Escape Claws

by Linda Reilly

  “I’ve never read Pickwick,” Lara said. “What’s the premise?”

  A striped, orange cat hopped onto Brooke’s lap. Brooke plopped a soft kiss onto its furry head.

  “That’s Munster, I think,” Lara said, recalling her aunt’s earlier introduction to the resident felines.

  “It is,” Brooke confirmed. “Anyway, it’s about a band of lame old dudes who roam all over England having these so-called adventures”—she made air quotes around the word—“and then when they get back, some ditzy landlady sues dumpy old Pickwick for not marrying her!”

  Lara couldn’t help laughing at Brooke’s description of the classic Dickens novel. She’d never read it, so she couldn’t honestly critique it. “One of these days I’ll check it out,” Lara said. “Lately—in my rare spare time—I’ve been reading biographies of some of my favorite artists. Van Gogh, O’Keeffe—”

  A light tap at the kitchen door interrupted her. Munster slipped off Brooke’s lap and padded out of the kitchen.

  Before Lara could react, the door opened. A thirtysomething woman with short brunette hair and a bright smile peeked through the opening.

  “Hey, Mom, you’re early,” Brooke said, without much enthusiasm.

  The woman stepped into the kitchen and closed the door. “I am, a little, but—oh, hello there,” she said when she saw Lara.

  Lara rose from her chair. “Hi. I’m Lara Caphart, Fran’s niece. You’re Brooke’s mom?”

  The woman smiled, her resemblance to Darryl startling. “Yes, I’m Heather Weston. Pleased to meet you, Lara.” She extended her hand and Lara shook it briefly.

  “Can I get you something?” Lara asked. “Water? Juice?”

  “Thanks, but we have to be going. It’s food shopping day, remember?” Heather asked her daughter.

  Brooke groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

  “The kids hate helping me lug all the heavy stuff inside the house,” Heather explained. She focused her gaze on Brooke. “But we all have to pitch in these days, don’t we?”

  With a glum expression, Brooke nodded. “I’ll get Darryl.” She scooted off her chair and went to fetch her brother. Moments later, Darryl trailed his sister into the kitchen.

  “Mom, you should see how good I read today!”

  “Really?” Heather asked. “Can you show me after we get home?”

  Darryl nodded eagerly.

  Heather gave a tiny wave to Lara. “Tell Fran I said hi. Hope I see you again.”

  “I’m sure you will,” Lara said.

  After Heather and the kids left, Lara stuck her juice glass in the sink. Aunt Fran came from the direction of the bathroom into the kitchen.

  “Oh, there you are,” Lara said. “The kids’ mom just picked them up.”

  Aunt Fran nodded distractedly. “I watched Darryl read for a few minutes. It’s…inexplicable. You were right—he was reading that book aloud without a single hesitation.” She sat in one of the kitchen chairs, flinching as she bent her knees.

  Lara dropped onto a chair adjacent to her. “Did you happen to see the cat with him?”

  Aunt Fran looked at Lara as if she’d asked if she’d spotted the kangaroo in the room. “There was no cat in there, Lara.”

  From her aunt’s tone, Lara decided not to press it. “Hey, I like the Weston kids.”

  Aunt Fran smiled. “They’re sweet children, but right now they’re struggling. Their dad bailed on them several months ago. It’s been tough on the family. Heather does her best, but I think she’s getting worn out from being the sole supporter.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “The man was somewhat of a ne’er-do-well, but he always loved his kids. Unfortunately,” she said with an edge to her tone, “the words ‘child support’ were not in his personal dictionary. I don’t think Heather even knows where he is right now.”

  “That’s a shame,” Lara said. “Where does Heather work?”

  “Knowles Transitional Care, in Wolfeboro,” her aunt said. “She’s an LNA, a licensed nursing assistant. The place is so understaffed that she often has to work extra hours. Although, as she often points out, it’s better than working for Theo Barnes.”

  “Barnes? That rude man we saw in the coffee shop?”

  “The very same. Up until a few years ago, Heather worked in his office. He was such a miserable employer that it prompted her to go to school for her LNA. She did, and she’s never looked back.”

  Theo Barnes again, Lara thought. “You make Barnes sound like the devil in disguise, Aunt Fran.”

  Her aunt pointed a finger at her, her green eyes blazing. “Yes, Lara, you nailed it. He is the devil in disguise. The problem is, his disguise has slipped away and now he’s just the devil.”

  Chapter 3

  “Thank you for making dinner, Lara. That omelet was scrumptious.”

  Settled in the wing chair in front of the unlit fireplace, Aunt Fran folded a crocheted throw over her legs and patted her knees. Dolce accepted the invitation and sprang onto her lap, green eyes gazing up at her adoringly.

  “Anytime,” Lara said, genuinely pleased. She was sitting on the floor next to her aunt, Munster curled in a half-moon atop her folded legs. “My landlady—her name’s Gabriela—calls them frittate, the plural of frittata. She’s the one I told you about—the one who owns the bakery.”

  “And she’s teaching you some Italian, I see.” Aunt Fran smiled.

  Lara waggled her hand back and forth. “A little, but I’m kind of a crappy student.”

  “Lately,” Aunt Fran went on, “I’ve been making do with frozen dinners and canned soup. Not exactly my style, but it’s easier on my knees. I don’t do well standing at the stove or at the sink for long periods.” She rested her hands over Dolce and softly stroked the cat. “And thank you again for helping today. The house already looks much better.”

  And smells better, Lara thought, though in reality she’d only skimmed the surface of what needed to be done. Tomorrow she hoped to give the place a good vacuuming and maybe some dusting.

  Aunt Fran’s smile wilted. “I still don’t know why you’re here, Lara. Do you want to enlighten me?”

  Okay, the moment of truth.

  “Aunt Fran, I’m going to be honest. I’ve been here less than half a day and already I’m very worried about you. I remember this house before…before—”

  “Before your mother and Roy moved away?” The bitterness in her aunt’s tone surprised Lara.

  “Y-yes, before that.” Lara stroked Munster’s soft head for courage. “But what I meant was, um…before you got so overwhelmed with cats. And I don’t mean to pry, honestly I don’t, but…have you seen a specialist about your knees?”

  “I’m not a fool, Lara. Of course I have.” She sighed. “My doctor calls my condition rapidly destructive osteoarthritis. It means the deterioration in the cartilage happened quickly, not over a long period. He’s urging me to have replacements done in both knees.”

  Oh, boy. That sounded bad. No wonder Aunt Fran had so much difficulty walking.

  Lara tickled Munster under the chin, triggering a loud purr. “So what are you waiting for? Why don’t you just have the surgery?”

  “You sound like everyone else,” her aunt said, a touch of snark in her tone. “You don’t see it, do you?”

  “See what? I—”

  “How can I have knee surgery with no one to care for the cats? It requires several days in the hospital, and even more in a rehab facility, like the one where Heather works. And after that, a long period of recovery at home, with therapists making home visits. And that’s only for one knee.”

  “Okay, I get it. But isn’t there anyone you can ask for help? Maybe pay someone to house-sit/catsit for a few weeks?”

  Aunt Fran shook her head. “I tried finding someone, but no one was willing to work for the pay I could offer. Besides, a few weeks wouldn’t be enough.”

  “Your knees,” Lara said. “That’s why you quit teaching this year, isn’t
it?”

  “It is, and before you ask, I do get a monthly disability check. The problem is, it’s barely enough to keep this house up and running. Once winter sets in, the heating bills will skyrocket.”

  Munster began chewing on the sleeve of Lara’s paisley pullover. She smiled and bent down to kiss his whiskers. “What about Brooke?” she suggested. “She obviously likes your cats. Could she give you some help with the litter boxes?”

  “She could and she offered to do so, but I refused. And since I can already see a question mark forming in that inquisitive head of yours, I’ll tell you why. You probably don’t remember your grandmother—my mother—do you?”

  Lara shook her head. “Not really.” A vague memory of a scowling woman with a caustic tongue came to mind. Lara had been quite young at the time. She wasn’t sure if that had been her grandmother or a neighbor.

  “Well, when I was a young girl,” Aunt Fran explained, her voice tight, “my mother suddenly declared one day that she was a semi-invalid. No doctor had ever told her that, or diagnosed her with anything in particular. But the label worked well for her so she stuck with it.” Her hands shook a little. “I was forced to perform all sorts of chores that a child should never be charged with. Including personal hygiene tasks that were mortifying to me.”

  Dolce stared up at Aunt Fran, as if he felt her sudden angst.

  “Oh, I…” Lara swallowed. “I’m so sorry. That sounds truly awful. Look, I get what you’re saying. But if Brooke really wants to help. Wouldn’t it be a good after-school job for her?”

  Aunt Fran’s expression softened. “It might be, but I know Brooke quite well. When she does something she enjoys, especially if it means helping someone, she puts her whole heart into it. I’m worried that if she started helping with the cats, she’d get so involved that her schoolwork would suffer. Plus, she’ll be entering high school next year, and will have even more homework than she does now.”

  That is so Aunt Fran, Lara thought. You can take the teacher out of the school…

  Finally, Lara relented. She didn’t want to badger her aunt anymore. She’d have to figure out another way to get her some help. “So you’ve been doing some private tutoring?”

  “Not really. So far I’ve only helped Darryl with reading, but I’d like to do more if I can. Actually,” she said, “I don’t get paid for working with Darryl. His mom barely makes ends meet as it is. And speaking of Darryl…”

  “Yes, speaking of Darryl,” Lara repeated. “Why do you think he suddenly started reading practically at high school level?”

  Slowly, her aunt shook her head. “I can’t explain it, Lara. I saw it with my own eyes and I still don’t believe it. Just yesterday he couldn’t pronounce the word quarry. But this afternoon…” Her words drifted sideways, and she seemed to lose the thread. She leaned her head back in the chair and closed her eyes. She remained that way for so long that Lara wondered if she’d nodded off.

  Taking advantage of the awkward silence, Lara glanced around, drinking in all the treasures that had fascinated her as a girl. When she was young she’d called this room the “fancy” room. She could still picture herself stretched out on the floor with her sketch pad and colored pencils, trying to copy the swirly patterns in the Oriental carpet. What had delighted her most was her aunt’s collection of Victorian flue covers. Lara was happy to see they were still displayed on the mantel, each one depicting a colorful cat or kitten.

  There was, of course, a cat tree in the front window. Covered in sturdy beige carpeting, it had ledges and cubbyholes and a perch at the top. Two gray-and-white kittens were nestled inside the lower cubby. Lara cooed to them in a soft, singsong voice, hoping to entice them closer. Instead they huddled into a tighter ball, as if protecting one another.

  Lara’s gaze drifted to the doorway that led to a back hallway. Beyond that was another porch—one that was screened in. When Lara had been hunting down litter boxes to clean, she’d found three of them out there. For some reason, she didn’t recall her aunt ever having spent much time on that porch, even with its short set of stairs that led out to the side yard. Aunt Fran evidently preferred the openness of the wraparound porch in front, and the padded wicker chair in which she could rock to her heart’s content.

  Aunt Fran’s eyes opened abruptly. “Tomorrow, if you’re still here,” she said, “maybe you could sit with Darryl for a while. What happened today might have been a complete fluke. I’d welcome your opinion, Lara.” She rested a hand on Dolce, who snuggled farther into her lap.

  “I’ll be happy to do that,” Lara said. She was miffed at her aunt’s implication that she was going to hightail it back to Boston the next day and leave her without any help. “And unless you toss me out, I have no intention of bailing on you.”

  Lara knew she sounded cranky, but she was tired and beyond frustrated with her aunt’s situation. How could Aunt Fran have let things get this dire? Why hadn’t she tried to find homes for some of the cats? Wasn’t there a local humane society that could give her some assistance?

  “Why would I toss you out, as you put it?” her aunt asked testily.

  Lara blew out a breath. “Listen, Aunt Fran,” she said evenly, “from the time I got here this afternoon, I’ve sensed that you’re angry with me.” Her aunt started to interrupt but Lara held up a hand. “Granted, I haven’t tried to contact you for a very long time. I honestly can’t explain why. When Dad first got that new job and we moved to Sudbury, I was utterly miserable. I missed you so much. Plus, I was dying without Sherry. But I remember sending you a bunch of cards and you never wrote me back.”

  Aunt Fran looked genuinely puzzled. “I only received one card,” she insisted. “It was about a week after you’d moved. I wrote several letters to you, but never heard from you again. One day I tried to call, but the number had been changed to a private one.”

  Lara was stunned. She’d never received those letters. As for the phone number, she remembered her dad saying that because of his job they needed to get an unlisted number. She assumed he’d given the number to Aunt Fran, his only sister.

  Her aunt’s eyes misted. “I’m sorry if I sounded cross,” she said. “My emotions are all over the place right now.”

  Yeah, tell me about it, Lara wanted to say. “I know. Mine, too.” She placed a hand over her aunt’s thin fingers and was rewarded with a squeeze. “So maybe we can start fresh, okay?”

  Aunt Fran smiled, and her eyes brightened. “That sounds like a plan. You can start by telling me what I’ve missed all these years. Your career, boyfriends…” She let the words dangle.

  Lara skimmed over the details of her art career, which, so far, had been less than impressive. She’d sold a few watercolors, but her earnings hadn’t been spectacular. Her online art projects supplemented her income, but the work was sporadic—nothing she could depend on. Her part-time job at the bakery kept her in food and rent, but with little left over. Not having a car helped. Taking the T to get around Boston, while annoying, gave her plenty of opportunities to find interesting faces to sketch. She occasionally did it surreptitiously between the seemingly endless T stops.

  “Is there…anyone special in your life?” Aunt Fran asked.

  The question surprised Lara. The dismal truth was that she’d never had anyone truly special in her life. Oh sure, she’d had boyfriends. But none had ever risen to the level of a “significant other.”

  “No, no one. Aunt Fran, you were going to tell me all about that awful Theo Barnes. Why is he bothering you?”

  Her aunt’s face clouded. “He’s been trying to coerce me into selling part of my land. You know the vacant stretch below the crest of the hill, behind the town’s parcel?”

  Lara nodded slowly. She realized she was smiling to herself. She’d spent much of her early childhood exploring that empty field. It stretched from the back of the town’s tiny park to the bank of the narrow stream that formed her aunt’s rear boundary line. The meadow was a haven for a wealth of small animal s
pecies. Her favorites had been the red salamanders that darted along the water’s edge.

  Aunt Fran continued. “Theo desperately wants that land so he can build luxury condo units. According to him, he already has interested buyers.”

  “First of all,” Lara said, “he can’t force you to do anything with your own property that you don’t want to do. And second, think of all the animals that would be disrupted! And besides,” she added, picturing the location in her mind, “isn’t it landlocked?”

  Her aunt nodded. “Right on all counts. Unfortunately, Theo owns the parcel adjacent to mine—it’s part of the town block where Bowker’s Coffee Stop is. If he consolidates my land with his, then the problem of street access will disappear. But that’s not all. His latest ploy is to claim he owns a big chunk of my land. Supposedly he had a survey done. My vacant parcel, he insists, doesn’t stretch as far as I think it does.”

  Lara rolled her eyes. “What a royal toad. No offense to frogs.”

  “He’s not a nice man,” her aunt said tartly. “And that’s as much as I can say without using a few choice descriptors that are not in the dictionary. Not in my dictionary, anyway.” Her green eyes twinkled a bit.

  Munster rose, stretched, and lumbered off Lara’s lap. Lara took advantage of the sudden freedom and stretched out her legs. “Aunt Fran, have you talked to a lawyer about this?”

  “Not yet. But I did try to find a survey of my property at the town hall. The only thing they had was the assessor’s map. The town clerk told me I’d have to go to the Registry of Deeds in Ossipee to get the recorded survey.”

  “If you need it, Aunt Fran, I’ll drive up there and get it for you.”

  Aunt Fran’s smile was warm, if a bit awkward. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

  There were so many other questions Lara wanted to ask. She was beginning to realize how much she’d missed during all the years she’d been away. But when she looked over at her aunt, she saw that her eyelids were drooping. She needed a solid night’s rest. They both did.

  “It’s after ten,” Aunt Fran said, as if reading her mind. She lifted Dolce gently and set him down on the faded Oriental rug. With the help of the cane she’d hooked over the arm of her chair, she pushed to her feet. “Why don’t we call it a night? We can chat more in the morning.” Her voice sounded hoarse with fatigue.