The Cat Lady's Secret

by Linda W. Yezak

  How great it would be to have an equine clinic. He sighed. Maybe someday—like when he’d paid off his college loan.

  He gave Scotch Bonnet a final pat and headed toward the back door of his two-bedroom farmhouse. He had just enough time to fill a jug with water before the ball game. As he climbed the back porch steps, the phone in the kitchen rang. He clomped across the ancient hardwood floor and grabbed it.

  The hesitant voice of Spencer Milligan answered his greeting. “Mom’s gotta work late tonight, and I need a ride to the game. Can you come get me?”

  “Sure. You still under that three-strikes penalty?”

  “Yeah. For another week.” Spencer spit out the word week as if it burned his tongue. “Cuts into my freedom, ya know?”

  “Well, soon as you learn your lesson, you’ll get your freedom back, right?”

  Silence seethed over the line. Apparently Spencer and his dad hadn’t come to terms yet. The family matter wasn’t Scott’s concern, but as a coach of the team, the game was. “I’ll see you in five minutes.”

  7

  Late Monday evening, Emily slipped out of her shoes, left them by her apartment door, then headed to the kitchen for some ice water. The food bank where she volunteered had been hectic all afternoon, and the people unusually short-tempered.

  Record heat indexes were keeping everyone edgy, and the air conditioner had struggled to cool the building. Each time the door opened, the battle was lost. The coolness of her own little home never felt so good.

  She grabbed the TV remote and stretched out with a contented sigh on an overstuffed sofa. The cats were tended, the day was done, and she had nothing more to do than catch a movie. She rubbed one foot with the other and allowed her mind to go blank as Parker Milligan explained in a compassionate voice how faithful his insurance company was in times of trouble. As images of house fires swept across the screen, Emily made a mental note to contact him if she bought the Queen Anne.

  Just as the tension drained from her shoulders, the phone rang and tightened them again. She retrieved the cordless from the oak coffee table.

  “Hello,” she said and then grimaced. Her voice sounded as annoyed as she felt at being interrupted.

  “Rough day?” Connor asked over the line.

  “No...no.” She smiled. “Well, yeah. Just a little stressful. Nothing serious.”

  “I have some news that’ll brighten you up. I got the Sawyer boy all set. He’ll be airlifted to Dallas tomorrow.”

  “Oh, that does brighten my day! How did you manage it?”

  “I was surprised how amenable the hospital was. We don’t have an idea of how much the boy’s bills will be, but the Dogwood Medical Center’s administration assured me they’d be willing to work with me. They’re handling the negotiations with the Dallas hospital, too, and so far, things seem to be riding under a green light.”

  “I’d love to run into the parents. They seemed so hopeless before.”

  “Well, they’re not hopeless now. At least, not where money is concerned.”

  “Thank you so much, Connor. I just knew you could arrange something. You’re the best!”

  “I’m not through yet.” He paused, and she thought she’d burst with anticipation before he spoke again. “You’re one step away from being a homeowner.”

  “Homeowner? They accepted my offer?” Emily’s nerves sizzled.

  “Got the call from Oklahoma this afternoon.”

  She jumped to her feet. “How soon can you get the papers ready?”

  “Afraid she’ll back out?”

  “No. Just anxious to get started. Can you have them ready tomorrow? When will the closing be?”

  “Ms. Farley’s attorney is drawing up the papers. I can ask him to put a rush on it, but I can’t guarantee when he’ll get to it.”

  “I don’t know if I can wait.”

  “You don’t have much choice.” He chuckled, but then his voice turned serious. “Both of your accounts are going to take some pretty serious hits in the next few days.”

  “I know. I won’t touch the charities account again until all of Mitchell’s bills are paid.”

  “I’m holding you to that promise. What about your personal account?”

  “I’ll be fine for the next few months. The fact Ms. Farley accepted my offer left me with a couple thousand over what I anticipated. I really thought she would negotiate more.”

  “She seemed ready to get rid of that old house.”

  “I’m glad. Now I can pay for some repairs.” And she couldn’t wait to implement a few of her plans. After a few more moments of small talk, she told Connor goodbye and disconnected.

  A smile curved her lips. She sat for a moment and savored the word: Homeowner. She’d never owned a house before. In Houston, she’d been too dedicated to Deck the Walls and her charity work to spend time in her tiny apartment, much less look for a larger place. Now she’d not only found a house, she’d found the one of her dreams—once she finished with it, anyway. She needed to retain Roger and his crew so they could start the renovation as soon as the paperwork was done.

  Well, no. First, she needed to contact Parker Milligan for an insurance quote. She may have enough money for the down payment and a few renovations, but she’d need financing, and every mortgage institution she’d ever heard of required insurance on the collateral.

  According to the clock, it was too late. Parker’s office probably closed an hour ago. He’d have to be first on the list tomorrow, but surely Roger wouldn’t mind a call at home.

  She dialed, and a woman answered.

  “Lauren? Uh...hi.” She cringed. Why hadn’t she realized Lauren might answer the phone?

  “Emily?” Lauren’s voice registered high in disbelief, as if Emily were a talking Chihuahua. “It’s been awhile.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. Roger said you were mad at me.”

  “I don’t think mad is the right word. More like...perplexed.” Lauren was silent for a moment. “Mama died two years ago.”

  Emily brought a hand to her lips and sagged in her chair. She didn’t even know Mrs. Keller had been sick. Lauren had comforted Emily when her parents died. It pained Emily that she hadn’t been there to return the favor. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Yeah, well...I needed you then.”

  “I wish you had called.”

  “I hadn’t heard from you in years. What was I supposed to say? Hi Em, how ya doin’? Mama’s dead.” She expelled a tired breath. “I understood when you and Wade were dating. New business, new boyfriend. No time. I kept thinking I’d be getting a wedding invitation. But you’ve been back over a year now. No wedding, no Wade, and no comment. I don’t even know what happened between you two.”

  In the silence that followed, Emily realized Lauren wanted an explanation. But she couldn’t provide one. She couldn’t tell her of the flash-fire romance that ended in shame and near bankruptcy. There was no sanitized version of the events she could express to her questioning friends. Not in Houston, where they had watched her life unfold on the six o’clock news. And certainly not here, where she’d have to explain from the beginning for anyone to understand.

  “I shouldn’t have lost touch with you,” she said. “I shouldn’t have left you to face your mother’s death alone. I’m so sorry.”

  “Yeah, well...” Lauren vented a light snort. “You owe me five years’ worth of girl talk.”

  “Does that mean I’m forgiven?”

  “That remains to be seen.”

  8

  Scott rolled the push-mower back into his mother’s one-car garage and wiped his sweaty forehead on his arm. August heat was bad enough, but the humidity made it outright unbearable. Mowing the small, quarter-acre lot of his childhood home left him dehydrated.

  A fact Rita Barlow must’ve anticipated. She slammed out of the house with a dishrag in one hand and bottled water in the other, and shoved the bottle at him. “You look dry. Drink this before you crumble into dust.”

  Scott down
ed half of it in one gulp. “Dinner ready?”

  “Just ’bout. You got enough time to clean up while I’m setting the table.”

  His mother led the way to the door of her tiny, red-brick house, but Scott paused on the stoop to take off his grassy sneakers and finish the other half of the water. The yard looked good, though the flowerbeds held a few weeds and promised to be his after-supper chore. He’d taken care of this lawn since he was six years old and barely tall enough to push the mower.

  His father had abandoned them before Scott uttered his first words, leaving his mother to fill the roles of both parents. As Scott grew, he’d taken over the jobs his father should’ve been there to do.

  He’d asked about his dad once when he was eleven or twelve.

  “You’re dad’s a rambler, honey, a vagabond. It’s my sin for not seein’ it beforehand.”

  At an early age, Scott had vowed not to be like his daddy. He’d been away just long enough to get his doctorate in Veterinary Medicine and then ran back home. And here he’d stay.

  “You comin’?” his mother called from the kitchen window. “I swear, this chicken’s gonna grow feathers and start to cluckin’ before you get yourself in here!”

  Smiling, Scott shook his head. “I’m coming.”

  Washed and feeling a bit fresher, he sat to a dinner of fried chicken, homemade rolls, fresh green beans, and roasted new potatoes. The steam was still rising from the chicken’s crusty coat, so there was no danger of a miraculous poultry resurrection occurring tonight. He took his mother’s hand and bowed his head.

  “Father, thank You for this food and for the jobs that helped pay for it. Bless Mom with good health—”

  “—and Scotty with a wife.”

  “In the name of our Lord, Jesus Christ, amen.” Scott rushed the words and then raised his brows at his mother. “Mom, I’ll get a wife in good time, in God’s time.”

  “Don’t hurt none for me to want to hurry His time a little.” She passed the chicken platter. “How’re things goin’ with Emily?”

  Scott sighed over his drumstick. “Not so hot. She keeps turning me down.”

  “Well, Carol is back in town. Did ya know that? And she’s pretty as a spring flower. Still single, I hear.”

  “That’s good to know. Can I have the potatoes?”

  The chipped bowl passed from hand to hand. “She’s going to set up shop in one of the old stores downtown. A little boutique of Texas things to sell to tourists.”

  “Um-hm.”

  “You can stuff your face and listen at the same time, you know.”

  “I am listening. And it’s the same old chatter every week. I’ll get married when it’s time.”

  “Past time, if you ask me,” she muttered. “So, how’d the ball game go Friday? Y’all win?”

  “Yeah. Valley View played tough, but we got them.”

  “And how’d the Milligan boy do?”

  “Good. He got seven strike-outs.” Scott rose from the table to refill his tea glass and then poured some in his mother’s, too. “He was burning that ball across the plate. Guess he had some anger to work out.”

  “His parents splitting up the way they did prob’ly caused the bulk of that anger. Saw Melissa in the grocery store yesterday with that new man of hers. After six years, you’d think she’d marry that man instead of livin’ in sin like she is.” His mother’s mouth puckered, deepening the wrinkles on her upper lip. “Seems to me she should’ve moved away rather than flaunt herself in town the way she does. I bet poor Parker just hates running into them two and hearin’ ’bout their antics. I don’t see how he bears it.”

  “All I know is that Spencer’s been a handful. Parker’s trying to maintain discipline, but it’s gotta be tough when they live in separate homes.”

  “Well, he’s a good boy, and he’s got you to look up to. You’re good for him.” She cast a sidelong glance. “Just think how great you’d be with your own kids.”

  Scott speared green beans and shoved them in his mouth.

  “You know, I’m not getting any younger. I’d like some grandkids before I get too old to play with them.”

  “Um-hm.” A pineapple upside-down cake sat cooling on the counter, with its red cherries winking at Scott as if to invite him over.

  “I can get Carol’s number if you’d like.”

  He pushed his chair back and headed for dessert.

  “Or Pat’s. She’s still single. And I know how you are with brunettes.”

  “Just one brunette, Mom.” Just Emily.

  ****

  The message light was flashing on Scott’s phone when he returned home. A glance at the caller ID told him Roger had called while Scott was at his mom’s, but when he listened to the voice mail, it was Lauren’s soft alto on the recording.

  “You’re forgiven,” was all she said.

  Forgiven for what?

  Scott glanced at the clock. It was just eight-thirty, well within the range of “decent hours” to return a phone call.

  Lauren answered.

  “Thanks for forgiving me. What did I do?”

  “I figured that’d get your attention.” She giggled. “Emily called tonight.”

  “Did you two make up?”

  “Sure. I can’t stay mad at her long. Why didn’t you ever tell me she was back?”

  “At first I thought she was just planning to surprise you, and I didn’t want to blow it for her. But the longer it took, the more I wondered if she didn’t have some other reason for not calling you.” He moved his medical kit off his recliner and sank into the cushion. “She didn’t tell you what went on in Houston, did she?”

  “Not a word.” Lauren’s sigh reflected all the frustration Scott had felt for a year. “Has she ever told you anything?”

  “Nope. Whatever happened must’ve cut deep. Sometimes I’m with her and she’s just like the girl we grew up with. And sometimes...” Sometimes pain shadowed her expression, and it ripped his heart out. He wanted to soothe her, protect her. “Sometimes, she’s just different.”

  “Well, I’ll get to the bottom of it eventually. She’s coming over for supper Saturday night and—hey! Why don’t you to come, too? I could get my two favorite single friends here at the same time.”

  “You cooking?”

  “No, you old stink bait, I’m not cooking. And I resent that tone in your voice!” Judging by the laugh in hers, the resentment was only slight. “Roger’s going to put some burgers on the pit.”

  “In that case, I’ll see you Saturday. You don’t have to ask me twice.”

  Lauren snorted. “I bet I’d have to if I was cooking.”

  “Don’t tell her I’m coming. Let’s just surprise her.”

  With her promise, Scott got off the line and grinned. This was as close to a date with Emily as he could get. Maybe it would soften her toward a real date.

  9

  “Hey, lady, what’s the net for?”

  I look behind me to see who’s talking. He’s a cute little thing. Red hair and freckles. No more than eight, probably. “Walk with me and I’ll tell ya.”

  I limp across the hospital park, my hand on his shoulder. This late in the summer, the park’s one of few places in town still green and lush. Guess the umbrella limbs of the giant oaks protect it from all this heat. The leaves are looking a bit wilted, though.

  We settle at a picnic table, and I hand him my net.

  “Feel that?” I ask.

  “Feel what?”

  “The power.” I gawk in mock-disbelief, as if he should’ve noticed it right off. “Electrifying, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t feel nothing.” He ran his hands up and down the pole and around the net. “I don’t feel nothing at all.”

  “Ah, well. Maybe I’m the only one who can feel it.” I take the net back and shake it like vibrant energy shot up my arm at the touch. “It’s strong today. Ready for the hunt.”

  “What do ya hunt with it?”

  “Vicious creatures. Wild.
See that?” I point to a place on the handle where the brown paint had scratched off when I dropped it last week. It had fallen against a chain link fence, and the scratch marks look like a lion slashed it with its claws. “This net’s the only thing that saved me from a ferocious monster. He was bigger than a tiger. All fur and muscle. Claws longer than your hand, sharper than kitchen knives. His eyes were yellow and red, like hot coals. And his teeth! His teeth would’ve chomped me in half if not for this net.”

  The boy’s dark blue eyes grow wide; his little cherry lips form an O.

  I lower my voice. “And do you know what happened when he sank his teeth into my net?”

  “No,” he whispered. “What happened?”

  “Presto, bang-o! He turned into a kitten!”

  “Wow!” I hadn’t thought his eyes could get any wider, but sure enough, they do. “Can I hold it again?”

  I hand it to him. “Can you feel it yet?”

  “I think I can.” He caresses it like it’s a royal scepter. “I do! I feel it!”

  He’s more likely to be hearing than feeling. A helicopter is coming, the props thrumming the air with a steady beat that grows louder as it approaches. We watch the chopper land on the hospital roof, its red cross visible even from here, between the leaves and branches.

  He stares up at it. “What’s going on?”

  “I reckon someone’s getting a ride.”

  “Where to?”

  “I bet he’s going to the heart of Texas. A land of health and healing. More miraculous than my net.”

  “Wow.”

  In a matter of minutes, the whirlybird thunders back into the heavens. The rapid thumping strums the air as it flies away until it’s just a low hum in the distance.

  “Wow.” He stares through the tree limbs as if he could see the dot in the sky fly all the way to Dallas.

  How fun it must be to be young. Everything’s new. Each day promises an adventure. Bet he didn’t think when he woke up this bright Tuesday morning that he’d be holding a wondrous, cat-transforming net by afternoon.