I almost turn around to hit up the grocery store, but remember I have a can of tuna in the pantry and an old box in the garage I can fill with newspaper. She’ll be fine.
Ten minutes later, she’s hungrily scarfed up half of the tuna, ignored her box, and peed on the kitchen mat. I see we have some work to do. I picked her up and berated her—something she seems to enjoy since the purring is back again—when someone knocks on my door.
Gray
Fucking hell.
My heart almost stopped when I saw her diving into the damn road, and the angry words were out of my mouth before I could check them.
I know I waited too long getting back to her; things just kept popping up.
I’d been full of good intentions after Frank’s death, but then I was contacted by a lawyer, stating he was the executor for Frank’s estate. That meant a trip back to Clare to his office, where I was handed a copy of the will I already had and assigned with the task of making Frank’s funeral arrangements. Luckily only a small ceremony, he’d been very specific in his instructions and wanted no fanfare.
Since then I’ve spent most nights at the bar, getting a feel for the place, but also going through Frank’s belongings in the apartment upstairs. Enzo had been willing to help when I asked him, since a lot of the old man’s belongings meant nothing to me, but potentially a lot to someone else.
Frank had made it sound easy, just toss everything out you don’t want, but I didn’t have the heart to do that. I’m just learning how precious mementos are. All I have left of my life before are memories I’m lucky I’ve retained, but I don’t have anything tangible. It all disappeared when the bank sold my parents’ place. All I had was what had been in my possession when I was arrested, or what Jimmy was able to salvage.
To my surprise, in going through shelves and cupboards and boxes in the old man’s apartment, I discovered he’d retained a few mementos as well. A high school yearbook from the year my sister graduated, several pictures of her spread over the pages. A snapshot of the annual fair that showed my dad with me on his shoulders and my very pregnant mom tucked under his arm. Those were happier days, before Dad was laid off from General Motors.
Little things, hidden away among the seventy-some years of life accumulated in creaky drawers and on dusty shelves.
I don’t know why, but it seemed important to sort through the past and find a new beginning to start a future from. That meant sorting through the stuff, cleaning the apartment, painting it, and getting a handle on my new and unexpected reality.
Then I was going to sit down with Robin, when I had something real to offer her.
Looks like fate wasn’t quite as patient.
I lift my free hand and knock on her door, the other holding the supplies I picked up in town.
“Can I come in?” I ask when she opens the door, the damn cat snuggled against her chest, and looking pissed as all get out. Still beautiful, though.
“Why?”
The question stumps me for a moment. I should’ve expected her to be direct.
“Because there are things I want to tell you.” When she looks at me dubiously, I quickly add, “And I bought kitty litter and toys.”
Something passes over her face I can’t quite identify, but she steps aside and waves me in. I walk straight into the kitchen and start pulling out the shit I just loaded up my cart with at the grocery store.
“How’d you know I needed that?”
I pivot my head to find her peeking over my shoulder.
“The fact you almost threw yourself in front of my truck to rescue that cat made it pretty clear you’d be taking it home. You crawling behind the wheel still holding the damn thing confirmed it.”
The corner of her mouth twitches.
“Smartass,” she mumbles.
“No, I’m not,” I contradict her, turning so I’m facing her. “I’m a little slow on the uptake.”
She peers at me, judging me, and coming to a conclusion when she hands me the ball of fur and heads for the fridge.
“Hang on to her for a minute.”
I look down in the kitten’s big green eyes boldly staring back at me. Then I lift it up, scan the area between its hind legs and bite off a grin.
“What are you gonna call it?” I ask when she resurfaces with a couple of bottles of water, handing one over.
“Haven’t had a chance to think about it yet. Maybe Ally? Since that’s where I found her.”
“You might scar him for life with a name like that.”
“Why? It’s a perfectly good—” Her mouth snaps shut and her eyes narrow as she reaches for the cat, holding him up much like I did seconds ago. “Son of a bitch. I was so sure…”
“He’s probably too young to remember you thought he looked like a girl.”
With the cat in one hand and her water in the other, she saunters into the living room, sitting down in the lone club chair, leaving the couch for me.
Message received.
Instead of agonizing over where to start, I tell her about Frank: his generous legacy, his guilt, his illness, and his death. The words come easy when I don’t think too hard or worry about how they’ll be perceived.
She listens intently, especially when I talk about the last days with him and repeat some of the things he told me.
“He was right,” I confess looking straight at her. “I was wasting my life, going through the motions, and keeping expectations as low as I could.” I run a hand through my hair, because here is where it becomes tricky. Where one wrong word could make all the difference. “I did that inside and continued after my release. Then I met you and
