Isaac was quiet all afternoon. I suggested going to the outdoor store and letting him buy me new boots, hoping it would cheer him up, so we could go hiking, but he shook his head. "Another time," he said softly.
He was on the sofa reading through what looked like the papers Joshua had given him. I fed the dogs, tidied up after dinner and finally sat down beside him. "Are you okay?"
His fingers stilled on the page. "Yeah, I'm okay."
"It was a little confronting at the police station today, wasn't it?"
Isaac nodded. "In more ways than one."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, firstly, I wasn't expecting that man to be there, that Maxwell Krabanski. As soon as I heard Brady growling, I knew something was wrong… and then he spoke. I remembered his voice," he said quietly. "I won't ever forget it."
I slid my hand onto Isaac's leg. "Brady was incredible today."
He nodded, and quietly agreed. "Yeah, he was."
"You know, that Maxwell guy didn't look like how I’d pictured him," I said. "He was tall and thin, and older than what I thought. That's what surprised me the most. He'd have to be in his late-forties. I don't know why I envisaged some young asshole."
Isaac shrugged indifferently. "Oh, was he?"
He was quiet for a while again, seemingly distracted, so I prompted him. "Babe, you said 'firstly'. Was there a secondly?"
"Detective Zinberg," he replied with a sigh. "How he said in the beginning that everything I told them before was basically useless because I can't see. That my account of what happened doesn’t count because I’m blind." He shrugged indifferently. "That kind of stigma really gets me down."
I rubbed his back and pulled him against my chest and lay back against the armrest of the sofa. "I know it does. Though it wasn't his personal opinion, more of how he knew some lawyer would twist it around in the legal system."
His voice was quiet. "Does that make it any better? Does that make it right?"
"No. No, it doesn't."
He nodded, took his sunglasses off and scrubbed his hands over his face. "I just hate having to defend myself like I'm some second-rate citizen, like my opinions don't count because I'm fucking blind. I'm a fucking human being with rights like everyone else."
I tightened my hold on him. "You're an amazing fucking human being, Isaac. Don't let those assholes get you down. They don't know you like I do."
He sat up, looking suddenly nervous. He fidgeted in his seat and turned his face toward me. "I want to see, Carter."
I blinked, surprised. Not that what he said was surprising, just how he said it. "I know you do."
"No, I really want to see."
I shook my head. "Isaac…"
"What if I told you there might be a way?"
"Might be a way for what?"
"For me to see."
His phone buzzed, making me jump. The caller ID voice activation told us it was Hannah calling.
Isaac sat unmoving for a long second, obviously not wanting to stop this conversation.
Hannah, Hannah… the phone's synthetic speech said until Isaac growled and answered. "Yes?... sorry," he said, I presumed to Hannah for the tone in which he answered the phone. "It went okay," he said next. "Well, probably better than okay. The guy's been charged."
His tone simmered once he started talking to his sister. She must have asked him for all the details of what happened at the police station because he started to relay the entire event.
I maneuvered myself around Isaac and got off the couch. Knowing he'd be on the phone for some time, I kissed the side of his head and gave him some privacy. He and Hannah could talk for hours, and sometimes they did.
By the time I showered and rejoined him on the couch, he was telling her how Detective Zinberg had called us this afternoon to tell us Maxwell Krabanski had officially been charged with four counts of assault, four counts of unlawfully entering a property, selling stolen goods and four counts of intimidation, and how he was an ex-executive who had a leg injury, which led to a pain meds addiction, which led to him being fired and broke, hence the need for quick cash and any bathroom cabinet medicine he could steal. Isaac told Hannah everything, to all of which Hannah still had a slew of questions.
As Isaac talked, I settled in beside him, turned on the TV and switched it to mute, flicking through channels looking for something remotely interesting. My mind kept wandering to what he'd said about there being a way for him to see again. From what I understood, retinal detachment only had a small window of opportunity to be fixed, which was up to a week after the initial detachment, and even then it wasn't always successful.
Certainly not nineteen years after the accident.
But Isaac was no fool. He knew this about his sight, better than anyone.
So I wondered what on earth had happened to change his mind.
"Okay, love you too," Isaac said and disconnected the call. He put his phone on the coffee table and sighed. "Jesus, she can talk."
I laughed. "I think it's a family trait."
He pushed me playfully, but then settled himself against me again with another sigh.
"Is she okay?"
"Oh, yeah. I just got twenty questions. Next time maybe she should come with us. It'd save me all that time."
I rubbed his arm and was just about to ask him what he meant by his earlier comment about seeing again, but then he yawned. "Come on," I said, sitting us up. "Bedtime for you."
"Hmm," he agreed. "Sorry, I've not been very sociable today."
I took his face in my hands and kissed him softly. "Don't apologize. It's been a very trying day." I stood up and taking Isaac's hand, I pulled him to his feet. "You go shower, it'll make you feel better. I'll lock up."
I was already in bed by the time Isaac walked out of the bathroom. He was naked. I threw back the covers for him to climb in bed. He was warm and smelled of soap. I smiled and kissed the top of his head as he snuggled into me.
"Babe?"
He hummed into my chest. "Mmm?"
I wanted to ask him what he meant about being able to see again, but figured with the day he'd had maybe he was just a little stressed out, so I left it alone. "You okay?"
"Mmm mmm," he hummed again. "Tired."
I traced circles on his back, which he loved. I felt him smile against me. I kissed the top of his head one more time and murmured, "Sleep."
And he did. Though it was fitful at best. He tossed and turned all night, even wrapping my arms around him didn't calm him down like it normally did. Usually if he was restless while he slept, I would cuddle into him or pull him against me, and it would somehow relax him, even in his sleep. But not this time.
Something was definitely on his mind.
It wasn't until the following night I got to ask him what it was. I'd picked him up from work and we spent the drive home taking turns, talking about our day. When we got home, I asked him the question that had been burning in my brain all day.
"Isaac," I asked as I poured us both a drink of iced tea. "What did you mean yesterday when you said there might be a way for you to see again?"
He swallowed hard. "Um, there have been some medical advances in retinal nerve damage…" he trailed off, as though he was uncertain of my reaction.
"Really?" I asked, excited at the possibility.
He smiled at my tone and nodded. "I've been reading about it. It's all very new, but there's been some success."
"How new?"
"Well, it's all just in the last twelve months."
"Oh." It was starting to sound not so good.
"They have to start somewhere, right?"
"Sure," I conceded, trying to sound keen for his sake. "They sure do."
"There've been some medical journal reports I've read about what this could mean for people like me."
"That is really good," I told him. "How far off are medical trials? I'd imagine they're still a while away yet if it's all so new?"
"No, they're past the trial stage."
Now it was sounding better. "Really? That means the American Medical Association has approved clinical tests."
His smile faltered. "It's not through the AMA," he said quietly.
"What do you mean it's not?" I didn't understand. All medical surgeries in America had to be approved by the AMA.
"It's not done here in America yet."
"Oh."
"There's a doctor in Argentina who has performed this surgery and—"
I cut him off. "Argentina?"
He nodded and kind of shrugged. "Yeah, in Buenos Aires, there's a doctor—"
"Isaac, stop."
"What?"
"You realize how this sounds, right?" I asked. "Having a surgery as risky as that, in a different country, with different medical and health standards, with a doctor who may not even be qualified—"
"Jesus, Carter!" he cried, throwing up his hands.
"What?" I snapped back at him. "Where did you even hear about this?"
He paused for a second, obviously deciding as to whether he should tell me. His voice was calmer, more composed and very defensive. "Josh gave me the medical journals and research papers."
I groaned and rolled my eyes. "Of course he did."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Ugh, Josh this, Josh that," I said petulantly. "God, he just breezes in and offers the world."
"Oh, for God's sake," Isaac said, holding up his hands. "Really, Carter? Is that what this is? Are you fucking jealous?"
"Of him?" I spat out. "No." I pulled at my hair. "Ugh, yes, okay. Yes, I am."
"What for?"
"He's like your new best friend. He's nice as pie to you, then glares at me, but I can't say anything because you think I'm being jealous."
"Don't be ridiculous." Isaac disregarded that comment completely. "He's been nothing but nice to you."
"Yeah, while you're there."
"Oh, for fuck's sake, Carter." He exhaled slowly, composing his temper. Then his face fell. "Can you at least try to be excited for me? This could change my life forever."
My mouth fell open. "What? Isaac, of course I am."
"No, you're not."
"Well, maybe I would be if I knew more," I told him honestly. "But it's not sounding very legitimate."
Isaac turned as if to walk out, but he stopped. "Josh was right. He said you wouldn't like it. That's why I've not mentioned it before now."
"See? He's talking crap about me to you, making stuff up."
"Is he?" Isaac asked quietly. "Sounds pretty spot on to me. Do you think I should have the procedure done?"
"That's not fair. I don't know enough about it to comment objectively."
"It's a simple question, Carter. You either want me to see again, or you don't. Which is it?"
"No, no I don't. Not by some butcher in South America!"
Isaac swallowed hard and he lifted his chin defiantly. He walked from the kitchen through the living room to the hall.
"Isaac, please…"
"I'll be on the treadmill," he said coldly. "I won't be eating dinner tonight. Don't feel much like company either."
And with that, he walked out. A few minutes later, I heard the thud-thud-thud of feet hitting the treadmill, so I stripped off, threw on some board shorts and did lap after lap of the pool. Then I sat on the back patio and threw the ball to Missy until she got bored of it, so I changed into my running gear and took her for a run.
He was in the living room reading when I got back. I took Missy straight out to the yard, walked back inside, past Isaac without saying a word and flipped the light switch off as I went, leaving him in the dark.
I showered and got into bed.
I stared at the wall, waiting for him to come to bed, so I could pretend I was already asleep.
He never did.
The next morning was awkward. The sound of the shower woke me, seeing Isaac's side of the bed untouched, I got up and found the spare bed rumpled.
Fuck.
I didn't know what to say. I knew he could be stubborn, but fuck! What did he want me to say? I wasn't backing down on this. This was about his health and his safety, not to mention his hope and heartache when it all went bad.
And it would.
I made coffee and waited for him to walk out before I went in to get ready for work. "Coffee's on the counter," I told him as I walked past.
I didn't wait for a reply.
After a quick shower and shave, I walked into the kitchen. Isaac was there, with an already harnessed Brady. "I can cab it if you'd rather not drive me."
I sighed. "Isaac, I can drive you. I don't mind at all."
He gave me a nod. "Thank you."
We didn't speak the entire way to his work, until he was getting out and re-clipping Brady's harness. "Will I book a cab home?"
"I'll be here," I told him quietly. Then I added, "Isaac, I don't want to fight with you."
He stood up straight by the side of the Jeep, and lifted his chin proudly. "Then don't," he said simply, before walking down the concrete path to the school's front doors.
This was the old Isaac. The Isaac from twelve months ago.
This was the impossible Isaac, who wouldn't listen to reason, or anyone else's point of view. The man who would put defensive walls up and push people away.
I wanted to bang my head on the steering wheel, I wanted to yell and scream and kick something. He was so infuriating.
I got through my day, being professional and polite, but my assistant, Rani, wasn't fooled. I didn't have to explain anything, it must have been written on my face. She asked how Isaac was. I said he was fine, but she gave me a smile, a kind pat on the arm and some distance, taking care of more than her share of work. She was worth her weight in gold.
I picked Isaac up from work, like I said I would, and I'd hoped the day at work would have cleared the air between us and we'd start over. But we didn't.
He was standing on the path where I'd been collecting him from, talking to another teacher. His head turned at the sound of my Jeep coming in through the gates and I could almost see the mask being put into place; he stood taller, his shoulders straightened like he was steeling himself, and his smile died.
I got out and walked over to him as he was saying goodbye to his colleague. "Hey," I said softly.
"Hey."
We walked back to the Jeep in silence, and remained that way for the entire drive home. I knew if this was going to be a battle of wills, about who could be the most stubborn, he'd win hands down. But I'd never backed down to him in an argument. I never made concessions for him because he was blind. I'd never treated him any different than the way I'd treated anyone else.
I wasn't about to start now.
But the silence was killing me. So when we got back to his house, I asked him how his day was, to which he replied, "Fine."
I asked him what he wanted for dinner, and he answered with, "There's a pre-packed salad in the fridge. I'll just have that." Which, translated, meant I won't be eating with you.
I sighed, and then he announced he'd be doing his usual treadmill run then spending the evening going through class work. And he was doing this, according to him, because that's what he did every Monday night before I moved in. It had nothing to do with me, apparently. Or so he said.
I was used to his stinging words, though it'd been a while since he'd aimed them at me. It was a trait of his to lash out with hurtful words, to hurt those around him. He rarely missed his mark.
Tuesday night wasn't much better.
He still only answered questions or attempts at conversation with a short, closed response. I cooked dinner, which he did eat, but the only thing he said was a quiet, "thank you." He busied himself tidying up the kitchen, then declared he had reports to get started before the end of the school year in three weeks. Again, I spent the night walking Missy, on a longer route than normal, avoiding going back to Isaac's.
I mean home.
It occurred to me I'd never thought of it as home, not even after I'd moved in. I'd only been there for a few weeks, but it was still Isaac's place. Sure I lived there, but it wasn't my home. I tried not to dwell on that realization or what it meant.
I got back to Isaac's, fed the dogs and showered, then crawled into bed. I was exhausted; body weary and emotionally spent. I had a heavy lump in my chest and a sick feeling in my stomach. My mind was turning and I couldn't sleep.
He was still up reading, or avoiding me, when I got out of bed to grab a drink. He was on the sofa, his fingers skimming the pages in front of him. After a glass of tap water, I walked back out and stopped at the hall door. "Isaac, I don't want to fight with you. I want you to be happy. So maybe if you showed me the medical journals you mentioned, I might be able to read up on what you're talking about."
He tilted his head and his voice was quiet. "Okay."
He slept in our bed that night. He was up before me, but it was a start.
On Wednesday afternoon, I thought things might have been getting better. I talked about my day as I was getting dinner ready. Whether he was listening, or whether he cared, I don't know. He nodded and smiled politely, but it was a one-sided conversation at best.
He sat at the kitchen counter while I stood on the kitchen side prepping a quick stir-fry. I figured it was progress, considering he was in the same room as me, but it was obvious he was trying to work up the courage to say something. I plated up dinner just as I'd finished my story of the pregnant beagle who was booked in for a caesarian birthing next week. She'd had complications with the last litter, so it was a mutual decision with the owner not to chance it this time. It wasn't riveting conversation, but I thought Isaac might say something at least. But he just sat there.
I put the plate of dinner in front of him and put a fork to his left. "Isaac?"
"I brought home those journals," he said abruptly.
Oh.
"Oh." I said quietly. I was glad he did, I wanted to read them. But I also dreaded bringing the subject matter back up again. We were just starting to talk again. Kind of. "Where are they?"
"In my satchel."
He was anxious again, as though he wasn't entirely sure he wanted me to read them. Maybe it was something he now didn't want me to see or be a part of. "If you don't want me to read them…"
"I want you to read it, but I don't want you to, in case you don't agree with it."
"It's up to you, Isaac." I didn't want to ask what would happen if I didn't.
Then he whispered, "I don't want you to tell me you think I'm stupid—"
"I would never think that."
He shrugged sadly. "I just want this. So bad. I can't help it, Carter, regardless of what that makes me?"
What did it make him? Scared. Lost. Hopeful. Yearning. "It makes you human, Isaac."
He put down his fork and pushed his plate away. His shoulders fell. "A blind human."
"A perfect human."
He shook his head. "You need to stop pretending I'm something I'm not. I'm blind. There will always be things I can't do. There will always be things you'll need to do for me."
"I don't care about that."
"I do!" he said. "Every day. It bothers me, every day."
"We've been through this, Isaac," I said. "I thought we were past this."
"I'll never get past this," he said, shaking his head. "I don't understand why you're so against this. I don't want you to read those reports if you'll just pick out the negative aspects and tell me not to do it."
"I'm capable of reading medical journals objectively, Isaac. I read veterinarian journals all the time."
"Are you capable of understanding what it's like for me? Because I don't think you can. You'll read it from Carter's perspective, where you think I'm wonderful and don't care if I'm blind." He frowned and his voice was quiet, but there was an underlying anger in every word. "Try reading it from my point of view, from a blind person's perspective, where I care if I'm blind, where life isn't all rosy and perfect, Carter."
I didn't know what to say. His words stung, and as always they were said with perfect aim. I know I told him he was perfect all the time. Because he is perfect. He's perfect for me. I didn't not care he was blind, it just didn't bother me. I've told him this a hundred times, and he was now using it against me.
"I don't know what you want me to say," I said quietly. I picked up my still-full plate and put it in the sink. I couldn't even look at food. "Leave your plate. I'll clean up later," I told him. "I'll um, I need to take Missy for a walk." I grabbed the lead, to which Missy pounced over to me excitedly. I hooked her lead to her collar and looked back to Isaac. "I don't know what you expect me to say, Isaac. If you want me to apologize for loving you just the way you are, then I'm sorry. I'm sorry I put you on a pedestal. I'm sorry if I think you're amazing. And I'm sorry for being honest. I've always told you the truth, or if I thought you were making the wrong decision, so why would this be any different?"
He didn't answer, not that I expected him to. I got to the door and said, "If you want me to read those documents, leave them out for me when I get back. If you don't, I'll understand."
I walked, and walked and walked some more. It was hardly a work out. It was more mechanical steps, one foot after the other, trying to make sense of the thoughts in my head.
My heart was heavy, my stomach was in knots. I felt awful, heartsick that we'd been fighting, and I felt lonely. I loved Isaac, wholly and completely. But the further I walked, the more I thought about what he said. Could I look at this whole mess from his perspective?
If I were blind, if I'd never seen his face, if I'd never seen his smile, would I be willing to risk everything to change that?
Of course I would.
Fuck.
When I got back to the house, the house was dark except for the kitchen light. Brady came out to meet us in the hallway, padding sleepily across the floor. I gave him a pat and Missy licked the side of his mouth. I re-entered the alarm code and, needing to pee, walked to the bathroom first. On the way back, I stopped at the bedroom door, surprised to see a sleeping Isaac in our bed. I smiled to myself, in what felt like the first time in days, and walked into the kitchen.
There on the counter was a neatly-stacked, two-inch high pile of papers and files.
All the information Isaac had from Joshua was there.
In Braille.
Fuck.
Sure, I'd learned some words. Isaac had taught me the basics, but trying to read medical research… Jesus, it may as well have been written in Russian, or Morse Code or invisible fucking ink.
I thumbed through the pages looking for anything printed in words. Of course there wasn't anything. Why would there be? It was for Isaac to read, it would only be in Braille.
With a loud sigh, I picked up the pile of papers and files and collapsed into the sofa, and putting my fingertip to the paper, I started to read.
The first page took me about half an hour and I still couldn't make head or tails of it. I wasn't even sure if I was doing it right, or if I was reading the right thing. I could make out the occasional word but it was pointless.
So I grabbed a notepad and pen and started writing down what I think were headings. I flipped through pages and just read the titles and sub titles. I was looking for key points or points of reference, and I wrote them down.
My laptop was at work, and I wouldn't use Isaac's laptop and screen reader without his permission. Things were already strained between us, I didn't want him to think I was snooping behind his back. So I figured I'd write down any points of origin, any references I could find, and look them up online tomorrow.
It was methodical, looking for shorter lines at the beginning or tops of paragraphs, for anything that might be a heading, a name or an address and wrote everything down.
God knows how long it took. I don't even know how far I got through that pile of papers. But my eyes were heavy, and I was fairly sure I wasn't 'reading' anything properly. I remembered thinking I really should get up and go to bed, but I wanted to get this done. I wanted to show Isaac I was serious about this.
I must have fallen asleep on the sofa, because Isaac woke me up in the morning. He gently shook my shoulder. "Carter?"
I sat up, startled. And groaned. "Ugh, my neck." I'd obviously slept with my head bent at an angle because the pain in my neck was sharp and pinching. "Shit. I didn't mean to fall asleep."
"You're lucky you snore," Isaac said, walking back to the kitchen. "Or else I might not have found you."
I scrubbed my hands over my face and stretched my neck, feeling the stabbing pain from my skull down my spine. "I really didn't mean to sleep out here," I said. I didn't want him to think it was deliberate, considering our sleeping arrangements over the last few days. "Sorry."
"It's fine," he replied from the kitchen. "Coffee's on. Go shower."
Well, at least it was unprompted conversation. I stood up and felt every vertebrae in my spine protest. "Ugh, Jesus…" I groaned, gently rotating my torso trying to stretch out the kinks. "I must have slept like a pretzel."
Isaac chuckled. "Go. Or you'll be late."
One extremely hot shower later, one not-so-hot coffee and we were on our way. We'd driven in silence for most of the trip, and as we neared his work, Isaac said, "So, how'd you go with those papers?"
He'd no doubt found them sprawled all over the coffee table, so he knew I'd attempted to read them. And, it was pretty obvious he wanted me to read them in Braille so I would know how hard he had it, every day. "Um, slow. I'm not very good at Braille. I kept losing my place and I did a lot of letter-guessing. It was very slow."
I pulled into the parking lot and found a spot close to the path. Isaac sat there with his hands in his lap, fiddling with his fingers. "If you want, maybe I could read them to you?"
And for the first time in what felt like forever, I grinned. "I'd like that."
He gave a nod and got out of the Jeep. I unlatched Brady's harness and ruffled the fur on his forehead. He smiled at me with a slobbery tongue before jumping out on Isaac's side. I walked around to where Isaac was fixing Brady's harness. "I'll see you when I get home. It's Thursday, so I've got house calls this afternoon."
"No problem," he said with a smile.
I picked up his satchel and put the strap over his shoulder. It was the closest I'd been to him in four days. "Have a good day."
"You too." And with that, he gave Brady the command to go and they walked off toward the front doors of the school.
Things weren't great between us, but at least we were now talking. I smiled all the way to work.
"Someone's in a better mood today," Rani said with a wiggle of her eyebrow. "I take it Isaac stopped giving you grief?"
I smiled for her and pushed my sandwich wrapper in the bin. I dusted the crumbs off my desk and swallowed down the last of my lunch. My assistant had come to know me well over the last twelve months, and that included my relationship with Isaac. "I don't think he'll ever stop," I said.
Her eyes glanced at my laptop open on my desk. "Working during your lunch break?"
"Uh, no, not really," I said. "Just looking something up for Isaac. Remind me to take my laptop home. If I walk out the door this afternoon without it, hit me over the head with it."
"For real?"
I smiled at her. "Well, no. But a reminder would be good."
"Deal."
Lucky she did remind me, because as I was running late for my house calls, I almost forgot it. I was tripping over myself with my bag and a box of different products for my house call patients when Rani called out, "Laptop!"
I stopped halfway through the door, and in front of a waiting room full of somewhat amused clients waiting to see one of the other vets, I had to hold the door with my foot, shuffle everything in my hands as she slipped my laptop bag over my shoulder.
"Thanks," I said with a grin, and made my way out to my Jeep.
I was down to three house visits now, given that I'd taken Isaac off the official house call list. They were all patients my predecessor, Dr Fields, had seen and although it wasn't something I'd done as a vet anywhere else, I kept the appointments out of professional courtesy. It was, after all, how I met Isaac.
The first two appointments weren't on my standard visits list. They called me to come only when needed. One was a breeder of Burmese cats, so it really was easier and more cost effective for me to visit her, rather than her trying to bring in several cats or kittens at one time. The second was a guy who kept pythons. His three year old diamond python had an inflamed eye. Not my favorite type of patient, but I took a swab for testing, flushed the eye with a saline solution, told him to keep the snake isolated from his other snakes, and told him I'd be in touch.
I chuckled to myself on the way to Mrs Yeo's, imagining her reaction when I tell her I'd just treated a snake. Her no-nonsense, tell-it-like-it-is attitude was often hilarious. I grabbed the bag of dried cat foot from the front seat and knocked on her door.
A short, older Chinese man opened the door. "What you want?" he barked gruffly at me in the same broken English Mrs Yeo spoke in.
I blinked in surprise at his rudeness. "My name is Doctor Carter Reece. I'm the vet that looks after Mrs Yeo's cat."
The man stared at me with his eyebrows furrowed, then looked at the cat food and my bag, then back to my face. "Good. You can catch that stupid animal." He stepped aside, letting me in. "You take it with you."
I hesitantly walked inside, but turned back to the grumpy old man. "I'm sorry, is Mrs Yeo here?"
He stood with a blank look to his face for a moment. "She die last week. I clean out her place. So much stuff, rubbish. I take most of it to trash."
I stood in the little living room, not sure I understood, and at a complete loss for words. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "She passed away?"
"Yes," he answered curtly. "Last week. Friday… no, Saturday…" He shook his head. "I can't remember."
I slowly looked around the room I was standing in. It was almost empty. The lounges were still there, but strewn in papers. The small kitchen counter was filled with empty containers and boxes, the cupboard doors were open, the shelves bare.
"The cat," the man said loudly, startling me. "You take the cat. Or I just kick it out. Someone else feed it."
I still hadn't moved. I couldn't speak. I just stood there, helplessly lost, holding a bag of cat food and my bag.
The rude little man stood in front of me. He waved his hand to get my attention. "Mr? You find the cat. You take it."
I nodded, and swallowed so I could speak. "Yes, I'll take it."
I found poor Mr Tiddles hiding, frightened, under the one remaining dresser in one of the bedrooms. He looked like he'd not been fed in a week. Then it dawned on me that he probably hadn't.
I picked him up and held him to my chest, cuddling him and whispering calmly to him, "It'll be okay," over and over. I placed him in one of the boxes, and put him on the front seat of my Jeep.
I fought back tears the whole way home.