Was it because of me?'
'Of course not. November was very old, and old cats die naturally,' I replied, unwilling to admit the truth, wanting to spare Patrick as much pain as possible. I sounded like my mother when she'd told me the 'deer' weren't harmed.
Patrick wasn't fooled. 'When Tim's cat ate weed killer, he threw up and died. November ate poison.'
'Well, yes, he could have. It does look that way.'
Patrick's fists tightened. 'He killed him. He killed November!'
'Who did?' I asked, taken aback by the certainty in his voice.
'Daddy.'
'What?'
Patrick trembled with anger. 'He didn't like him.'
'But your father loves animals.'
'He didn't want me to keep him.'
'Because wild cats can't be pets,' I said.
Patrick's shoulders sagged, his sorrow greater than his anger. He took off his mittens and gently touched the cat, petting around his torn ear, softly stroking the whiskers. Large tears rolled down his face.
I wanted to rip into whoever had done this. I wondered if Brook had graduated from tormenting Ashley's pets to killing Patrick's. Or was it Trent? I thought. He had disliked and feared the cat when Ashley had loved it, and it would be a painful reminder to him now. Because of Robyn's love for animals, I had trouble imagining her doing it, though perhaps Patrick's animals didn't count to her, or perhaps she had asked her son to handle it. Mrs. Hopewell also could have done it-it wasn't hard, it wasn't messy, putting poison in food.
I watched as Patrick ran his fingers down the back of the cat. He rubbed around its ears again. 'November didn't like to have his paws touched,' he said, honoring that even in death.
I ached for him.
'Did he hurt a lot?' Patrick asked. 'Did his stomach hurt bad?'
I could hide behind a half-truth and say that I didn't know how it felt to be a cat.
'Does your stomach hurt you when you throw up?' I asked back.
'Yes. But sometimes I feel better after I do.'
I nodded. 'I would think it's the same. If there is a cat heaven, November feels much better now.'
The cat needed a larger and deeper hole than the hamster, so I asked Roger to help us bury it in the cemetery. Afterward Patrick and I took a back route up to the third floor, successfully avoiding the others. He didn't want to talk and didn't want to play. I put on a video, a superhero story that, as far as I could remember, didn't have any animals in it, then went downstairs to speak to his parents. Emily was still at the college that afternoon, working on an art project, so I talked to Adrian alone.
Perhaps because I was shaking with anger, he remained very calm when I told him about the cat's death. But when I warned him that Patrick believed he had poisoned it, Adrian looked incredulous, then hurt.
'Why would he think that?' he exclaimed, like a stung child. 'Because I wouldn't let him keep it as a pet?'
'Patrick has blamed me for things, as well. Sometimes he pulls away from me and tells me that I can't hurt him. Did you read the note from his teacher?'
Adrian nodded.
'I don't know what she said, but I would guess he is withdrawing at school, too. It's dangerous, Adrian. He is separating from those of us who care most for him and want to help him. I haven't told anyone but Roger about my suspicion of poisoning. I can't handle it yet. I'm furious that someone would do this, knowing how deeply it would hurt Patrick.'
'Don't worry, I'll see to the others. And I will fill in Emily as soon as she gets home.'
'Adrian, what about having a vet do an autopsy?'
He shook his head. 'It would do nothing more than prove what you and I already know.'
An hour later, Emily arrived and came upstairs. I left her alone to talk with Patrick, telling her I'd be in my room if she needed me. 'Stay upstairs,' she advised me. 'Adrian is having a word with the family and staff.'
Fifteen minutes later she came to my room, her face drawn. 'He would barely talk to me.'
'To anyone, it's not just you,' I assured her.
She twisted a handkerchief in her hands. 'You see, Kate, this is another reason why Patrick should not have pets. They can break a child's heart.'
'It's people who are breaking his heart,' I replied.
'He refuses to eat dinner.'
'I'll have my dinner up here and maybe he will discover he is hungry.'
Two trays were brought up, but Patrick didn't touch his. I retrieved a pack of crackers from my purse, and he ate two. Henry came upstairs to clear our dishes, then brought back dessert.
'Just one piece?' I asked, as he handed me the fruit pie.
The old man looked embarrassed. 'Mrs. Hopewell says that Patrick cannot have dessert until he eats his dinner.' He glanced at Patrick. 'I'm sorry. She makes the rules.'
She doesn't make them for us, I thought. When Henry was gone, I offered Patrick my pie, but it didn't tempt him.
We sat side by side on the sofa in his playroom, watching the telly. I edged closer to him and finally put my arm around him. For a moment he gave in, leaning against me, then he pulled back, as if suddenly remembering a reason to keep his distance. I hated the thought of all the pain bottled up in him. I decided to call Sam. Though we had parted on a bad note, I counted on him to ignore that when it came to Patrick.
'Stay right here, Patrick,' I said, then fetched Sam's number from my room. I stood in the hall, where I could keep my eye on the door to the playroom, and punched in the digits.
'Hello?'
'Mrs. Koscinski? This is Kate, Kate Venerelli.'
'Oh, hello, Kate. It's nice to hear from you.'
'Is-uh-Sam there?'
'Well, no, dear, not at the moment. May I take a message?'
She sounded so cheerful, so normal. I hadn't realized how cold and oppressive life seemed at Mason's Choice.
'Do you know when he'll get home?'
'It may be late. You sound concerned, Kate. Is something wrong?'
'No. Yes. I'm worried about Patrick. A cat that he loved'-l hesitated-'uh, died today. Patrick is upset.'
'Oh, poor child! I'm very sorry.'
'Sam is good with him. I thought maybe he could drop by, tonight or tomorrow.'
I have the number where he can be reached-it's somewhere here-give me a moment to put my hands on it. Practice should be over now. Afterward, Sam was going to study at Sara's house.'
Sara, the girl who had called to him in the hall; I got a hollow feeling in my stomach. 'Never mind. We'll talk tomorrow.'
'Wait. Here it is.' She read the number to me. 'Did you get it?'
'Yes, thanks.'
'Be sure to call him, Kate,' Mrs. Koscinski added. 'Sara's parents won't mind. They're very nice.'
'Right. Bye.'
He must go there often, I thought, if Mrs. Koscinski knows the parents don't mind being called. Well, even Sam couldn't make Patrick's pain go away tonight. I'd try to reach him tomorrow-perhaps take Patrick to the ice rink so he could talk to him after practice.
When I returned to the playroom, I saw that Patrick had taken a bite from the pie.
