Cat's Patient Heart

by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy

  If she moved just right, they would come together now, in this living room but Catherine kept still. She relished these close moments, treasured them and the anticipation toward intimacy could build. Catherine wasn’t sure if he should have sex just hours after leaving the hospital so she could wait.

  Or so she thought until Connor leaned down, his breath warm against her lips and kissed her. His mouth brushed against hers, as light and gentle as a butterfly’s wings but when she locked her free arm around his neck and kissed back, things shifted from temperate to sultry in a single second. Connor’s lips burned like cayenne pepper against hers as her body heated. If she didn’t know different, she’d sworn she ran a fever or that it might be summer. The draft that sifted in around the front window touched her and she shivered but it was as much with passion as chill.

  Connor took her mouth with hunger and affirmed his needs, physical and emotional. His yearning echoed back from hers and she surrendered to his kiss, spirit and body. Catherine gave without restraint but she took too as his mouth filled her with delight. Fire ignited between them, invisible but potent and she shifted position to get more comfortable. When she did however Connor emitted a groan and she glanced up to see him wince. She realized she’d moved onto his healing gash and she pulled back.

  “That must have hurt!” she exclaimed, “I’m sorry.”

  Connor caught her before she could bail out of his lap. “It didn’t hurt much, Cat.”

  She felt a faint wetness beneath her leg and shook her head. “I need to see it. I think it might be bleeding again.”

  Catherine scooted off his legs. A few drops of blood seeped through the sweat pants he wore but nothing to worry over. At most, she’d need to bandage it again.

  “It’s nothing much,” Connor said and she smiled. Once, they spoke and thought in tandem more often than not.

  “No but I’ll re-do the bandage later. Are you still hungry?”

  “Starving,” he admitted, face unmasked. Everything he felt showed in his naked expression. “Where do we eat around here? In the kitchen or at the dining room table?”

  Alone, she ate most quick meals in the kitchen but Catherine shrugged. “We can eat wherever you want. I can heat up your pizza and bring it in here if you want.”

  Connor shook his head with force and said, “Thanks baby but no thanks. I don’t want you waiting on me like I’m still in the hospital. I’ll walk to the kitchen unless you want to eat at that big table.”

  “The kitchen’s fine,” she said and offered him a hand. He took it, rose out of the recliner with a grimace and held it. They strolled into the kitchen where he settled into the table, an old restaurant booth tucked in one corner. Catherine warmed two slices of pizza each in the microwave, grabbed the Parmesan cheese shaker out of the fridge, and offered him a fork.

  “I don’t need that,” Connor told her with a laugh.

  She smiled. “Do you want more coffee or would you rather have something cold? I do have soda or there’s ice tea.”

  “Tea’s fine,” he said. “God, that smells good.”

  “It’s hot,” she cautioned as she slid across from him.

  They ate and made easy small talk. Connor admired her kitchen with its 1950’s diner motif evident in everything from the restaurant booth to the chrome coffee percolator and the black on white tiled floor. Neither mentioned the potent kiss but it resonated between them, so strong Catherine could swear it was almost visible. She ate three pieces which left her stuffed but he downed four before he quit with a sigh.

  “Now I’m full,” he told her.

  “I’d think so,” Catherine returned. His eyes drooped like he could fall asleep at any moment. “Do you want to go lie down for awhile and get a nap?”

  Connor shook his head. “No, no way. I’m a little tired but I’ll just doze in the chair if you don’t mind. I had enough of lying around in bed at the hospital to last me. I need to use your bathroom first, though.”

  “It’s through the bedroom, then to your right,” Catherine told him. “Do you need a tour guide or can you find it?”

  “I’ll manage,” Connor said with a grin. “You can send out a search party if I don’t make it back.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  He rose on his own steam, moved with slow steps and headed into the bedroom. Catherine cleared the table, tossed the paper plates, put up the Parmesan cheese and the leftover pizza, and tossed the few dirty utensils into the sink. She cocked one ear toward the bathroom but when she heard the plumbing work, she made a slight nod. Connor emerged moments later and headed toward the living room.

  “Hey,” she called after him, “Do you want a pain pill?”

  He hesitated before he said. “I guess just one.”

  Connor flinched as he settled into the recliner.

  “You can have two and it won’t be a problem,” Catherine said.

  “One’s fine, thanks.”

  He accepted the pill and washed it down with the rest of his iced tea. He fumbled for the latch that would make the chair recline and once he had it in place, Connor shut his eyes. She watched, worse than a mother with a sick child and he popped one eye back open to squint at her.

  “Hey Cat?”

  “What is it?”

  “Are we having pizza again for supper?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, honest, “Why?”

  Now he opened his other eye so he could meet her gaze as he replied, “I thought maybe you’d cook something. You said something about liking to cook and it’s been a long time since I’ve had a home cooked meal.”

  Catherine sat on the end of the couch, close to him. “I can cook whatever you like but I’ve got to go the supermarket. You’ll be here for a couple weeks so there’s no hurry.”

  “I’d like beef and noodles,” Connor told her in a sleepy voice, then yawned. “I’ll be fine if you want to go to the store. Could you make that?”

  “I can but I’ll have to buy the noodles,” she compromised. “If you want homemade ones like my mother’s you’re out of luck. I don’t have time and besides, mine never turn out right. But I make good biscuits and I’ll make some if you’ll eat store bought noodles. They have Kluski style ones that are a lot like Mom’s.”

  “That’ll do,” he said as his eyes narrowed to slits. “Thanks Cat.”

  “Sure,” Catherine said. “Look, you’re about half asleep now but I’ll grab my purse and go. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

  Connor nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  She rounded up her keys and purse but she waited until his breathing shifted into a slower sleep rhythm. Then she picked up a blanket from the foot of her bed, spread it over him as she leaned down to kiss him swift and light. She hurried out to the car and made it to the store in record time.

  On her return, she entered as quietly as possible but Connor still slept. Catherine tiptoed into the kitchen and put away the groceries. She’d bought plenty, adding any and everything she thought he might want to the shopping basket. With skillful motions she chopped up the small beef round roast she’d bought, preferring it to the prepared pre-cut stew meat and browned it with minced onion. Catherine seasoned the meat as she stirred it in the bottom of a dutch oven and then she added beef broth with several cups of water. When it boiled, she added the package of Kluski noodles and then turned it down to a slow simmer. As the delicious aroma spread through the small house, she returned to the living room and picked up her Kindle to read.

  Chill sleet tinkled against the windows and porch but the warm room eased her into a somnolent state. Catherine’s lost sleep in recent days caught up and made her drowsy. When her eyes grew so heavy she couldn’t focus on the screen any longer, she put the device aside and let herself sink into a nap too. When she woke, hours later judging by the shadow patterns on the wall, it was almost dusk and lethargy cloaked her. Catherine struggled to rouse through thick layers of sleep but she couldn’t until she squinted at the recliner and realized Conno
r wasn’t there.

  “Connor?” she said, her voice loud in the quiet house. She listened and heard nothing but the faint sound of simmering noodles. Catherine rose and hurried through the house, first to the kitchen where she added water to the pot, then into the dim, empty bedroom. She stuck her head into the bathroom but it too loomed dark and with no place else to search she peeked into the front bedroom, her home office. Faint light emitted from the computer screen and Connor, warned by her step, glanced up as she entered.

  “Hey, Kitty Cat,” he said, “Did you have a nice nap?”

  “Yeah,” she muttered, thick-headed and fur-tongued. Although she’d worried when she didn’t see him, irritation replaced concern. “Whatcha doing?”

  Connor offered her a small smile. “I checked my bank accounts to make sure my staff’s doing deposits and they have been. I didn’t figure you’d mind if I used the computer.”

  “I don’t,” Catherine replied although she wished he’d asked. “How did you boot it up without the password?”

  His smile transformed into a wide grin as he said, “I guessed it on my second try. Honey, my birthday was too easy.”

  He nailed it, she thought with exasperation. She’d thought it clever to use Connor’s date of birth figuring no one would ever guess that. But she hadn’t expected Connor to turn up or ever set foot in her house. “I suppose it was for you. How long did you sleep?”

  “A couple of hours,” he said, stretching, “I woke up and you were out so I got up and came in here. I’ve been on the computer a half hour or so. After I checked the bank I e-mailed my State Farm agent about the bike. I already heard back from her – it’s totaled.”

  Catherine moved so that she stood just behind him, her hands on his shoulders. “I could’ve told you that. I’m sorry, Connor.”

  “It’s no big deal. I had full coverage so I’ll get another one, probably even faster and better.”

  An image of another spill, worse than his recent one, filled her mind and to distract herself, she asked, “When did you get a motorcycle?”

  “I got my first cycle a long time ago,” Connor said. “This one I wrecked was third since then, I think.”

  “Maybe you should get a car instead,” Catherine suggested, “It might be safer when you crash.”

  Connor laughed and said, “I have a car, baby, a Trans Am just like the one I had back then but it’s at home. It’s even the same color but this one’s about a hundred times better.”

  She flashed back to that brilliant red Pontiac, one she’d spend many hours in and asked, “What did you do with the old one?”

  His smile faded. “I traded it in on the first bike and got cash too. I wouldn’t have done it except I needed the money bad.”

  “I’m sorry,” Catherine sighed and meant it. It’d been his baby, his prize and pride. He’d earned the money to buy it himself through hours of backbreaking hard work on summer road crews and even a stint in the Kansas wheat fields at harvest time. Connor tinkered with it until it ran smoother than her mother’s icing and could beat just about anyone else’s vehicle in informal drag races. He kept it clean, waxed it every weekend while she watched, and didn’t let anyone including her leave trash inside the immaculate interior. He’d even hand painted ‘Connor’s Dream Ride’ on the spoiler.

  “Easy come, easy go,” Connor said with a shrug belittling how important the car had been once. With sympathy, she massaged his tight shoulders, glad as the muscles loosened under her touch. She smoothed his long hair back out of his face and he turned his head upward. He wasn’t as pale and always the nurse, Catherine asked, “How do you feel?”

  Connor made a face that wrinkled up his nose and pursed his mouth. “I think a little better, Catherine. I’m still limping when I walk and it hurts after about two steps. I think I might be a little stronger than I’ve been.”

  “You’re looking good,” she said, moving one hand from his hair to stroke his cheek. “Your color’s a lot better. You were awfully pale.”

  “Was I?” he sounded surprised.

  “Oh, yeah,” Catherine told him, “ghost white pale, honey. You lost a fair amount of blood.”

  Connor screwed up his face in concentration. “I don’t remember that. Did I get transfusions?”

  “Of course,” she told him.

  “Jesus, I don’t remember that either. Maybe I hit my head a lot harder than I thought,” Connor said, sounding upset.

  “It’s very common not to remember all the details when you’re in a serious accident,” Catherine soothed. “If there’d been room, you’d waked up in ICU but it was full.”

  He moved his head from side to side, negative. “All I really recall is the bike skidded and I knew I’d lost control. The next thing I remember for sure is you. Hell, I thought I was crazy then. I didn’t expect to run across you but I’m glad I did.”

  “I am too.”

  Connor swiveled the office style chair and slid an arm around her waist. “I actually called your mom about two years ago to ask where you were but she wouldn’t tell me.”

  Surprise flared in her like a just lit candle. “You called Mom? She never told me that!”

  He nodded. “I did and she told me that you lived somewhere else, far away and you had a great life. ‘She doesn’t need to be stirred up with you showing up out of the clear blue sky’ is what she told me. Did I stir you up?”

  Catherine laughed aloud, “Oh, yeah, I’d say you did but I’m not complaining.”

  Learning that her family first separated her from the love of her life and then kept them apart left a bitter taste, like an old hickory nut in her mouth but the sweetness of having Connor here erased it.

  His dark bottomless eyes met hers, brimming full of open emotion.

  “I hope I don’t ever give you a reason to bitch about it, Cat.”

  Sure as she could be, Catherine bent down to put her mouth over his, whispering before their lips intersected, “You won’t, Connor, I know you won’t.”

  In that moment she believed it but later she’d remember what she’d said with sorrow.

  Chapter Eleven

  Beef and noodles with biscuits that evening and her mother’s old recipe for oatmeal raisin cookies the next day fed their bodies but Connor’s compliments nourished her soul. Catherine thought her cooking provided as much benefit as any medicine and by Sunday, he refused to take any of the high powered prescription pain pills. Instead he accepted ibuprofen but nothing else.

  That first night out of the hospital, they’d eaten then cuddled together on the couch watching movies from her small collection of DVD’s. Her selection ran heavy toward chick flicks but Connor liked some of the other movies she owned so they settled on The Others, a little dark, somewhat creepy but with a twist ending she’d always liked. Catherine offered to make a snack but he declined and so they sat in comfortable tandem until long after the late news ended.

  Between her unplanned nap and usual night owl schedule Catherine wasn’t tired but Connor became sleepy. When he dozed off for the fourth time, she nudged him and when he stirred, she told him, “You probably should go to bed, Connor. You keep falling asleep.”

  He mumbled something she couldn’t make out but shambled up. After he visited the bathroom he stumbled back into the living room and would have crashed in the recliner but Catherine stopped him.

  “You can’t sleep there,” she told him, “You’d be so stiff by morning you wouldn’t be able to move at all. I turned down my bed for you.”

  “I can’t take your bed and leave you with the couch,” Connor said, more awake now. “That’s not right.”

  Catherine snorted through her nose. “Don’t fuss with me. You need your rest more than I do. I probably won’t go to sleep for hours anyway. Go ahead and sleep in my bed. I put clean sheets on it this morning if you’re worried about it.”

  “I don’t care about the sheets,” Connor said, “I don’t want to kick you out of your own bed. Hell, at home I fall asleep on
the couch watching TV half the time anyway and wake up with a crick in my neck.”

  “You’re convalescing,” she reminded him, “You need to get a good night’s sleep.”

  Connor’s stare bore into her with the force of bolt lighting striking a tree. “The only way that I’ll sleep in your bed is with you.”

  Momentary shock muted Catherine’s voice but before she could respond, he offered her a sheepish small grin and added, “That sounds bad, I know. It’s even worse because I want you, Kitty Cat, but as good as it felt to kiss you, I don’t think I’m up to sex yet. What I meant it, come sleep beside me or I’ll just crash in the recliner or on the couch. I promise I won’t touch you unless you want me.”

  Her body melted like chocolate on the dashboard of a car during an August heat wave. Catherine arched her back like the cat he’d nicknamed her, just as electrified as one in heat.

  “I do want you, Connor,” she whispered, her voice hoarse as if her throat needed water, “I can’t deny that but I’ll wait until you’re healed enough. I’ll sleep in my bed with you if that’s what you want. I promise that I’ll try not to kick you or roll over on you.”

  “It won’t hurt if you do,” Connor replied, his tone thicker than hers and low-pitched.

  So that first night after his dismissal from the hospital they shared her double bed. Catherine scooted as far against the wall as she could, afraid she’d hurt him but her need to connect made her stretch out her hand to touch him. She touched him through the night, awake more often than she slept, comforted by his proximity.

  After that night, their shared days and nights blended together, pleasant and easy. As Connor’s strength returned and his hurts healed, Catherine let her guard down a little more each day, probably every hour. Connor did what he could with stubborn resolve but he also spent a great deal of time parked in the recliner. He slept a lot those first few days, something that seemed to bother him.

  “Jesus, all I do is sleep like an old man on a park bench,” he griped to her on the second or third day.