The Year the Cat Saved Christmas - a novella Page 5

  "I'm sure we looked under the porch." She turned to David. "Didn't we?"

  "I think so," he said. He didn't sound any more sure than she felt.

  "I thought he might come here," Jill offered. "He's known you since he was a kitten. You two have been so kind to him when we've gone away on vacation." The Zimmermans had opened up their beautiful home to Sebastian and the rest of the menagerie and given them the run of the place. Jill shuddered just thinking about Sebastian grooming himself on one of their Aubusson carpets but neither Claire nor Eddie worried a whit.

  "We love having him stay with us," Claire said, patting her on the arm. "Maine coon cats don't take well to being cooped up in a kennel. Besides, what's this big old house for if we can't fill it with the people and things we love."

  "Apparently Maine coon cats don't take too well to moving either," Jill said. "We have to find him before the kids come home from the mall. They've been through so much. If Sebastian--" She refused to finish the sentence but everyone knew how it ended.

  "Let me make us all some hot chocolate," Claire said. "We'll come up with a plan."

  "That's so kind of you," Jill said, "but we have to get back out there and search for Sebastian."

  "We understand," Eddie said with a reproving look for his wife. "We'll spread the word through the neighborhood. If everyone pitches in, the old boy will be home before you know it."

  Impulsively Jill hugged Claire then Eddie while tears streamed down her cheeks. She hadn't cried this much in years. "I'm going to miss you so much," she said. "You two are family."

  "You're not moving that far away," Claire said, her own eyes wet with tears. "We'll still see each other."

  "You can't get rid of us that easily," Eddie said. "Flemington is a hop, skip, and a jump from here."

  Jill nodded but she knew that after tomorrow everything would be different.

  David stepped forward and extended his hand. "I guess this is goodbye then," he said.

  "Safe trip to San Francisco," Eddie said, shaking David's hand briefly. "I hope you find what you're looking for."

  Claire said nothing at all, just dabbed at her eyes with the hem of her apron.

  "What did he mean, he hopes I find what I'm looking for?" David asked as they made their way down the driveway to the car.

  "I think he meant exactly what he said." She pulled her collar up around her neck and burrowed deep.

  They reached the car. He opened the passenger door for her then walked around to the driver's side.

  "So I'm the bad guy in this," he said a few moments later as they swung around the Zimmermans' circular driveway and headed back toward the main road.

  "I didn't hear anyone say that."

  "Come on, Jill. You saw what happened back there. They couldn't wait to see me leave."

  "They were disappointed. They thought we'd reconciled. You can't blame them for being upset."

  "So why take it out on me? Last I heard, it takes two to reconcile."

  She drew in a deep breath. "You're the one who's moving across country."

  "You and the kids could have moved with me."

  "Sure," she said, her hackles rising in anger. "Uproot them from school, take them away from their friends, leave our families behind. Sounds like a great idea to me."

  "They're only six, Jill. They'd make friends wherever they lived."

  "My home is here." Our home, you fool, if you'd just open your eyes.

  "So why are you selling the house?"

  "Because--" She stopped short. Because I don't want to live there without you.

  "Forget it," she said finally. "We agreed to sell the house and split the profits and that's what I'm doing."

  He grew noticeably tight-jawed. "You're making a mistake."

  She arched a brow. "I could say the same thing to you."

  Seeing Eddie and Claire had stirred up memories of their first years together. She had loved David so deeply, so freely, without boundaries or reservation. And he had loved her the same way in return. So where on earth had it all gone wrong? She supposed it hardly mattered. Their house was up for sale. Their divorce would be final at midnight. And Sebastian, who had been there from the very beginning, was gone. A clean sweep, she thought. Too bad it wasn't what she wanted.

  They rode in silence for a few hundred yards then David slammed on the brakes at the intersection of the main road and the Zimmermans' street. The Porsche went into a gentle skid. Jill's arm reached out automatically to protect him. His arm reached out at the same time to protect her.

  Jill cleared her throat. "You stopped for a reason?"

  "I'll let you know." He swung open the door and climbed out. She watched as he walked around the front of the car, then bent down to retrieve something in the intersection.

  "Since when do you have the instincts of a bloodhound," she said when he slid behind the wheel again. "You're the man who can't find his car keys when they're in the ignition."

  He held out his hand. "Sebastian's collar."

  Her heart lurched as she grabbed for the object. No doubt about it. Sebastian's identification was clearly marked inside. "It's in perfect shape," she said. "Someone must have unhooked it for him."

  "I saw paw prints," David said. "Heading toward town."

  "Like little snowshoes?" Sebastian's paws were made for traveling snowy paths.

  "Exactly like snowshoes," David said. "It's got to be Sebastian."

  He turned the car in the direction of town.

  "You know what they're going to think, don't you?"

  He glanced at her, puzzled. "That we're looking for Sebastian."

  She shook her head. "That we're back together again. Just like Jake Malloy thought."

  Some of the stiffness eased from his jaw. "That shouldn't be a problem," he said. "We'll tell them that nothing has changed. We're together because we're trying to find Sebastian."

  "You make it sound simple."

  "It is simple, Jill."

  "That's what's wrong with men," she said, more amused than annoyed. "You're oblivious to nuance."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  She started to laugh despite herself. "If you have to ask--"

  "That's what's wrong with women," he said. She wasn't sure where he fell on the amusement/annoyance scale. "You waste too much time worrying about things like nuance. Sometimes you have to act first and analyze later. Remember the day Sebastian terrorized the butcher shop and they called the police? We didn't waste too much time analyzing why he dragged all the filet mignons out of the front case and into the street."

  "I'd forgotten all about that."

  David's grin was rueful. "I haven't. It cost three hundred and seventy-two dollars that we didn't have."

  Another rush of memories came back to her. "You did Frank's yard work that whole summer."

  "And you wrote all of his advertising copy."

  "'Succulent leg of lamb on sale Wednesdays only.'" She rolled her eyes. "I was a veritable wordsmith."

  "You haven't done too badly for yourself, Jill."

  His statement caught her off-guard. He rarely mentioned her writing. He'd thrown a party for her when she sold her first book but there'd been a haunted look in his eyes that she'd never forgotten. He said that her money was her money and that he would continue to support the family on his earnings alone. Their accountant knew a hundred percent more about her work than her husband did.

  #

  David saw the surprise on Jill's face and he regretted saying anything at all. He was proud as hell of all she'd accomplished. He knew how hard it was to get a book published. Competition was fierce and it took guts as well as talent to succeed. Every time he tried to tell her how much he admired her achievements, the words caught in his throat and he was tumbled back to those early days when they were poor and struggling. She'd given up so much when she married him: money and social standing and whatever tenuous connection she had with her family.

  #

  Then

>   Eight months to the day after David began working at the biggest architectural firm in the state, he made dinner reservations for two at the Peacock Inn.

  "Have you lost your mind?" Jill asked, clearly shocked, when he called to tell her what he'd done. "We can't afford the Peacock Inn. We don't even know anyone who can afford the Peacock Inn."

  "Trust me," he said, pride almost bursting through his chest. "I'll pick you up at the office at six."

  He pulled up in front of the rambling Colonial building that housed Baxter Publishing, the small textbook firm where Jill had worked since their marriage. He was three minutes early. He knew she would be three minutes late. Their marriage had been a series of compromises, some easy and some not so, and he couldn't imagine it any other way.

  She trusted him with her life. He trusted her with his heart. She lifted him up when his optimism flagged. He held her close when the world was too much with them.

  People said that marriage made romance disappear, that the grind of everyday life extinguished the spark of passion, but they were wrong. Marriage had taken two lonely people and turned them into one entity, a team in heart and spirit. A team that only death could part.

  "Champagne?" Jill said as the waiter brought the chilled bottle for his inspection.

  "Our anniversary isn't until September."

  "You need an occasion to drink champagne?"

  "On our budget, we need an occasion to drink beer."

  He smiled but said nothing. Good news deserved to be savored. He motioned the waiter to leave the champagne and, with great ceremony, David popped the cork himself then filled the crystal flutes with the golden liquid.

  "To the future," he said and they touched glasses.

  "To the future," Jill echoed. Then, "You're making me a nervous wreck, David. The Peacock Inn. Champagne. You must have robbed a bank to pay for this."

  He leaned forward. Her hair shimmered in the candlelight, glowing like burnished copper. There was no sight on earth that could compare to his wife's face. He was consumed with love for her, for everything she was, and for all he knew she would be now that he could finally give her the chance.

  "How much do you like your job, Jilly?"

  Her brows drew together. "It's okay. Ed Cavanagh is easy to work for. The editors are pleasant enough. Why are you asking me this, David?"

  "Because I think you should quit."

  He'd never seen a jaw sag open before but damned if Jill's jaw didn't do exactly that.

  She stared at him. "Quit?"

  "Quit."

  "How much champagne have you had tonight?"

  He lifted his glass. "It's still almost full."

  "Then you must have lost your mind."

  "I haven't lost my mind. In fact, I've never felt more sane in my life."

  "I'm glad one of us can say that, because I feel like I'm trapped in the Twilight Zone and Rod Serling is about to serve our salads."

  He reached for her hand. "I'm doing the O'Neal house."

  "Oh, David...." Her beautiful face came to life, as if all the candlepower in the room were centered in her eyes. "You worked so hard for this. I'm so happy!"

  "We worked hard," he corrected her. "We did it as a team. I wouldn't have made it through without you, Jilly, and that's the God's truth."

  "You're not going to toss me aside and run off with an assistant?" Her words were soft and teasing. "I hear that's what all you successful architects do."

  "Not this one." He raised her hand to his lips. "I have everything I want right here."

  He told her about the corner studio and the expense account, and then he told her the best part of all.

  "It means a lot more money," he said, "enough for you to quit work. You can start working on that novel you've always wanted to write."

  She didn't believe him at first. Hell, he could hardly believe it himself.

  "I wish--" She stopped.

  "What do you wish, Jilly?" He'd give her the moon and stars if he could. "Tell me."

  "A baby," she whispered.

  His smile faded. "A baby?"

  "I know a baby's a huge expense but don't you see, Davey, it's time. We've been married almost three years. You have a wonderful job. We're young and healthy and--"

  She stopped mid-sentence and watched him as he reached into his pocket and withdrew a small brown paper bag.

  "What's that?" she asked as he pushed it across the table.

  "Open it and see."

  She reached inside and pulled out a paperback book named Five Thousand Names For Your New Baby. She stared at it for a few seconds then leaped from her chair and threw her arms around him. "Oh David!' She pressed kisses all over his face. "We're going to make a baby!"

  #

  That night David had believed heaven was within his reach. Making love to Jill had always been incredible but that night it became a sacrament. She'd slept in his arms afterward, a gentle smile on her face, and he'd found himself glancing more than once at her flat belly and imagining how beautiful she would be when she was great with child.

  He wondered how they would have felt if they'd known how painful and heartbreaking the road to conception would be. They'd been so young and filled with hope, so damn unprepared for failure. These days miracles came with a healthy price tag and he'd worked long hours to make sure that was one burden Jill didn't have to shoulder.

  Who would've figured the good times would be what finally did them in?

  #

  David found a parking spot near the post office. He angled the Porsche in on the first try. "The snow's piled up against the curb," he said. "You'd better slide out on my side."

  He reached for her hand as she swung her legs from the car.

  "Thank you," she said in a very formal voice, "but I can manage on my own."

  "The ground's icy," he said. "I don't want you to slip."

  "Thank you again," she said, even more formally, "but I'm quite sure-footed."

  "The hell you are."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "The Marinos' Christmas party."

  Her face flamed. "High heels and black ice don't mix. It could happen to anybody."

  "There was no ice, Jill."

  "Black ice," she repeated. "That's the kind you can't see."

  "That was the Christmas it rained."

  "I really hate it when you're right," she muttered but she took his hand anyway. Neither one was wearing gloves and the initial shock of skin against skin stole her breath away. How could she have forgotten? David didn't have artist's hands. He had big, workman's hands, broad-palmed and callused from sports and yard work. She'd fallen in love with those hands the day she met him, imagining how it would feel to have him touch her...to hold her close.

  Once upon a time she'd believed his hands held magic in their grasp but now she knew better. Not even those hands they hadn't been able to keep their family from breaking apart and that was the only magic she cared about.

  Chapter Five

  The car barreled down on Sebastian from nowhere. He heard the squeal of brakes and he leaped up onto a snowdrift along the shoulder just seconds ahead of the tires.

  "You trying to get killed?" the driver yelled through his open window. "Stupid cat."

  Stupid cat? Sebastian glared at the driver from his perch atop the snowdrift. He wasn't the one who had trouble staying in his lane. He could drive better than that human and he didn't have opposable thumbs.

  Maybe he would lie there for a few minutes and survey his surroundings. It wasn't that he needed to catch his breath, mind you. He simply wanted to admire the view from up there. Sebastian's chest swelled with pride. That was the kind of leap a young cat could make without thinking twice, but at Sebastian's age, it was cause for celebration.

  A blue jay darted overhead, swooping down low enough so Sebastian could make out the markings on his throat and belly. He considered taking a halfhearted swipe at him with a paw but then thought better of it. It was Christmas Eve, aft
er all, and contrary to public opinion, cats had a kind and loving nature, even when it came to birds.

  His humans were about to make the biggest mistake humans could make and it seemed to Sebastian that he was the only one who knew it. He'd been there for them when they thought they'd never have babies. Many a tear had fallen onto his thick fur but he had kept their sorrows to himself. And later, when the babies finally came and brought with them turmoil and change, his people remembered the nights Sebastian had kept their secrets and loved him all the more for that. They were a family, after all, the whole lot of them: humans and cat, dog and bird.

  Sebastian didn't much like getting older but knowing the family would be together after he was gone made him feel better about the whole thing.

  Now he didn't even have that to hold onto anymore.

  A lesser cat, one of those sniveling Siamese or overbred Abyssinians, might throw in the towel but not Sebastian. No Maine coon worth his salt would give up without a fight. He was descended from fine stock, from the great cats Deuteronomy and Checquers, strong and sturdy cats with broad backs meant to carry burdens.

  But what good was fighting if you didn't choose your battle well?

  The cottage was still calling to him, so loud he could barely hear himself think.

  He had to get there, had to bring his people home if they were to have a chance at a happy ending.

  Family was worth fighting for. People didn't think cats understood that but they were wrong. As far as Sebastian could see, it was the humans who needed to be reminded.

  And what better place to be reminded than the cottage on Burnt Sugar Hill where it all began?

  #

  Christmas Eve cheer had hit Main Street full force. Lights twinkled everywhere. Holly and poinsettia festooned store widows. Carolers from the high school were gathered in the town square by the gazebo and the merry sounds of Jingle Bells and Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer filled the air.