Chapter 9

The Clever Fox

You wouldn’t know it if you saw him lately, but Dad loves to laugh. He has a big smile and an infectious laugh, and once he starts he cannot stop. I would not generally describe him as a silly person, but sometimes when he bursts into a grin, you can see the fun-loving child he probably was. I imagine him pulling pranks on his mother and laughing even while she yelled at him.

His mother is dead now. There are old photos of her around the house. No one talks much about her. But I’ll bet Dad drove her crazy.

Dad laughs when Victoria puts on silly accents, or crosses her eyes.

He laughs when Kevin makes fun of how Grandpa hates to spend money. The two of them tell stories about Grandpa until Kevin is laughing so hard he has to put his head down on the table, and Dad doubles over and hides his face with his hands because he has tears in his eyes.

Grandpa doesn’t come over much anymore, even though he lives close by. He and Dad had a tremendous argument in the driveway, right around the winter holidays, which I witnessed from the picture window. They stood in the snow and there was yelling. It was about Dad’s medicine. Dad needed to drink a lot around that time, and Grandpa didn’t like Dad’s drinking any more than Mom did. But Dad could be fierce when defending himself and the need to have his special water.

Dad does love to laugh. He used to smile at Mom’s sly comments, the ones she would say under her breath, as if only to him. Dad would laugh even when the children couldn’t follow the joke. He would pat Mom’s knee or grab her hand under the kitchen table, and she would smile.

I haven’t seen Dad laugh in a while though.

There was one time Dad cried too.

It wasn’t in front of the other humans. But one night when he was still living here and the family was out, he wept. His whole body shook as he lay on the couch, and he yelled and he cried and shivered all over. He had to wipe away the tears with the sleeve of his shirt. He had his bottle of medicine with him, and he pushed it away but then grabbed it back. I think perhaps he did want to stop drinking, but he just could not do it. Once he quieted down, Gretel lay on the floor next to him, and I snuggled up behind his knees.

We helped him get to sleep. Sometimes, for humans and for animals, sleep is the best thing.

* * *

Dad stops by the house early one evening to drop something off for Mom. I know she is expecting him from the way she cleans the kitchen over and over, moving little things from counter to shelf, and then back again.

When the doorbell rings, I chase Gretel to the front door. Sightings of Dad interest me enormously. I heard Dad when he asked if he should “come home.” I wonder if there is anything I could do to help him make this happen.

I believe he must now not only stop drinking, but also win Mom over, as he did when they first met. He has lost her trust.

Dad always took good care of this family. He was productive, working long hours. There were flowers for Mom. Gifts on everyone’s birthday. Ice cream every Friday night, in two flavors. And bacon for Gretel and I, handed right to our mouths under the table where no one could see it.

I never doubted his love for Mom. His devotion may have wavered on the surface sometimes, the way the river gets choppy to the eye on a windy day, but deep down there are reserves of concern and commitment.

But I worry that Mom has given up on him. She realizes that she cannot help him. He will not allow it.

He is a hero, someone who has received gold medals for good works! Yet now he seems lost, and can’t find his way back.

It is clear Gretel is suffering too. I see the way she is completely devoted to Dad. Following him around. Begging to be noticed at all times. She worries about him even more than I do, and she doesn’t know how to help him.

Dad lets himself in. After he wipes his feet on the mat, I smell his boots. Gretel sniffs his hands. We are eager to see him. He bends down and gives Gretel a good rub around the neck with both hands, and then a hug. She licks his ear and he coos at her.

I get out of their way. I don’t want to get slobbered on. Gross.

Gretel and I know that Aidan is here in the house too, visiting Victoria. Usually he comes by after school and leaves at dinnertime. But today he came late, and he is still here.

Dad doesn’t see Aidan at first. The living room to the left of the hallway is dark, and Dad doesn’t glance in that direction. Victoria and Aidan were talking on the couch, but at the moment Dad enters, Victoria is upstairs fetching a notebook. So Aidan stands by the window, alone. He does not say anything to alert Dad to his presence.

Dad has been oddly preoccupied lately. He does not seem to be aware of his surroundings. He was always that type of person, prone to daydreaming, and it is one of the things he and Charlie have in common. But lately he has seemed even more sluggish than usual.

Dad pats down his pockets. He has a tool he carries in a belt under his jacket, and it is called a gun. I don’t know what it does exactly, as I have never seen him use it. He takes the tool out, examines it, and puts it away again.

Aidan stands in the corner, watching Dad. He reminds me of the red fox that stalks the marsh. He has sharp eyes, and the ability to stay perfectly still.

Clever, that fox.

Clever, this young human.

Dad is just lifting his head when he notices Aidan, and jumps slightly.

“Christ, you scared me, Aidan,” he growls. “What the hell are you doing lurking in the corner?”

Aidan doesn’t move any part of his body, although he studies Dad while running his tongue over his teeth. Aidan clears his throat and stands up straighter.

Dad squints, as if he can’t fathom how Aidan got into the house, as if he’s a squirrel who fell down the chimney. Aidan is not his favorite person.

“Going hunting?” Aidan finally asks.

“What?” Dad’s eyes furrow. Sometimes it’s as if the other humans are speaking a language he doesn’t recognize.

“With the Scouts. You going hunting?” Aidan shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He hesitates, but then plunges ahead: “Kevin told me about the rifle shooting competition or whatever. Fun and games.” The way Aidan says this, it’s clear that he thinks this is neither fun, nor a game. He shoves his hands in his pants pockets. “Cool gun. My dad used to have a gun.”

Dad’s face clouds over. “No, I’m not going hunting, for Chrissake. Does this look like a rifle to you? I carry a gun for work. And tell your dad he shouldn’t have a gun in a house with kids. It’s not safe.”

Aidan folds his arms. “Yep. You’re probably right. It’s not safe.”

Dad runs his hands over his pants, as if drying them. “I know what you’re thinking. This is for work. And I live alone now. It’s different.”

Just then, Mom’s voice calls out from the kitchen. “Jeremy. Jeremy, come on in.”

Dad heads down the hall without another glance at Aidan.

“Yep. It’s different,” Aidan mutters when Dad is out of sight. “You’re different, all right.”

Victoria comes bouncing down the stairs carrying the notebook, and approaches Aidan. She squeezes his hand. But he barely seems to feel it. He looks upset.

“Your dad hates me,” he says quietly, “And he’s carrying a freaking gun.”

Victoria shakes her head. “He doesn’t hate you.”

“He’s wound up so tight. You ever notice that your dad talks like a robot?”

“What?” Victoria’s head jerks back. “No. Just the opposite. He feels things too deeply, and then has anxiety about it. That’s why he’s taking Valium. You just don’t know him.”

Aidan winces. “Nope. I think I do know him. I’ve talked to him a few times now. And I say: robot. He has no empathy. That’s why they hired him to bust drug dealers. You ever think about how funny it is that he works for the DEA? I mean, think about it.” He squeezes her elbow. “The Drug Enforcement Agency.”

Victoria’s face stays blank. “No, I don’t get it. It’s not funny. What’s funny about that?”

Aidan seems like he is on the verge of saying something, but then stops himself and sighs instead. “Vic. I’m just saying. He scares me a little bit.”

“I don’t dispute there’s something wrong with him lately. But robot? That’s so off. Way, way, way off.”

Aidan thinks it over. He pushes a strand of hair out of his face, and studies Victoria. Something in her face seems to help him relax. “Never mind. It’s okay.” He puts his hands on his hips. “I know you’ll protect me against the robot invasion.”

Victoria leans in. “I will,” she whispers. “Just stand behind me when the robots get here, and I’ll take care of you.”

He opens his eyes wide and nods vigorously, and she laughs.

My tail swishes back and forth. I’m not sure what they mean by “robot.” I don’t understand the joke.

When I arrive in the kitchen, Dad and Mom are looking over some papers that are spread out on the counter. Dad stands so that his shoulder touches hers. He talks and points to the papers. Something about bills and the total. His voice is low and patient, as he points here, and then there. And then also here again.

He watches her to make sure she is following, and when she glances at him, he gives her a small smile. She gives him a cautious smile back.

Then Mom explains something else to him, about the bank and the accounts. He nods and listens carefully.

They both turn when they hear footsteps going upstairs.

Mom asks Dad whether or not he thinks Aidan should be allowed upstairs. In the end, they agree the answer is definitely no. So together they walk over to the foot of the stairs and yell for the kids.

Victoria and Aidan listen from the top of the stairs, faces grim and sullen, as Mom and Dad explain the new rule. But they don’t argue, and come back down to the living room.

I’m not exactly sure what Mom is so worried about. But I’m glad Aidan is not allowed upstairs. Now there’s one less place where he can bother Charlie.

Mom and Dad end up having lemonade on the back deck. They sneak out while I’m getting a bite to eat at my bowl, so I miss my chance to slip outside. Although I sit and stare out the sliding glass door at them, Mom and Dad are deep in conversation and don’t notice me.

However, I see that Gretel has somehow managed to get outside. Lucky! She sits proudly by Dad’s feet, head held high. Her giant ears stand alert, listening to the intonation of his voice.

I feel bad. She admires Dad so much. And she really misses him.

Since I’m stuck inside, I decide to go find Charlie. I pad my way past Victoria and Aidan, who have camped out again on the green couch. I see they have put down the blinds for privacy, so the adults on the deck can’t see them.

I watch as Aidan leans over Victoria’s shoulder to glance at what she is looking at on her phone. She smiles and moves farther away. “Stop spying on me.” Aidan slides closer to her, and reaches as if to grab her phone. Victoria squeaks like a field mouse, but she also has a wide grin on her face as she holds the phone too far away for him to reach. “Stop.”

He moves to reach out again, and in doing so, his hand brushes her arm and lands on her knee to steady himself. Victoria laughs.

Aidan knows how to play this game. She reels him in, and he obligingly gets closer—but not too close. He respects her space.

These young humans have the strangest mating rituals. It seems like torture. Why do they make it so complicated?

“I can’t believe your mom and dad are out on the deck,” Aidan says quietly to her. “Having a normal conversation.”

“Why?”

“Because.” Aidan takes a strand of her long hair in his hand, twirling it in his fingers. “She kicked him out. I thought she was mad. But she’s being really nice to him.”

Victoria frowns. “Yeah. Well. He’s still my dad. I think they’re just taking a break. She’s starting to cool down, so . . . Maybe he’ll be moving back in soon.”

Aidan snorts. “That’s not how it works, Vic. Once someone moves out, that’s usually it. They don’t come back. People don’t really change.”

I’m afraid I agree with Aidan, for once. It is hard to imagine Dad changing much. He is set in his ways.

I move along and down the hall, turning to spring my way upstairs. My claws sink into the carpeting to propel me along.

My good boy Charlie is spread out on his bed, big blue headphones covering his ears, humming along to music. I jump up and snuggle down in the dirty laundry at the foot of his bed. It smells so much like Charlie in this room. It is my favorite scent in the world, even better than fresh tuna. It makes me feel content and secure.

I doze. At one point, Charlie wakes me as he turns over. He yawns, stretching his arms over his head. I peek with one eye to watch him flop onto his right side. His eyes slowly close.

He is so much like a cat sometimes. It is highly satisfying.

I think Charlie would make a wonderful cat. His movements are graceful for the most part, with the occasional awkward gesture. Like me, he scampers away when embarrassed. He loves to rest, and nestles his head against his pillow when he rolls over, smushing his face back and forth into the softness of it. He enjoys his food, but doesn’t beg and worry about it like Gretel does. He’s also highly nocturnal, staying up late in the night typing into his phone.

Yes, I can imagine him with ears and paws and lovely fur and claws to sharpen. I think he’d quite enjoy it.

It’s just a little fantasy of mine. No harm in it.

I wonder if he ever wishes I could be changed into a human.

The sun has gone down, and Charlie eventually gets up to change for bed. He strips off his jeans and pulls on striped pajama pants. He slips on an old T-shirt and heads out to the bathroom to brush his teeth. I follow, as I do every night, because Charlie lets me sit on the counter and play with the water coming out of the faucet.

I bat the water with my paw, and—spray! Bat, spray! Bat, spray!

“Stop, Lily J. Potter,” Charlie says with a laugh. “Whoever heard of a cat who likes water? You’re a cat, not a dog.”

I know that, silly.

As Charlie brushes his teeth, the sound of the trickling water echoes off the ceiling. My tail twitches as I watch him swish the water around in his mouth.

Charlie walks over to push the bathroom door almost closed, and sighs. He peels off his T-shirt, leaving the water at a steady drip, so I can continue to bat it with my paw. But now, I glance up at Charlie. He looks in the mirror and sees what I see: the bruise on his side is fading to a greenish tint. His face doesn’t give anything away. He has more dark spots on his arm.

Charlie and I both jump when Victoria suddenly bursts into the room.

“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t know anyone was . . .” Victoria pauses. “In here.”

Charlie looks around to figure out where on the floor he dropped his shirt, but it’s too late. Victoria walks up to Charlie and stares at his arm.

“What happened?” She points, accusatory. “You have a bruise. No, wait—you have . . . three bruises. They look like fingerprints.” Her face creases in confusion. “Charlie. Did someone grab you so hard that you bruised?”

Her eyes jump up to meet his, piercing in intensity. Charlie looks over her shoulder like he wants to make a run for it, but there’s no room for him to get around her. She grabs his wrist as if to hold him there.

“No,” he states. “No. It’s no big deal. I was just horsing around with a friend. In gym class.”

I tip my head. I don’t think that’s true.

“What friend would do that? And you never play rough.” Victoria sounds angry, as if Charlie has done something wrong. “You know it, Charlie.”

Victoria finally lets go of his arm as he yanks himself away. Charlie grabs his shirt from where it sits on the tiles near the bathtub. “Seriously. Vic. It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” she spits out. “Jesus. And what—is your side bruised too? What’s that?”

A dark shadow appears in the doorway. Charlie shrinks back, and scrambles to get his shirt on as fast as he can, pulling it over his head.

“Hey,” Aidan greets Charlie, and he couldn’t sound less interested. “What’s up, little man?”

“Guys. Get out. I’m not done in here. I’m getting ready for bed.”

Victoria whirls to face Aidan. “He’s got bruises on his arm. And his side.” She turns back. “Are you being bullied by some jackass at school?”

“No,” Charlie groans, exasperated. “I told you. It was . . . I was just trying a trick on Karen’s skateboard and I started to fall, and she grabbed me.”

“That . . .” Victoria’s face suddenly crumples. Her tough demeanor seems to melt away in an instant. “That’s not what you said a minute ago.” She stamps her foot, and her eyes start to water. “That’s not the explanation you gave me just a second ago, Charlie. You said you were horsing around with a friend in gym class.”

Charlie bites his lip. He glances at Aidan. “Can you please just go away? I want my privacy.” When Victoria doesn’t move, Charlie’s hands clench into fists at his side. “GET THE HELL OUT, VIC.”

Victoria whirls to face Aidan. “Did you see his bruises?”

He shrugs. “C’mon, Vicky. Give the kid a break. I’ve seen worse. Let’s go.”

“You’ve seen worse?” She leans toward Aidan, grinding her teeth for a moment as she pierces him with her stare. “You’ve seen worse? Where? On your rounds at the emergency department?”

Aidan opens his mouth, then closes it. “No, I’m just saying . . .” Looking uneasy, he shrugs. “No, I just meant: Guys do stuff. Accidents happen.”

Victoria storms past him, out of the bathroom. Aidan doesn’t follow immediately. He and Charlie look each other over warily.

“It’s no big deal. I’ve seen worse,” Aidan mutters again. Directly to Charlie.

My whiskers twitch.

Leave, clever fox, I demand silently. This is our home. Our bathroom. You’re not wanted.

I’m sure anyone would sense what I do. Aidan has the potential to inflict pain. Maybe it’s because someone has been cruel to him, in his short life.

Charlie, to his credit, lifts his head defiantly. “Good for you,” he replies, a little too loudly. “Now GET OUT before I yell for my dad. I know you’re not allowed up here. You’re not supposed to be upstairs. He just told you that an hour ago.”

Aidan shrugs again. “Whatever, dude. Your parents aren’t really paying attention. And you know it.” He smirks. “Besides, your sister wouldn’t take no for an answer. She’s a demanding woman.”

He exits to the hallway, and we hear his footsteps as he heads straight to Victoria’s room. Charlie steps over to slam the bathroom door shut.

“It’s not fair, Lil,” he says to me. “They drive me crazy.”

I’m so sorry. They drive me crazy too.

I stand, and push my nose into his hand. Charlie picks me up and strokes my fur. I feel his heart beating, his body shaking, and realize how anxious he is. Again I think about how unfair it is that Charlie has to be distressed in his own home. I wish Victoria would break up with Aidan, and this could be over.

For the first time, something occurs to me. I have been under the assumption that someone is hurting Charlie at school, while Aidan teases Charlie here at home.

But maybe Aidan is the one hurting Charlie. Could he be the bully himself, one and the same?

It seems unlikely. But also possible.

It doesn’t make sense that Aidan would do anything that would seriously upset Victoria. Does it?

I see the way he looks at her. Like a dog whose owner kicks him, Aidan fears rejection, and he doubts Victoria’s love, but he is too devoted to stay away. Although he ignores her wishes sometimes, he is also desperate to please her. He wants her attention, and hurting Charlie would certainly achieve that, but not in a good way.

No, I find it hard to believe he’d hurt Charlie and risk losing Victoria.

At the same time, he has a cold look in his eyes sometimes.

I will continue to be vigilant. Aidan must be considered a suspect at this point.

I am so completely engrossed with thinking about Aidan that I almost don’t hear Dad come storming in from the back deck, where he was talking with Mom. As soon as Charlie opens the bathroom door, I sprint out, and I barely get to the balcony in time to see Dad striding down the hallway. Gretel trails after Dad, tail and tongue both wagging, but it’s no use. He doesn’t even notice her.

Dad rips open the front door. Mom is following him, and he turns back around to face her. He speaks quietly, I assume so the children won’t hear. “I drink too much, okay? Kate, I know. I’ve admitted it. That’s the first step, right? Admitting it? But it’s not as bad as you make it out to be. I don’t have a problem. You’re making this into a problem that doesn’t exist. I can stop when I want to. I just don’t want to right now, because of the pain. You’re the one who flushed my pills—and that’s okay. Really. I don’t want the pills. I don’t. They’re illegal. Drug addiction is . . . completely different. I just need a drink sometimes.”

She just shakes her head. Mom has heard this before.

“Kate,” he begs, tears in his eyes. “I need to come home. I don’t want a divorce. I can’t do this anymore.”

She closes her eyes, and wraps her arms around herself tight, as she does when she is upset. “No,” she says in a shaky voice. “I’ve already said no. Not unless you get help.”

“Kate. I don’t need help.” He cringes when he says help, like it’s a terrible word. “You know I want to come home, don’t you?”

“Yes. I know that. But you’re not well. You say you know it, but you don’t. I’m sorry, Jeremy, but you don’t get it. I talked to Dr. Lodge about it. You have a cross addiction. You just substituted one thing for another.”

Dad’s mouth twitches. “You talked to our doctor about it?” he whispers, unbelieving. “But I don’t want people to know about this, Kate.” His eyes are wild and desperate. But he and I can both see that Mom has her mind made up.

“Too late,” she replies, her voice fading. “It’s too late. I’m getting help for myself, even if you won’t.”

“But you don’t need—” Dad shakes his head. He takes a step back, rubbing his forehead with one hand. “Ah, Kate. Forget it.” And then he lets himself out.

Gretel watches the door, but Dad does not come back.

Gretel finally lays down on the hall rug, head on her paws. She will wait. She will wait there all night if necessary, waiting to see if Dad returns. But I know he will not.