Bailey walked her around a five block tour of his territory. He seemed to need to acquaint himself with every hydrant, bush, tree, and post they encountered. Instructions in the note were to let Bailey sniff until he was done, so Bryony did, impatient until she started to enjoy the morning air, hints of pink in the eastern sky, and architecture revealed by porch lights and lamp posts.
A few friends in elementary school had lived in these houses. She remembered a summer day with pony rides for a birthday party at a house around the block. Those were the years when everybody in the class had been invited.
Bailey made one long last sniff at the tree in the neighbor’s front yard, then trotted up to his front door and wagged his tail. Bryony dug the key out of her pocket and unlocked the door. She might as well put it on the metal ring with her key fob and house key.
The door latched behind her. Bryony went back to the kitchen counter to read the note again. There were handwritten additions. The one at the top read, I attached the business card for my local vet. She glanced at the card for Benson’s Veterinary Services. Across the left margin of the page, Cal had scrawled, Call me on my cell, day or night, if you have any questions. Thanks for being a good friend. Cal.
Maybe they could be friends. He had invited her into his home without him being there, and trusted her enough to place his animals in her care. But her version of friendship implied effort to spend time together. Once the “dating” thing fizzled, Cal seemed too busy to come around. But Bryony supposed she had done the same, making little effort toward him.
A note was scribbled in the right margin of the paper. Leave a can of fresh cat food in Buggy’s bowl in the morning and evening. Fill her water bowl. Put her food and water on the middle shelf in the pantry and leave the door open. Otherwise, Bailey consumes it. If you want to see her, you’ll have to search. She hides under the bed or in the den.
Bryony opened a can of cat food and dropped it into one of the bowls stacked on the counter. The food smelled fishy, like being at the ocean, but a tad more nauseating.
She carried the cat bowl over to a door and opened it. Stairs led down. She shut the door and opened the one beside it. Light from the kitchen revealed a large walk-in pantry with mostly empty wire shelving on both sides.
An empty bowl like the one in her hand sat in the middle of a shelf halfway up to the ceiling. Bryony picked up the empty cat bowl, replaced it with the full one, and picked up the empty dog bowls from the floor.
After refilling Bailey’s food and water bowls and placing them back on the floor, curiosity about the rest of the house convinced Bryony she wanted to meet Cal’s cat. She left the kitchen to explore.
Book shelves rose to meet crown molding in what appeared to be a formal office. Cal had said his rental came partially furnished. Surely he had not contributed much to this monumental decor.
Heavy maroon curtains covered a window behind a large, shiny desk. A brown, leather, wingback chair sat in one corner, a floor lamp beside it. A small round oriental rug lay in front of the chair. Dog hair along one area of the rug’s border provoked an image of Cal sitting in the chair at night, his glasses on the end of his nose, a book in his lap, Bailey at his feet. Bryony opened a door in that room to reveal a closet. It held a vacuum cleaner and a few empty hangers, but no cat.
She moved on to the living room and flipped on the overhead lights. Wall-to-wall off-white berber carpet spread beneath a black three-piece set of couch, loveseat, and chair. They were arranged in a circular pattern with plenty of floor space around them to spare. Each piece of the set had end tables with blue ceramic lamps that plugged into outlets in the floor.
The lamps matched a blue ceramic hearth, and the fireplace had a substantial mantel.
Simple off-white window curtains hung from black iron rods. Large abstract paintings covered the walls around the fireplace and the wall opposite. Smaller framed art—landscapes, barns—hung on the third wall. A grouping of even smaller canvases with whimsical black stick figures dancing in and around colorful backgrounds hung on the fourth wall. Bryony looked closer at the stick figure art and read, To Cal, my favorite among favorites. Peace out, SH, scrawled above the signature.
Cal had interesting friends.
Still no cat in sight, Bryony opened the front closet. Coats she recognized as Cal’s hung neatly in the middle. A pair of cross country skis leaned in one corner. Bryony smiled. Fieldstone rarely had enough snow for skiing.
She opened another door to a half bath off the hallway, and then wandered through the arched doorway to the formal dining room where she circumnavigated a massive table with twelve chairs. She found a few stains on the carpet, but no cat.
Having explored the rest of the downstairs with diligence, duty called to check the upstairs as well. Being in Cal’s home, seeing how he lived, gave rise to the regret she’d been hiding from herself. The house bespoke a man who could take of himself without requiring too much upkeep on her part.
But she had yet to check the refrigerator, or his bedroom. She needed to find something fresh to validate her decision to back off from him. Otherwise, she would spend a long holiday weekend walking his dog, stalking his cat, and kicking herself for kicking him out of her life.
Ascending the carpeted treads to the second floor one at a time, Bryony called out, “Kitty, kitty. Here kitty.”
The first and second doors off the upstairs hall led to empty bedrooms with open closets and no signs of a cat. The third door opened to a master bedroom, which also had no furniture. The en suite bathroom and walk-in closet were open with no cat in sight.
Another hall door opened to a full bath, a fifth to a linen closet, a sixth to a stairwell leading up. She was not going up there. Bryony shivered and shut the door.
When she reached the seventh and last door, she hesitated. Should she open it? This room had to be Cal’s bedroom. She wanted to see it, but now she knew she was stalking Cal, not the cat. If he wanted her to see his room, he would have left the door open. Maybe this was where he hid those bachelor tendencies, left his bed unmade, threw his underwear on the floor.
A loud meow issued from the other side of the door, a plea for release. Without thinking, Bryony turned the knob and pushed it open. A huge yellow tabby padded forward and wrapped itself in and around her legs, purring. Bryony bent down and picked it up. “My word!” she said. “You must weigh twenty pounds at least! Cal should worry about you eating the dog food, not the other way around.”
She carried the cat downstairs, her purring a constant vibration, and placed her in the pantry. Buggy leapt to the shelf with the cat bowls and chowed down.
Bryony looked around one more time. Satisfied she had covered all required bases, she locked the house and returned to her car.
Backing out of Cal’s driveway, she remembered being so overwhelmed by the size and sound of Cal’s cat, she forgot to look at his bedroom. She would check it out tonight, to make sure all was well, because Cal had entrusted her to keep his pets and his home safe. Yes, she convinced herself, she wanted to inspect his bedroom for purely reasonable reasons.
A NURSE FOR CAL
The manager on his father’s hospital unit had supplied a blanket and pillow for a chair which opened into a cot. Cal slept on and off for a few hours with monitors beeping, the light from the hall shining in his eyes, and wake-ups by the phlebotomist, the patient technician, and the night nurse. Every time they asked, his father could recite his name and birthdate, and they seemed satisfied.
At eight in the morning, Cal Sr. rustled his sheets.
“What is it, Dad?” Cal moved off his cot and picked up his father’s hand.
“Doodads fiddling the thing around, and nobody remembered to catch the fish when it fell off the bridge.”
“What?”
“Is that you, Cal?” his father asked, awakening now.
“Yeah, Dad, it’s me. What’s that you’re saying?”
“I don’t know. I think I was dreaming.” His father looked around the room. “What am I doing in here again?”
“You fell, and they worried you’d bumped your head.”
His father pushed back the sheets. “What did they do with my clothes?” He started to move his feet to the edge of the bed. “I swear those doctors need new motor homes. Why else would they make people spend the night for no reason at all?”
“Hang on, Dad.” Cal moved to the edge of the bed, blocking his father’s escape.
“Move, Cal!” his father ordered. “Have you seen the bills they send? Astronomical. Take me home.”
“Let’s wait and see what the doctor says this morning.”
His father gave up and lay back on his pillow. “They’ll take one look at me and say, ‘There’s another semester of tuition for my kids, a new set of tires, and a month in the Adirondacks.’”
Cal covered his father with the sheet and blanket. “Your sense of humor is intact.”
His father lifted his head off the pillow. “Why are you here? Don’t you have to work today?”
“And you’re aware of the day. Is there anything you can’t remember?”
“I don’t know,” his father said. “Let’s find out if I can remember how to live my own damned life.” He again threw off the blanket and sheet. “If you don’t move, I will report you for unlawful entrapment.” He pushed against Cal’s hip, shoving him a few inches from the bed.
If his father was that strong, and he could make sense, maybe he was right. Maybe he could go home. Cal watched as his father pushed himself to a sitting position, dangled his legs off the edge of the bed, and used his arms to leverage himself upright.
“You’re all hooked up to tubes on this pole here,” Cal said. “Let’s get a nurse to help.”
