Must Love Cats
Page 1
Must Love Cats
Tara Brown
Copyright 2020 Tara Brown
This is a work of fiction.
All names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text Copyright © 2020 Tara Brown
This work is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This work may not be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the express written consent of the publisher.
Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. No alteration of content is permitted.
Published by Tara Brown.
Printed in the United States of America
Cover Art by Dark Tree Designs
Edited by Andrea Burns
All rights reserved.
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Contents
Foreword
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Epilogue
The end
ALSO BY
About the Author
This story is my holiday homage to Sliding Doors, one of my favourite movies!
Hope you love it.
Chapter 1
December 24, 2019
Halifax, NS
“Can you hear me now?” I joke as I start the freezing cold car in the dark lot at work. The parking area streetlight above me flickers on and off, threatening to go out completely though the threat is empty since it’s barely giving off light as it is. I make a note to remind the maintenance guy when we get back from Christmas break on the thirtieth.
“Did it switch over to Bluetooth?” Shawnee, my best friend, asks. “I hate talking on speakerphone. That old car’s so noisy.”
“No, stupid thing,” I say and blow warm air on my aching fingers which are frigid from scrubbing my car windows with my credit card again. “I thought we weren’t supposed to have freezing rain yet. This weather is awful,” I moan, not emotionally prepared for the wintery season to hit. Four months of bleak, dark, and wet. The typical East Coast Canadian experience. It’s no wonder so many snowbirds flee for Arizona and Florida when they retire.
“Yes, the weather sucks, but the real villain here is Rod. Your Bluetooth is awful. I can’t believe you let that man install a ridiculous aftermarket system instead of getting a new car,” Shawnee says, teasing as she’s quite aware of my feelings on the matter. “I think we need to talk about the big ‘D’ word.”
“Divorce?” I ask, hoping not to discuss this again. At least not on Christmas Eve.
“Disposal. It’s time, my girl.” She scoffs. “Though divorce might be an apt word too.”
“How dare you?” I say just above a whisper, petting the icy steering wheel that is worn enough for me to see my finger marks from years of gripping it. “You know I love this car.”
We giggle at my lack of defense of Rod, my husband.
“You should make Rod drive that thing and steal his Mercedes. Better yet, divorce him and take it.”
“Listen, you’re jinxing me with your blasphemy. I have to drive home on icy roads. Good old Helen will break down on the way home if you keep this up.” I look at the dashboard. “Don’t listen to her, Helen.”
“You’re so weird,” she says and laughs harder, always tormenting me about the car I proudly bought outright, on my own, five years ago. “You know what though? Helen is exactly the name that old white-lady car deserves.”
“You know my favorite aunt was Helen. And the Bluetooth wasn’t having problems until Rod borrowed the car last week,” I add and crank the heat. “Can you hear me over the fan?” I ask and put the car in reverse, backing out of my parking space.
“Barely. But don’t suffer without some heat. It’s freezing out and I can’t talk long anyway. I need some sleep. What did you want to tell me?” Her words are mixed with a yawn.
“Oh, is that why you’re being cranky?” I torment her back as I join the Halifax traffic heading for the bridge.
“I’m not cranky. I’m still on London time. It’s technically almost nine at night for me.” She yawns again. “And the fact it was dark at four thirty isn’t helping me stay awake. God, I hate winter.”
“Stop being such a grinch. It’s Christmas Eve. Anyway, I wanted to see if we’re still on for your parents’ house on the twenty-sixth.”
“You know it.” She yawns again. “I came home early for it.”
“Perfect.” I leave the steady stream of bridge commuters, grateful I don’t have to go that way, and drive for the Bedford Highway home. Not that this route is much faster. Everyone is creeping over the icy roads. Freezing rain is the worst and it’s a month early. I hope that doesn’t mean an extra month of this nonsense. “Are you in town until the new year then?” I ask.
“Yes, I’m home for a bit, thank God,” she says with a hint of relief in her tone. “Then it’s on to Vietnam at the end of January for nine weeks. After that, we are going back to Kenya in May for my Bibi’s birthday. Are you going to come with my family this year? Mom’s been asking again. You will love it there. The food and family—”
“I can’t. I already spent my travel money for the year.” I wait, knowing she’s about to get spicy.
“Let me guess. Cancun at the end of January. Cuba in May with Rod’s golf friends and their wives. And Vegas in September.” She mocks me with the travel schedule that never changes. “Why do you spend your money on these all-inclusive resorts you don’t like? Why does Rod always get to choose? You guys don’t even share money!” she snaps.
“I—like our vacations.” My tone isn’t as convincing as it needs to be.
“You do not! Don’t be such a baby. Tell Rod he can go to Cuba on his own this time,” she says my husband’s name with nearly as much disdain as he says hers. Their dislike of one another has been a constant sore spot for me, considering she’s basically family. Shawnee’s been my best friend since we were seven. A fact she loves to remind me of. She came first.
I’m about to defend our vacations as I slow for the line of traffic ahead, when I see the license
plate in front of me and recognize it. “Hey, speaking of Rod and his Mercedes, I think I’m about to stop behind him at the light. He must have gotten through that last inspection earlier than he thought.”
“Flip him off for me,” she grumbles bitterly.
“Stop it. Though I might flip him off for stealing my window scraper again. My sister’s husband scrapes her windows for her and mine steals the scraper and leaves me to do my windows with a credit card.”
I lift my hand to press on the horn when I hear a click and a voice plays over the radio. It’s a lady with a bad connection, “I can't wait to go back to Mexico. There's something about afternoon sex with the smell of suntan lotion everywhere that really does it for me—” the woman’s voice cuts out as abruptly as it cut in.
“Girl—what?” Shawnee scoffs from my cell phone. “That’s a bit of an overshare. No offense but imagining Rod in his Speedo isn’t exactly my kind of good time. I don’t need to add him having sex to torment myself. Especially not with suntan lotion everywhere. Why can’t you just buy normal lube—?”
“What? That—that wasn’t me.” I stare at the car ahead, my husband’s car, which is pulling forward slowly, creating a gap between us. “It was over Bluetooth. That voice was—my Bluetooth picked up someone else’s phone.” The words leave my lips almost robotically. Who would Rod be talking to about sex and suntan lotion?
“Wait—you’re still parked behind Rod? That was his phone?”
The light turns and we all pull away, me following Rod but not getting too close. My mind whirls in circles as I play the moment over and over.
“Lil, his phone is still synced with your Bluetooth! It must have glitched and caught his call for a second.”
Oh God. Could it be her?
“Lil!”
“I don’t—I don’t know what that was,” I lie, though there’s no point. I can’t think straight.
Shawnee’s panicking now too. “Who was that woman? Fuck, was it what’s-her-name? You better bust his ass!”
I step on the gas, getting closer to him again until our cars are near enough that I’m uncomfortable because of the icy roads. The voice comes back and this time I recognize it, “I miss your cock, Roddy.” A horn honks and I have to glance about to see if it’s near us, but it isn’t. It’s her side of the phone line. She must be driving in traffic too. “You sure you can’t get away this week? I can tell Brent I need to go to the mall—”
“Oh my God!” Shawnee screams. “Lilly, what is going on? It is that bitch, isn’t it?”
My insides are on fire. “Elaine?” I whisper.
“Lilly?” Elaine, Rod’s best friend’s wife, whispers back. The horror in her voice is obvious, despite the phone cutting out.
My foot comes off the pedal. Rod drives away, through the light that I am inching up to. The Bluetooth cuts out once more.
The bells in the church yard next to me ring so loud they seem like they’re inside my head.
Ding!
What just happened?
Ding!
What do I do?
Ding!
The scene around me is spinning and yet I swear time stands still.
Ding!
“Lil?” Shawnee says my name somewhere in the distance and her voice is cutting out.
Ding!
On the fifth bell, five o’clock on Christmas Eve, unbeknownst to me, my world splits in two.
Two of me.
Two paths.
Chapter 2
December 24
“Lil?” Shawnee calls to me, her voice clearer now.
I coast in the car until I’m barely moving toward the green light.
The ringing of the church bells is gone.
I shudder as my brain makes a thousand habitual excuses for why and how and why Rod would be talking to Elaine. But there is one explanation. And this is not the first time I’ve thought it. It’s the first time I’ve been able to prove it.
My car rolls to a stop.
Rod is having an affair.
Rod is actually having—
Bam!
Something jolts my head forward. I’m moving again. There’s blinding pain and darkness and metal crunching. Shawnee is screaming and I might be as well.
Searing agony rips through me. In the spinning and jostling I manage to whisper, “Shawnee.” But she’s lost in the chaos. All I hear now is ringing.
Needing to get out, I try to grab the door handle, but my left arm isn’t working. I reach across with my right hand and open it, falling out, still wearing my seat belt so it holds me sort of suspended. The movement makes the knife stabbing into my shoulder worsen. I’m screaming again as my fingers tremble, struggling to unclick the belt.
It’s tight and tangled and I can’t get free, but the pain is so bad I need to get it undone. When I do, I land on the concrete. It’s wet and cold and my fingers hurt. I crawl with one arm, dragging the other along the dirty street, squinting at the headlights glistening in the wetness. They’re blinding me. There’s a horn honking and Shawnee is screaming somewhere in the distance.
“Shawnee,” I whisper for her, “he’s cheating,” and fall facedown onto the street, my body tingling as everything goes dark.
There’s nothing, only silence as I come to, aware of the stillness that I am floating in for a moment before my memories stream back to me.
Rod and Elaine.
The car accident.
Sounds begin to flit in.
Voices I know.
“She’s sedated, they had to set her shoulder. She has a concussion and they said she will have whiplash.” Shawnee is speaking but I don’t think it’s to me. How much time has passed?
Am I dreaming?
“That bastard,” my older sister, Liz, whispers. “I am going to murder him.”
“You’re pregnant. Your options are poison or a gun with a good scope,” Shawnee says, and they cackle like wicked witches. “I know a guy. A hillbilly up in the sticks of Middle Musquodoboit. He can hook us up.”
I’m not dreaming.
This is real.
“Hold that thought. The moving truck rental is calling me back,” Liz growls followed by footsteps. I want to open my eyes but I can’t. Not yet.
Thumping pain pulsates through me.
It’s joined by nausea and heaviness.
More footsteps enter the room. “How is she?” my dad asks. His hand touches mine. I want to squeeze and grip for dear life, but my fingers won’t work.
“She’s okay. She had a dislocated shoulder. They sedated her so they could set it,” Shawnee answers softly, like it’s a secret.
“You were on the phone? You heard it—the whole accident and everything?”
“I was,” Shawnee says with a heavy sigh. I imagine she is shaking her head. “Her Bluetooth hasn’t been working all week. I guess it was still synced to Rod’s phone. So when she happened to pull in behind him, it picked up his conversation with his friend Brent’s wife, Elaine. It’s one of the couples they go on their holidays with every year. A guy Rod went to college with.”
“Jesus,” my father sounds disgusted, and I don’t know how to avoid getting some of that on me. “Well, that’s disappointing but not entirely surprising.” His words are devastating.
Not surprising?
“Nope,” Shawnee agrees with him. That is not surprising. She has hated Rod from the day we met. And now I see why. She saw something all along that I ignored. “Lilly swore she saw them kiss in Mexico once. Rod convinced her that she was drunk and played the victim game. Piece of shit.”
“Oh, poor Lilly,” Mom’s voice joins them. “How is she?” Her hands touch down, soft and cool on my cheeks as though she’s checking my temperature.
“She’ll be fine,” Shawnee answers.
“Tell her we were here, please. So she knows,” Mom requests.
“We can’t stay. Liz has us on moving duty,” Dad says.
“She’s talking to the truck rental now,” Shawnee
adds.
“I should go give them my credit card number. Such a strange Christmas Eve,” Mom mutters and leaves.
“Liz is doing this tonight?” Shawnee asks. “On Christmas Eve?”
“Yeah,” Dad says. “She’s having them deliver the truck to the house. Brent’s called a friend who owns a furniture shop. They’re staying open late. I’m heading over there now with my truck to help her pick up some things. Can you call the minute Lil wakes?”
I have no idea what they’re talking about, and I’m becoming frustrated by my body’s lack of response.
“Of course.”
“Thanks, kid.”
Dad squeezes my hand once more before he walks away. His footsteps are the only sound for a minute until someone interrupts the silence.
“Is this Lilly Dallin’s room?” a man asks.
“It is,” Shawnee responds, sounding skeptical. “Who are you?”
“Brent, Brent Castor. My wife is Elaine,” he says. His voice cracks and he clears it like that was his intention all along and he wasn’t about to sob. “Is Lilly okay?”
“Oh God. Yeah, she’s going to be fine. Just banged up. How are you?” Shawnee asks.
“Furious.” His voice cracks again and this time he doesn’t manage to hold it back. “I can’t believe it. That bastard pretended to be my best friend while he screwed my wife behind my back. On our goddamned vacations! And he hasn’t even come here yet, has he? Can’t come and check on his own wife after he caused the accident?” he shouts. “He was my best man for God’s sake. Was he sleeping with her at my wedding too?”