Софи Келли - Hooked On A Feline

“Send me a text so I have your number and I’ll pass it on to Ethan tomorrow,” I said.

He pulled out his phone and I recited my number. He immediately sent me a text, then looked up smiling. “Seriously, thank you. There’s so much stuff I’d like to ask him.” The smile wavered. “You don’t think he’ll mind, do you?”

I laughed. “If Ethan’s not making music, he’s talking about music. He eats, sleeps and breathes it. He won’t have any problem answering anything you ask him.”

Maggie asked a question then about what other schools Lachlan was applying to. Watching him, I could see how much he resembled both Mike and Jonas. Like Mike he was very animated when he was talking, his hands flying everywhere, and he had the same way of tilting his head to the side while he was listening that Jonas did.

I pictured Ethan and Sarah, who didn’t look that much alike even though they were twins, but who did share the same intensity about so many things. Ethan and I both had dark hair, but my eyes, like Sarah’s, were brown and his were hazel. I felt a twinge of homesickness for my own family.

I could have stayed there talking all night. I saw Harry check his watch and Roma stifle a yawn.

Marcus came up behind me and put an arm around my shoulders. “Ready to go?” he asked.

I nodded. Across the room Johnny was at the counter getting the bill for his whole group, I realized. From the expression on Nic’s face, he’d also added a very nice tip.

We gathered our things and said good night to Nic. Outside on the sidewalk I gave Roma a hug. “Thank you for suggesting this,” I said, gesturing at the café behind us. “Best night ever.”

“Absolutely,” she said. She smiled, grabbed Eddie by the hand and they headed down the sidewalk.

Marcus was talking to Harry about something, their expressions serious. Maggie and Brady joined me. “Hey, thank you for suggesting me to Mike for his family tree,” she said.

“So you’re interested in designing it for him?” I asked.

She nodded. “I am. I got back into drawing when the bake-off was filming here and it’s something I’d like to keep doing.”

A failed attempt at resurrecting The Great Northern Baking Showdown had been filmed this past spring in Mayville Heights. Maggie had been hired to work with the show’s illustrator.

“I can’t wait to see what you come up with,” I said. I turned to Brady. “A little bird told me your dad bought an air hockey table.”

He gave his head a shake and smiled. “I’m guessing that bird’s name is Rebecca.”

“It is,” I said.

“Doesn’t surprise me,” he said. “Rebecca is how Dad found out about it in the first place. She was at the office, they started talking and the next time I go out to the house, there’s an air hockey table in the living room.”

Rebecca was Rebecca Henderson. She was married to Everett Henderson. The office Brady had referred to was Everett’s. Everett’s assistant, Lita, and Brady’s father, Burtis, were a couple. And to make things even more tangled, Rebecca and Everett were my backyard neighbors.

“I’ll have to come out sometime for a game,” I said.

“You know that’s why he got the darn thing, don’t you?” Brady said.

Brady had bought a pinball machine, which he kept out at his father’s house. I was pretty good at pinball—as well as rod hockey, foosball and, yes, air hockey, the result of a lot of time spent hanging around while I was a kid and my parents did summer stock all up and down the East Coast. When I mentioned my skill at pinball, Burtis had challenged me to prove it. I had. More than once.

I grinned. “Tell Burtis I’ll be happy to take his money anytime.” The last time we’d played pinball, Burtis had suggested a small wager on the outcome of the game. Double or nothing had netted the Reading Buddies snack fund fifty dollars.

Marcus joined me then. We said good night to Maggie and Brady and headed for the truck.

“I don’t think I’m ever going to forget tonight,” I said as I unlocked the passenger door for Marcus.

“Johnny’s going to do a couple of shows in Minneapolis next month,” Marcus said as he climbed into the truck. “Why don’t we try to catch one?”

“I’d like that.” I slid behind the wheel. “Mike is trying to get the others to commit to doing a few of Johnny’s shows with him.”

Marcus smiled and fastened his seat belt. “So maybe we’ll get to see Johnny and the Outlaws again.”

I held up one hand, my middle and index fingers crossed. “Let’s hope.”

Marcus and I enjoyed a quiet Sunday. We had pancakes with Owen and Hercules, which should have meant that Marcus and I had pancakes and the cats had cat food, but in reality meant that Marcus and I had pancakes and he snuck (forbidden) bites to them and I pretended not to notice.

I called Ethan, who said he’d be happy to talk to Lachlan and promised he’d text right after we hung up. Then he spent ten minutes bombarding me with questions about the concert.

We walked down to the market at the community center after lunch and all anyone could talk about was the concert and the surprise reunion of Johnny and the Outlaws. I spotted Harrison Taylor Senior, Harry’s father, with his lady friend, Peggy. He was carrying a canvas shopping bag in one hand. Peggy smiled when she caught sight of me and I left Marcus at the Jam Lady’s stall, trying to decide between strawberry-rhubarb jam and pear butter, and walked over to join them.

“Your son was amazing last night,” I said, giving the old man a hug. He had thick white hair, a white beard that he kept cropped shorter in the summertime and deep blue eyes.

“Yes, he was,” Harrison said, a huge smile splitting his face.

“Did you know?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I knew something was up. All of a sudden the boy was never around.” Harrison gave a snort of laughter. “To tell the truth, I thought he was seeing someone and didn’t want me to know.”

Harrison had been pushing his son—who had been divorced for years—to, as he put it, get a mitt and get back in the game. If Harry had met someone, he probably would be pretty closemouthed about it.

“I had no idea Harry was that good,” I said. “I knew he’d been in a band but . . .” I shrugged.

“Harry’s not the kind of person to blow his own horn,” Peggy said with a smile.

Harrison set the shopping bag on the ground between his feet. “I remember when he got his first guitar and I’m kind of ashamed to say I told him it was a waste of money. He taught himself to play. Just sat there night after night in his room until the ends of his fingers cracked.” He gave his head a little shake. “It’s not a word of a lie. The dog wouldn’t come in the house for six months. But that son of mine is stubborn.”

“I wonder where that came from,” Peggy said, almost under her breath.

Harrison shot her a look. “There’s nothing wrong with my hearing, you know.”

She leaned against his arm and smiled. “I know.”

“Well, wherever his persistence came from, it paid off and I couldn’t be prouder,” the old man said. “I’ve been smiling since he started playin’ and I don’t think I’ll be stopping anytime soon.” His pride was evident in that smile and the sparkle in his blue eyes.

I spent a few more minutes catching up with Harrison and Peggy. Elizabeth, Harrison’s youngest child, was coming for a visit in August and they were already planning a family barbecue.

“You’re coming,” he said. It wasn’t a question. Harrison’s definition of family was a wide one.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” I promised, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

I rejoined Marcus to discover that he’d bought the jam and the pear butter and a jar of the Jam Lady’s marmalade, which was my favorite. We wandered around the market a while longer and then drove out to Marcus’s house. I curled up on the swing on his back deck. Micah, Marcus’s little ginger tabby, climbed up onto my lap, swatting me twice with her tail as she got settled. Marcus set up the ice cream maker for peach ice cream and grilled spicy sausage and corn on the barbecue. It had been pretty much the perfect weekend.