A Spot of Bother Page 4

  “After a few minutes, he did.” Mom did have a way with animals. She could be boisterous and rowdy and demand all the attention, but she did have a silent side to her that cats, dogs, birds and more seemed drawn to. She picked up the animal and caressed its head, looking into its yellow-green eyes and blinking slowly at it. He had stopped purring while focusing on his dinner, but now he started up again. And loudly.

  “Wow,” Roger said, reaching out to the cat, and scratching behind its ear. “He’s got one hell of a purr.”

  Mom smiled. “He sure does. I think I’ll name him Clover.”

  “Wait? What?” It was Tom. “You’re really planning on keeping it?”

  “Why not? He needs a home … .”

  “You don’t know that,” Tom argued.

  Mom held him up to her face and closed her eyes as she concentrated on the animal. A moment later she opened them. “He doesn’t have a home. Not any longer, anyways. I sense someone had him for a while but that person is long out of the picture, so he’s mine now. We have room to spare and love to give, anyways.” Mom gave him a look that said he shouldn’t press the issue farther.

  Tom leaned over to me, whispering. “Do you think she really sensed the cat’s background?”

  I shrugged. Anything was possible. Just as likely as the magic was that Mom was spinning a yarn so she could keep the cat.

  “Maybe Poppy wants him,” Tom continued. “She already has two cats, so a third would be seamless.”

  “No,” Mom said. “I found him; he came straight to me. I feel an affinity for Clover here, so he’s mine.”

  “We want another mouth to feed?” Tom pressed.

  “Why not,” Mom said. “You eat enough for four, so we can spare a bag of cat food every couple weeks.”

  “And litter. And vet bills,” Tom added.

  “If you start eating enough for three, those expenses will be more than covered. And I think this little guy needs me.” She rubbed her face into its fur. In response the cat tapped my mother’s cheek and gave it a lick. “I think he likes me.”

  Tom opened his mouth to say something more and then thought better of it. “Okay then.” He turned his attention to the fried chicken, finishing off the crispy skin that Vanessa had pulled off before feeding the meat to the cat.

  “See,” Mom taunted. “It’s already a win for you. Clover ate the white meat and left the skin — your favorite part — for you to polish off.”

  “Very funny,” Tom mumbled as he jammed more breading into his mouth.

  “Why Clover?” Jordan asked as he stroked the cat, who continued purring. He was quickly growing to like the attention. Food and affection, what’s not to love?

  “Because he’s lucky,” Mom said.

  “Why is he lucky?” Jordan asked.

  “He just is,” she replied.

  “He just is?” Jordan waited for more, but no more explanation was offered.

  “Mom doesn’t need a reason,” I explained. “Maybe because he’s white at the start of winter. Or because he took so quickly to her. Or because she likes the name.

  “It’s also just good to do a kindness for another,” I added. “It makes her feel good — and me, too, I admit — to know Clover here won’t be freezing or hit by a car or attacked by some predator. And it’ll make him feel good not to be freezing, and to be well fed, and to be safe.”

  “I guess so,” Jordan said. “You could name me Lucky since you guys helped get me off the street.” He petted the cat some more. “I have a little brother now?” he smirked.

  His eyes glazed for a second, and Mom reached out and tilted his head down as she placed a reassuring kiss above his ear. “You’re with your new family now. And one day you may reconnect with your father and your siblings. It may just take a bit of time.”

  Jordan nodded and blinked.

  The cat, as if sensing a moment of distress, wriggled away from Mom and hopped into the tall teen’s arms. Jordan’s eyes widened as Clover stretched his head up and rubbed his face against Jordan’s chin. The sadness evaporated from his eyes, replaced with delight and surprise.

  “You could always write a letter or something,” I offered. “Maybe send a Christmas card and say you’re safe and living in the Sault.”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” Jordan said. “I think I’ll do that.” A pause. “What if they don’t write back?”

  “Give it a couple weeks or a month,” I said. “And you never know, you might get a card or letter back right away. If you don’t hear back and still want to know, you can always make a quick trip back and see them in person. I’m sure just about any of us would be willing to go along with you if you want the moral support.”

  Mom nodded. “I’m always game for a road trip. Especially if I can hit a few estate sales and bars along the way.” She turned and looked around the basement space, her eyes landing on Jordan’s discoveries. “What’s this?” She plucked up the bottle of booze we’d all examined and sniffed the contents. “It smells old,” she said, “but like it’s quality whiskey.” She took another sniff, and then held the bottle to her lips and took a sip. “It is quality stuff.” She took another belt, this one a generous amount, before setting it back down.

  Roger’s mouth gaped open in shock. “I can’t believe you just drank from a mystery bottle. You don’t know how old it is, or if it’s tainted.”

  Mom shrugged. “It’s alcohol. It’s purified as a result.”

  “Only if it’s not tainted,” Roger protested.

  “He’s right, my little cactus flower,” Tom said, picking up the bottle and uncapping it. He inhaled and shook his head. “Oh, that’s potent. It makes my eyes water it’s so strong. It’s like the booze equivalent of your awful coffee.”

  “You’re just out of practice,” Mom replied.

  “Well, one of us has to keep a clear head, and drive your little bottom home.” He recapped the container and placed it well out of Mom’s reach. “And it’s obvious you’ve overdone it, considering how bad a judgment call you just made.”

  Mom’s response was to blow out a loud raspberry. And nearly topple over.

  She quickly righted herself and began to examine the box’s contents. “String? Letters? Hmmm. Postmarked from the 1910s. Oh, and a locket.” She clicked it open and peered at the man and woman. “Hmmm. Unhappy ending, that one.” She snapped it closed and placed it back in the box.

  “What was that,” I asked, focusing more attention on Clover as he smooched Jordan’s cheeks.

  “What was what?” Mom asked, motioning for the teen to hand over the feline.

  “What you said. About an unhappy ending?”

  Mom shrugged, already bored with the contents of the box. “I don’t know. It came to me. There’s a bunch of problems with that find. Now, I’m going to head home with my newest find. Tom, let’s go. I need you to open Poppy’s door for me — that’ll save you a trip, daughter dear — so I can get the litter and cat food.”

  “Wait? What?” I asked. I had recently had my locks changed so my mother wouldn’t constantly barge into my house but I hadn’t told her. “Did you say something, Tom?” He was the one with the spare key, and under strict orders not to let my mother know.

  “Oh, he didn’t have to say a word,” Mom’s tone was serene. “I know you had your locks changed in order to keep me out. I’m only respecting it because you’re thirty and you should have a love life.”

  “But how did you know?” I asked.

  “Maybe I’m all-seeing,” Mom said. “Or, maybe I gossiped with Gavin over at the hardware store.” Her smile was serene.

  “Gavin gossiped with you?” Tom asked, scratching his head in surprise. “I told him not to say a word.”

  “Like you could stop him from loosening his lips. He has a crush on me and would do anything to get me to slip off those yellow measuring tape suspenders he always wears and explore his tool belt, if you know what I mean.”

  I opened my mouth to say something and then th
ought better of it. “Fine, go and get the cat food and litter. Just be sure to show some respect for when I want to play with a certain someone’s” — I motioned my head in Roger’s direction, to drive home the point — “tool belt.”

  “Duly noted,” she saluted. “Oh, and Roger?”

  Roger turned to my mother, waiting to hear what she had to offer. “Yes, Fiona?”

  “Poppy’s ring size is a seven,” she cackled.

  I sighed and rolled my eyes. “Not this again. Please just let it go already.”

  “What?” Roger smirked. “You don’t want me to know your ring size?” His eyes were lit with amusement.

  I blushed. “Well, it’s perhaps a bit premature to be thinking of such things?”

  “Noted,” he said as he gave me a flirty wink. He drew near and placed a soft kiss by my ear. “Don’t worry,” he murmured low enough so only I could hear. “It’s your mother’s way. She just likes to stir things up.” He gave the back of my neck a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

  “Poppy,” Mom slurred slightly, “I have to remind Roger of such things, just like I often have to remind Tom of important things. Men, you see, they have shit memories for when it comes to remembering what a woman likes. Sure, if the woman in question wanted a set of power tools they’d never forget, but jewelry or perfume or flowers? Well, they need frequent reminders. It can’t be helped, so I do what I can.”

  “You’re a real pal, Fiona,” Roger smiled, not a hint of snark in his voice.

  A moment later Tom, Mom and Clover were upstairs and saying their goodbyes.

  “She’s going to get her hands on that key,” Roger said. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

  “I suspect so,” I sighed.

  5

  I was tired as Roger drove us home and opted to take a quick shower — alone — to get the dirt and grime off of me. We’d finally stopped drinking and goofing off and put a bit of promised elbow grease into the place.

  “You sure you don’t need me to help you scrub your back or anything?” Roger asked, a twinkle in his eye.

  I sighed and shook my head. “Right now I’m beat. I just want to get ready to hit the sack and not feel like I’m all dusty and disgusting when I slip between the sheets.”

  “Okay then,” Roger said, flicking on the TV and scratching Fido behind his ear. The Maine Coon had taken a quick liking to Roger and frequently approached him for petting and games of fetch. Puck, my skinny black cat, didn’t mind Roger, but hadn’t quite bonded that well. He simply perched on the arm of the loveseat and watched the action unfold before him. That is, until I took a shower. When I stepped out of the tub the ebony feline was squawking at me animatedly on the sink. I toweled off and went into the bedroom, calling down the stairs that I had finished my shower. Puck followed and swanned around me on the bed, expecting his daily dose of affection as he pressed against my waist and purred. I complied and soon found myself dozing.

  I woke, not sure what time it was but when I peered at the clock I saw I’d been out for maybe twenty minutes. I heard Roger in the bathroom and his footsteps in the hallway. He entered my bedroom wearing just a towel slung low around his waist. I took a moment to appreciate the sight of his broad shoulders and that trail of fuzz that traveled below his navel. The highway to heaven is what my friend Trish liked to call it. I smiled at the thought.

  “What’s making you grin like that?” Roger asked.

  “I was just admiring the view. And thinking of taking a road trip.”

  Roger’s face was a mask of confusion. “A road trip?”

  I explained about the highway to heaven.

  He quirked an eyebrow. “Oh, it seems you’ve like you revived a bit. I saw you dozing when I came up the stairs.”

  “I feel a bit peppier. That little snooze did me some good.” I watched as he raked his fingers through his hair and looked down on me. His gaze was piercing, intense, and suddenly the last thing I wanted was more shuteye. I scooted over to the edge of the bed and pressed my hand to his flat stomach and traced my fingers along the bare skin above the towel.

  “Interested in having a tour guide?” he asked, a wicked grin on his face.

  “Sure. I’m warmed up and ready to ride,” I laughed as I lay back, stretching and arching my back. His eyes darkened as he looked me up and down. “See anything you like?” I offered.

  “You did wake up,” he murmured, clasping my ankle in his hand and resting it up by his shoulder. He began tracing lazy circles along my calf before letting his fingers travel lower. I shuddered and sighed when he hit home. “I can think of a way that might tire you out.”

  “I’m all ears,” I giggled. “Wait. Stay there … yes, there … a bit longer.”

  Later we lay tangled in my sheets, and I was running my hand over his chest hair while he traced his fingers up and down my hip.

  “That was amazing,” I sighed. After ending the evening with a few climactic peaks, I was ready to drift into dreamland.

  “It was,” Roger agreed.

  “I’m glad you don’t shave or wax your chest.”

  “Do a lot of guys do that?” He was still for a moment, pondering perhaps. “I guess I have seen a couple guys at the gym who might do that, but I’m not sure.”

  “Those types who wear lots of hair product and do all the manscaping to go along with it?”

  “I guess. I’ve just never wanted to run a razor over my chest.”

  “I hope you never do either.”

  “I’d think that’d be itchy once it grows back, like that one old Seinfeld episode.”

  I grinned. I’d just seen that rerun a few days back. Then I started to laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” He craned his head up and looked at me.

  “I was just imagining you running off into the night, howling like a wolf.”

  “A-rooooo!” he let out a low baying sound. Both cats alarmed at the noise and darted off the bed, hightailing it down the stairs.

  We both erupted into fits of laughter at the show of cowardice. I shook my head. “They’re not scared of the beagles at all, and they’re way noisier.”

  “Leaves more room for us in the bed.”

  “For now. They’ll be back.”

  I tucked my head back between his jaw and shoulder and I felt his facial muscles shift into a smile. He was silent for a moment. I thought maybe he had fallen asleep. “I was thinking…”

  “Oh?”

  “Thanksgiving is coming up.”

  “Yes.” I waited. I knew more was coming. But what, I wondered.

  “It’s my mother’s favorite holiday and she likes to go all out. She wants us to come over that day.”

  “Oh.” I wasn’t surprised, and yet I was. I felt a small spike of panic at the invite. I’d met his mother before. Not long before I met Roger, she’d come to my shop for a reading. Now I’d be experiencing some sort of white-glove inspection.

  “Oh? That’s all you have to say?” Roger turned so he was facing me. “Do you not want to go? Does your family have their own big tradition?”

  “No, not really. I mean, not really to the tradition part. It’s usually just a big meal and everyone dozes the evening away while snacking on leftovers. I’ll host it now and then, but mostly my mother and Tom do the cooking. If my aunt and cousin come up — and they won’t be this year — it gets a bit more formal, but it probably was just going to be Mom and Tom, Jordan and me, and you if you were coming along.”

  “So you’re willing to come to my parents’ house?”

  “Sure. I’m fine with it. Well, to be honest, I am a bit nervous.”

  “My mom was thrilled when she found out I was dating you.”

  “Really? You’re not just saying that?”

  Roger laughed, his eyes bright. “Of course I’m not just saying that. My mom really liked you when she talked to you in your shop, and she’s thrilled I’m dating someone seriously. Now if I were to come home with someone like your cousin Plenty, Mom would give me hell. But
since it’s you, she’ll be over the moon.”

  “What about your father? I never met him before.”

  “Don’t worry. He’s a bit blunt, but since you’re a bit outspoken yourself, not to mention your mother, you’ll be fine. He’ll like that about you, in fact.”

  “Really?” I had my doubts. Not everyone took to my family’s outspoken ways.

  “Really.”

  “Okay, then. Will anyone else be there? I’ll need to bring something. Maybe a couple pies? And I should bring a gift. Wine? Does your mother like wine? Or maybe scotch? Would your dad like that? Wait, do they even drink since you don’t?”

  Roger leaned forward and pressed a hard kiss to my lips to still me. It distracted me, but not enough. I started right up when he was done.

  “Shhhh,” he tapped a finger to my lips to stop me from blathering. “A few other relatives will be there, yes. Aunts, uncles, cousins. Wyatt. Maybe Wyatt’s date.”

  “Really? Is he seeing someone seriously?”

  Roger shook his head. “No, but he sometimes brings a girl along if he’s trying extra hard to get into her panties. You know, if she’s a tough nut to crack and he thinks bringing her to a family dinner will soften her up. My father calls those the refrigerated peanut butter girls.”

  “Wait? What?” I struggled to make sense of the statement.

  “Dad says the girls are like refrigerated peanut butter. Smooth — because they’re almost always young — but hard to spread, so Wyatt brings them over to warm them up.”

  I wanted to be horrified but I was amused at the description and laughed so hard I began to cough. “Oh, that’s awful and yet awesome all at once.”

  “See,” Roger smiled. “I think you’d get along with my dad. That’s right along the lines of how Fiona talks.”

  “Pretty much,” I agreed. I furrowed my brows. “But are you serious about the girls? Thanksgiving dinner shouldn’t be a means to getting some.”

  “Just another reason my mom will be thrilled to see you. As will my dad. Wyatt’s brought a few, well — let’s call them interesting — dates to past dinners.”