GLORY HAS BEEN HUNTING THE smoky grey kitten for days. The little thing with the short fur has been stalking the streets for months. She told Matt that the kitten had different coloured eyes but he only humoured her. She needs to catch the kitten, prove to him she wasn’t seeing things.
She has followed the kitten a block now from her townhouse. The furball shoots out from behind the wheel of a parked Honda, races down the street then attacks a tire on a rusted Ford truck. It climbs the tire, an impressive feat as the treads are worn smooth. It seeks shelter from the heat — and possibly her — in the wheel well.
“Oh, come on, kitty kitty,” she croons, tries to entice the cat to abandon its hiding spot. It is little and it shouldn’t be out on its own. She leans her knees against the tire. The black rubber sizzles her bare skin and she falls. Then there are hands on her shoulders, steadying her.
“Hey,” she says.
“What are you doing?” Matt asks.
She hooks her hands around his wrists and the sizzle that passes through her body now is stronger than the sting of her knees striking the black tire. She lets him pull her up. She turns around and he kisses her.
Then he starts to play with her low ponytail. “What are you doing here?”
“You remember that kitty I told you about?”
“The one with the different coloured eyes?”
When he looks at her this way all she can think about is kissing him. Lots. Lots and lots of kissing. And maybe hands. A heavy make-out session. They haven’t done that yet. She drops down, leans forward to peer into the wheel well. She needs space to think. Her mind gets so muddled around this boy and those lips.
“I chased him here and he climbed up the wheel.”
“Look out Man Tracker! Glory, the kitty hunter, is on the loose!” Matt laughs, crouches down to look where she is pointing. “Hey, I see it.”
“Really?” Her voice squeaks. Snorting or squeaking, tongue-tied or non-stop chattering. This boy. This boy. This boy.
“Shh,” he says, grins so wide Glory swears the sun has nothing on him. He rests his hand on her shoulder, reaches in for the cat.
“Be careful. The tire is hot.”
“Yeah, but I’m hotter,” he says.
She snorts.
“Can’t believe somebody would let something so small run loose like this.” He slowly, slowly reaches in. The cat hisses. “Got it!”
“Yeah?” No snorting this time, thank God. She places her hand on Matt’s arm, draws the kitten out with him.
Matt nods at her. “Hey, little guy, c’mon.”
When he clears the kitten from the wheel, he holds it up, stares into its eyes. “Huh. You’re right. One blue, one green. I’ve never seen that before.”
She takes the kitten, flashes an I-told-you-so.
“Go over there, under the tree.” He points across the street where a small wooden bench surrounds the thick trunk of a maple. The homes along here are small, rundown, not in much better condition than where they live. She hugs the kitten to her chest, allows Matt to guide her across the road, his hand on the small of her back. They ease themselves down on to the worn bench. She leans into him and the kitten purrs loudly. She turns the kitten around so it can see him. Its small paw shoots out, bats at the gold ring hanging from his neck.
“Hey! Rocky! Don’t do that!”
The kitten bats again. She laughs at Matt’s indignant face. He grabs his ring and the claws of the kitten scrape lightly across his knuckles.
“Killer cat!” he says.
She places the cat on her lap, holds it lightly with one hand. She reaches out with her other hand to finger the ring that rests in his open palm. The band is scrubbed to a dull gold. She picks it up. “You used to tuck this ring inside your shirt. But you haven’t done that for a while.”
“Yeah.”
“Where did you get it?” She holds the ring reverently.
“My mom gave it to me.” He gently lifts it from her fingers, rubs the three diamonds inset in the middle. “Before Ben was born.”
“You always wear it.”
“I used to wear it on my hand. Mom put tape on it so it was snug on my thumb.” He drops the ring to his chest. “I peeled the tape off a little at a time, but then it got too small. A few years back I put it on the leather string, started wearing it around my neck.”
“Matt,” she starts tentatively. She threads her fingers through his. He pulls her hand onto his chest, covers the ring. “What happened to your mother?”
He should have been expecting this question, expecting her to ask. After all, he has told her so much already. But this, this is so painful. He tightens his grip on his ring, on her fingers. She makes a small sound and he loosens his hold. He is surprised that tears sting his eyes. He has gotten used to not having his mother around. He has pushed those feeling of loss down deep. Hasn’t he?
“She died when Ben was born.” He hesitates. “She died having Ben. Eclampsia. Rare, but, well, yeah.”
“Oh my God. I’m so sorry.” Glory covers her mouth. The kitten slides off her lap, but doesn’t bolt. Instead, it pushes up against Matt’s jeans.
“He was a beautiful baby, you know?” Of course Glory doesn’t know! He hasn’t shown her the photos. Thank God Ben didn’t find those pictures when he found Dad’s textbook. Dad would have gone ballistic. It has been a long, long time since those pictures were out. It has been even longer since Ben asked to look at them.
“When Ben first started school, he’d come home and talk about everybody else’s mom. I’d try to tell him about our mom. He’d listen, but I knew it didn’t mean anything to him. He was just letting me talk. So after a while I stopped. He’s lucky, I guess. He never knew her, can’t miss her. He never knew how Dad was before, how Dad was with Mom, so he can’t miss that either.”
“That must be really hard,” Glory says.
He rubs his eyes, scolds himself for the moisture still there. “It’s worse on Dad. It changed him totally. Ben looks exactly like Mom and that makes it really hard.”
“You were five?” Glory asks.
“Just a little over five.” The kitten keeps pushing at his leg, purring, and the sound comforts him. “I remember holding Benny. God, he was so tiny! The bluest eyes, Glory. These big, blue, blue eyes. He looked at me and . . . ” He can’t finish. It stirs feelings that he can’t put words to, feelings that have become embedded in who he is.
Glory speaks carefully. “How long have you been taking care of him?”
“Forever. I don’t know anything else.”
“It’s a lot for you to have to do. It’s a big sacrifice.”
He stares at her. “He’s my little brother.”
“I don’t understand your dad.”
He works his fingers through the kitten’s fur, scratches its ear. When he finally speaks, his voice is so low. “Dad sees Ben as what took Mom away from him. I see Ben as Mom’s last gift.”