18

Lonely Hearts

I take a nap under Finn’s crib while I think about the night Father went out and brought Jenny home. I’m not sure how to feel about Father bringing another human female here. Now that Mother has left our family, I expect he needs a new mate.

While I am happy for him to complete this natural process, it makes me sad too. Because it is another reminder that Mother is off with a new family somewhere else.

But if it isn’t Jenny, then who?

Of course, the answer has been right under my nose all along.

A few weeks later, Mary cuts strings of red hearts out of construction paper and hangs them in the dining room. She is having a party for her girlfriends. She is calling it the “anti-Valentine’s” party for lonely hearts. She tells Jimmy that all of the boys in her grade are big, fat losers and so the girls must find their own fun.

Jimmy finds this enormously entertaining. He even helps Mary decorate. They bake heart-shaped butter cookies, with cookie cutters that Mahmee has brought over for the occasion. And yes, I get a pat of butter in my dish.

Father walks into the dining room and admires Mary’s work, the long strings of hanging hearts, with a wistful look on his face. I don’t know if he is thinking about the past, or the future, but he stands and daydreams for a little while. I leave him alone.

The day before the party, Charlotte comes for her appointment. She admires Mary’s handiwork with the decorations in the dining room. Mary offers her a cookie before sealing the rest up in a big, plastic bowl for the party.

As Charlotte and Father walk upstairs, Father tells her that Finn is sleeping. Charlotte says that it’s okay as she nibbles on her cookie and wipes crumbs from her mouth. She suggests that she just work with Father instead. They sit right on Finn’s rug like they usually do and talk quietly.

Charlotte sits opposite Father with her legs crossed and shows him many hand signals. Sometimes he doesn’t get it quite right, so she takes his hand in both of hers and manipulates his fingers to correct him.

I see that Charlotte likes working with Father. She often touches him when I’m not sure it’s really necessary.

But maybe she’s just a touchy person.

Father and Charlotte seem to be having a nice time, and I am in a good mood too, so I get up to rub my head on Father’s knee. Charlotte scratches between my ears and asks Father if he thinks I wouldn’t mind being picked up.

Mind? I never mind.

Father puts his big hands under me, picks me up, and places me in Charlotte’s lap. He knows I’ll be good. I am a floppy, friendly, lazy cat, just like Mother always said. I never scratch the humans. Charlotte’s lap is just fine.

It’s different from Mother’s lap. Not better. Not worse. Just different.

I roll over, right in her lap. I stretch out my legs and arch my back while Charlotte strokes my soft belly. I know that if I look cute, I might get extra attention.

I look over to Father to show him that I am being good, but he’s not looking at me.

He’s looking at Charlotte.

He looks so keenly interested, his face flushed, his eyes wide and searching, and I—

Ohhhh, of course, I think. Why didn’t I see it before?

But this just makes me very worried that Father has the wrong idea about Charlotte. I have come to understand that she is here to work with Finn. She is here to do a job. And she is a naturally friendly person.

Perhaps she doesn’t think Father would be a good mate for her at all. Perhaps it has never even crossed her mind.

I have noticed Father taking Mary’s advice and putting on clean shirts and combing his hair. He still shaves, about once a week, letting his whiskers grow in just enough so he looks impressive but also not too scruffy. That’s a good thing, that he is taking care of himself. But still, it makes me concerned.

What makes me most apprehensive, as I lie there in Charlotte’s lap, is that with a twitch of my nose I suddenly realize that Father is giving off the same pheromones that Jimmy is. I hadn’t noticed, because it is so strong on Jimmy. Which means Father is definitely ready for a new mate, whether he realizes it or not.

I have grown fond of Father. I don’t want to see him rejected. I don’t think he could handle another heartache.

Father mentions to Charlotte the new book he’s been reading. Something about Finn and how to communicate with him.

“Well,” she exclaims, “that’s a great choice. A very smart choice.”

Father is looking down at me at that moment, but his head turns up quickly to look at her. “What?”

“You’re getting so smart on this subject. I’m impressed.” Father looks surprised. I have never heard anyone say anything like that to Father, or call him smart. I think Charlotte just took his breath away.

He sits up straighter. “I’m going to have it read by next week,” he promises.

“Okay,” she says. She has no idea what affect her words just had on him.

“I will definitely have it done by next week,” he repeats, nodding.

Ah, poor Father. I’m not sure he is going to win over this one.

As Charlotte teaches him new hand signs, Father starts talking. And keeps talking. And doesn’t stop for a really long time. I start to nod off, curled up on Charlotte’s legs. He is quietly telling her about Carrie, and himself, and Jimmy and Mary and Finn.

Minutes, and then hours, go by. I lift my head when Mary peeks in the door to say good night. Goodness, I think, Father is still talking. He’s never talked this much in his entire life. We must be Charlotte’s final appointment of the day, because she makes no move to get up. She lets Father talk. She is a good listener, and when he asks her questions, she offers advice in an enthusiastic tone.

Finally, Finn stirs in his crib. Fortunately, he wakes in a good mood and not with a scream. I get up, and so do Father and Charlotte. I can’t see Finn from my position on the floor, but I hear the baby gurgle when he sees the adults looking down at him.

Father is standing very close to Charlotte and sneaking glances at her, and I am suddenly afraid he is going to do something foolish.

My little heart seizes in my chest. I need to create a distraction.... I need—

Ohhhh, too late.

Charlotte has one hand on the crib railing and the other down by her side. Father reaches out and takes her free hand in his.

Oh.

I wait, frozen.

She lets him hold it for just a second, and then easily takes her hand right back and never stops smiling or talking.

Miss Davenport is a professional.

Father has no outward reaction. He just looks down and they keep talking about Finn. He seems to have no recognition of the fact that he just embarrassed himself. But I am angry for him.

He is such a fine man, how can Charlotte not even consider Father for one moment? How can she so coldly ignore his advances? I am outraged. I am—

But wait a minute.

Now I see she leans down toward Finn to say good-bye to him, and in doing so also leans closer to Father. Her arm brushes against his for a moment. She looks at Finn, and then at Father. Charlotte straightens up and teaches Father a few more signs, holding his hand in both of hers again to manipulate his fingers.

Father watches her, studying her. They are standing so close that Charlotte blushes a little this time, unlike her confident manner when they sat on the floor. And when she is done showing him the last sign, she just stands there, with her hands still on his. This time she doesn’t pull her hands away. She just looks down, as if she is afraid to make eye contact with him.

Hmmmm. Interesting. I realize Father understands something that I didn’t, until now.

They just stand there, her fingers wrapped around his hand, so close to each other. I watch, whiskers alert.

They are so different, these two. I can see it, looking up at them. Father is a little older, and he is calm and careful in his approach. Father knows what he wants now and isn’t afraid to show it. I think he would try to kiss her if she weren’t so obviously skittish. But like I do when I am afraid of scaring away a bird on the windowsill, he waits with infinite patience and does not move. Charlotte starts talking nervously. She pulls away from him, finally, all fluttery hand gestures and feet shuffling. She cannot look up at his face, and her cheeks burn red.

I find this amusing! These humans.

Father walks her downstairs, and I watch from the landing. He stands in the doorway until her car pulls away.

After she leaves, Father absentmindedly wanders back up and into his bedroom. He sits on the edge of his bed, taking off his shoes and placing them neatly on the floor. Deep in thought, he twirls his wedding ring and pulls it on and off, on and off. I can tell he’s thinking about taking it off.

He is still married, as far as I understand it.

This ring and that letter are what he has left of Mother. These two things, and their three children.

I know he will someday find a new mate, but I wonder if his heart is ready for it now. I wonder if my heart is either.

The fact that Mother left still hurts me, and I can see it still hurts my family. Her spirit chases Father like a shadow in every room of this old house. Sometimes he turns a corner and lifts his head, and I could swear he thinks he has caught a glimpse of her from the way his eyes search the room, but she always eludes him. He is met only with empty spaces and dark corners.

She is gone. And we must move on.

I imagine that Father recognizes in Charlotte a kindness that I have also seen in her. The way she cannot help but smile when he enters the room. The enthusiasm in her voice when she talks to him. Warm hands that reach out to correct the hand signals he tries to make. A longing in her eye when she looks at him.

Father and I have each other, but I realize he must also desire a human companion who satisfies the needs of his head and his heart and his body. I must admit that Charlotte would be a good choice.

I jump up on the bed and roll over, next to Father. He places his hand on my belly and rubs gently.

* * *

The next night is Mary’s big party. I have heard her say that Valentine’s Day is not for a few more days, but Mary wanted the party to kick off the weekend so they can stay up late. Father makes a blazing fire in the fireplace and turns on the television to watch a game. Young girls, some willowy and others curvy—but all supremely confident—arrive in small groups. They are very excited and talkative. Soon there are nine girls in the decorated dining room, sparkly and glossy and working their small phones.

Jimmy comes downstairs to say hello. He is swarmed and cannot stop grinning as all of the girls (except Mary) laugh at every little thing he says.

Father gets a call that causes him to jump off the couch. He writes down a few things on a piece of paper and then calls Jimmy over to him. I watch from a distance, on the stairs, as he explains it. There has been an emergency, and he must go put out a big fire. It is several towns away.

Father and Jimmy cast a wary eye over the girls, who are just standing and eating cookies.

Father has a few words for Jimmy, and then is gone.

“Where’s Pops going?” Mary calls over her shoulder. She doesn’t miss a thing.

“Fire,” Jimmy answers. “Big one. Three-alarm fire. In Danvers.”

“Danvers?”

My two siblings stare at each other a moment. And then both start furiously pushing buttons on their small phones.

The first one to arrive is Aruna, and I am glad to see her. Jimmy picks her up in his arms and carries her into the house while she laughs. Next is a skinny boy carrying a heavy backpack. Then four more boys arrive with cans and bottles. Jimmy is older and bigger than all of these other boys, but they travel in a pack and outnumber him, and I wonder if they will be trouble.

While I watch from the stairs, about twenty more kids arrive, a mix of boys and girls. Mary and her girlfriends seem to know all of them. “I thought you said these guys were all big, fat losers,” Jimmy teases Mary, shouting to be heard over the music. “They’re not so big. They’re not fat either. Losers . . . well, yeah, I can see that.”

After a few hours, I am curious and take a walk around the perimeter of the downstairs rooms. I am surprised to place my paw in a big, wet spot on the living room rug, and I realize someone has spilled a drink. I see the fire in the fireplace has gone out, unattended. In the kitchen, the back door is open, letting in freezing cold air. I hear voices outside. Smoke, similar to that created by the fireplace but sweeter, drifts inside.

I take a drink of water, but my food bowl is empty.

And then I hear it, in my big, wide ears. Finn is crying in his crib.

I pick my head up. The music and talking are very loud. Where are Mary and Jimmy?

I hear distress in Finn’s tone. I’m sure he’s okay, because he is safe in his crib, but it still makes me anxious. I begin to frantically dart from room to room, through a forest of legs.

Jimmy, where is he? And how will I alert him when I find him?

Just then, I see him. He is standing at the bottom of the stairs. I run right to his feet and meow with all my strength. He glances down at me, puzzled, and then tips his head as he finally hears Finn crying. Jimmy asks Aruna to go up and check on Finn. I follow her upstairs.

Finn is screaming, but okay. It takes Aruna a good, long while to settle him down. It’s nice and cool and quiet in Finn’s room, and I stay there with them.

When Aruna finally walks back downstairs, Finn in her arms, Jimmy is in a corner surrounded by young girls. He is telling a great story, the way Mother would at a party, and he has many enraptured listeners. I watch him a moment.

Let me tell you what I see: the curve of Jimmy’s lips. The shape of his mouth. The dark mole on his cheek. His expressive face and the way he moves his hands in front of him to illuminate his story. He is just like Mother.

Jimmy breaks my heart all the time but doesn’t know it.

I am glad he doesn’t know it.

Aruna is angry. She pulls Jimmy aside and has many sharp words for him. He professes innocence, but they continue arguing. I notice now that Jimmy is holding a bottle just like the younger boys. Aruna clutches Finn tightly. Kids interrupt to ask if they can hold the baby, but Aruna won’t let them.

There is a loud banging. Jimmy leaves his bottle on the dining room table and answers the door. It is the grouchy, gray-haired neighbor. Jimmy swallows hard and snaps to with a quick “Yes, sir” and “No, sir.” When he closes the door behind him, he mutters, “Calm down.”

Just like Father would.

Jimmy strides through the crowd over to the music machine and turns the noise down. He orders Mary not to touch the dial. “He’s gonna call the cops if you don’t get your friends to stop turning this up.” Then he runs to the back porch and yells at everyone to get inside.

I am proud of him for taking charge and fixing the situation.

But the peace doesn’t last for long.

Not twenty minutes later, there is another intrusive knock at the door. Jimmy sighs and lumbers over to answer it again.

But this time it is Sean’s wife. Her eyes are red and her hands are shaking.

“Party’s over, honey,” she tells him.