19

The Jump

Something has happened to Father and Sean.

Sean’s wife tells Jimmy to get the kids who live nearby to walk home in groups. Jimmy takes kids to the street, barking out directions. In the dining room, Mary helps her friends who live farther away call for rides home.

As the last kids trickle out, Mahmee shows up, looking exhausted and pale. She goes up to check on Finn and to find blankets and a pillow.

Poor Mahmee. I think this is very hard on her, having to worry about Father all of the time. He seems to be the most important person in her life.

Father has a younger brother, John, but he is not talked about. I have heard him mentioned only a few times. He did not carve out a straight path in life. He is in jail, which sounds like a cage for the humans who have done wrong.

Father also had a younger sister, Shannon, but she was killed not long ago in a car accident. It was called a “drunk driving” accident. I am not sure what that means, but Father said the persons who were drunk were Shannon and her husband. Shannon had no children, so Mahmee just has what she has: Father, Jimmy, Mary, and Finn. And she is devoted to them.

I know Father misses his siblings. Just after Shannon died, he started asking Mother for another baby. I heard him ask her often about it. She usually shook her head no.

And then one day, I realized Mother really was expecting a baby. That’s when things took a turn for the worse.

Once the party guests have all been sent away, Sean’s wife tells Jimmy and Mary they must go with her. I don’t understand what has happened. She says something about “out of air” and I know Father and Sean “jumped.” And that’s all I know.

The house feels cold and empty once my siblings are gone. Mahmee comes down and sleeps on the living room couch, leaving the TV on low. The illumination from the machine flickers pale, ghostly flashes of light across the room.

I don’t like it. Jasper doesn’t like it either. He pants anxiously, sitting by the front door.

I think the fact that Father and Sean jumped must be a good thing. Usually when I jump, it is to get out of the way of danger. I guess the question is, Did they jump soon enough?

I’m sure I have nothing to worry about. Father and Sean are in good shape. I know their bosses make them exercise with all kinds of equipment down at the fire station, and they are tested on it, because Father and Sean complain about it, and also brag about what they accomplished. I know they are strong and agile enough to carry a big wooden dresser down the steep stairs, because I have seen them do it. They also have all kinds of protective gear for fighting the fires. Father once wore some of it home, and I didn’t know who he was at first. He looked like he was ready for battle.

Still, shadows chase me all night. I am restless and skittish.

I want to be brave. But I am scared. I already lost Mother. I cannot lose Father too.

* * *

In the morning, Finn cries in a bitter tone, and Mahmee must get up. She takes a deep breath before using the railing to pull herself up those wooden stairs.

Later, she comes down and does a rare thing: She gets out a very loud machine and pushes it over the rugs. She pauses to pick up cups and bottles and throws them away. She opens the windows and sprays some kind of perfume into the air.

I think Mahmee is cleaning. Now, there’s something you don’t see every day.

Around lunchtime, I am happy and grateful to hear voices on the step. Jimmy and Mary are back, but they are not with Sean’s wife anymore.

They are with Mother!

I watch from the stairs. I find it so curious. I am still mad at Mother. At the same time, my heart throbs with excitement when I see her. I feel as if I don’t know her so well anymore, and it will take me a little while to warm up to her again. She has a small case with her, so I think she intends to stay a while.

Interesting.

Mother looks at me with those big, brown eyes, that soft and sympathetic expression, and I melt. Ohhhh, okay. I pad down the stairs and walk near her. I don’t quite approach, but I get closer than the last time she visited.

She is my mother, after all.

Mary announces she needs a nap but first gives Mother a big hug. Jimmy excuses himself to call Aruna.

I follow Mother to the kitchen. She reaches up to a high shelf that the rest of the family doesn’t use. She pulls out a little crinkly bag.

My cat treats! I haven’t had one in many months.

Before long, I am rubbing against Mother’s leg, and then I let myself be lifted into her lap. No matter how strong my resolve is to resist her, I cannot. It is a tremendous relief to have my best friend back here with me, no matter what she has done. Her touch is sensitive and careful around my ears. I absolutely cannot believe how long it has been and how much I have missed this. My purring revs up to its highest level. It’s heaven. Mother doesn’t smell quite the same, but I don’t care anymore.

The children are also happy to have Mother here. Mary helps Mother cook supper and gives her mother many hugs and kisses. I catch Jimmy breaking out into a lopsided smile again and again as he watches his mother work at the stove. He eats every bite of the food she prepares for him, and asks for seconds.

That night, Mother gets right into her old bed without hesitation. She turns out the light, but I can see the outline of her body from where I sit on the hardwood floor. Mother calls for me.

It seems strange that she is back here and Father is not. Something in my gut says: wrong, wrong, wrong.

I don’t understand everything about the humans. So much about them is a mystery to me. But I know a warm body is better than none at all. So I jump up and snuggle in next to Mother, just like I did many, many months ago when she left. It feels good now, just as it did then.

Still, I have trouble getting comfortable. I get up more than once to shift my position.

Mother is here. Her chest is soft to lie against, and her touch is gentle.

So why can’t I fall asleep?

* * *

In the morning, Mahmee comes upstairs when she hears Finn crying. But by the time she gets to the top of the stairs, Mother has already fetched the baby. She has climbed back into bed, holding Finn in her arms.

From the hallway, Mahmee glances in toward us, confused. Then she scowls, but only for a moment. I’m not sure what she’s thinking. She goes back downstairs.

I feel guilty. I look at Finn, and he is all smiles as Mother cuddles with him. Finn and I aren’t doing anything wrong, are we?

Today, Mother, Jimmy, and Mary go out once again, and this time when they return, Father is with them. My little heart melts with relief.

Thank goodness he is okay. Somehow, I knew he would be.

The lower half of one of his legs is wrapped in a white, hard substance, and over that it is completely covered in a strange, bright green bandage. I see people have scribbled words on it with a black pen, and someone has drawn a four-leaf clover.

Later, I hear Mary say the clover has something to do with the “luck of the Irish,” whatever that is. I guess we could use some luck, our family. I don’t think we’ve been particularly lucky.

Father does not put pressure on that leg and uses supports, which I learn are called crutches, to walk gingerly up the steps and into the house. He goes straight to the couch and sits down, looking pale and exhausted.

It would not be an exaggeration to say that Father is in a horrible mood. Mahmee tries to get him to take some pills, but he refuses. He seems very angry about the whole situation. He complains that they wouldn’t leave him alone in that hospital. He also complains that it hurts to breathe. Later, when I see the dark, mottled bruises up and down his side and over his ribs, I understand why. And when he gets up to go to the bathroom, he has trouble maneuvering. Father curses so much that Jimmy yells at him to calm down.

Father is a champion at cursing. Jimmy’s been practicing, and someday he will be just as good as Father.

Father snaps back at Jimmy in a rage, yelling something about his children showing up drunk at his hospital bed. Jimmy backs away and makes himself scarce.

Mahmee apologizes for having to go home. She has two feisty Not Cats of her own: Seamus and Kearney. They have been here before, and I have seen that they are terribly spoiled. They must be fed and walked, preferably by Mahmee herself. Father is so upset she is leaving that he can’t even look at her, but Mother walks Mahmee to the door.

When Father is lying down, I jump up onto the back of the couch. Even from up where I sit, he smells soooo good. I can tell he has bathed as I breathe in the fragrance of soap, and yet I can still smell the fire and the smoke on him. It’s intense and wild. I’m sure it was a big fire. I want desperately to curl up next to Father, but I’m not sure he’s ready for that.

Even in pain, once he sees me staring at him, he reaches up and scratches my head.

My tail shivers with delight. I love him. I’ll admit it.

For supper, Mother makes spaghetti and meatballs. It’s not something I can eat, but it still smells wonderful. My siblings are content and talkative. Father tries to sit at the kitchen table, but he’s uncomfortable. He picks at his food, still miserable. When everyone has cleared out, he calls Sean, who I understand is in worse shape than Father. Father has many complaints about everything that was “screwed up” at the fire by foolish humans.

My siblings say good night, from a distance. Father is sitting up on the couch, staring at the TV, and they know he doesn’t feel well. I perch right behind him, over his shoulder, on the back of the couch. I hope they are comforted knowing that I’m looking after Father.

When it gets late, Father tells Mother he cannot get up the stairs. He says he will sleep on the couch and she can have the bed.

Mother tells him she’s already slept upstairs in the bed. She also mentions that Jimmy can help Father up the stairs if he wants to go. She can see Jimmy’s light is still on in his bedroom. “Should I get him?” she asks.

I think it takes a moment for this to sink in, because Father doesn’t move. He then turns his head toward her, but only slightly. I can see from my angle that his arms are crossed tight and his lips are pressed together. He doesn’t look at her directly. Father tells her that’s not a good idea.

She smiles and shakes her head, tired. “Don’t you trust me? What are you worried about?” she asks him, as if he’s being foolish. “Tommy, what’s the worst that can happen?”

But I can think of plenty of things for him to worry about. Things that could happen tonight, or tomorrow, or three months from now.

Like what if they both sleep upstairs and then Mary or Jimmy gets the wrong idea.

Or what if she gets into bed and then tells Father that she still loves him.

Or what if she gets into bed and doesn’t talk to him but puts her hand gently on his arm.

Or what if she gets home and tells Robert that she slept in Father’s bed with him.

Or what if Robert calls Father and says he can’t do it anymore, that he needs help.

Or what if she feels better and stops taking the medication again.

Or what if she decides she wants Finn and me to come live with her.

There are a lot of possible upsetting scenarios where Father wouldn’t know what to do.

“I trust you. I just don’t trust myself,” he answers quietly. He is being diplomatic. But also, what he is saying may be true.

Mother nods and accepts this. When she gets up, she reaches for me, but I move so that she cannot catch me. And then she leaves us alone.

The next day Jimmy and Mary go to school in the morning. I think Mother was planning to leave, but Father still refuses to take painkillers and is extremely agitated. He complains a lot, and Mother listens very patiently. She spends most of the day cleaning and food shopping and cooking a few meals for the rest of the week. And she is enjoying her time with Finn.

I have to admit, she is excellent with him. Mother has an expressive face and Finn enjoys watching her. She stays one more night.

On the following day, the kids are back off to school. They kiss their mother good-bye but don’t bother Father, who is still asleep on the couch.

About midmorning, I hear a creak and run to investigate. The front door has opened, and there is Charlotte. She has let herself in, as she always does, and she is probably expecting to see Mahmee, although Father’s truck in the driveway might have alerted her to the fact that he is home.

But I can tell from the look on her face that she wasn’t expecting Mother.

They startle each other, and there is a long pause as they both struggle to remember names and faces.

“Oh, Carrie, good to see you,” Charlotte gushes, recovering quickly, pulling off her wool coat and knit hat. Mother looks pleased to be remembered.

Mother explains about Father’s accident. Father is now sitting up on the couch, reading the newspaper. He says hello as if he barely knows Charlotte, and only after she says hi to him first.

I wish I could tell him, Relax.

And, Don’t blow it.

The women disappear upstairs for a long while. I wonder if Father is thinking what I’m thinking, which is that his bedroom door is probably open and Mother has clothes strewn all over the bed. Father has the paper open to the sports pages in front of him, but I don’t think he’s really reading much, because he never turns the page.

By the time they come down, Father has worked up his resolve and his courage. He is standing up and waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs, leaning on his crutches. He makes an imposing figure, standing there. I wonder what he is up to. Mother is holding Finn with her left arm, and she strides right up to Father and with her free right hand shows him all of the signs she has learned to communicate with the baby. She’s a natural at it.

Mother raises an eyebrow as if to say, Not bad, huh?

A small smile comes to Father’s face (I see he can’t help it), and he gives a slight nod as if to say, Not bad at all.

Mother is beaming, holding her little boy.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t call you,” Father says quickly, turning to Charlotte. “It’s been crazy here.”

Charlotte puts on her friendliest smile and says it’s no trouble at all, that it’s good to have different people work with Finn. It doesn’t always have to be the same people, she tells him. And she mentions that she was very glad to have the chance to work with Carrie, who did such a fine, fine job.

“No, not about the appointment today. About my accident,” he persists. “It’s been busy around here.”

Charlotte just shrugs, biting her lip, and she looks a little bit nervous. I think Father is upsetting her.

“I’ll call you later tonight,” he says. “I promise.” Charlotte is now uncomfortable and gets her coat on as fast as she can, saying her good-byes as she does so. Father watches her walk to her car, standing in the doorway as he always does, this time leaning on his crutches.

When he turns back, Mother is still standing there. Staring at him.

She runs her tongue along the inside of her teeth. She shifts Finn so he is sitting on her other hip.

Mother pauses. “Ohhhh, Tommy,” she says, exhaling. She turns away, as if she’s suddenly exhausted.

There is still something unsaid between them. Something they need to talk about. But it’s not going to get said now. Not during this particular visit.

Because after supper, Mother kisses my siblings and leaves, taking her case with her.

She never says good-bye to me.

And as much as I am still dreading the idea of having to go with her, and fear she may yet come back for me, the fact that she temporarily forgot about me—striding right past me without even a pat on my head—stings terribly. I run away from my family and hide under a table in the dark basement for hours.

I curl into a tight ball and bury my nose in my paws. It is a terrible shock. I thought I was past this. I thought her leaving wouldn’t hurt me anymore. The heartache is tremendous, and I wasn’t expecting it.