6

We Are Alone in This

I think she’s alive!

I have no proof. I have not seen her face or heard her voice. But the clues are there.

I have been listening very hard. Before Mother disappeared, I often ignored the other humans. Their comings and goings were not of very much interest to me. But now, little by little, I am starting to pay more attention.

Jimmy has never spent much time talking into his small phone. In the past, he has used it for watching moving pictures and listening to musical things.

But lately he’s been talking. To two people.

One is the girl who came to the house on Halloween. Her name is Aruna, and she has been here a few times since then. I know when Jimmy is calling her, because he smiles as he presses the buttons, and he closes his eyes when he greets her.

“Hey, beautiful,” he says to her through the phone.

His eyes pop open and he grins when she responds. Even from across the room, I can hear Aruna squeal with delight at hearing his voice.

Personally, I don’t think Jimmy is as handsome as Man. But he certainly has a nice, easy way with people. Just like Mother does. He practically shines with confidence. My brother is always smiling, and humans gravitate to him. Nothing embarrasses him. He’s an open book.

Man has never had those qualities.

And then sometimes, when he’s getting ready for bed, Jimmy closes the door and speaks with someone different. I perk up from where I lie on his bed and listen hard. He talks quietly. I cannot hear the voice on the other end, but I have heard him call her Ma. When I first heard that, I didn’t believe it and thought I misunderstood him. But it’s been a few times now.

They never speak for very long. Sometimes after he hangs up, Jimmy buries his face in his hand, but always just for a minute or two. And Jimmy doesn’t mention it to the others. I always jump up to rub my face into his elbows, trying to distract him and help him feel better.

It has been a long time since Mother left. It has been so long, I have lost track of the time. But if Jimmy is speaking to her, then she is alive. And that gives me hope, and great relief.

But if she is alive, why doesn’t she come to visit us? Why has she stayed away for so long?

And why didn’t she take me with her?

Lately, I have been worried about Man. For my siblings, days are busy and life goes on. But Man seems to be in a dark place. He was always a loner. It occurs to me he has always been content with our family and never had many friends, other than one man called Sean, who comes to visit him. In this way, he is unlike Mother, who always had her phone on her ear or at her fingertips and, when she was feeling energetic, parties and visitors.

Right now, no one comes to visit him or help out. Maybe he hasn’t really explained the situation to anyone. Or maybe there’s no one for him to tell.

I’ve seen him sitting on the edge of his bed at night, and that is the worst time. He sits with his back to Mother’s pillow and won’t look at it. Sometimes he flips open the book Mahmee gave him, but closes it without finishing the pages. Other times, he picks up a little wooden cross from the bedside table, but just holds it and then puts it back down. Nothing interests him.

Maybe he and I are alone in this.

He pushes back the covers, and although it is cold and our house is drafty, he lies there in just his T-shirt and boxer shorts and stares at the ceiling. Lately, more often, he’ll look at me, and it is in a friendly way. He is lonely. So am I. My siblings have important things to do, and Mahmee is wonderful but she doesn’t love me fiercely like Mother did.

I have started to approach Man on the bed. He doesn’t caress my face and scratch my ears like Mother did, but his hand is warm and not too heavy, and he’ll rub down my silky fur. He’s putting his scent on me—and that, I know, is a protective gesture. In return, I knock my head into his fingers, to put my scent on him.

“You are so, so fat,” he tells me. This is something Mother used to say all the time, when she was admiring me. It makes me purr.

One day, Man comes home with a new book. And the day after that, yet another book. Eventually there is a stack beside his bedside table.

I imagine what these books are called.

There is probably one called How to Hunt, Capture, Kill and Prepare Food. The whole family is failing miserably at this.

For breakfast this morning, Mary had water and string cheese. And she had to cut the mold off with a knife before eating it.

There is also probably one called How to Take Care of a Baby. Man seems comfortable with the baby, but I don’t know if he did much baby care the first two times around. He gets especially confused and frustrated by the diapers and clothes. And the bottles and the formula. And the thermometer.

One book could be called How to Fix Your Damaged Baby. Because, as I’ve said, something is not quite right with ours.

Another book might be Ways to Make Your Girl Follow Directions. I have seen Mary snarl at Man when he asks her to carry out a task. He barks right back when she growls at him, but all the noise doesn’t seem to make her move any faster.

One might be What to Do If Your Mate Goes Out and Does Not Come Home. That would be the most important one of all. If he could just fix that problem, I think the other problems would go away. And we could go back to life as it was before, when I was always fed on time, and brushed every day, and held all night.

I think Missus Davenport is feeling frustrated lately too. When Missus first came to visit while Mahmee was caring for Finn, Mahmee was always happy to see her. Mostly because she then hustled to the kitchen to make hot coffee and spread out her deck of cards on the table for a game.

After a week or two of this, Missus Davenport came downstairs and had a few strong words with her. Mahmee seemed surprised and rolled her eyes at me after Missus had left the room. But Mahmee got up, switched off the radio, left her coffee on the table with a loud sigh, and followed Missus up the stairs.

Now she sits in the rocking chair and watches Missus Davenport play with the baby on the rug. Missus tries to get Mahmee to come down and work with Finn, but Mahmee just presses her lips together and shakes her head no, pointing to her knees.

If Mahmee sat down on this rug, I predict she’d never get up again.

Tonight, the doorbell rings around suppertime. Man answers, and there is Missus Davenport. I guess she wants to speak to him, rather than Mahmee. She is not in her work clothes. Instead she wears clothes for exercise. She is even springier than usual in her sneakers.

Standing in the foyer, I hear her say “Miss Davenport, not Missus” and “Charlotte” a few times, and I gather that it is her first name. Charlotte is passionate and enthusiastic about something, but Man just stands there frowning, arms folded, as if he doesn’t like what she is saying.

Relax, I want to tell him. She’s on your side. I even get up and welcome Charlotte to show Man how it is done, walking right up to her. Charlotte gives me a gentle pat on the head.

She presses Man, but he resists what she is asking for. Charlotte goes on and on, and I realize she is telling him that she wants the whole family to get more involved and work with the baby, and it seems very important to her. Something about her expressive way of moving her hands reminds me of Mother, and maybe it reminds Man of Mother too, because he finally says okay.

Charlotte melts into a deep smile and rests her hand on Man’s wrist. He still hasn’t uncrossed his arms. “Thank you,” she says to him, before running out.

She has to let herself out, because Man is still staring down at his arm where she touched him. I guess he is thinking about what she has said.

Man’s best friend, Sean, has been here a couple of times since Mother left. About fifteen minutes after Charlotte leaves, he knocks on the door.

Bang, bang, bang.

The most important thing to know about Sean, from my perspective on the floor, is that he wears big, heavy boots. I get out of his way quickly, the same way I hustle away from Man. I wouldn’t want to get my tail crunched under that boot.

Sean is a dominant male, with a loud voice and a barrel of a chest. He makes Man laugh, but Man hasn’t been laughing so much lately. Sean has short whiskers on his face just like Man and weighs several pounds more.

Sean always wears hats and shirts with the letter “B,” which doesn’t make sense to me because his name is Sean, not Billy or Brendan.

I know what a B is, because Charlotte uses these little books with Finn that contain photos of baby faces and sometimes symbols. It’s ridiculous. It can’t possibly mean anything to that baby. But I have figured out that Charlotte is some kind of healer and that she is here to help, so I guess it’s okay.

When he is not wearing his B hat, Sean has a flat cap that he wears at an angle. I keep waiting for that cap to fall off his head, but it never does.

I believe Man has known Sean for a very long time. They talk about the same things all the time. The Sox and who is the best closer. The Bruins and how badly they beat the Flyers. Who is the biggest asshole down at the fire department. How many roast beef with cheese-sauce-onion they need to get. And whether or not Sean needs to run to the packy and get more dark brown bottles of beer.

Sean also seems to have a lot of trouble with women. He has his own mate, and four pudgy, sweet, lovely daughters who have visited here before. He’s not particularly good-looking in my opinion, with a face like a bulldog. Yet he goes on and on: Why did Marlene tell me her bra size? Why does Jenny want a ride in my new truck? Don’t these ladies know I’m married? These girls are killing me, Tommy.

Man is always highly amused. He likes people who entertain him. So do I.

When Sean walks in, he wipes his boots over and over compulsively on the front mat. He has a big, brown paper bag in one hand. The first thing he says to Man is, “Jeez, Tommy-boy, you don’t look so sharp.”

Mary is there, and she always makes fun of the two of them. “Yeah, Pops, you don’t look so shap.”

Sean grins and calls her a “whippasnappa.”

Mary smiles back and sticks her tongue out at him. Jimmy comes downstairs and shakes Sean’s hand.

Sean points at Jimmy’s smooth face. “Nothin’ yet, huh?”

Jimmy pushes Sean’s hand away with a smile. “Don’t remind me. I’m working on it.”

This is the way many men are around here, with the short beards. I think they look magnificent, like lions. They all go into the kitchen to talk.

But after Jimmy and Mary leave and go upstairs, Sean hunches over the kitchen table and leans toward Man. I see the way Sean folds his hands under the table, and I know he feels nervous and stressed about something.

“How’s Carrie?” he asks, almost a whisper, like he is afraid to ask.

I freeze, pinning my ears back. That’s Mother’s name.

I don’t quite catch the answer. It’s hard to hear the men when they are talking softly.

But that’s it. Now I know. She’s alive. And if she’s alive, then maybe I can find her.

From across the kitchen, I can see Sean has already drained two of his brown bottles and has started on a third, whereas Man is still on his first one. The truth is, Mother is the one who drinks with Sean when he comes over. The two of them together sometimes have a very jolly time, laughing and telling great stories. Other times they fight bitterly, but they always apologize the next day.

But now I sense a betrayal, because Sean is using words like “crazy” and “abusive” and “nasty.” At first I think he is criticizing Man and talking some sense into him, but the more I listen, the more I realize that doesn’t make sense.

Man and I are not good friends, but Man is not those things.

And then I realize I know who he is talking about. My whiskers start twitching, and I am furious, because that is . . . that is not like my mother at all. Sean has known her for many years, so I don’t understand. Isn’t she getting rest somewhere? Isn’t she coming back soon? Why is Sean saying these horrible things?

Man doesn’t respond, which makes me even angrier. He just holds his bottle and stares at it. He doesn’t join in the criticism. But he also doesn’t defend Mother.

Stupid, stupid, stupid Tommy. Sitting there with that dumb look on his face. Mother is right.

But the worst part is—in a way, he and I are alone in this. And we need to figure out how to get her back.

For the first time, I realize that while I am small and limited in what I can do, Man is not. Even if he is to blame for Mother’s disappearance, perhaps I could help him in some small way as he tries to get her back.

But how?

I am afraid that he and I will never really understand each other, not the way Mother and I did. I may have to go out and look for her on my own. I just need to wait until the right time and then dash out the door.

I can do it. I will if I have to.