Текст книги "Storms Over Secrets"

Автор книги: J. A. DeRouen

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

“I Will Follow You Into the Dark” by Death Cab For Cutie

The Past

“UM, MRS. CINDY, CAN I talk to you, please?”

Lucas’s mom jumps two feet in the air and shrieks before turning around. I suppose the running water muffled my approach.

“Celia Marie, what on Earth? I think I just saw Jesus.” Her hand is plastered to her rapidly rising and falling chest.

“I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry,” I mumble, my eyes darting to the kitchen entrance, afraid the Landry cavalry will show up to investigate the ruckus. So much for being discreet.

“I’m just a little jumpy today,” Mrs. Cindy explains, waving her hand in the air, showing off the huge wet handprint in the center of her silk blouse. “Don’t worry about it for a second, sweet girl.”

I shuffle forward, resisting the urge to run in the opposite direction. Every time my body fights against the forward motion, I replay Grams’s advice in my head. Her words were slow, deliberate, but filled with conviction.

Fight for those you love. Be strong. Don’t hide.

“I need to talk to you about—” My eyes shift back to the door, and my voice drops to a faint whisper. “I need to talk to you about Lucas.”

Mrs. Cindy grabs the towel from the counter and dries her hands. She busies herself rearranging spices, folding the dishrag, wiping the counter. She busies herself, well, doing nothing really. It’s subtle, but I see it for what it is.

She knows something is wrong.

“He’s been so busy lately, I know it. It’s crazy how much pressure those professors put on my boy. It’s a wonder he doesn’t buckle under all that stress.” Her voice is artificially cheerful, and she won’t meet my eyes.

“The thing is, I don’t think Lucas is going to class anymore. He doesn’t leave home in the mornings. In fact, I can’t remember the last time he’s left the house at all.” I crimp the edge of the placemat between my fingers, watching as I fold and unfold the fabric. I take a seat on one of the barstools to show my level of commitment. I’m not walking out. I’m here to discuss this, and I’m not leaving until we do.

“He’s been working on a independent project for a while now. It’s difficult to keep him interested in the mainstream course load. His professors choose to challenge him in different ways,” she explains, her tone sounding as if she’s trying to convince herself as well as me.

“I’ve also noticed he isn’t bathing regularly. His clothes are often dirty, and I have to prompt him to clean himself up. I’ve never known Lucas to be this way.” I’m embarrassed to say this out loud. I’m not talking about a young boy who hates to bathe. Lucas is a grown man, and it twists my gut to say these words about him—to talk about him without his knowledge. I just pray he doesn’t hate me for it.

“I know it’s hard for you or me to understand, dear,” she says evenly. “But Lucas can sometimes forget the tedious things in life while focusing on his work. It’s our job to remind him. Thank you for doing that. Is that all, Celia?”

I realize her words for what they are—I’m being dismissed.

“No, it isn’t. There’s more, and I can tell you don’t want to hear it, but—” I stand up, feeling the need to take a defensive stance.

“You’re right, I don’t. I really don’t appreciate you speaking about Lucas this way—”

“I’ve seen his notebooks, the ones for his schoolwork. It’s nothing but…” I interrupt; my voice cracks and tears fill my eyes. I silently plead with her to hear me. “It’s nothing but gibberish. The same number written over and over for pages, in a variety of patterns, sometimes changing the look of the number. It’s not work for school, Mrs. Cindy. I’m sure of it.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Celia. You’re confused.” She throws down the dishrag and grips the counter to stop the tremble I see in her hands. She clenches her eyes closed, and I know for certain she’s wishing away me and my accusations.

It’s just not that easy.

“I’m not confused. You know I’m not, I can tell. But he is.” I follow her to the doorway, talking to her back as she retreats. “I hear him talking to himself an awful lot.”

Her back straightens, and she stops abruptly. I nearly fall into her as she whips around and points her finger to my chest.

“You watch your mouth!”

Her hand flies to her mouth, and she gasps. Her harsh tone momentarily stuns me into silence. Her eyes are filled with tears and anger, but I see the pain and denial swirling below the surface.

“I love him,” I tell her. She shakes her head, as if it can erase all the words we’ve exchanged. “You know I do, and I think he needs to see someone. I think something may be very wrong.”

She eyes me through watery lashes. Her shoulders are slumped, and she says nothing.

So I wait. Acceptance is difficult and painful. I’ll give her all the time she needs.

“I know things with Lucas may seem a bit … odd … right now, but I don’t think we should jump to any conclusions.” She swipes the tears on her cheeks, and a sad smile tugs at her lips. “I love my boy, Celia, eccentricities and all. I wouldn’t change him for the world.”

“I love him, too. So much.”

She holds up a hand to stop me from talking. “I know you do, but these assumptions … well, they’re dangerous, Celia. You could end up hurting him.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” I cross my arms tightly and bite a hole through my tongue. How could she think I’d ever do anything to hurt Lucas?

“Assumptions are a dangerous thing. The words you say carry weight, Celia. There could be repercussions, and not just for Lucas. I’m sure you understand what I mean.”

I bristle at what she’s insinuating, and I pray I’m wrong. Am I hearing her right?

“I’m not sure I do,” I reply as I clench my fists, my fingernails cutting my palms from the pressure.

“There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you, Celia.”

I jump at the sound of Lucas’s voice and spin around, cheerful mask fully in place. On a good day, he is not very observant, so I hope he overlooks his mother’s teary eyes. I’m not sure how I would explain that.

“Hey, I was just asking your mom if she needed help in the kitchen. I didn’t hear you walk in,” I say brightly, walking to meet him halfway.

He grabs my hand as I approach and squeezes affectionately, his head crooking to the side. “Is everything okay? Did I interrupt something?”

“No dear, no,” Mrs. Cindy interjects, effectively diverting his attention. She brushes a hand through his recently shaggy brown hair and smiles. “Celia and I were just saying how the two of you should have a night out tonight. The movies, maybe? Dinner?”

Lucas furrows his brow and shakes his head. “I’m not really feeling up to a crowd tonight,” he says, giving me an apologetic smile. “Maybe we could rent a movie? Order some pizza? How does that sound, Celia?”

I press my lips into a thin smile and nod. I’m not surprised he wants to stay home. That’s all he wants to do these days. “That sounds perfect. Why don’t you grab a shower, and I’ll choose a movie.”

Mrs. Cindy doesn’t miss my hygiene comment, made evident by a little twitch of her lips. It may be a low blow, but I won’t hide my observations from her anymore. If I want to help Lucas through whatever this is, his family needs to be on board with me. She needs to be aware of these things—the inconsistencies in the Lucas I’ve known all my life and the Lucas standing before me now.

“And I’ll order the pizza,” Mrs. Cindy says cheerfully. She walks to the kitchen island and fishes through a drawer, grabbing takeout menus and placing them on the counter. “You’ve been working so hard, Lucas, I’m glad to see you taking some time to relax.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

Lucas drags me by the hand, and I stumble, following closely behind. I turn my head back to the kitchen just in time to meet Mrs. Cindy’s insistent eyes as she mouths, “Please.”

“Is that the same guy from the first scene? Lucas?”

I turn my head to see if he hears me, and I realize he’s not even focused on the movie at all. He’s laying behind me on the living room couch, staring into space, and he hasn’t said two words since the movie started. I shove my elbow into his chest and scowl.

“Hey, what did you do that for?” He has the nerve to rub his chest as if I’ve fatally wounded him.

“Are you even watching? Can you tell me one thing that’s happened in the movie?” I raise my eyebrows in question, and he crooks his head to the side and shrugs sheepishly. I swing my legs onto the floor and shoot up to standing just as his hand grasps mine.

“Wait, Celia, just wait. Isn’t it enough that I wanted to spend time with you? I don’t care what we’re doing, as long as we’re together.”

“No.” I jerk away from his clenched fist, but he refuses to release me.

“No?”

“No. Not anymore. I don’t want the shell of you here with me while your mind is a million miles away. Do you understand how much my life has changed in the past few weeks? Grams will be home in a few days. It’s such a blessing, but I’m scared … so freaking scared. I’m graduating in a couple of months. I’m thinking about colleges and how I’m going to juggle all these things while taking care of Grams.” I drop to my knees on the side of the sofa and firmly tug his chin to me. I plead with distracted and dilated eyes. His gaze shifts nervously, and I huff in frustration. “All these things are hanging over me like a heavy cloud, and I feel so utterly alone. Even right now, you’re looking straight through me. I’m right here, Lucas. Where are you?”

“I’m here,” he says as he tugs my wrists and tries to pull me up onto the sofa, but I resist. “I promise, I’m here for you.”

“No.” I shake my head forcefully and push away.

I put a few feet of distance between us and raise my hands. I need a moment, a breath, a lifetime maybe, to muster up the courage to ask the important questions—the questions that could flip our worlds upside down.

I read whatever I can find on the Internet, looking for answers to help me understand these changes in Lucas. When I began suspecting mental illness, I read tirelessly about first steps. How do I get help for him?

Since my first attempt at broaching the subject with Mrs. Cindy went over like a box of rocks, I’m trying a new tactic. I’m going straight to the source. Many of the websites say it’s surprising how many people will provide an honest answer if someone would just ask the question.

“Lucas, you know you can tell me anything, right?” I whisper. “I love you, you know? I always have, and I always will.”

“I know that,” he replies, eyes downcast.

“I’m going to ask you something, and I hope you’ll be honest with me.” The words I need to say are shards of glass sliding up my throat. I can’t swallow them back down, but I don’t want to spit them out. They’ll cut me either way. “Do you … do you sometimes hear v-voices when no one is around?”

For the first time tonight, I have his complete attention. He inhales a sharp breath and pulls up to sitting position, placing his elbows on his knees. He hides his eyes from me as he twirls his thumbs and shakes his knee. I reach out and place my hand on his leg, trying to calm the storm building inside him. The shaking stops, and his eyes meet mine, looking determined and afraid all at once.

“Yes,” he whispers faintly, but the word echoes louder than any other we’ve spoken before.

“You hear them?” I prompt, hoping he’ll help me understand.

“Th-they tell me things. They know so much, Celia,” he explains, his voice becoming more frantic.

Hot, prickly waves run through me, causing a tingling in my nose, a burning in my eyes, a clenching in my gut. Why do I feel blind-sided by his admission? If I’m completely honest with myself, I had suspicions—more than suspicions, really. I never would have confronted Mrs. Cindy or Lucas on just a hunch.

But words have power. They breathe life into the unthinkable. They eliminate denial. God, how I wish for denial. Moments ago, I begged for the truth, and now I’d give anything to crawl into a cocoon of warmth and lies.

The dread washing over me in waves must be playing loud and clear on my face, because Lucas begins backing away and pulling his hands from my grasp.

“I never should have told you. They told me you wouldn’t understand.”

“No, I’m glad you did,” I say, moving closer, bridging the divide he’s trying to create. “We tell each other everything. Right?”

He nods, but I can sense his mistrust. I’m slowly losing him … or maybe he’s already gone.

“I love you so much, Lucas, and I always want you to tell me the truth. There are people who can help you—medicines to stop the voices.”

“No!” The piercing quality of his voice startles me. He pushes off the couch and begins to pace, eyes wild, hands grasping at his hair. “You can’t tell anyone, Celia. No one can ever know about this.”

“Please, calm down. It’s okay, just calm down. I want to help you—”

“By sending me away? Because that’s what they’ll do,” he says, charging back toward me, grasping me by the shoulders. “No one can know about this. You have to promise me, Celia.”

“No one’s going to send you away. Why would you think that?” I try to keep my voice even and soft, hoping my calm will soothe him.

“I don’t think it … I know it. Everyone will think I’m crazy, Celia. I’m not c-cr-crazy,” he stutters, as unshed tears glisten in his eyes.

I wrap my arms around his waist and drag him closer. Unable to watch him crumble, I bury my head in his chest like the coward I am.

“I know that. I would never think that,” I say, my words muffled by his shirt.

Time passes in timid silence, and Lucas’s breathing slows considerably, his heart stops pounding uncontrollably, but neither of us budges. I feel his breath lightly blowing the strands of my hair, tickling the rim of my ear.

“This is our secret, Celia. You have to promise me.” He squeezes me tightly, holding on with all his might. I hope he’s clinging on to us, the love we have, but I think he’s grasping for a reality that no longer exists instead. “Promise me you won’t breathe a word of this to anyone.”

At first glance, it seems I have a choice to make. I either keep his secret and try my damnedest to protect him by myself … or what? Break his trust and have him shut me out of his life? I can’t help him if he pushes me away, and his mother’s recent state of denial tells me she’s not up for the job. The decision is made for me.

I’ll always choose Lucas.

I grasp the back of his neck and bring his forehead to mine, wishing I could leech out the sickness that torments him. His shuddering breaths bounce between us, and his watery eyes slay me.

“I promise you,” I whisper. “I promise, Lucas.”

And those few words are the beginning of the end. The cold, steely chains grip me, bind me, tie me. Each word, every vow, anchors me to this path of destruction.

I promise.

I promise.

I promise…

“Bright” by Echosmith

Present Day

I SEE THE tiniest twitch of her nose and perk up at the first sign of life. Celia hasn’t moved a single muscle since I dumped her into bed last night, as far as I can tell. If it wasn’t for the slight rise and fall of her chest, I’d call 9-1-1, hollering “Dead fairy, dead fairy!”

I stayed longer than I should have last night, watching her from across the room to make sure she was okay. No, I’m not a creeper; I’m a fabulous fucking friend. Friends don’t let friends drown in their own vomit. I didn’t enjoy it … not one bit, I swear.

Mr. Biscuit, my dog and trusty sidekick, is perched on my knee, body shaking and tail twitching. He’s waiting for my okay to pounce, and I release his collar. He bounds across the room and hoists himself on the edge of the bed while slathering Celia’s face in doggie kisses. When she rouses, I tap my knee, signaling him to return to me. He hops back into my lap and swipes his tongue across my cheek before curling into a furry ball of barely contained energy.

I snatched Mr. Biscuit from my apartment early this morning when I hurried home to grab a shower and get a couple hours of sleep. I have plans for Celia today, and I know he’ll enjoy the day, too. Plus, chicks love guys with dogs. I’m not above using the hound for my gain. I know he would approve.

Celia’s eyes creak open to tiny slits, little dimes turned sideways, as she whips her head back and forth. She immediately thinks better of it as she grips her head and groans in pain.

“Don’t worry, he’s gone. Mr. Biscuit and I chased him away,” I say with a chuckle.

“Huh? Chased who away?” she asks, lifting slightly on her hands and turning to me. She looks confused by my presence, but not necessarily mad about it. I’ll take that as a good sign.

“The raccoon that left the fur coat on your teeth.”

“Ugh. I do have a fur coat on my teeth.” Her lips curl in disgust as she tries to swallow down the cottonmouth I know she’s sporting. “And who’s Mr. Biscuit?”

He barks at her question, tail shaking in excitement. I tap his butt, and he pushes off my leg to meet her.

“Go easy on her, Biz, she’s in a fragile state.”

He lets out a bark in response, and Celia clutches her head and groans. As my hound rains kisses and licks across her face, it doesn’t take long for the groan to morph into giggles.

“I must say, Cain, this is not the dog I pictured for you. St. Bernard, Great Dane? Sure. You don’t strike me as a Jack Russell man.” She scratches behind Biz’s ears, and he flips over, legs up, belly on full display. He’s such a whore.

I prop my ankle on my knee and a fist on my temple, settling into the chair, eyes on Celia. “I don’t require an enormous dog to prove my manhood. That goes without saying, darlin’. Jack Russells are extremely intelligent. I need a dog that can match my quick wit.”

A bit of spunk returns to Celia as she shoots me a grin. “Did I hear you say nitwit?”

“And she’s back,” I say with a smile, beating back the tug on my heart. “Glad to hear it, because I have big plans for us today.”

She stops scratching Biz’s belly and cocks her head at me. “What if I already have plans?”

“Cancel ‘em.” I watch her intently, not wanting to be the first to break eye contact, willing her to go along for the ride with me.

Biz paws at her hand and whimpers, begging shamelessly. She brings her attention back to him, rubbing his belly while she coos at him. “Okay,” she whispers softly.

“Then it’s settled.” I slap my hands on my knees and rise up. “Biz and I will wait for you in the living room.”

“Wait,” she says, only now looking down at her fully clothed body. “I’m assuming you brought me to bed, so thank you. Did you … stay?”

I wave a dismissive hand, hoping to downplay the entire thing and wipe away the embarrassment I see forming in her expression. “Nah, I made sure you were safe and sound, then headed home. I had to round up the hound for our adventure, anyway. I knew he’d want to tag along.”

“I-I’m really sorry about last night, Cain. The whole thing—getting locked out, acting like a blubbering idiot.” She’s quiet for a few moments, but it’s obvious she isn’t finished. “Sometimes it just becomes too much.”

“What becomes too much?” I’m hoping for a sliver, just a tiny glimpse into who she is … what she’s endured.

“The sorrow,” she admits with lowered lashes. “The sorrow and the … the helplessness. I just needed a night to feel sorry for myself. I’m sorry you had to see it.”

“Don’t ever apologize for needing a time out with me. I’ll unlock your door, wipe your tears, carry you to bed, anytime … every time,” I say. I sense the clouds creeping in, so I opt for a change in mood. “That’s what friends are for, right, Tink?”

“Yeah.” Her gaze lingers on me, and a small smile tugs at her lips.

“Now, we’ve got somewhere to be. Get dressed, little one, because we’re beating back the sorrow today.”

“Oh yeah? How are we doing that?”

I stop at the doorway and snap at Biz, but Celia doesn’t let go of his collar. “I think you need a bit of mothering today. I’m gonna see to that.”

“Cain Bennett’s gonna mother me? This I’ve got to see. Get out of here so I can get dressed, then,” she says, and I snap at the dog again. Celia shakes her head in response. “Biz stays with me.”

Lucky bastard.

“What in the hell is this monstrosity?” she asks.

“Huh?” I follow her gaze as we walk out of her front door. “Oh, that’s Big Orange. She’s a beauty, right? That’s a 1975 Ford pickup with a Corvette engine under the hood. Every country boy’s dream.”

She keeps walking to the truck, albeit a little more slowly. “If you say so,” she mutters.

I open her door and help hoist her into the seat. Biz hops into her lap, and I swear, the fucker is taunting me. He’s enjoying this a little too much for my liking.

Am I seriously jealous of my dog? Ya damn right I am.

I want to bring Celia to my parents’ house today, but she needs a bit of background before we get there. I have no doubt she’ll embrace my parents and the dynamics of my family, but I don’t want to catch her off guard. I also have an overwhelming need to protect those I love. I’d never let someone come into my home and hurt my family.

“I think some ibuprofen and a little bit of sunshine may be my hangover cure. I’m feeling better already.” She smiles and makes a tiny crack in the window for Biz to shove his nose through.

“I’m glad.” I clear my throat and chance a look in her direction. “So, listen, I’m taking you to my family home, if that’s okay with you. My parents are great people and it’s really peaceful out there. I thought it would be a great way for you to unwind.”

“Meeting the parents already, Cain? I thought you’d at least let me test out the merchandise first?” She laughs and quirks her eyebrow up at me.

“Oh, test away, Tink, test away,” I say as she screws up her lips and rolls her eyes. “Seriously, you’ll love them, and they’ll love you.”

“Thank you for allowing me into your home. That means a lot,” she says softly.

“Like I said, you need some mothering.” I shift in my seat and tap the wheel with my thumb. “Listen, there’s something you need to know before we get there. It’s not a big deal or anything, but I don’t want you looking at them funny or anything, okay?”

“Do they have horns growing out of their heads?”

“No, it’s just that … my parents are … the thing is, I have two moms, okay? Like I said, it’s not a big deal, but I can’t have anyone hurting their feelings, ya know? If that’s a problem, we won’t go.” I train my eyes on the road, hoping Celia is who I think she is.

The cab fills with silence for longer than I like. Maybe this was a mistake.

“First of all, Cain Bennett, I’m no bigot. I would hope you would know that about me already.” She crosses her arms, and I feel her glare burning the side of my face.

“I promise you, this is not about what I think of you as a person. It’s about protecting my family. I always ask this question, no matter who it is. I’m not questioning your beliefs; I just love them that much. Okay?”

I know she understands my point when her arms slowly uncross and her posture relaxes.

“Well, aren’t you the sweetest son ever? Which brings me to my second point. You’ve got to be the luckiest man in the world, to have two mothers to dote on you. What a blessing.”

I grin and chuckle to myself. “You have no idea.”

Perfectly timed, I turn the truck onto the gravel drive. I slow down so I don’t throw rocks into the grass, and watch Celia as she takes in the scenery. I have to admit, the land is breathtaking. Past the hundred-year-old oak trees lining each side of the drive, there are rows upon rows of fig trees, persimmon trees, and pecan trees, as far as the eye can see. At the end of the gravel drive is my family home, a stark white two-story house with a wrap around screen porch, black shutters, and dormers. The front yard is impeccably landscaped with an antique, cast iron sugar kettle serving as a fountain.

I called ahead, so I’m sure they're both home, waiting for us. The screen door inches open, and I see Mom peeking out of the tiny crack.

It didn’t matter how many times I reiterated to her that Celia and I are just friends, I could hear the excitement building in her voice the longer we talked about her. Do I want there to be more between us? Without question, but it’s gonna take time. I consider today the first step in my quest to capture Celia Lemaire’s heart, no matter the condition. Broken, scarred, or busted wide open—I’m the man for the job.

I see Jabbers, my parents’ unruly black lab, shoving through the screen door and bounding toward the truck. Biz goes apeshit, nearly knocking Celia out the truck, trying to get to Jabbers. Those two are old pals from way back.

“Cain Joseph, get your butt over here and give your momma a kiss. I’ve been missin’ you,” Mom pouts with outstretched arms.

I meet her halfway and scoop her up for a quick twirl, planting a sloppy, wet kiss on her cheek.

“Hey Mom. Missed you, too,” I whisper as I set her down.

Her signature red-checkered apron is dusted with flour, a cardinal sign there are treats in our future. She’s twisted her blonde curls on top of her head in a bun, surely to keep it out of the way as she bakes. This woman can make an apple dumpling that will make a grown man weep.

She pushes up on her toes and peeks over my shoulder at Celia, who’s standing quietly behind me. Mom shoves me aside, my time in the spotlight over. A huge grin spreads across her face as she surveys Celia. “Introduce me to your friend, son.”

I nod quickly and wave my hand toward each of them. “Mom, this is Celia Lemaire. She’s one of my tenants, but she’s also become a friend. Celia, this is my mom, Lila Bennett.”

Both of their faces shine with bright smiles as they clasp hands. Before Celia can pull her hand back, Mom pulls her close and wraps her in a tight bear hug.

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Celia. I’ve heard so much about you,” Mom gushes as she throws me a wink.

“Oh, really?” Celia eyes me suspiciously.

“Don’t worry, Tink, I didn’t mention that crazy fetish you told me about.”

Celia’s cheeks pink up, and she slaps my shoulder. “Cain, that’s not funny!” She turns to my mom with wide eyes. “He’s lying, I swear.”

Mom chuckles as she loops her arm around Celia’s and starts walking toward the barn. “Don’t worry, dear, I’ve met my son a time or two. A lot of hot air, that one. I, on the other hand, have a plethora of ammunition on him. Did he ever tell you about his undying love of boy bands as a teenager?”

Celia starts to giggle, but slams her hand over her mouth when she gets the evil eye from me.

“I don’t care what you say, JT is the shit. He can sing, dance, and act—he’s a triple threat,” I defend as Celia’s eyes widen in amusement.

“You’re absolutely right, honey. There’s nothing strange about that … not at all,” Mom says as she eyes Celia, shrugging and shaking her head.

At this none-too-subtle barb, they both roar with laughter. I kick up dust and follow behind as I grumble to myself.

“While I’m having a blast, and believe me I am, I have a question. Where are we going?” I ask as I stop walking and toss up my hands.

“Mo’s at the chicken coop, dear. I’m bringing Celia to meet her. Put those two hounds behind the fence, would you? We can’t have them following us.” She turns back to Celia, effectively dismissing me. “Those two trouble makers will terrorize my sweet chickens, for sure.”

I turn back toward the house and spot Jabbers and Biz close to the gate. I grab the dogs by the collar and usher them into the enclosing. When I turn around to meet Celia and Mom, I realize I’ve been left in the dust.

“’Oh Cain, I missed you so much,’” I mutter under my breath as I tromp toward the chicken coop.

Damn women.

“Oh, I love them. They’re the cutest things I’ve ever seen. Aren’t you, sweetheart? You’re so precious, aren’t you?” Celia baby talks, telling me she’s spotted our newly born litter of kittens.

When I round the corner, I find her sprawled out on the dusty ground, trying to coax the kittens out of their hiding place in a stack of lumber. The pile is fairly high, so there are plenty of nooks and crannies for the kittens to hide. If they don’t want to be caught, Celia doesn’t stand a chance. I may have spoken too soon, though, because a lone orange kitten is brave enough to approach and sniff Celia’s outstretched fingers. I crouch down next to her to watch the show.

“You’re such a beauty, aren’t you, little one? Can I scratch your head?” Celia coos, and the kitten begins to purr as Celia gives it a little scratch behind the ear. A giggle escapes her lips. “That’s quite a motor you’ve got.”

“I think that kitten may have stolen your heart,” I whisper, trying not to spook our visitor.

Celia sighs and slumps her shoulders dramatically. “I think you’re right. I’ve fallen in love. I want to scoop this little one up and take her home.”

“Oh, no you don’t. I have a strict no pet policy, Celia,” I say sternly, leaving no room for discussion. Her wide, sorrowful eyes cause a tiny kink in my armor. “But I promise I’ll bring you to visit any time you want, okay?”

She nods in agreement, but her bottom lip juts out in a precious little pout. I raise my head and only then see my parents, huddled together by the chicken coop, watching the two of us intently with hopeful expressions. Those two will be burning up my phone tonight with questions; I can already see it.

“Did you meet Mo?” I ask, tipping my chin toward my parents.

“Helen? Yes, Lila introduced me. You call her Mo?”

I chuckle and nod my head. “Lila’s Mom, and Helen is Mo. I can’t call them both Mom, can I? Or I guess I could, but that would be confusing, yeah?” Celia nods. “So that’s what I’ve always called her.”

The kitten crawls into Celia’s lap and curls up into a tiny ball, purring loud enough to drown out the meows of his brothers and sisters. I chance a quick pet, and the fur is as soft as a whisper in a way only a kitten’s fur can be. My hand brushes Celia’s leg in the process, and I resist the urge to grab her hand in mine.

“Lila invited me to Sunday lunch at your grandparents’ house,” Celia says. She obviously sees my disapproval, because her hopeful expression morphs into a frown. “But I can tell her I’m busy. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

I shake my head. “No, of course not, I’d love you to come. I love spending time with you. It’s just that Sarge, my gramps? Well, he can be a handful.”