3

An Ominous Phone Call

Whereas the pregnancy slowed Mother down, the baby seemed to drain her energy completely. He is a helpless creature and demands attention.

Stupid, stupid, stupid baby.

Those first few months with the newborn after Man threw me out of the crib, the baby continued to cry and cry, all through those long, hot days. Everyone took turns getting up and making formula. Sometimes Mother got up, but just as often she sank back down on the bed and rubbed her feet. Some nights Man hollered for my sister, and sometimes he silently got up and comforted the baby himself. I’d watch Man cradle that baby and stare at him in the darkness of the nursery. He’d had two babies already, of course, but that was a long time ago, so maybe it all felt new to him again.

If the baby wouldn’t stop screaming, Man would wince like it was painful to him. And it was painful, believe me. This baby screeched with the strength of one twice his size.

Sometimes if the baby just wouldn’t settle down, my brother got up and took the baby from whoever was holding him. He seemed to have the right touch and eventually got the thing quiet. Brother has a confidence about him in these situations that I find comforting.

I wish I could have held the baby. I would have helped out.

But I stayed far from the crib since Man lost his temper. Apparently, he didn’t want my help.

The rest of the family continued to bother Mother. When my brother came home from wherever he spent his summer afternoons, he ran up the stairs without wiping the sand off his legs. He’d tear off his wet things in his bedroom and leave them on the floor before going to see Mother.

He would go and grab the baby and hold it in his arms while telling Mother about his day. Brother smiled at the baby and rocked him while talking. If the baby was asleep in his crib, my brother would bring in a large orange ball instead and twirl it on his finger.

But just as he did when she was pregnant, he would always end his visits by asking for something. “Ma, make me this. Ma, make me that.” He was always asking for food. Brother is taller than Mother, and he eats a tremendous amount. He is old enough to drive the truck that takes the humans away from the house. He is not quite an adult, but almost. Mother calls him Jimmy. Or, “Jesus, Jimmy,” when she is frustrated, and she rolls her eyes.

Poor Jesus Jimmy. He was hungry.

Frankly, I was too. Mother had stopped feeding me regularly.

Sometimes Jimmy would finally go down and eat sliced ham right out of the package, and he’d throw some on the floor for me. Not a Cat would come running, but I could keep him at bay with a sharp hiss and then eat the scraps. They were mine, and I was desperately hungry.

Thinking back on it, I realize Not a Cat was hungry too. He always looked at me with those round, brown eyes, hoping I would share with him and then expecting me to play with him.

He didn’t understand the situation at all.

My meals started coming at odd times, from whomever I could force to get up. Usually that was my brother. Once in a while Man noticed I was hungry, and he made my sister feed me. Then I’d go curl up on Mother’s bed, my belly full and my heart content. We would fall asleep as if nothing was wrong, and it was a great relief.

There was one night Man took Mother out, and she got dressed up like she used to. She was so beautiful!

Back when she got up in the morning, I liked to sit on the toilet and watch Mother get ready for the day. I did the same on the night she went out. She drew black lines around her eyes, to look like a cat. She put red on her lips. Her hair was glossy and her teeth very white. And she didn’t forget me, filling a small paper cup with water and setting it beside me so I could lap it up with my tongue.

That night, when she came out of the bathroom, Man was so happy. He held her and pushed his face against her cheek and ear just like I do. I know he was marking his territory.

Cats are very territorial, and humans are too.

Mother put her sweet, gentle hands on his big arms and looked at him like maybe she did still appreciate him. Sometimes I thought they were right for each other. He was not such a bad mate. As I said, he was tall and proud, and I never saw him chase her away the way she often did to him.

Sometimes he ignored her, the way he ignored me, especially if he was in a bad mood. But if she insisted on having his attention she would sit in his lap, and he always watched and listened to her carefully. It’s just that she didn’t insist very often.

But late that night, when they got home, she was upset again and went straight up to the bedroom. They were both a little off balance, their words somewhat slurred. When he tried to hold her, she was already protesting. “Stupid, stupid, stupid Tommy.” I don’t know what he said or did, but I’m sure Mother was right and he was wrong. Man glared at her, and I didn’t like that look in his eye. He watched her go into the bathroom and shut the door. Man gave up and went to another room, and I had Mother all to myself when she came out and crawled into bed.

I lay by her side, spread out on the cool comforter, my head resting on her arm. I loved her so, so much. Why couldn’t the others leave her alone? Why should she have to meet their demands? Couldn’t they see how special she was?

One day, a young woman who was dressed in a suit came to the house and looked at the baby. She held the baby and talked to him and seemed to be testing him. Her name was “Missus Davenport,” and she was all big, big smiles and had a chipper voice. Man eyed her warily, but Mother made an effort and came into the baby’s room to watch her.

After that, Missus started coming to the house twice a week to work with the baby for a couple of hours. Mother sat in the rocking chair, mostly observing, but on occasion reading a book. Sometimes I’d curl up in Mother’s lap, or if it was too warm I would just watch from the floor near the fan.

Missus Davenport was mesmerizing, dangling pretty toys on a string or laying out objects on the rug for the baby to look at. She didn’t seem to mind me, and even encouraged the baby to look at me. I couldn’t believe she was sitting on the floor in those nice clothes. Silly! This woman was so silly. A perfect playmate for the baby, I guess.

When Missus wasn’t around, Man sometimes tried to get my siblings to take the baby out in the big pushcart. Jimmy didn’t mind it, but my sister had no interest. She fought it, pointing to fluffy Not a Cat and shaking his leash. She had enough to do, just like Mother.

Sister is called Mary, or “So Smart Mary” by Mother. Mary sometimes came in and talked to Mother in a very hushed voice, so no one else could hear. Mother sat up and smoothed down her hair when Sister came in to talk to her.

“Ma . . .” So Smart Mary would coo in her seductive voice, batting her eyes and leaning in, and Mother couldn’t resist her. Mother often pulled green papers out of her bedside table for Mary. So Smart Mary got very excited and hugged her mother, then jumped up and twirled around, waving the green papers in the air. And then she’d be off.

Sister wasn’t home very much. And when she was, she was in her room with the door shut.

I could see Man was growing afraid of my sister as she got bigger and taller, the way he looked at her with worry on his face. I was starting to see she was someone powerful, with her important things to do and her fervent religious beliefs and her exciting talk. Man sometimes stood outside her closed bedroom door, listening to her music, looking like he wanted to knock on that door . . . but he hesitated.

He may stand tall, but his eyes give him away sometimes. With his forehead creased into a frown of confusion, he stood with his hand frozen in the air, unable to knock.

It amused me.

I also suspect So Smart Mary thinks Man is not too intelligent, just like Mother does. One night, he suggested Mary make the family dinner.

She whirled to face him. “Why is that suddenly my job? Because I’m a girl? That’s dumb. You’re the parent. I don’t have time for that.”

Man didn’t get angry with her. Without another word, he quietly made everyone ham sandwiches. I realized Mary was growing more powerful as Mother stayed upstairs most hours of the day.

I didn’t know if that was a good thing or not.

The weather grew cooler, and I was more comfortable every day as the humidity eased. My winter coat started to come in, thick and sleek. My brother and sister went back to the work they call “school” once the hot days were over.

One day Man brought home a big, orange pumpkin and placed it on our front step. I watched through the window screen as squirrels tried to sneak up to that pumpkin and take a bite out of it. I yowled when they got too close, scaring them away.

The baby grew plump. The black hair he was born with faded over time until a thin coating of light blond hair appeared on his round head. His eyes darkened to gray blue, and he began to look more like Man.

One day, Mother got up and put a few things into a bag. She waited on the living room couch for Jimmy to get home.

I know what packing is. I know it means someone is going away for a while. But her bag was so small. I didn’t give it much thought.

When Jimmy walked in, Mother talked to him quietly on the downstairs couch. He nodded a few times and then followed her to the kitchen, where she showed him the baby formula. But of course he already knew where that was and barely paid attention, glancing occasionally at the little phone in his hand. She pointed to some food in a pan in the refrigerator. And then Mother kissed him and went out. I heard the car outside start up, and I knew it would carry her away for a while.

Jimmy sat Man down on that same couch when he got home, and they talked. Nothing much seemed out of order. Man stroked his short beard as he sometimes did when he was thinking about something, and my brother imitated him on his own smooth chin, which he likes to do. They both laughed about something, and all seemed normal.

Until supper, when the phone rang.

There was something so ominous about the ring of the kitchen phone that I jumped and scampered to the doorway. I watched and listened as Man stood and picked up the phone. My siblings froze, their forks in the air, and they listened too.

At first Man stared at the floor, his mouth hanging open, his eyes wide. He was astonished. “Carrie,” he whispered. His voice shook and he asked something about who was going to take care of the baby. My siblings and I fled the room and ran right up those stairs, as we knew some kind of bad news had come to this house. I hid under Mother’s bed.

Late in the night, I finally found my courage and wandered down the hall to Mary’s room, hearing muffled noises emerging from the darkness. When I jumped up to her bed, I was upset to find her crying, a little hand covering her eyes. Her whole body shook, as if rejecting whatever news was trying to sink in. I sniffed at her face and licked her cheek, finding it savory. After I nestled against Mary’s chest, she finally settled down, her arm curled around me. She drew in one deep breath after the next, tickling my neck as she sighed in her sleep.

But as for me, I could not rest. I had a terrible vision. I know there are creatures lurking in the woods behind our house, because I have seen them through the sliding glass door, and my sister has named them for me. Squirrel, woodchuck, rabbit, deer, wild turkey, and once a fox. Most horrible is the huge, masked raccoon with long claws, who eats anything at all.

I was sure that one of these vicious creatures had attacked Mother and dragged her away.