Chapter 8

Rocking Chair

The next time Vincent comes over, he has a brown bag in his hand. Mom greets Vincent with a pat on his shoulder, and he hands her the bag.

“What’s this?”

“We brought you breakfast.”

Mom places one hand on her heart. “Thank you so much, Vincent,” she says. Looking in the bag, she reaches in and pulls out a plump muffin topped with crumbs.

“Don’t thank me,” Vincent says, his cheeks rosy from the cool morning air. “It was Mark’s idea. He felt bad about the mess.”

“Oh.” Mom frowns at the memory. “I’m sorry I overreacted. I felt terrible about making him hurry over here.”

“Nah, you kidding me?” Vincent shakes his head. “He shouldn’t have left without cleaning up. His head is in the clouds sometimes, as they say.”

Vincent goes back out to the garage and I hear him talking to Mark. The two of them are probably setting up their sawhorses. Mom goes upstairs and I hear her start the washing machine. I lie down on the kitchen floor. I find the sound of the water running in the pipes upstairs very relaxing.

When Gretel suddenly trots into the room, I look around to see what she has sensed that I do not. She has such good hearing that she seemingly anticipates things before they happen.

Sure enough, I hear a door swing open and Mark comes into the kitchen from the garage. He looks around to see if anyone is in sight.

When he realizes that it is just Gretel and I who greet him, Mark approaches the kitchen sink and refills his water bottle. On the way back out to the garage, he stops at the entrance to the study and surveys the wall where the bookshelves will go. Gretel moves past him into the room and he follows her, stopping in front of our family photos. I remember he looked at these photos before. He gives Gretel a scratch between her ears when she looks up at him with her big brown eyes.

There is something about the way Gretel looks at humans that makes them respond. She always looks a little bit sad, I think. Like she needs them to acknowledge her. But I don’t think that’s how she actually feels. I think she’s just interested and perhaps suspicious. Always trying to determine who is a friend and who is not.

Feeling a little jealous, I run forward and push my wet nose into Mark’s leg to put my scent onto him. I’m not surprised when he reaches down with two hands and scoops me up.

Look, this is not a competitive thing, but—no one can pick up Gretel. She’s huge. I’m the right size for a cuddle.

Taking a few steps backward, Mark sinks into a rocking chair, taking care not to jostle me. As he did before, he flips me over so he can rest me in the crook of his arm and look me in the eye.

“Sweetheart,” he says, and his voice is a deep rumble. I like it. I can feel the vibrations in his chest when he speaks. “Aren’t you a good girl? Yes. You’re a good girl. You have big eyes.” He rubs my tummy gently, swirling around my fur, and I blink with gratitude.

I feel incredibly secure. Mark holds me tight, and I can tell he will not put me down until he is good and ready.

He speaks slowly, as if I don’t understand English very well. “Your eyes are so big. You’re a pretty baby and so soft. You’re a very good kitty.”

Why yes, I am.

I love the scent of him. I carefully poke my nose forward so it bumps against his T-shirt. It’s very soft and smells like the cinnamon Mom shakes into her coffee. It is not something I would eat, but it is familiar, and therefore pleasing to me.

There is a slight sound—an almost imperceptible hum—and it causes my ear to twitch. I watch Mark raise his head, mouth open. I turn my head to see what he’s looking at.

It’s Mom. She stands in the open doorway, arms crossed, leaning her head against the doorframe. A smirk twitches at the corner of her mouth, and I can see she finds this very entertaining.

Goodness! I’ve been caught cuddling again. With the same man.

I check back with Mark to see if he is as embarrassed as I am. But I don’t think he is. Instead, a smile grows on his face, the same wide, lopsided smile I saw before. It lights up his entire face, opening it up like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. He looks happy. Almost glowing.

His smile is an amazing thing to see, and it intrigues me. No one in my family smiles quite like that.

Not one of them.

Ever.

“You like cats?”

Mark chuckles. “Sure.” He shrugs. “Who doesn’t?”

Mom hums again. Just a little “mmmm.” It’s a funny sound. Almost as if she wants to purr.

I start purring myself, at that silly thought. I just can’t help it.

Gretel turns in a circle and sits back down, looking from human to human. I suspect she’s a little jealous.

Too bad. Get over it.

Mom stares and rubs her elbow with one hand absentmindedly. I suppose she thinks it is funny to see someone sitting in the old wooden rocking chair. Grandpa gave it to our family a few years ago, when Grandma died. No one in our family actually ever uses the chair. I have tried to jump up on the seat, but I find the polished wood slippery and uncomfortable. Yet Mark seems perfectly fine in the chair, possibly because he is sitting up straight and leaning back into it. He has found the right balance to make the chair work.

“Do you have kids?” Mom suddenly blurts out. “I can tell you do. You have a baby at home, right?”

And with these words, his smile diminishes. Mark’s eyes are still friendly, but the cheerfulness fades. He looks a little confused.

“Me? No.” He clears his throat. “No kids.”

“Kate!” Vincent bursts into the room. “Did I tell you they said Caroline could come home from the hospital this weekend? I can’t believe I forgot to tell you.”

Mom spins to face Vincent, pushing off from the door frame. “Oh, that’s great news,” she gushes. “I’m so glad. Tell me what the doctors said.”

She and Vincent talk excitedly in the kitchen. I am glad Vincent has some good news to share.

Mark looks down at me, and I back at him. I give him a quick wink. I think we have a bond.

“You’re a very lucky cat,” he murmurs to me, relaxing and lowering his arms so I can settle myself on his lap. “You have a nice home.” I sense that he wants to get up from the chair. I can usually tell when a human needs me to jump down because I feel their leg muscles tense. So I oblige, and hop to the rug.

Sure enough, the next thing I know Mark is on the move and headed back out to the garage. I slink over to Mom in the kitchen, and rub my face on her ankles. I can’t believe she caught me with Mark again. I hope she understands that my interest in him does not diminish my love for her.

“Is Jeremy doing okay?” I hear Vincent say in a low voice.

It takes me a moment to realize that Vincent is not talking about his wife anymore. Now he is asking about Dad.

“Sure,” Mom says. “You know. As well as ever.” She shrugs. “Same as always. No change. But it’s okay.” She tucks her hair behind her ears.

Vincent looks at her over his glasses, which slip down a bit on his nose. “All right.”

“He’s fine. And I’m fine. Honestly.”

“Okay, Kate. If you say so. Just thought I’d ask.”

She pats his arm. “Thanks for asking.”

Mark steps back into the kitchen, the red toolbox in his hand. “Thought I’d bring this in, just in case you need it.”

“So . . .” Mom leans against the kitchen counter and looks Mark up and down. “I’m glad you found an assistant.”

Vincent smiles. “Well, I needed the help, and Mark happened to be available.”

Vincent and Mark start talking about the plans for the new bookshelves, and Mom makes coffee. Vincent outlines some of the details of the project to Mark, who nods and asks a few questions. Mom brings a cup of coffee over to the kitchen table, where she sits and cuts her muffin in half.

Gretel sits patiently but watches Mom’s every movement. She knows that food is being prepared.

“Oh, Gretel, it’s just a muffin.” Mom sighs. “It’s not really for dogs.”

I remember when Dad first asked Mom about bringing a dog home. I was the only family pet at the time. Dad talked to Mom several times about a working dog who had been injured. He said she was a beautiful, loyal dog who was still young and deserved to retire early with a nice family. Dad had worked with this dog himself for over two years, and he loved her and wanted to bring her home.

Mom was nervous about it. She was afraid the big dog would hurt someone accidentally. She wondered if the dog might turn vicious when she got excited.

Mom asked many questions, including:

1. Doesn’t this dog attack people at work? Isn’t that what you trained her to do?

2. What if she attacked someone here?

3. What about Lily? Will this dog be good with a cat? Has she ever even met a cat?

These questions got my attention, believe me.

I see dogs around the neighborhood, and I avoid them without a problem. For the most part, they are stuck on leashes. And the two times I’ve been chased, I managed to outrun and outsmart those dogs. Despite my limp, I have long powerful legs and an ability to dart through small spaces. I don’t say this to brag. It’s just a fact.

But now Dad was talking about bringing a large, adult dog into the house. Mom was so upset that I started to get anxious too. I listened carefully when Dad talked about the dog.

Dad reassured Mom over and over that this dog was not usually asked to attack or hurt people. Most of the time, she was used to search for drugs. And she didn’t even know she was searching for drugs—no, she had been trained to find her toy, which had the scent of drugs on it. He told Mom that Gretel was a smart dog, and there was no reason to worry. Once in a while she disarmed a threatening person, but she was overall very loving.

Once I heard Dad explain all this, I started to relax. After all, Dad had been there when Charlie picked me out. He was the one who drove Charlie to the animal shelter, and he knows how much Charlie loves me. I had to believe Dad wouldn’t take any risks with my life.

Mom looked at me. I blinked back at her.

Let’s give this dog a chance. She was hurt, and she needs a home. I understand. I was in that position once myself.

I have heard Dad say that Gretel is a hero. Dad admires her, and I think he is drawn to her because he has done great things himself. I have seen two medals hanging from the dresser in his bedroom. They are gold, like my fur. Kevin and his best friend Phil once went into Dad’s room and tried on the medals. They handled them with great care, so I know they are special.

Sure enough, Gretel has turned out to be a fine dog for our family. Big? Yes. Strong? Yes. Smart? Well . . . I’m not sure. But she is not vicious. We get along fine. She will bark at and chase outsiders, but she does not bite them. Usually.

She has snapped at one or two people, perhaps, in the past year.

No one should expect perfect behavior all the time. Even I accidentally scratch Charlie once in a while.

Gretel sits very still and watches Mom take a bite of the muffin. I can tell Mom thinks her treat is very good from the way her eyes close slightly as she tastes it. She glances back at Gretel.

“Oh, all right.” She breaks off a chunk and tosses it on the floor.

Gretel has lapped it up and gulped it down in two seconds. For goodness sake. Ridiculous. She doesn’t even take the time to taste her food.

Mark enters the kitchen. “Okay if I use the sink?”

Mom nods. She watches him walk over to the sink and wash his hands. He is careful not to get the bandage on his hand wet. It’s funny, but Mom’s whole face lights up when he turns.

She raises an eyebrow. “How did you know blueberry was my favorite?”

“I didn’t. But now I know.” He dries his hands on a white towel. “I’ll bring you one next time too.”

“You don’t have to do that,” she protests.

“It’s no problem.”

Mark just stands there, drying his hands on that towel for a long time. Certainly his hands must be dry, but he keeps running the towel over one hand and then the other. Mom gazes at him and he smiles back.

Mom is acting a little strange, it seems to me.

“Please don’t feel you need to always bring me food or something. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than bring me snacks.”

“Not really.” He laughs. “I work at a restaurant on the breakfast and lunch shift. So that was free. I can take whatever I want.” He nods at the muffin. “I bake everything myself. Using organic ingredients. I’ve been trying to cut down on the sugar, and use healthier foods, like applesauce.”

“Oh.” Mom squints at the muffin, as if suddenly suspicious about it.

“Besides, I do feel bad about leaving such a mess in your garage. The truth is, I cut myself on the saw.” He holds up his hand and shows her the bandage. “The gloves were right in the toolbox, but . . . I forgot to put them on. And I didn’t want to bleed all over your garage. So I went home to wrap up my hand. But I should have come right back to clean up.”

Mom is alarmed. “Oh my goodness.” She stands up. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “Fine.”

“I’m sorry. That’s terrible.” She stands and walks right up to him and takes a closer look at his hand, as if he still needs tending to. “I’m so sorry that happened.”

When Mom looks up and they are face-to-face, she seems to realize how close she is standing to him, because she quickly takes a step back.

“It’s okay,” he says, glancing down at the floor a moment. “I’m fine.”

At that moment, Vincent walks into the kitchen and taps Mark on the elbow. “Where’d you go?” he asks Mark. “C’mon, buddy. We’ve got things to do.”

As soon as Vincent turns to head back to the garage, Mark steals one last glance at Mom. And then he’s off, hustling to catch up to Vincent.

Gretel walks over to the entrance to the garage, listening to the men work through the door. She sits, and I know she is waiting for them to come back in so she can follow Mark around.

I trust Gretel. We are friends. And if she has decided that the new man is okay, it’s fine for me to think he is okay too.

Of course, it also occurs to me to wonder what Dad thinks of these people working in our house. The project sounds like a big one, and I heard Vincent say it may take a while.

Dad didn’t like the mess Mark left in the garage, and he didn’t remember who Vincent was when Kevin mentioned his name. A small churning in my stomach warns me that Dad may not approve of these men being here for so long. If Dad feels there are too many outsiders here, then he might get upset, because he is always suspicious of strangers. Or he might decide not to visit us so much, if he feels unneeded. And if that happens, who will catch and punish Charlie’s bully?