As Morgan ran off, I lay on my stomach, smelling the dark, wet dirt and trying to keep the flashlight steady in case it was Midnight H. Cat. In case she could see the light. Please, please, please. That’s all I could think.
I stretched my hand as far as I could and rested it on one of the boards. My thumb hurt. A splinter? An old blister?
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Please. Please. Please.
Once in Colorado I’d flopped like this on the floor of my tent, making flashlight patterns on the wall, feeling my heart thud against the earth. Just like that time, every second seemed to be big and fat and slow.
Suddenly my dad came rushing around the corner with Mr. Garcia and Mr. Yoder and Mrs. Miller, and I scrambled to my knees.
“Scooch over, honey,” Dad said. “Better yet, run in and get a towel.”
I leaped up. Now the seconds whistled by. Back door locked. Race around the house. “What are you doing?” I called as I ran by Morgan. She pointed to Bob-Silver to say she didn’t want him to freak out my cat.
If it was my cat.
Jump the stairs two at a time. Fling my muddy shirt in a corner. Grab a clean one. Grab a towel. Pull the shirt on while I squeaked back down the stairs.
When I got panting back to the yard, Mom was there, holding Isabella. I saw Mr. Garcia toss aside a board. “There,” he said. I pushed between Dad and Mr. Yoder and leaned in to see. Midnight H. Cat. Huddled. Shaking.
Mr. Garcia took the towel, bent over and wrapped it around my cat and lifted her out—almost like when Dad rescued her the first time.
“Midnight?” I whispered. I didn’t dare reach a finger toward her. In case she was hurt or in shock.
We all glanced at each other. No one seemed to be sure what to do next.
Then Mrs. Miller came rushing up followed by a woman who said, “I’m a vet. Can I help?” I looked into her kind eyes and let out a big whoosh of breath.
Was my cat hurt badly? Was she in pain?
Thud, thud, thud. I walked all draggy shoes behind Mr. Garcia, who carried Midnight H. Cat gently into the house and laid her on the table. “See you soon,” he said with a squeeze to my shoulder.
Everyone stepped back to give us room, and the house was suddenly so quiet I heard a fly buzzing.
The vet gave me a steady smile. “Keep her as calm as you can while I check her over.”
I stroked Midnight’s whiskers and ears and prayed, Help. Even without looking, I knew Dad and Mom and Isabella were standing just behind my shoulder, silently watching. “Mae and I called and called around that pile of boards,” I said.
“I’ve seen it with lots of cats.” The vet gently moved one back leg and then the other. “They crawl in someplace close to home and stay completely mum even when their owners are searching a few steps away.” Her hands moved up and down. “I don’t think she has any cuts or broken bones. Just needs a little time and a smidge of loving to be right as rain.”
She helped me tuck Midnight H. Cat carefully inside the cat carrier.
That evening a gaggle of people gathered at the church to put things back in the basement: the table, the cook stove, spoons and knives and shovels and rakes and garbage cans and cleaning supplies. I knew their names and faces now. People like Mrs. Miller, who didn’t hold Sunday School against me, and Mr. Garcia and Mae and Slurpee and Noah and Chad and Kylee and Mrs. Yoder and of course the great-aunts and Cousin Caroline and Morgan.
Sort of like a bunch of friends.
When only Stuckys and Nickels were left, Dad said, “I have a big pot of bean soup. Come help us eat it.”
Great-aunt Dorcas said, “I can tell you my sister and I need to get ourselves to home and clean up and stay put for twelve hours,” but Cousin Caroline and Morgan said they would drive Bob-Silver to the farm and come back. It didn’t take long before they walked into the house with rolls and lavender honey.
So there we were, sitting around the table, holding hands for the blessing. I couldn’t stop looking at Mom and Isabella, in their chairs as if they’d never left.
While we ate, Cousin Caroline and Morgan explained their ideas for the Lavender Festival and a booth at the farmers’ market. I definitely wanted it all to work, even though I wouldn’t be around to see. I wanted the goat to get big enough to give milk for cheese. I wanted Morgan to even get her horse someday.
Dad put down his spoon and gave us a significant look. “I appreciate everyone’s efforts while I was here.” He cleared his throat. “Whatever church I’m in, I don’t expect my family to be perfect so everyone will think I’m a great father and husband and nephew.” He paused and stared at his plate. “By the way, I don’t expect myself to be perfect either.”
“Uh-huh,” Isabella said. “You are.”
“Except for your bean soup,” I said.
“You know,” Dad said, “this bean soup is even better than when I made it.” He grinned at me.
I reached for the rolls. “Nice try.”
Dad treated us all to his rhinoceros laugh.
Later, while Mom and Dad went upstairs to put Isabella to bed, Cousin Caroline said, “Leave the dishes to Morgan and me and go love up your cat.” So I sat on the front steps with the porch light on and Midnight in her carrier beside me. I was thinking about the angel houses I wasn’t going to destroy.
Why not? I could hardly figure it out.
Maybe it was because Morgan had every reason to get back at me and she didn’t. Maybe it was because small towns are like spiderwebs, and I didn’t want to start new things jangling.
I touched one stiff whisker through the carrier door.
Maybe it was what Dad said about our inner jumbles. Maybe it was the teeny tiny baby step of forgiveness, even though I didn’t ask for any forgiveness to come along. Maybe old Isabella was right, and it was God in my stomach.
The door opened behind me. Morgan. She smelled like dog, but Midnight didn’t even stir, which meant she was really worn out.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Yep.”
“No, really. You saved my cat.” I glanced at Morgan. “I was the one who ruined your tree house. I’m very sorry. It was an accident,” I added quickly.
She nodded. “I should have invited you up anyway. It was—you know—awkward.”
I looked up at the first stars, and the weight floated off like flies.
Once Katherine, my grandmother, stood in the farmhouse with her suitcase. Morgan’s grandma stood there, too. Always two, always together. Once sisters had huddled in the cellar with a tornado on the way. Now only feelings were left.
Morgan and I had feelings ahead of us still.
Dad and Cousin Caroline came out, and the three of them walked down the steps. Morgan waved as she got into the car. Even if I were staying in Oakwood, maybe Morgan and I never would have gotten to be a team. She was a sixth grader now. And all the cousins and aunts and great-aunts and first cousins once removed—the whole town of Oakwood—it all wasn’t going to stop being a mess anytime soon.
So it was weird that I felt sad.