25

Empty Closet

Father wakes up early on his day off. He seems full of energy and purpose.

After starting up a pot of coffee, he takes Jasper outside. When he comes back in, he has the newspaper with him. I get a glance of the sky as Father walks in the front door, and it’s barely light out, the sky pink and white. Father isn’t usually up this early, so I think he must have plans for the day.

He skims through the newspaper and then brings his coffee upstairs. He is still wearing flannel pajama pants and a T-shirt, with a ratty old sneaker on the foot that is not in a cast. Once the hot coffee is safely on his dresser, on top of a napkin, he goes back downstairs and right outside to his truck. It takes several trips for him to carry in a bunch of cardboard boxes from the back of his truck and up to his bedroom. He still has his crutches, but sometimes he only uses one, or none at all. I guess his leg is feeling better.

Soon, there are boxes all over the floor. Father leans on his dresser and surveys the room. Finally, he picks up the biggest box and puts it on the bed.

I sit next to the box, with my paws tucked under me. Father keeps a big fan in his bedroom, which he mostly uses in the summer. Even though it’s early spring, he cracks open the windows and turns on the fan, which rests on the floor. A crisp breeze is soon circulating around the room. The blades of the fan turn quickly, in a blur. Sometimes I like to sit right in front of that fan, to feel my whiskers tingling from the wind. The cold air filters right through my thick fur and down to my skin, a cooling sensation.

But today I stay on the bed so I can watch the proceedings.

After opening the middle drawer of Mother’s dresser, he looks inside. Father gently drags his hand through the clothes he finds there. I stand up and stretch my legs for a better view. He picks up a handful of clothing and looks closely. These are Mother’s things. I recognize her blue underwear and a lacy purple bra. I remember her wearing the white socks that he moves aside. Finally he scoops it all up in his arms, brings it over to his box, and dumps it in. It takes three armfuls, but he fills the box.

He doesn’t stop there. The next drawer Father opens is the bottom one. Shirts, shorts, exercise clothes, bathing suits—he gets it all into a second box.

His persistence reminds me a little of the times Mother was working on an important project. He is very focused. Some natural instinct in him has kicked in and seems to be pushing him to get this done today, for some reason.

Finally it is time for the top drawer. This one takes longer. It is full of jewelry. I know Father gave some of it to Mother, because I remember the occasions. At one point he takes out a necklace. It is a little gold bird, and it must mean a lot to him, because he sits on the bed just holding it. The chain is sparkly and snakes around in his palm. I bat at it with my paw. “No,” he says mildly, moving it away from me. “It’s mine.” But he drops it into one of the big cardboard boxes, watching it slip through the pile of clothes and disappear.

Then he pulls out photos and papers. Some of it appears to have been made by Jimmy and Mary. A card that says “To Mom” in scribbled crayon. A picture rendered in colorful markers showing Mommy, Daddy, My Brother, and Me. A pencil drawing of an orange cat that does not appear to be me.

Were there cats before me? I’ve never wondered about it before.

Father places these things into a neat pile and stacks them into a box. He drinks more coffee. Everything seems to be going well. He has slowed down a little in his work, but he has accomplished a lot, and Jimmy and Mary aren’t even awake yet.

He stops to take a shower. I take a quick nap.

Once he is dressed, Father recommences his work. He cleans out the drawers with a wet paper towel.

And then, with a deep breath, he opens the closet.

Shoes go in one box. Shirts in a second box. Then skirts, pants, dresses, belts. Father soon runs out of boxes. A trip downstairs yields large, green bags. He fills up four of these before he is done.

Who knew Mother had so many things stuffed in that closet? I’ve been in there many times. I liked to hide in the darkness, squeezed between shoes, slinking under hanging fabrics.

Father does not open his own closet. Everything in there is his. But now, Mother’s closet stands perfectly vacant. He and I stare into it, the gaping emptiness of it. It’s like a hole in my heart, to see it. But we have to see it. I understand. I know why Father must do this, and why we must look at it and accept it. But it’s terribly hard.

Father fetches Finn, who has started to stir. He lets Finn sit on the rug and chew on a toy. Father sits next to him on the rug and reads a book, waiting for the teenagers to wake up.

Jimmy wanders in, finally awake, hair askew. “What’re you doing?” he asks, rubbing his eyes.

“When you’re ready,” Father explains, “I need you to take all of this to Robert’s house. We’ll load up my truck. Then I need you to drive over there and leave this stuff for your ma. They have to take it. Don’t take no for an answer. If they aren’t home, you have to leave it on the porch.”

Jimmy’s face falls as he looks into Mother’s closet and realizes what is happening. “Oh,” he says quietly, choosing not to say more. Jimmy leaves to go get dressed.

After he has eaten breakfast, Jimmy helps Father load up the truck, carrying many heavy boxes and bags down the steep stairs while Father holds the front door open. They wake up Mary to watch Finn. She holds the baby in her arms to keep him out of the way.

“This is all Mom’s stuff?” she asks repeatedly. “Everything? Her clothes? Her shoes? Her jewelry?”

“Yes,” Father explains. “I can’t keep it here forever. I just can’t. I’m sorry, Mare.”

“But . . . why didn’t you ask me if I wanted some of it?”

“Jesus, Mare,” Jimmy complains. “She’s not dead. Ma needs her stuff.”

Mary’s delicate face crumples. “Sorry. You’re right. Sorry.”

But I know what Mary is feeling. In a way, it does feel like Mother has died. It feels like we should keep a memento. We don’t really know when we’ll see Mother again, or how often we’ll see her. It hasn’t been made clear yet.

Mary wanders upstairs and into the bedroom. I follow. “Wow.” Mary notices the open closet door. “Oh my gosh. Now that it’s empty, that closet looks so big.”

Funny, I thought the opposite. I thought it was amazing that all of Mother’s clothes, a lifetime of items, fit into that small closet.

I go back downstairs to find Father pacing a trail in the living room, waiting for Jimmy to get back from his task. Father walks from the kitchen, to the dining room, to the front hallway, and back. I don’t think he is feeling any pain in his injured foot today. He occasionally looks out the window.

Father is making me nervous. I jump up on the couch, hop back down to the rug, dash under the dining room table, and run back to the couch. I can’t stop my legs from moving.

When Jimmy gets back, he looks tired.

“How’d it go?” Father asks.

Jimmy avoids Father and heads to the kitchen. “Fine,” he says.

“Was she there?”

“Yeah.”

Father stands, looking worried. I think he doesn’t understand why Jimmy won’t tell him more. He just stares as Jimmy grabs the bag of bread and takes out a slice to place into the old toaster. When the button won’t stay down, and he realizes he can’t make toast, Jimmy gives up and just throws the bread into the trash can with a sigh. He turns and sees his father watching him.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Father frowns.

“Trust me, Pops, you don’t want me to talk about it.”

Father just nods.

Jimmy and Mary go out. Father is restless for a few hours. He is still full of energy but doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself. At one point, he sits on his bed and types into his little phone. The machine pings now and again, and he smiles.

I know what that phone is for, and I know he is receiving messages from Charlotte from the look on his face. I enjoy studying human faces lately, because I’ve realized I can learn a lot from watching them. I love the way Mary’s face opens and her mouth gapes when she gazes out her window at the stars at night. Like she is seeing something amazing. Father looks fondly down at his phone, with a small smile, and I can see it provides something that makes him warm from the inside out. I imagine that Charlotte is crafting messages that are just for him.

A loud banging at the front door makes us both jump. Father and I make eye contact quickly, and his face goes pale before reverting to a scowl. We both get up and quickly descend the stairs.

When Father swings the door open, Mother breezes in. She shakes out her long black curls and lifts her chin to look Father in the eye.

“The door wasn’t locked—” he starts.

“Thank you,” she says, “for having Jimmy bring my things over.” Mother puts her hands on her hips and takes a step closer to him. She studies him from head to toe. “You could have warned me you were going to do that.”

Although Father is a head taller than Mother, he flinches and looks down at his feet. “Carrie,” he says quietly. Her effect on him is startling and immediate. I see his chest expand and contract as his breathing gets more rapid, and as I watch I feel my fur bristle along my spine. It’s almost as if I can hear his heart beating faster from my spot on the stairs. Mother glares at Father and gets very close to him.

“Tommy . . .” she begins, her tone sharp and unforgiving.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, still unable to look at her. I watch his hands clench into fists. “I’m really sorry. I should have had Mary call you.”

“Yes. You should have.” She tips her head, searching for something in his face, but he stares at the floor. “You send poor Jimmy to do your dirty work for you? Honestly.”

Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Mother turns around and sees me. When she takes steps toward me, I cannot move. She’s mesmerizing. I feel just as trapped as Father. “Boo,” she coos, and I allow her to lift my plump body up with her hands and rest me against her chest.

“Is Boo happy here?” I hear her ask, her voice softening. “Are you feeding her?”

I see Father’s shoulders relax a little. “Of course. You see how fat she is?”

“Well, yes.” Mother carefully sits down on a stair and allows me to settle comfortably in her lap. It’s a sturdy place to sit. Mother has never once in her life leapt up without warning and sent me flying.

Father approaches and leans on the banister. “Do you . . .” He hesitates, and then stops, his mouth closing quickly. By his frown, I think he regrets saying anything.

“Do I miss her? Of course I do,” Mother says with a sigh.

Me? I feel my eyes open wide. Are they talking about me? I stare at them, curious.

Mother looks up at Father and smiles at him, her big, wide smile an echo of Jimmy’s crooked grin when he’s very happy. “Do you think she misses me?”

Father pauses again. He and I make eye contact for a brief moment. Did she really just ask that question? “Yes,” he answers, almost a whisper.

“Do you think she’d be happier living with me?”

Father clears his throat, but his voice is still hoarse as he says, “I know she’s always made you feel better when you’re down.” His forehead creases together as he speaks. It’s that look he gets when he’s very worried.

No, I start to think. Wait.

I freeze up. I look quickly back and forth between the two of them.

Of course I still love Mother. Deep in my heart I will always love her. But I also don’t want to leave this family. Doesn’t Father feel the same way? Does he think I belong with Mother?

I am not something that can be traded away, or a peace offering. Do I need to prove to him that I am part of this family, that I want to stay here?

I start to panic, and I get to my feet, all in a rush. I can’t lie still. I hop out of Mother’s lap and tear up the stairs at a gallop, my back legs kicking out behind me. I’m not sure what else to do, so I run into Finn’s room, leap up to his high dresser, and then plop down with a thud into the crib. I snuggle right down near the baby’s feet, defiant.

I belong here. I am furious, and I feel wild in my anger.

Mother was right: Father is stupid sometimes. He offered her the baby at the holidays. Now he thinks he is going to let me go? I will not go.

It is not long before they come and find me, peering over the crib railing to watch me with Finn. The baby is asleep, and Mother runs her hand through Finn’s hair.

I hiss at Mother, and she draws her hand back in surprise. “Boo,” Father commands, a hard edge in his voice. “No.” The two of them. The two of them! Doesn’t either one understand me at all? Don’t my wishes count in all of this?

Father watches Mother, and she returns his gaze for a moment.

I remember:

When she ran the back of her knuckles over the scruff on his face.

Honey.

When he moved a curl of her dark hair off her neck.

Baby.

How when she loved Father, she truly, passionately loved him and there was no doubt in it, not a shred of hesitation, not a moment of care for anything in the world but Tommy Tommy Tommy.

How he was always hungry for more of her, when she was happy.

For a moment, I think—

For a moment, I worry that—

For a moment in time, I can see that there is a chance he will do anything in the world for her, anything she asks, and—

He leans in toward Mother, speaking slowly and softly. “If you need Boo, I think you should have her. She used to follow you around this house, day and night. You always held her when you were under a lot of stress. It might not be a bad idea.”

My resolve melts away when I see his face. When I realize how hard it is for Father to say these words. But he means every word he says.

Oh dear. I fear he is right.

Someone must look after Mother. I am ready to do what must be done.

Mother watches him. I wonder if she can see what I see, how much strain he is under himself. His tired eyes. How tense his arm is as he grips the side of the crib. She pats his hand and shakes her head. “Yes, but . . . I don’t know.” With a wave of her hand toward me, she asks, “I think the kids would miss her, don’t you?”

Father’s mouth opens slightly, but he doesn’t respond. He freezes for a moment.

I realize she is offering him an opening. Take it, I think.

“Well . . . yes. The house would feel wrong without the cat,” he finally says, breaking the silence, standing up straight. He clears his throat and glances at me, seeing the way I am guarding Finn. “Finn loves the cat. And it would be very quiet without her. The house would feel so empty.”

I’m not sure what Father means by very quiet, because I make no noise.

I think he just means he cannot bear to lose anything else.

The important thing is that he understands. I comfort Father now, not Mother. I want to help with the baby. I belong with my siblings. I’m an important part of this family. And he knows it. He knows it. He has found his courage, and he is able to say it.

Thank goodness!

Mother studies him carefully. She moves her hand to rest briefly on Father’s arm. Rubbing his elbow, she nods. “Then don’t worry about it. Boo should stay here, of course.”

“The kids would be mad at me if I let the cat go,” he goes on, his voice breaking.

“I understand. It’s okay. Don’t get upset. Tommy, don’t—don’t fall apart.”

“I can’t expect you to take on extra work right now.” He stumbles over his words as they spill out. “I don’t want to ask too much of you.”

“I’m okay, Tommy. I’m fine. I’m better. It’s not hard to take care of a cat.” She raises an eyebrow, I think to try to make him laugh. But Father is upset and not in a laughing mood. “Oh, Tommy. I’m sorry. I think you’re right.”

Mother continues to rub his forearm until he glances up. Finally, he gives her a small smile.

I meow my approval. Mother strokes my head, and this time I let her. She is a strong woman. Not afraid of me, not afraid of Father, not afraid of anything but those pesky, horrible neighbors.

And suddenly I come to see that the most astonishing thing is not that Mother disappeared one day.

It’s not that she up and left all of us without warning.

No, the most astonishing thing is that between Mother and Father, she was the one who was strong enough to make a change that may improve life for all of us. When she first disappeared, I thought she was injured or kidnapped or killed, but she was none of these things. She left because she needed to leave.

She is happier and healthier than she was before. Mother found Robert, who is helping her get the care she needs. And Mother is showing Father that it is possible for them to live apart and go on with their lives. To start over.

Mother clears her throat. “I’m glad you cleaned out those drawers. Did it feel good to clean them out?”

Father’s face darkens, and he looks away. “No. But it was a relief, to be honest. I needed to do it.”

“Okay. Then I’m glad you did it.”

Finn stirs. His eyes open wide when he sees Father and Mother both looking down at him.

“You didn’t do me—or yourself—any favors by hiding me away,” Mother whispers, smiling down at Finn. “Keeping all of our problems shut up in this house.”

“I didn’t—” Father frowns. “I just didn’t want anyone to—” He presses his lips together tight, unable to go on for a moment, but then bursts out with: “I don’t trust doctors. I don’t like any of them. They don’t really fix anything.”

I notice Father is looking at the baby when he says this.

This much is true: The doctors don’t seem to be able to fix Finn’s ears.

Mother pauses, thinking this over. “I don’t like them much either. I know you were trying to protect me. But it wasn’t good for any of us.”

Mother picks up the baby and takes him into her arms. She kisses Finn on the cheek. He laughs and then wiggles because he’s ready to visit Father next. Father lets Finn pull on his sleeve.

I wonder if Father ever waits for Finn to say his name. I wonder if he ever thinks about that baby looking at him and saying, “Daddy” like Mary does or “Pops” like Jimmy does. He must realize it may never happen.

I guess Finn will find a way to say Father’s name using his hands. I wonder how they will figure that out. I don’t understand human hands very well, although I can see they are quite complex and can accomplish all kinds of tasks.

To me, Father still looks worried when he gazes at Finn. I suppose it is hard for him not to worry. It may take years for him to stop worrying.

He may worry long past my lifetime. About Mother. About Jimmy and Mary. About Finn.

It’s just something that Father must live with. There will be no end to it, I see that now. But maybe his burden will be just a little bit lighter, now that Mother has found the help she needs.

Mother notices the gloomy look on Father’s face. “Finn is so happy,” she remarks. “Have you ever seen such a happy baby?”

“You’re right. He’s always happy.” Father takes Finn and holds him close, but Finn is squirming and wants to be passed back to Mother again. He enjoys this game.

But the time for games is over.

I am staying, for good!

Later, after Mother has gone, Father sits on the couch in the living room. I flop down right in his lap and rest a paw on his strong arm. I arch my head all the way back so he can scratch under my chin.

I have never been so relieved in my life. When Father lies down, I climb up on top of his chest and lie there. When he closes his eyes in exhaustion, I do too.