The Year the Cat Saved Christmas - a novella Read online

  "I have to move, Phyl." She drew in a steadying breath. "I can't stay here now."

  "The old neighborhood just won't be the same without you. Believe me, if there was something we could do to convince you to stay here, we--" Phyllis shook her head and pulled a crumpled tissue from her coat pocket.

  "Don't you dare!" Jill wagged a finger at her friend and neighbor. "If you cry, I'll cry too." The kids had already seen enough tears to last them a lifetime. She wouldn't do that to them, not on Christmas Eve.

  Phyllis crossed her heart, but her eyes still glittered with tears. "By the way, what was Sebastian doing out by the Zimmerman house?"

  "Sebastian?" Jill frowned. "He's in the kitchen with Charlie and Juanita."

  "It sure looked just like him," Phyllis said. "A big fluffy cat with mutton chop jowls."

  Jill shook her head. "It couldn't possibly be Sebastian. He's been inside all day."

  Phyllis looked dubious. "I'm telling you, honey, if it wasn't Sebastian it was his long-lost twin brother."

  "Maine coon cats aren't that unusual," Jill said. "Besides, Sebastian hasn't wandered off in at least a year." David said it was because Sebastian was getting older but Jill liked to believe it was only because he'd grown lazy.

  The kids bounded back into the room and minutes later Phyllis and her tribe disappeared down the snowy street.

  The movers finished loading the furniture from the second-story bedrooms and began to dismantle the family room. She leaned against the wall in the foyer and watched as they pulled pictures from the wall, unfastened curtains, and carried the artifacts of a family to the moving van parked in the driveway.

  It shouldn't be this easy to end a marriage. The whole enterprise had been so without ceremony, just a series of solitary meetings in a lawyer's office that culminated in a frenzy of signatures on documents. There she was, about to say goodbye to the only man she'd ever loved, and she hadn't even seen him in weeks.

  My choice, she thought. My regrets.

  "Ma'am, we need you to sign this." The job site supervisor appeared at her elbow.

  "I'm sorry," she said, blinking in surprise. "What's that?"

  He pushed a clipboard toward her. "You have to okay the lunch break. We thought we'd push through until we finish then grab something after. The snow is supposed to really kick in this afternoon and with it being Christmas Eve and all--"

  "Sure." She scribbled her name on the appropriate line. "You should all be home where you belong."

  He countersigned the paper then gave her the yellow copy. "Hell of a day to move."

  "Yeah," she said softly. "It is, at that."

  Christmas Eve had always been their day, hers and David's. They'd met and fallen in love on Christmas Eve thirteen years ago and it seemed as if most of the milestones of their life together had happened on December 24th. Sebastian came to live with them on Christmas Eve. And it was on a magical Christmas Eve when they discovered Jill was expecting the twins after being told she would never get pregnant.

  So it seemed strangely fitting that Christmas Eve was the day their marriage ended.

  It's not too late, that persistent voice inside her heart reminded her. The divorce wouldn't be final until the stroke of midnight which meant there was still time for one last miracle.

  And a miracle was exactly what it would take.

  This whole thing had gathered speed over the past few months like a runaway train. She hadn't meant to ask David for a divorce. The words had leaped from her mouth, almost of their own volition and once they were out she couldn't find a way to pull them back. She had been trying to shock him into admitting they had a problem, that somehow they had grown apart and the day would come when it would be too late to bridge the divide.

  She should have known you didn't back a proud man like her husband into an emotional corner that way. He'd come home to tell her about his new assignment in San Francisco and she'd turned it into a the-job-or-me confrontation. Money didn't have the same resonance with her as it did with David. She had grown up rich, the only child of a broken marriage where money was substituted for love every chance her parents got. David had grown up without love or money, a foster kid lost in the system until he was too old to be of value to anyone but himself. Everything he'd accomplished--from graduating Princeton to gaining a top position with a leading architectural firm--had been accomplished by virtue of brains and backbreaking work.

  No man loved his family more than David did but no matter how hard Jill tried, she couldn't make him see that he was more important to them than the hefty salary he commanded. Whether or not he realized it, David hadn't been happy for a very long time. He was a gifted architect who was being wasted at his firm. It was probably naive of her to believe there was a spiritual aspect to architecture but once, a long time ago, he had believed that too. David wasn't meant to be designing malls for greedy San Francisco investors; he was meant to be creating beautiful environments that enriched the spirit.

  When he came home and told her they'd be leaving for a two-year assignment in San Francisco, something inside Jill had snapped. If he'd seemed happy about the project, she might not have reacted that way but he'd talked only about the raise in salary that came with the job. She remembered the fire in his eyes when he began work on a design he loved, the joy he brought to the drafting table, the sense of fulfillment that permeated the entire house.

  And she missed it almost as much as she missed him.

  She knew she could pick up the phone and call David, tell him she'd been wrong, that she'd follow him anywhere, even to San Francisco if that was what he wanted. She could tell him that she liked seeing him put in eighty-hour days at the office and that it didn't bother her to see him poring over his architectural drawings until three or four in the morning. She could even tell him that she didn't mind sleeping alone.

  She could tell him all of that and more but she would be lying. She missed him desperately. She missed them, the way they used to be when they were happy. Couple by couple, she'd watched their friends divorce but she'd never in a million years thought it would happen to them. They were special. Everyone had said so. They were the couple everyone turned to for advice, the couple everyone thought would be together for the long haul.

  "I might as well book the restaurant now for your Golden Anniversary party," her sister Patsy had said years ago. "I've never seen two people more right for each other."

  Or more wrong.

  "Coming through!" Two movers, carting the dining room breakfront, filled the doorway.

  "Sorry." She fled for the kitchen. She wasn't usually so docile but suddenly the house felt more like it belonged to the movers than to her. A big pine tree should be standing in front of the family room window, its branches decorated with the wooden ornaments the twins had made last summer. White lights should be twinkling among the ornaments and draped across the mantel. There should be brightly wrapped packages beneath the tree and stockings hung by the fireplace.

  But most of all there should be love.

  Charlie, the huge floppy-eared mutt they'd found at a shelter, threw himself at Jill the moment she swung open the kitchen door. "I'm glad to see you too," she said, giving the dog a big hug. He looked longingly toward the door that separated him from all the action in the other rooms. "You're better off in here, Charlie," she said, giving him a biscuit from her pocket. "They might pack you up with the china and carry you away."

  Juanita, a dainty green conure, let out a wolf whistle followed by a raucous laugh.

  "Me too," she said, bobbing her sleek head. "Me too."

  Jill tossed her a dog biscuit that she caught neatly in her beak. "You didn't think I'd forget about you, did you?" Juanita didn't answer. She was too busy enjoying her treat.

  "I know what you're thinking, Sebastian." Jill reached into her other pocket for the cat's favorite snack. "Stop sulking and we'll call a truce." She knew she'd been sharp- tempered with him earlier and Sebastian tended to hold a grudge. "Come on, swe
etie. You know I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

  A tingle of apprehension moved across her shoulders. No matter how annoyed he was, Sebastian would never turn up his nose at food. She quickly surveyed the kitchen, opening the cabinets and peering into the pantry. No sign of him. Okay, it was nothing to worry about. He was probably hiding in the laundry room or one of the bathrooms. No sign of him there either. The tingle of apprehension escalated sharply.

  "Stay calm," she told herself as Charlie and Juanita watched her with curiosity.

  The house was almost empty. How difficult could it be to find a twenty-two pound Maine coon cat in an empty house?

  She searched from top to bottom but there wasn't a sign of Sebastian. How could she have been so careless? When she'd chastised him earlier for getting underfoot, she should have hustled him back into the kitchen where he belonged. But she'd been distracted and weepy and now Sebastian was missing because of it.

  The mover's rep found her standing on the back porch without a coat, looking for paw prints in the snow.

  "We're all done," he said. "I need you to sign one more form the we're out of here."

  She scribbled her name again and handed back the clipboard. "Did you see my cat anywhere?"

  "Your cat?" He frowned. "Do you mean that big guy who was getting underfoot?"

  "Yes. Have you seen him?"

  "Not since you told him to get lost."

  Her heart sank. "You're sure you haven't seen him anywhere?"

  "Not me," he said. "Let me ask some of the crew."

  Jill followed him around the side of the house to where the movers were tying down the last few pieces of furniture.

  "Hey, guys, her cat's missing. Anybody see him?"

  They all shrugged except one.

  "The son of a gun got me good," he said, extending his left leg. "Shredded my pants with those claws of his."

  Jill groaned. Definitely Sebastian's handiwork. "I'm so sorry. Please add that to my bill."

  "Darn right," the mover said. "If I were you, I'd put that thing on a leash."

  "I will if I can find him." When I find him, she corrected herself. Sebastian had been with them forever. David had found him in the pet shop one Christmas Eve and brought him home in the beat-up leather backpack he'd used as a book bag. She loved all of the pets who'd made their home with them, but Sebastian was her special favorite. He had been with her from the beginning and--

  She forced the thought from her mind. She refused to even contemplate it.

  The movers climbed into the truck and moments later the truck rumbled down the street. The next time she saw her furniture would be at her townhouse the day after Christmas. She wished she could muster up some enthusiasm for the prospect. It was a perfectly lovely townhouse with a sunny kitchen and three bedrooms but it wasn't home and she knew it never would be.

  She searched the front yard for paw prints in the snow or some indication that Sebastian had been there, but she found nothing. Wrapping her arms around her chest, she hurried back into the house. "Okay," she said aloud, "don't get crazy. He used to do this all the time. It's no big deal." So why did she have the feeling there was something different this time, almost as if Sebastian had no intention of ever coming back?

  There was only one other person on the face of the earth who felt about Sebastian the way she did. Taking a deep breath, she dialed David's office.

  "Denise, this is Jill. Is David there?" She cradled the receiver against her shoulder. "I didn't realize he was flying to San Francisco tonight...yes, it's important...please tell him I called." She hung up, feeling as if she'd run face first into a brick wall. He was leaving tonight? She hadn't realized he was in such a hurry to get to his new assignment.

  She paced the kitchen then reached for the phone again and dialed the hotel where David had been staying the last three months.

  "Mr. Whittaker checked out this morning," the operator said. "Have a nice day."

  "Damn!" she whispered, hanging up the phone. Why did everything have to be so complicated? It hadn't always been this hard....

  #

  Then

  "I can do this," Jill told herself as she dropped a dime into the pay phone at Palmer Square. The world was changing, even if her parents refused to believe it. Girls called guys all the time these days. It wasn't like she was asking for a date. All she needed was a ride to New York City.

  "Hello?" The male voice was slightly husky and very appealing.

  "David Whittaker, please."

  "You've got him."

  She clutched the phone to her ear. "Uh, hi. My name is Jill Aylesworth. I--um, Sandi Vitelli gave me your number. She said you were driving up to New York tomorrow morning and--"

  "You need a ride?"

  "I do," she said, trying to sound like she did this sort of thing every day of the week. "I'd be happy to pay for gas and any--"

  "Ten bucks."

  "Oh. Well, of course. Gas money plus ten dollars. That sounds fair."

  A rumbly chuckle, not at all unpleasant, tickled her ear. "Did I say something funny?"

  "You agreed to the first price I mentioned."

  "It was a good price."

  "It was a lousy price. You could've had the ride for gas money."

  "You should have told me that."

  "Then I'd miss out on the ten bucks and I have a feeling I need it a hell of a lot more than you do."

  "How would you know whether or not I need the ten dollars?" she countered, temper rising. "You don't know anything about me."

  "If you needed it, you would have bargained with me."

  "Maybe I'm just a nice person."

  "If you are, it's because you can afford it."

  "This has been a lovely conversation, but I've had quite enough. Good--"

  "Hey, don't get upset."

  "Don't get upset?" She stared at the phone as if it had sprouted horns and a tail. "You've made a fistful of insulting assumptions about me and you tell me not to get upset? If you're one of those working class types who think rich people are the enemy, then--"

  "I'm sorry."

  Her temper deflated like a popped balloon. "You are?"

  "Yes," he said. "I have a weird sense of humor. It's an acquired taste."

  She found herself grinning at the phone. "I've been told I have no sense of humor."

  "Sounds like we're made for each other. Maybe we should elope tomorrow instead of driving up to New York."

  "Sounds great," she said, feeling suddenly lighthearted. "I'll pay for the gas and you can pay for the marriage license."

  She'd never bantered that way before. Usually the witty response occurred to her the day after she needed it. It felt good to make a guy laugh, even if she'd probably never see him again after they reached New York City tomorrow afternoon.

  #

  "Full circle," she said as the memory shimmered then faded away. They fell in love on Christmas Eve and now, thirteen years later on a snowy Christmas Eve, they would finally say goodbye.

  Chapter Two

  How the hell was it possible to sweat when it was twenty degrees outside and snowing?

  David Whittaker wasn't a scientist but it seemed to him that he was doing something pretty damn extraordinary. The heater was turned off. He'd cracked the window a good two inches. He had the feeling that nothing short of a new Ice Age could stop the twin beads of sweat from trickling down his temples.

  His assistant's message had been short and sweet. Jill called. She said it was important. Call her back. Ten words, nine of them words of one syllable. You'd think it would take more than that to screw up your thermostat.

  He told himself it was no big deal, that she was probably calling about the house or the car or some document that needed his signature. She'd avoided him at every turn the last two months. The kids relayed his messages, her attorney answered his questions--her voice on the answering machine was as close as he got to making contact.

  And now this. Out of nowhere she'd called him.
His imagination was running riot.

  Come back home, David...I love you, David...we can't get along without you, David...

  There were at least a dozen variations on that same theme and not one of them stood a chance in hell of coming true.

  He turned off the main road and negotiated the hill that led to Eagle Ridge Drive. The snow was coming down hard and fast and he wished he was driving the Jeep. The driveway curved gently off Eagle Ridge and he eased into the turn. He always stopped at the same spot, just far enough back that he could get a good look at the house. He used to tell himself he was checking for gutter problems or trouble with the siding but the truth was, he just wanted to sit there and revel in the fact that the house and the gutters and the siding were his. His house. His home. The one place on earth where he would always belong.

  When he was a little boy, he'd dreamed about the house he would own when he grew up. He spent hours lying on whatever bed his current foster family provided, imagining the house from the basement up. He knew every detail of the foundation, every bend and twist of pipe. He knew what kind of insulation the walls would have, the kind of wiring he'd run. It would be two stories high with wide windows and a front porch where kids could while away a summer afternoon. It would be the kind of house those same kids came back to long after they were grown, a welcoming house that greeted you with open arms and pulled you inside.

  One day he'd meet the right girl and his heart would burst open like a piñata, spilling gold coins and diamonds at her feet. He would sweep her up into his arms and carry her away to the house of his dreams, where they would have six children and live happily ever after.

  That's exactly how he'd felt when he met Jill Aylesworth thirteen years ago today.

  He glanced at his watch. Almost to the hour. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on him.

  "It's now or never," he told himself as he shut off the ignition. Sitting out there staring at the house wasn't going to change things. She either wanted to get back with him or she didn't and the only way to find out was to get his sorry butt out of that car and knock on the front door.