Софи Келли - A Midwinter's Tail

“Do we have a committee to renovate the community center?” I asked.

Harry scratched his stubbled chin. “No. But I think we’re going to need one.” He gave his head a shake. “But that’s not why I stopped in. The old man sent me to invite you to dinner tonight. I’m sorry about the short notice.”

The only plans I had were dinner with Owen and Hercules and maybe a load or two of laundry after that. The short notice didn’t really matter.

“He’s been chewing on something all weekend,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “I don’t have a clue about what’s on his mind. I’m pretty sure he wants to talk to you. He sure as hell isn’t interested in talking to me.”

“I’d love to come,” I said. “What can I bring?”

“Just yourself,” he said. “About six o’clock.”

“I’ll be there.” I smiled at him. “Are you joining us?”

Harry gave a snort of laughter. “Hard to tell, Kathleen. So far you’re the only one who’s been invited.”

I showed Harry where Mary and I had decided to put the second tree and told him about Ruby’s ornaments.

“I should be able to bring the tree first thing tomorrow,” he said.

“Okay, we’ll have the space ready,” I said.

The rest of the afternoon was quiet, even for a Monday, which gave Mary and me time to rearrange things and bring the big tree stand up from the library basement.

Clouds were moving in over the water as I drove up the hill and my left wrist was aching, both signs that we were going to get some snow. Hercules was waiting for me on the bench in the back porch when I got home.

“This is a nice surprise,” I said, leaning over to scoop him up. Not only did he dislike snow and rain, but he wasn’t that crazy about cold, either.

“I’m home,” I called when I stepped into the kitchen. I waited. No answering meow from Owen. “Either he didn’t hear me or he’s doing something he’s not supposed to be doing,” I said to Hercules as I set him down on the floor. I hung up my coat and set my hat and gloves by the heat. There was still no sign of Owen.

Herc stretched and followed me upstairs. I changed into jeans and a sweater and pulled my hair back into a ponytail.

“Merow?” he said, head cocked to one side as though he was asking a question.

“I’m going out for supper.”

He seemed to consider my words for a moment and then he turned and headed for the door. I knew what that meant.

“You can’t come with me,” I called after him. “I’m going out to the Taylors’.”

He stopped in his tracks and made a huffy sound in the back of his throat.

I walked over to him. “Do you really see yourself having dinner with Boris?” I asked.

He looked up at me with half-lidded eyes. “Murrr,” he grumbled.

“Yes, I know Boris is a dog,” I said. “But that’s not really his fault.”

Hercules didn’t look convinced.

“C’mon, let’s go down to the kitchen and you can test the new batch of stinky crackers.”

That seemed to cheer him up immensely and he headed for the stairs.

We found Owen in the kitchen, head almost on the floor as he peered under the refrigerator.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

He looked over his shoulder at me and gave a sharp meow.

“Don’t tell me there are chicken parts under the fridge again?” I said. I got down on my hands and knees so I could look for myself. Just under the edge of the refrigerator, I could see a brilliant yellow feather.

“Give me a minute,” I said, getting to my feet. I got my wooden mixing spoon, got back on the floor again and batted out a small yellow chicken on the first pass.

“Keep those things away from the refrigerator,” I warned. “One of these days one is going to get stuck under there, beyond the reach of this spoon, and I’m not moving this great big refrigerator to get it.”

Owen sniffed the catnip chicken suspiciously, then picked it up in his mouth. He looked at me, golden eyes narrowed, glared at his brother and stalked off to the living room.

Hercules watched him go and then shifted his attention to his bowl.

“Yes, I know I promised you stinky crackers,” I said. I got fresh water for both cats, gave Herc a stack of the sardine crackers and left a little pile in Owen’s dish.

“I won’t be late,” I said to Hercules. He was already into the crackers and all I got was a low murp, which might have been more about his enthusiasm for the crackers than an acknowledgment that he’d heard me—or even cared.

I laced up my low, heavy-treaded snow boots, pulled on my blue jacket with the hood and grabbed my purse, keys and gloves. I’d stopped and bought a couple of tallboys on the way home. As far as I knew, Harrison’s doctor allowed him to have the occasional drink. I wasn’t sure about Harry Junior, though. I could end up in the doghouse with him.

Harrison must have been watching for me, because he was waiting by the back door of his little house when I got out of the truck.

I stomped the snow off my boots, stepped inside and gave him a hug. “You look good,” I said, stepping back to check him out.

As always, to me he looked like Santa Claus. The first time I’d met Harrison was when I discovered him in my backyard with Owen and Hercules while his son was mowing the lawn. For a moment I’d thought St. Nick was holding court in my blue Adirondack chair. Actually, Harry Senior reminded me of my favorite incarnation of Santa Claus, Edmund Gwenn in Miracle on 34th Street . Harrison had the same fluffy beard and the same warm gleam in his eyes.

Those eyes were smiling at me now.

“And if I looked like a steaming pile of horse manure, would you tell me?” he asked.

I made a face and shook my head. “No, but I probably wouldn’t stand so close to you.”

He laughed. The old man might have been in his eighties, but his laugh was deep and strong.

I felt a wet nose nudge my hand. I turned to see Boris beside me, looking up with his chocolaty velvet eyes.

“Hello, boy,” I said, bending over to scratch behind his ears.

“Let me take your coat,” Harrison said. He touched the dog’s back. “Give Kathleen a minute to take off her things and catch her breath.”

Boris immediately sat down. I gave Harry my jacket and he hung it over a hook by the back door. I put my purse over the top, stepped out of my boots and handed over the brown paper bag holding the two tallboys.

“You didn’t have to bring anything,” he said.

I smiled. “I know.”

He unfolded the top of the bag and looked inside. Then he grinned at me. “Can’t say I’m sorry you did, though.”

“I’m not going to be in trouble with Harry, am I?” I asked as we stepped into the kitchen.

“That depends,” a voice said behind me.

I turned to see Harry Junior standing by the woodstove.

“What did you do?” he asked.

“Nothing that’s any of your business,” his father said.

“How many tallboys are in that bag?” Harry asked me.

“You don’t have to answer that, Kathleen,” Harrison said as he moved toward the refrigerator.

I held up two fingers.

“Are you planning on sharing?” Harry asked his father.

“I might be,” he said, setting the two cans inside his refrigerator. He turned around. “Then again, I might not.”

I didn’t even bother trying to stifle a smile.

Harrison made a shooing motion with one hand. “Take a seat,” he said.

I sat down in the chair next to his, across from the fire burning and snapping in the woodstove. I couldn’t help reaching one hand out to the flames. My hands had been cold all afternoon.

“Nothing’s as warm as wood heat,” Harrison said, easing down into his own chair.