Блейз Клемент - The Cat Sitter's Whiskers

I think it didn’t fully dawn on me what I’d done until the elevator spilled me out onto the sixth floor and I looked down the hall. My autopilot had apparently thought a visit to Cora Mathers was in order.

Normally she’s standing in front of her apartment, waving her skinny arms over her head like an air traffic controller. Right before I knocked, there was a volley of laughter like two tinkling bells from inside.

Cora opened the door and beamed at me. “Oh, my goodness, what a wonderful surprise!”

Cora’s in her mid-eighties, but she’s the youngest person I know, in spirit at least. She’s just shy of five feet tall on her tiptoes, her skin is the color of fine talcum powder, and her white hair hovers above her head like a fluffy puff of smoke. She was wearing white cotton clamdiggers and a silk blouse covered with blue and pink parrots on a bright field of green palm fronds.

“Is it a bad time? I was just in the neighborhood and thought—”

“Oh, of course not, Dixie. It’s never a bad time. You can meet my friend Kate!” She tilted forward and whispered conspiratorially, “She’s dumb as a fruitcake and just as sweet.”

I followed her in, being careful not to rear-end her as she tottered into the apartment like a penguin. I was already wishing I’d called first—I didn’t feel like sharing Cora with anybody—but it was too late now.

Cora’s apartment always makes me feel like I’m being cradled. It’s airy and cheerful, all wicker and ferns and lace, and the floors are pink tile, with walls a slightly deeper shade of coral. To the left is a breakfast bar with shutters to hide the kitchen, and to the right is an arched doorway to Cora’s bedroom.

She looked down at my hands. “Did you forget something? You usually have a few goodies for me, don’t you? Some yummy soup from that organic shop or maybe a few juicy peaches?”

I sighed. “I know, but I really wasn’t planning on stopping by. I was on my way home and then the next thing I knew…”

She shook her head sadly and made a clucking sound.

“What?”

“I just this minute put out a fresh-baked loaf of chocolate bread to cool, but it hardly seems fair to offer any when you’re arriving so empty-handed.”

As far as I’m concerned, Chicago has its pizza, New Orleans has its gumbo, and Siesta Key has Cora’s chocolate bread. She makes it in a bread machine that’s probably as old as I am, and the recipe is top secret. I’m completely addicted to it.

I jutted my jaw forward and raised my hand up in a tight fist under her chin. “Listen, old woman, I ain’t leavin’ this building without some of that damn bread.”

She giggled. “Oh, dear. Such violence. All right, then, go on in and introduce yourself to Kate. I’ll fetch an extra teacup.”

There was a tan elderly woman in a yellow pantsuit perched on the tuxedo sofa at the other side of Cora’s glass-topped coffee table. She wore her jet-black hair in a short bob, with a necklace of white beads and two white disk earrings the size of sand dollars. Despite the fact that she looked every bit as old as Cora, when I entered the room she stood up with surprising vigor. Her lips were bright vermilion, her eyelids pale blue, and her arching eyebrows were drawn in with a thin black pencil.

She thrust her hand out and flashed a set of perfectly straight white teeth, and for a second I thought she could probably do a mean impersonation of Liza Minnelli if she put her mind to it. “Charmed to meet you, I’m Kate Spencer.”

She had a firm grip. “Hi, I’m Dixie. Cora always speaks very highly of you.”

She looked me up and down, appraising me like a steer at market. “Well, the ol’ girl is right—she always says you’re a right pretty one.”

She had a thick Texas drawl. I said, “Aw, that’s nice. I actually pay her to say that, but thanks anyway.”

She blinked. “You pay her?”

I waved my hand in the air as I sat down in one of the chintz armchairs opposite her. “No, no! I’m just joking.”

She was holding her mouth open in a half smile, almost like she was waiting for the joke, and then nodded. “Honey, how old do you think I am?”

I pulled a couple of errant hairs that had fallen across my face and tucked them behind my ear. “Oh, gosh, I’m so terrible at guessing ages, I have no idea.”

“Guess! I bet you’ll be surprised.”

Cora came shuffling in carrying a tray with a teacup and a fresh loaf of chocolate bread. “Dixie, she’s a hundred and ten.”

Kate fluttered her fingers in the air like she was shooing a fly. “Oh, now, shush, Cora, be quiet.”

“Kate, Dixie doesn’t want to guess how old you are.”

Kate clapped her hands together and interlaced her fingers. “I’m ninety-three!”

I figured I’d play along and act surprised, which wasn’t too hard because the woman looked easily ten years younger. I shook my head, “That’s amazing. I would’ve been way off.”

She grinned from ear to ear. “I know it. Cora’s just jealous.”

Cora nodded as she filled my cup. “You’re right about that.”

I laughed. “Oh, stop. I say every woman in this room is a total knockout.”

Cora shook her head as she lowered herself down in the chair next to me. “Well, one out of three ain’t bad. Dixie, tell Kate about your hunka-hunka.”

“My what?”

She made a speed-up motion with her hand. “You know … your man, your hunka-hunka.”

“Cora, please tell me you did not just call Ethan my hunka-hunka.”

“Well, you won’t let me call him your boyfriend, and I believe I recall you told me not to refer to him as your beau.”

I said, “Well, that may be, but hunka-hunka is worse!”

She rolled her eyes at Kate. “Oh, Lord, such a preoccupation with labels. What do you want me to call him?”

“I don’t know. My…”

I looked down. Suddenly there was an awkward silence and I felt a muscle in my cheek twitch slightly. Cora’s smile faded. That’s the problem with having a friend like Cora. She sees right through me.

“Dixie, what’s the matter?”

I looked down and smoothed the wrinkles out of my shorts. “It’s nothing. I’ve had a rough week, but I’m sure you girls have better things to do than sit around and talk about my dumb problems.”

Cora wrinkled her nose. “Dixie, we’re two old dames having tea. We’ve got nothing better to do.”

“Well, it’s completely stupid. I wasn’t even thinking about it, but since you ask … the topic of children has reared its ugly head.”

I turned to Kate, thinking perhaps I needed to offer some sort of explanation, but she had already pivoted toward the window and was staring intently out at the bay with her teacup poised just inches from her lips. I got the distinct impression Cora had already told her all about my sordid past.

I was waiting for Cora to say something like, Oh, poppycock! or You’re thinking too much , but she didn’t. She was just sitting there watching me, her pale blue eyes reflecting the light from the windows. Finally, she nodded slowly and sat back in her chair with a sad sigh.

“I see.”

I gave her a kind of hopeless smile. “Yeah, that’s exactly how I feel about it.”

“Tell me what happened.”

I shrugged. “I think I’m actually making a mountain out of a molehill, because really when you get right down to it, nothing happened. We were just talking, and I threw a carrot at him—don’t ask why, I was just being silly—and he made a joke about kids … our kids. He didn’t mean anything by it, I don’t think, but just … the words our kids … I don’t know. It’s ridiculous, but it really got to me.”