Лори Касс - Gone With The Whisker

But she’d hesitated and delayed and balked and three days ago she’d announced that the smell of cooking food—any kind of food—gave her a headache.

Exasperation had blossomed in every cell of my body and my question of “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” was answered by a shrug and a sullen silence. Now, as I told Julia all of this, I was beginning to catch a glimmer of humor.

“The mysteries of the teenage mind are many,” Julia said, smiling. “Kind of makes you understand why your brother and his wife were willing to part with their darling daughter for the summer, yes?”

I laughed. “Could be. But there are lots of retail jobs downtown.” Though without tips, the pay wouldn’t be nearly as lucrative. “She’s applying at the toy store, Older Than Dirt, and Benton’s. If none of those work out . . .” I shook my head. “There are other places. She’s bound to find something.”

Julia nodded and, wisely, said nothing.

We came to a stop sign, made a left turn, then soon another left onto the dead end gravel road where our one-time spot awaited us.

“Look at that,” Julia said. “We have people waiting for us!” As I parked the bookmobile, Julia waved at the two bookmobilers waiting by their cars; Nicole Price and Violet Mullaly, and a third, Rex Stuhler, who was leaning his bicycle against a tree.

I worked through the opening routines as Julia opened the door. “Sorry we’re late,” she said. “Construction.”

The one-word explanation seemed to suffice. All three nodded and I let out a tiny sigh of relief. Though Rex was a decent guy, Nicole and Violet were among the more critical of our patrons. I could handle criticism, of course, but I didn’t like inviting it onto the bookmobile.

Nicole came aboard. “Morning,” she said shortly, her stern face set in firm lines. She headed for the new fiction, her red hair bouncing as she went. Violet muttered something that might have been a greeting as she came up the steps, gave Nicole a hard glare, then wandered over to the video games. Rex bounded inside and greeted Julia and me with a smile. “Had a great bike ride this morning.” He nodded to the south, to the end of the road. “Went down that way for a bit. It’s pretty down there, if you like trees, which I do, so I’ll probably go that way again.” He looked around. “Is my little buddy riding along today?”

I gestured toward the front, where Eddie was flopped on the console. “Waiting for you.”

Rex went up and patted him on the head. “The bookmobile is here, and so is the bookmobile cat. All’s right with the world.”

“Mrr!”

It was hard to disagree with that, so no one did.

* * *

On the Fourth of July, I woke to find Eddie nestled into the crook of my elbow. With my eyes still shut, I used my free hand to feel around for the exact location of his head. More than once I’d opened my eyes to the sight of big yellow ones staring me down at a point-blank range. It was not an ideal way to start a morning, so I’d learned to scout out the exact arrangement of his body parts first thing.

“Mrr,” he said sleepily. The distance of his voice indicated it was safe to raise my eyelids, so I did, which was when I saw, through the white lacy curtains at the window, that the sky was that gorgeous blue color you dream of all winter long.

“Not a cloud in sight,” I said with satisfaction, doing my best to slide out of the bed without disturbing its feline inhabitant. After a quick shower and a toweling of my stupidly curly hair, I slid into appropriate layers: shorts, T-shirt, and a fleece sweatshirt that would come off as soon as the temperature bumped to the seventy-degree range. I made the bed around Eddie and bounced up the few steps into the houseboat’s main room.

“Happy Fourth of July!” I said cheerfully.

“Go away.”

My cheeriness dimmed a bit, but I determinedly pushed it back up. It had become clear to me over the last two weeks that Katrina was not a morning person. Of course, my oldest niece didn’t seem to be a night person, either. What she mostly seemed to do was sleep, something I’d heard teenagers did, but since I’d never done so, I hadn’t expected my own flesh and blood to have the habit.

I studied the top of her head, her hair waving smoothly across the pillow, and tried to judge her actual level of sleepiness. When Katrina had arrived, I’d assumed she would sleep in the other berth in my tiny bedroom, but instead she’d wanted to bunk down in a sleeping bag on what used to be my dining table. The table lowered to the level of the bench seats and, with the addition of some pillows, was apparently a comfortable sleeping area.

Though the loss of dining space was awkward at times, I was making do, and was even making progress in learning to avert my eyes from the piles of Katrina-related clothing and other miscellaneous belongings. If the piles started to expand and/or migrate, there would have to be a conversation, but so far, things were staying put.

“We’re due at Aunt Frances and Otto’s house in less than an hour,” I said.

Katrina groaned and yanked the sleeping bag over her head. “Do I have to go?”

Until this summer, my aunt role had been giver of cool presents and teller of stories that made their father look bad. As aunt in loco parentis, however, things were different.

“Yes,” I said firmly. “I told your parents you’d get the full Up North summer experience, and that includes morning-to-midnight Fourth of July activities. Up and at ’em, there’s fun to be had!”

Grumbling about the unfairness of her life, Katrina oozed out of bed and shuffled into the bathroom.

“Mrr.” At some point, Eddie had migrated to the boat’s dashboard, his current favorite spot. Usually he faced out to watch seagulls swoop up and around, but now he was facing down-boat, looking toward the bathroom door.

“Yeah, I know.” I folded up the sleeping bag. “She didn’t say good morning to you, did she? Give her time. There are no pets at her house and she doesn’t understand the rules.”

Eddie blinked, then rotated and flopped down.

Katrina showered, I waited patiently, and by a small miracle we arrived at our intended destination only five minutes late.

“You’re here!” Aunt Frances wrapped her arms around me in a huge hug, and once again I cogitated the fact that my aunt and I shared no physical traits whatsoever. She was tall and long-limbed and had short straight hair, once light brown, now mostly gray. For years she’d run the boardinghouse in the summer and taught woodworking at a nearby community college during the school year. But now that Aunt Frances was married, the boardinghouse was under Celeste’s management, and it was unclear whether or not she would return to teaching.

“Of course we’re here,” I said, returning the slightly unusual hug. “Did you think we wouldn’t?”

My aunt transferred her hug to Katrina, who, for the first time that morning, was smiling. Then again, it was hard not to smile in the presence of the powerfully optimistic Aunt Frances.

“Breakfast is almost ready,” she said, leading us to the kitchen, which had been renovated while she and Otto were on their honeymoon. The new version was light and airy and spacious, with a new bump-out window seat that looked out over a backyard lush with blooming flowers of whose identity I was completely ignorant.

Otto, at the cooktop, smiled as we walked in. “Good morning, ladies. And a very Happy Birthday to you, Minnie.”

“Seriously?” Katrina stared. “Your birthday is the Fourth of July?”

“Yep.” I bounced a little on the balls of my feet. “Best birthday possible. National holiday, parades, cooking out on the grill, fireworks. When I was little, I thought it was all for me.”