Leann Sweeney - The Cat, the Wife and the Weapon

Merlot appeared, and he and Yoshi went nose to nose since they’re almost the same size. Yoshi dropped his front legs to the play position, but Merlot appraised him as if to say, “I’m not playing chase right now, dog.” Seemed like these two were at least getting along, in pleasant contrast to everyone at lunch at Karen’s house.

I switched my attention to Merlot, scratching him behind his ears.

Soon Syrah joined us and I saw the cat dishes were empty. With the dog around, I wondered exactly who had licked those bowls so clean. Syrah did figure eights between my legs as I hunted for just the right flavor of cat food. I swore they knew what was available and if I chose the wrong flavor, they’d turn and walk away after the first whiff.

Yoshi still had kibble in his bowl and when Merlot and Syrah started eating—I’d chosen Savory Salmon—he decided to finish his food. Chablis didn’t show up, even though with her ability to hear a quilting pin drop, I was sure she’d heard the pop when I opened the cat food. I took a small bowl of tuna cat food—her favorite—and went to my bedroom.

At least she wasn’t hiding under the bed, but rather crouched in the center of the mattress. When I set the dish on the floor, she sniffed the air and finally stood, stretched and decided she liked her meals delivered.

I sat next to her and stroked her while she ate, wishing she’d stay out of hiding. Every cat is different, however. Chablis was not dog friendly, that’s for sure. The memory of cats is about two hundred times greater than dogs, and like people, they have both long-term and short-term memory. I believed Chablis had a memory about a dog—and not a pleasant one. Poor Dashiell did, too. If Finn ended up living with Tom, the adjustment period could be long and difficult.

Yoshi came bounding into the bedroom a moment later and Chablis scurried under the bed. The adjustment period here wasn’t going so well, either.

I spent the rest of the afternoon in my sewing room finishing up my Christmas orders—an appliqué on one quilt for a cat in New York named Ralph and some hand quilting on two others. Yoshi, Merlot and Syrah joined me. Late afternoon was nap time for them.

In the last few months, I’d discovered I needed reading glasses for handwork as well as a good, strong light. My eyes were telling me I was no longer young, and though I didn’t appreciate the message my body was sending, I accepted it. Anything to keep quilting for as long as my eyes and hands allowed. There is something akin to meditation about the rocking movement of the needle, the in and out, the back and forth. It took me to such a peaceful place. Worries faded while I quilted.

When someone knocked on the back door, Yoshi jumped to attention and barked. I set my work aside—my last order—and realized it was already dark. As I went through the house flipping on lights, I saw the DVR display read seven p.m.

I let Tom and Finn in, and Yoshi went wild with joy. He jumped into Finn’s arms and licked his face.

Tom glanced at the reading glasses dangling from a chain around my neck. “You, too, huh?”

I held them up. “You mean these?”

He smiled and for the first time in days, he seemed stress free. This was the Tom I knew and had come to care about so much. He said, “I’ve got a drugstore pair for reading at night. I keep telling myself it’s those new fluorescent bulbs and not my vision.”

“Right. And my quilt stitches are just getting smaller every day.”

Tom laughed.

Finn said, “I’m taking Yoshi out back to run, okay?”

“Sure,” I said. “The outside lights are to your right before you go out the door.”

As soon as Finn and Yoshi were gone, Tom took me in his arms and kissed me. Then, with me wrapped in his arms, he swayed us and said, “Thank you for everything. Thank you for just being who you are—the most normal, caring person I’ve ever met.”

I pulled back so I could look at him. “Why didn’t you tell me about Finn before? About your marriage, your brothers, all of it?”

“Because I failed,” he said quietly. “I failed Finn, I failed at being married and I couldn’t solve my mother’s alcoholism or my brother’s problems. Another man rescued my mother from her addiction, a man who loved her for who she was. As for Bob? He’s a thief. I was a cop. Those two don’t mix well.”

“I can see how you might feel like calling yourself a failure, but I’m not so sure it’s justified,” I said. “How does it feel getting all of the old business off your chest?”

“I’m not sure,” he said. “It’s kind of like hunting through an attic you haven’t visited in years. There’s dust and cobwebs and surprises—and I’m not talking about birthday surprises, either.”

“I want to hear more. How about something to drink?”

“Finn tells me you stocked up on Dr Pepper.” He grinned and opened the fridge. Indeed, the door held can after can of Dr Pepper.

I stuck to sweet tea, but Tom popped the top on the soft drink and made a face after he took a swig. “Never did like this stuff. But if the kid likes it, I can pretend.”

We sat next to each other on the couch and immediately Chablis was in my lap. Did she have doggie radar or something? How did she know Yoshi was outside?

“You think Finn should be outside while his father could still be roaming around Mercy?” I said.

“I’ll give him a few more minutes,” Tom said. “He has the energy of an eighteen-year-old and can’t stay cooped up all the time. Besides, Yoshi will let us all know if there’s a problem.”

“He certainly will,” I said. “While we have a little privacy, why don’t you talk? Clean your attic.”

“My family is complicated,” he said.

“Millions of people know the feeling,” I answered.

He seemed to be staring into the past. “Where do I start?”

“How about chronologically? You’re older than Bob, right?”

He nodded. “My mother married my father in South Carolina back in the ’sixties. He died when I was four. She remarried right away—and Bob and Charlie came along a year later.”

“How soon did she remarry?” I asked.

“Within months,” he said. “Looking back, it was probably too soon. From how she talks about my father, she loved him, but jumped into another relationship right off the bat. Trying to escape the grief, maybe? She’s about as good at sharing her feelings as I am, so I can’t be sure.”

I thought about the grief I felt after losing John. It had paralyzed me, but it sounded as if Karen had taken the opposite approach. “How long did her second marriage last?”

“Couple years. Long enough for her to start drinking. See, my stepfather, Bob and Charlie’s father, Henry Cochran, was a successful businessman. He also drank like a sailor. So my mother joined him for all those cocktails at five. She, unfortunately, couldn’t hold her liquor. Her liquor held her.”

“Things got bad?” I said.

“Brandy in her morning coffee? I’ll say. She’s not a happy drunk, and she and Henry began to argue. Finally she left him when I was in the first grade. People think kids that young don’t understand, but I knew she had big problems.” His jaw muscles clenched, but he went on. “I remember her giving us this speech about new beginnings, but she had three boys to raise. The only thing she knew how to do was party, drink and marry men she didn’t love. I don’t even remember the next two guys we lived with. They paid the bills, though. I graduated high school in, like, the seventh school district I’d been in. Hard to make friends when you’re on the move all the time.”

“You survived, though,” I said. “No, you did more than survive. You found your way.”