkward silence brings me back to my manners. He studies me with a strange expression.
“Do I—” To my horror, he closes his mouth and checks his teeth with his tongue. He smiles again. “All clear?”
“No—I mean, yes. All clear.” I can’t believe I just made him think he has something in his teeth. “Come in.” I step back and turn toward the living room, trying to compose myself.
“Thanks.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see him pause to check his teeth with his tongue and wipe his mouth with his shirtsleeve.
He steps in and heads straight for the sofa, where Klaus stretches in greeting. He gives him a scratch behind the ear and wedges himself into the tight space between Klaus’ rump and the armrest.
Today, I don’t perceive Reason as just a tall guy. He’s huge—lean, muscular, and stands more than a foot taller than me, and I am 5’5.
I take a seat in the chair, not sure if I feel comfortable being alone with a person of such formidable size. His nose seems slightly flattened, as if it’s been broken before, and a small scar accents his left eye. His rugged face wears a relaxed expression which tells me to relax too. Because really, the more I look at him, his attractiveness makes me forget.
Reason attempts to cross his legs, but he doesn’t have enough room, so he leans forward instead. I consider trying to persuade Klaus to leave the couch, but then decide against it. I didn’t like his remark about me not liking dogs, and since he pushed this one on me, he can just deal with it.
We discuss the house, its history, and the asking price. He explains how the process will work, and I try to stay focused, but it’s hard. My mind keeps wandering to the scar next to his eye. Whenever he smiles, his eyes crinkle, and it disappears. I wonder how he got it.
“Ms. Sinclair?”
I snap back to attention, realizing he waits for my answer.
“I’m sorry, could you repeat the question?”
“Sure.” His dark eyes twinkle at me. “This is a difficult time of year to sell. Are you prepared for it to be on the market a while?”
I stare at him. “I don’t know.” My eyes start to sting. “I really need to sell it before Christmas.”
“Before Christmas?” He shifts in his seat and looks away.
“Yes, before,” I insist.
“Maybe I could help you better if I knew more about what your future plans are and why you’re selling, but I don’t want to pry.” He looks me in the eye.
“I grew up in this house,” I begin, and then I stop. I feel like I don’t know the rest of the story anymore. He watches me as I gather my thoughts. It’s hard to do with him looking at me.
I try again.
“My moth
er died here last Christmas—on Christmas Eve. I had a life in New York, but I left to come back here and care for her. I don’t have anything here now, except memories. I need a new start somewhere else. Maybe back in New York. I haven’t decided that part yet. It’s just very hard to be here. Too many memories.”
Something passes in his expression, and he nods slowly. “Walls and places hold memories. I understand. I’m sorry to hear you won’t be staying in town.”
“It’s a nice town, but it’s not for me. Even the name “Christmasville” bothers me. My mother was a fanatic about Christmas. My birthday is on Christmas day, I left home on my 18th birthday—Christmas, and I rarely spent a Christmas with my mother until the year she died…on Christmas Eve. That’s enough Christmas for me—enough to last a lifetime.”
He falls silent again. Gloom hangs all around us, and we both breathe it in. I’m contagious, I realize.
I try to change the subject. “So, do I need to sign anything?”
“Right. Paperwork. I forgot it.” He smiles and his eyes crinkle.
“You forgot it?” I’m disappointed.
“Yes, but I’ll get you—I mean—your house listed this afternoon.” He clears his throat. “I’ll list your house this afternoon. Hopefully, we’ll have some showings this coming week.”
“What about the paperwork?”
“I’ll bring it by tomorrow. Scouts honor.” He holds up two fingers and gives me a trustworthy face.
“Okay. What about pictures?”
“Yes. I took one from outside, right after I sunk the sign.”
“That’s all I get?”
“Well, I find that not giving away too much helps build mystery. We want showings and a quick sale. But if you’d like, I’ll take one of the kitchen. Deal?”
I’m not convinced. I don’t know anything about selling houses, but it sounds like a bad idea not to have pictures. Still, I give in to his logic.
I show him the kitchen and he snaps a quick photo. He chitchats about holiday festivities and the extra cold winter he expects we’ll have. But I can’t find anything to say because I suddenly feel like I could fall asleep. The feeling is so strong, I forget my manners again. I interrupt him in the middle of a sentence about the upcoming parade.
“I’m sorry. I know this is rude, but I need a nap.”
“Okay.” He doesn’t seem offended, but I think his cheeks have reddened just a little. “I have that effect sometimes. I’ll bring the paperwork tomorrow afternoon?”
“Tomorrow is fine. And it’s not you. I’m just so sleepy...and hungry too.”
“I understand. I need to be going, anyway.” He turns and makes his way out.
I follow along, feeling like I walk two steps for each one he takes. When we reach the door, he opens it and turns back. “See you tomorrow.”
“Yes, tomorrow.” I nod.
He turns away and heads down the steps. I watch him walk down the pathway to the street. I wait until I can no longer see him before I close the door and return to my chair. I’ll eat later. Right now, I have a year of sleep to catch up on.
Chapter 5
“COME ON,” I plead. It’s Monday afternoon and I’m feeling better.
But Klaus doesn’t. He sits in the center of the bathroom with his back to the tub. His half drenched body drips water all over the pink bath rug. My sleeves cling to my arms and my jeans drag against my skin as I squat next to him. I never imagined a big dog and one bath would be such a bad mix.
He wears a determined look on his face. He keeps his ears low and his eyes glued to the doorway. I’m pretty sure he’s making an escape plan.
I glance at the mirror. His profile blocks most of my reflection. A spray of water trails down over it, dripping through our faces.
“You stink, Klaus. I hate to say it, but it’s true.” His expression does not change. In the mirror, I see the other side of him is just as determined as this one.
“Look, I’m just being a friend here, ’k? You’ll feel a whole lot better after a bath. And I promise I’ll let you lay on the sofa again...maybe even the bed. How’s that sound?”
Klaus doesn’t flinch.
“Okay, truth is, my mom would be very upset right now if she were here. She didn’t like stinky dogs. And right now, the whole house smells like one big stinky dog.”
He grunts. I must’ve hit a nerve.
“If you get in the bath, we’ll make cookies. Doggie cookies.” I stress the last two words, but I’m not sure I know how to since I never watched my mother do it. But I’m desperate. “Come on, I even have dog bone cookie cutters. Or candy canes, if you’re feeling festive.”
He tosses his head in my direction and casts his eyes at me long-ways. He must like where I’m going with this.
“Do you like clothes? I have fabric. I’ll make you a bandana.” I feel ridiculous.
Klaus shifts and glances at me again.
“Please?”
He stands and maneuvers himself in an exaggerated, tight turn. Now, he faces the bathtub.
“Just think about cookies. And bandanas.”
He clambers over the side and stands ankle-deep in bath water, looking like an overly dignified statue.
I set to work quickly, before he changes his mind.
An hour later, he lies in the kitchen floor wearing a holly leaf bandana as I pull his treats from the oven. Tiny dog treats cover the cookie sheet. The bones look gritty, brown, and unappetizing. My mother’s recipe box saved the day.
A loud rap at the front door makes me jump. The cookie sheet tilts and cookies slide to the edge, but I get the pan to the counter before they spill. The door bell rings.
Klaus stays to guard the treats as I rush into the living room to get the door.
The bell rings three more times before I manage to get it open. When I snatch it open, a hand pulls away from the button, but not fast enough to stop the beginning of another chime. It makes a strange chirp then halts midway.
Two people stand on the porch. The one nearest me clutches an animal to her chest. Its whiskers are stubby like they’ve broken off, and its eyes consume most of its wrinkled face. In the corners of its mouth, thin suede-like skin is wrinkled together as though gathered in a stitch. Two large bat ears stand at attention, facing me like satellite dishes tuning in a signal. Slowly, it dawns on me that I am seeing the face of a cat, a hairless cat strapped into a harness with a leash. Below his dignified face, dangles an ID tag. It reads: Pigs.
I’m speechless.
I shift my gaze to the woman who holds it. She wears a Russian fur hat over her short blond hair. The exposed strands in front form two inch spikes, revealing black roots as dark as Indian ink. Heavy eyeliner has gelled in her tear ducts forming globs of grayish eye gunk and her long, thin nose looks pinched by an invisible clothespin.
“Mr. Pigs is here to view your home.” Her nostrils flare as she speaks in a reverent tone. “He has an appointment at three.”
I blink at her. My mouth has fallen open, so I snap it shut.
Just behind her, a frail man silently mouths the words, “I’m sorry.” He closes his eyes in a slow motion wince for emphasis. His upside down smile reminds me of the kind that usually accompanies “Please accept my condolences.”
I shift my gaze back to Pigs. “I didn’t realize anyone was coming. My realtor didn’t tell me.”
Pigs studies me.
The woman raises an eyebrow at me. “Do you mind if we wait inside?”
“No, I guess that’s okay.” I step aside.
She breezes past me, carrying the cat like a figurehead on bow of a ship.
The man hovers in the doorway. “Margaret, maybe we should just wait outside.”
“Don’t be silly, Charlie. We might as well let Pigs get a feel for the home’s vibrations.”
She glances at me and proceeds to turn in a wide circle, holding the cat in front of her as if he is a dousing rod.
Charlie shrugs his shoulders and keeps his eyes on t
he ground as he enters. I close the door. He and I stand opposite each other, as Margaret completes a final circle. She bends down and carefully sets Pigs in the floor. She squats and whispers in his ear before she steps back.
I am not sure what Pigs is supposed to do next. He looks like a carved idol or tiny cult leader sitting on my living room floor. Slowly, he rises to his feet and begins sniffing. His lithe, knobby body is eerily reminiscent of bones sheathed in a tanned hide…like a cat mummy. He takes a few steps and stops, making quick flicking motions with each paw as though he’s stepped in something unpleasant and means to sling off.
Klaus’s large head appears in the kitchen door. I’d forgotten about him.
“Pigs senses a blue vibration. Has a famous actor or actress ever lived in this house?”
“No.” My eyes remain locked on Klaus as I answer. I have no idea what he thinks of cats. His ears stand alert as he stares at Pigs. I’m afraid that anything I do will trigger a pandemonium.
Pigs sees Klaus and stops in place. He flicks his raised paw but doesn’t lower it. He looks so frozen and stiff I fully expect to hear his bones creak when he moves again.
“Oh. That’s not good, Charlie.”
I take a quick look at Charlie, who—unlike Margaret—has noticed Klaus. I swear I see a satisfied smile cross his face.
I can feel the animal tension in the room, but I still don’t speak. I glare at Klaus, willing him to look at me. He doesn’t. He moves a step forward but it happens so slowly it’s almost imperceptible.
Something is all over his face. I look closer. I’m not sure, but his snout looks like he dipped it in sand. As I struggle to make sense of it, I suddenly remember the dog cookies, just as I hear Margaret say, “Charlie, we’d have to do a lot of cleansing here. It could take months.”
But I’m not listening to her anymore. My cheeks grow hotter by the second.
The Santa Society Page 3
