Amber Laura's Blog, page 7

Life Reconstructed: Chapter Fourteen

“ARGH!” The scream was as involuntary as it was deafening. With a jerk, the light flashed for a second on a female face—the harsh yellow lights highlight the gaunt, high cheekbones and short, chin-length blonde hair. That’s when Cat dropped the flashlight from suddenly nerveless fingers, the heavy tool hit the floor with a clunk, the light swerving drunkenly, veering crazily against the walls as it slowly spun to a stop.

Forcing her hands up to her mouth, Cat stemmed her panic, but only just.

“I’m sorry. Oh, my God.” The now disembodied, but distinctly female, voice cried. Through the dark shadows, Cat thought she saw the woman’s arms reach forward. “I’m so sorry.”

Breathing heavily, Cat swallowed twice carefully dropping her hands back down to her sides. Still, she kept them locked as fists. “You scared the shit out of me!”

“I know. I’m so sorry.” Bending down, her voice dropping with the motion, the woman picked up Cat’s flashlight. Straightening up she handed it over.

“Why didn’t you say anything when I came down,” Cat asked, taking the light with a polite nod of acknowledgement.

The girl shrugged. “At first, I thought you were my boyfriend. And then, when I realized you weren’t,” she laughed, but it held a definite tremble. “Well, I didn’t want to scare you.”

Cat blew out a breath. Her fingers gripped around the flashlight as another thought occurred to her. “And why is it dark down here?”

The girl laughed again. She held up both hands, palms out. “I promise, I’m not robbing the place.”

But Cat waited. She still hadn’t answered her question.

“The bulbs burnt out down here.” And in answer, the girl retrieved her phone from where it had been hiding inside one of the large rubber bins Cat now noticed beside her. An unbelievably bright white light radiated from the screen; it was clearly using a flashlight app. Just as quickly as she’d held it up, the girl put it back down.

“Oh.” Feeling as though she ought to do the same—for fear she’d blind the poor girl across from her—Cat set her flashlight down on a nearby box, shifting it so the beam wasn’t shining directly in anyone’s eyesight. It had the effect of casting a general, though still shadowy view.

“Yeah.” Then the girl considered Cat. “And you?”

“Me?”

“Are you robbing the place?” But from the smile on her face, unwavering even by glow of flashlight, warned Cat she wasn’t serious.

“Uh. No. But fair point.” Cat acknowledged, forcing herself to grin back at the girl. “I’ve never actually made it all the way down here before, but I assure you I’m a tenant here.”

“Looking for some extra storage space?” The girl asked. “There’s technically no ‘assigned’ areas, but each tenant gets two side-by-side pallets so…” turning her head, the girl pointed helpfully a few spaces down. “There’s room over there.”

“Oh. No, actually…” Cat bit her lip. She wasn’t sure how much to say.

But it was too late, the girl in front of her, who Cat could now make out more clearly—unbelievably thin, unbelievably tall with sunk-in eyes and large hands—was already tilting her head.

“Actually?” she repeated,

Taking a deep breath, Cat figured she had little to lose. She hadn’t told the girl who she was, or what apartment she lived in… “Do you know if Grant keeps any extra paint down here?”

“Extra pain?” But it was clear the girl was only repeating this to herself in thought, not question. “For the walls?”

“Umm…actually for the cupboard doors. In the kitchen.”

The girl’s thick, straight eyebrows rose a little.

“I just noticed…well, the paints starting to fade a little. And there are a couple of chips. And—I don’t know, it’s really started to bug me and I’ve got little going on—” eyes bulging wide, Cat could hear the words fighting to get out of her mouth. She was talking too much. That was always a suspicious sign. Especially when doing it too a stranger.

Over-explaining.

Forcing her lips to clamp together, Cat nodded. She regrouped.

If the girl noticed Cat’s blast of information sharing, she didn’t comment on it. Instead, Cat saw her forehead crinkle, one hand coming up to her chin, a finger taping against her upper lip in concentration. Her eyes, much like Cat’s had been moments before, swept the room.

“I don’t think so…”

Leaning forward, she seemed to be doing a quick inventory of the stacks of boxes meeting her stare. “I’m not sure Grant actually keeps anything down here.”

“Oh.”

Dammit.

“Okay,” Cat said. “No big deal. I just thought I’d check…”

“Yeah, I’m sorry.” The girl made to turn back to her box. Then, on second thought, she glanced back up at Cat. “But, if you find any will you let me know?” She sent Cat a mischievous look. “Heads up: don’t write on walls with lipstick. It stains.”

Smothering her laugh, Cat nodded. “Good to know.”

“I’m Alex.”

“Cat.”

“Well,” with a polite shrug, Alex gestured around. “Good luck with the paint.” Turning back to her box then, Cat watched her arms shifting through the contents inside.

“Thanks. You too,” she said, turning back toward the stairs. Only, as her foot landed on the bottom thread, she paused. The cavernous darkness had all but swallowed Alex in its depths.

“Ah, shit.”

Half-turning around, Alex lifted her head. “What’s that?”

Forcing the invitation past her mouth—on other people she noticed they came easy, natural. But she wasn’t so sure… “Do you, ah, do you need any help down here?”

“Huh? Oh no. I’m good.”

Cat sighed. But still, she didn’t climb the stairs.

“Cat?”

“See that’s the problem.”

“There’s a problem?”

“You can’t even see me. You have no idea if there’s someone else down here.”

“Ah. I’m pretty sure it’s just us.”

“It’s just, after being down here…It’s creepy as fuck.”

Laughter bubbled from Alex. “Yeah.”

“And—” Cat felt her arms splaying out to the sides “—I’d feel like a real shit, leaving you down here, all alone. Practically lightless.”

“Ahh.”

“Unless, I mean, I don’t want to overstep or, or invade your privacy or anything. I just think…” Cat was babbling again.

“Actually, now that you mention it, I could probably use an extra flashlight.”

 

 

Ten minutes later, Alex and Cat emerged from the basement. Alex was holding a stack of empty canvases, Cat a tin can full of brushes in assorted sizes.

Gaining the main floor, Cat followed Alex down the dingy hallway. “What are you painting?” Cat asked.

Alex inclined her head, quizzically. “You know, I don’t know yet.”

“Just got the sudden inspiration to do it?” Because clearly it had been awhile. Still at the bottom of the basement stairs, waiting for the second or third trip down, where the paint tubes. And considering how buried they’d been inside Alex’s boxes…well, it didn’t take a genius to conclude that Alex had been without the muse of late.

Stopping at what must have been her front door, Alex reached for the doorknob, easily twisting it open. Apartment C4. “No, not really.” Pushing the door open, she motioned for Cat to follow her inside. Walking inside, she was relatively unsurprised to see that Alex’ apartment was more-or-less a mirror image of her own, only Alex’s front hallway was shorter. And her walls weren’t peach. They were a soft oatmeal color.

“I lied earlier.”

“Huh?”

“I didn’t actually think you were my boyfriend.”

“Ohh.”

Alex hitched up one shoulder, not looking at Cat as she crossed into her living room. Setting the canvases on her brown suede couch, she paused. “Tony and I broke up a couple of weeks ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“And I guess I wasn’t really lying to you. But to myself. I hoped you were Tony, coming down the stairs, coming back to me.” The last part was sadly softly, quietly, almost privately.

Cat nodded fitfully. Her fingers flexed around the can of paintbrushes.

“God, listen to me,” Alex said, turning back around. A smile appeared at the edges of her eyes when she met Cat’s glance. “When’d we met, ten minutes ago? Sheesh. You’re probably terrified right now.”

“No.” Well, maybe a little.

“Hence the painting.”

“Exercising your feelings?”

Alex pursed her lips. She looked wise. “Exactly.”

Cat took in the five canvases, stacked expertly one on top of the other. She grinned. “Oddly enough, I think I get it.”

Alex grinned, showing large white teeth. “It’s very cathartic.”

“Going to do an exhibit on Tony?

Alex smiled. “Yeah, I’m thinking of calling it, Small Man.”

“Oh, I like that,” Cat said, depositing the paintbrushes.  as they moved back toward the front door and down the hallway toward the storage unit for their second trip.

“Or maybe: Fuck Off Tony.” Moving back down the hallway, the girls headed for the storage unit once more.

Cat tilted her head to one side. “I wonder if that’ll be too subtle.”

Tapping her fingers on her head, Alex nodded. “Always my problem.”

“What about—”

 

Life Reconstructed: Chapter Thirteen

By Friday afternoon, Cat marveled at the change in her mood. No, it was bigger than that. It was her whole attitude, about everything. The weekend loomed ahead of her, quiet with no real plans. And yet, unlike last Friday, this knowledge didn’t fill her with a kind of silent desperation. In fact, she was almost looking forward to doing nothing. No sooner had that thought popped into her mind then Cat heard the telltale ping of a text message notification, coming from within the muffled depths of her purse.

Unlocking her apartment door and nudging it shut with her shoulder she blindly hung her purse up on one of three pegs, nailed on a piece of hollowed wood, hanging up on the peach-colored hallway there. Nabbing her phone from the front pocket of her bag, she frowned at the wall. She’d always considered that color, while normally so bright and happy, to be almost grim in the narrow, windowless hallway.

With a swipe of her finger, she brought her eyes down to her phone as she checked her message.

Reading it, she paused.

Then she read it again.

 

MATTHEW MCBOY

Door’s done.

 

That was it. That was all the message said. Closing her eyes as a wave of an excited sort of nauseas rasped at her throat, Cat quickly pressed the Call button, bringing the phone up to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Matthew?”

“This is him.”

“Hi, it’s Cat—”

“I know.”

“Right.” Stalking up and down the narrow hallway, she felt a sort of energy exploding out of her limbs. “So? How’s it look?”

There was a slight hesitation on the other end of the phone.

“This is no time for modesty—!” Clomping down on the words, Cat grimaced. Okay, even she heard the dramatics in that statement.

“It’s good.”

“Is it?”

“It wasn’t exactly a difficult design.”

Cat talked right over this dry piece of delivery. “Do you think…?”

“They’ll never suspect a thing.”

“Oh. Thank God.” Even though she knew Matt was mocking her, could, in fact, hear his muffled amusement over the phone line, Cat didn’t care. The first wave of relief settled on her shoulders since this whole ordeal began. It was done. And it was good.

“Only…”

Cat’s back pulled back. “Only?”

“Well, it’ll still need to be painted, of course.”

“Painted?”

“The door you brought me as a sample design. It’s white.”

“Right. Yeah. Of course,” Cat felt her jaw cracking. “Shit.”

“I take it you don’t—”

“Wait.” Holding up a hand, Cat cut him off. “You sell paint at your store, right?”

“Yeah.” All traces of amusement were gone from his voice now.

“Oh, thank Go—”

Matt’s voice retained its earlier hesitation. “But I’d still need to know what paint—brand, color, finish.”

“Oh. But, can’t you compare the paint with the sample door? Or what about the broken door?” Cat was speaking quickly now. “Chip some paint off of that and, um, maybe…”

“Look, I can try. But you need to understand that it’s not a perfect science. Paint fades and different companies have different color gradients…” She could practically see him shrug on the other end of the phone. “At best, they’ll be a close match.”

“Right. Right.” Biting down on her fingernail, Cat thought for a moment. “If the landlord had extra paint lying around where would he keep it?”

“I don’t know. A spare closet?”

“No,” Cat considered. “Those were all empty when I moved in.”

“Basement storage?”

Cat stilled. Then she nodded. “Yes. Yeah. I almost forgot!”

“Haven’t been down there in a while, huh?”

She shook her head. “It’s not exactly welcoming.”

“Might want to make an exception this time.”

Unsaid, both of them were thinking the same thing—especially considering the amount of work Matt had already done for her. Don’t fuck it up now.

“Right. Okay. I’ll do that. I’ll call you with what I find.”

“There’s no rush.”

And again, with that flick of casual indifference, Matt somehow managed to make Cat sound equal parts over-eager and pathetic.

Ugh. He made her feel dramatic.

“Right. Whatever. Talk later then.” And then, because of that, she said even more ridiculous things, like that. Could she have made her offense more obvious?

Pathetic.

Ending the call, she shoved her phone into the pocket of her slacks. With a deliberate growl, she turned on her heel once more, this time heading for her bedroom. She’d need to change before she went trekking into the basement of the building. She hadn’t been completely honest with Matt just now.

She had, in fact, been done there once before.

And that had been enough.

Dangerously steep stairs led down into a musky, low-ceiled rock-walled enclosure. Wooden pallets lined the floor which grew damp with the spring frost. A few boxes were stacked on these. Three bare bulbs hung from the short, narrow space. It was dark, shadowy and undoubtedly loaded with spiders.

When Cat had first moved in she’d gone down there to store some household items. She’d never even made it down from the last stair, however. The site of the moldy, claustrophobic space had convinced her that whatever she couldn’t manage to squeeze inside her apartment was better left given to secondhand stores.

Now, in her bedroom, shrugging on a dark blue pullover sweater and a pair of tattered jeans, Cat wondered if she shouldn’t put a baseball cap on her head. Reaching for it, she also considered that it would be best to bring a flashlight down with her. And probably her phone. Just in case.

Nabbing up a large metallic flashlight, Cat carefully shut her apartment door behind her as she entered the exterior hallway of her building. Cream walls greeted her on either side. They held a slight grease on their paint; and it was best not to look to closely at the scuff marks and finger prints, and other markings, either. Still, at a glance the cream color made the space look clean. The carpet was brown and held the unmistakable scent of mold, feet, and carpet shampoo, the latter of which had clearly been applied too late. The damage had been done. It wouldn’t be fixed. So her apartment building was a little dumpy. Cat shrugged. It was home.

Turning to the left, she headed further into the building. There it was. The last door on the left. A small, slim door greeted Cat. Like all the doors on the first floor, its front was painted in a complimentary brown of the carpet. It gave the room an almost nauseating sort of neutrality. Creams, browns and, accompanying each brown-painted door on this level, a gold-plated address number on each door. But unlike Cat’s door, which was marked with a C7 this door was labeled: BASEMENT STORAGE. FIRST FLOOR.

Opening the door, Cat looked down the stairs. They were softly lit, but even the yellow glow did nothing to disguise the paint-chipped, warped, and steep, steep steps. Grabbing for the railing on the left-hand side, Cat trudged down to the bottom step. A damp sort of musk greeted her as she dropped to the cement flooring. Turning off the landing, Cat was immediately shrouded in darkness. The lights to the steps didn’t extend far. With a flick of her thumb, she turned on the flashlight.

Aiming her light first low on the ground and then steadily up and around, Cat felt her feet spinning in a slow circle. She’d almost gone completely around the room, her light catching the edges of cardboard boxes, plastic and rubber bins, one fake Christmas tree, and a pile of fishing rods, when Cat’s light flashed over a pair of sneakers. And then legs.

 

Life Reconstructed: Chapter Twelve

The next morning, slightly more hungover then she wanted to admit to herself, Cat drug her half-protesting body out of bed. Standing under the hot spray of the shower, her thoughts went back to the night before—her and Amelia sitting on the floor of her studio, candles lit on the polished wooden floors, sparking against the mirrored glass of one wall; Amelia telling Cat about her separation… (wine had a way, after all, of make best friends out of new acquaintances.)

“I still love him, you know? It’s weird but I thought, I thought once I finally found the courage to walk out the door those feelings would slip off my shoulders.” Shaking her head, Amelia took another long swallow of wine.

“I’m sorry.” Cat felt the impotence of those words sharply, but they were all she had to offer the other woman.

Amelia shrugged. “Me too. But this place. I think this place is going to be good for me. A fresh start. And you know—I always wanted to start my own business.”

“It’ll keep you occupied.”

Groaning under the spray of her shower, Cat considered that comment might have been a bit insensitive. Pressing her forehead against the porcelain tile, she remembered other things, too.

Cat telling her how lonely she’d been.

“…you know, I’m not sure but maybe Matthew is right. Maybe I did snap that door in two pieces for a reason.” Yup. She’d told Amelia about her kitchen door.

“Fuck.” Twisting off the water, Amelia threw back her stall door, reaching blindly for her towel.

“And what would that be?” Amelia asked, leaning forward. They were on the second or third bottle of wine by that point. It was that time in the drinking conversation when everything become bloated, emotional, a whispered sort of confidence…

“Maybe I was forcing myself to get out of the rut I’d found myself in.”

Amelia’s forehead crinkled as she waited for Cat to expand on that.

“Everything had become so banal, so boring. My job, my apartment. Everything was so…gray and tired.”

“Really? That’s funny.”

Cat felt her head tilt backward. “Why’s that?”

“Because that’s not how you appeared when I sat in your office the other day. You were…kind, determined. Invested. You were a breath of fresh air in the business start-up world.”

“Yeah but, I hadn’t been like that even a day earlier. It’d been a long time since I’d felt that kind of presence in my work.”

“Ah. I see.” Amelia nodded slowly. “But then you broke a door.”

Cat was solemn. “Stupid fucking door.”

Amelia raised her glass. “I’ll cheers to that.”

Wiping the moisture off her bathroom mirror, Cat felt a little of the anxiety churning at her stomach loosen. So she’d said a little more than she wanted to, then she meant to share. So she’d spilled her guts to a woman that, five days ago, she’d never met. So what.

She hadn’t said anything that wasn’t real. Wasn’t true.

And she liked Amelia—liquor notwithstanding.

“Well, here’s to stupid fucking doors,” she said, repeating herself from the night before, a smile just forming on her tight lips.

Walking back into her bedroom, she was just in time to hear her phone buzzing on her night stand. Reaching down, she saw a text message pop up on the screen.

 

F: AMELIA K.

 

I hate you for making me drink that much. J

 

And then, as if a sign of validation, Cat felt herself exhale at the message. Typing as she walked to her closet, Cat responded:

 

F: KITTY CAT CRYER

 

The feeling is mutual

 

She’d only just slid on of the doors open when her phone buzzed again.

 

F: AMELIA K.

 

When can we do it again? J

 

Cat bit her lips but it did nothing to mar the smile breaking out across her face. There was something so satisfying in having some reach out to her, to contact her…

 

F: KITTY CAT CRYER

 

You’re incorrigible! (I like that about you.)

 

F: AMELIA K.

 

Obviously one of my better qualities. Okay girl. Chin up at work today. Don’t be jealous that I’m contemplating a little hair of the dog right now, either.

 

F: KITTY CAT CRYER

 

Don’t worry. Your day will come.       

 

F: AMELIA K.

 

I’m counting on it!

 

Shaking her head, Cat reached into her closet, rifling through her clothes until she came across a light blue pullover sweater and a pair of slightly too-large pants. What she needed today was comfort; her body felt bloated, weak from indulgence. Frowning at herself in the mirror, she turned away from her shapeless, drab appearance. Still, somedays fashion be damned. Riding after the thought, she considered that, for the first time in a long time, she was looking forward to a quiet even at home later that night.

It felt nice. To be busy, to be social. The luxury of wanting a little alone time.

With a smile, she threw her purse strap over one shoulder as she headed for her front door. “Balance. That’s all you needed. A little perspective maybe, too.”

 

 

 

She’d even been willing to extend that newfound perspective on her coworker Janice. Which, it turned out, was a mistake. Some outlooks didn’t need to change. Walking into the main lobby later that same afternoon, empty coffee cup in hand, Cat had been on the verge of filling up her mug when she’d been spotted.

By none other than Janice herself.

“Hey Catherine.”

“Afternoon.” Cat smiled politely at the older woman as she placed her cup on the airport, ready to refill the mug.

“I don’t think we ever got to finish what we’d been talking about the other day…” Janice raised both eyebrows tellingly, waiting for Cat to respond

For her part, Cat tried to look blank. It was only delaying the inevitable she knew. But still…

Janice smiled meaningfully. “I know you’re looking for a new club to join.”

Cat felt her face flush. Janice hadn’t bothered to lower her voice. In fact, Cat wasn’t entirely sure this wasn’t said a bit louder than her greeting before. In the background, she heard the unmistakable chime of the credit union’s door buzzer, announcing the entrance of a new customer, the ping of keyboards as tellers quickly tallied up deposits…. She was thankful that, standing in front of the coffee cart, at least no one could see her expression. The pink rising in her cheeks couldn’t be ignored.

Cat’s smile stiffened. As if Janice’s words weren’t humiliating enough, now she’d have the benefit of an audience of her peers to overhear it. Just what she needed.

Oh, get over yourself. No one cares about your private life. And it’s not lame to join a club.

            At the words, Cat felt a little of her smile smooth.

“Did you give any thought to joining my knitting group?”

At the words, Cat stilled, unsure what to do with her face. She hadn’t thought Janice would be so…blunt about it. So direct. She probably should have known better. Janice thrived in uncomfortably atmospheres. Cat wasn’t sure if that was a byproduct of her social awkwardness, or if it was a deliberate attack strategy.

Either way, Cat scrambled for something to say She wasn’t a knitter. Probably, it would be something fun. Not her kind of fun. But someone’s, surely. Maybe. She guessed.

But to do it alongside Janice?

God no.

It’s not that Janice was so completely unlikeable—although Cat certainly didn’t seek out her company. It’s just, Janice could be…much. Overbearing, manipulative, and a little rude. Kind of like right now. She looked sympathetic but her voice was a fog-horn and her implication was only too clear. Someone needed to help out poor, pathetic Cat. And everyone should hear about how good a person Jancie was, for being the one kind enough to do it.

It was mortifying.

Either that, or Janice was oblivious.

Either way, she wasn’t exactly the company Cat was looking for.

“Oh. I may have mentioned it, but I don’t actually knit…”

“That’s all right,” Janice said, waving away her words aggressively. “It’s super easy to learn. I could teach you.”

“Oh no. I wouldn’t want to keep you from your own work.” Cat couldn’t quite meet Janice’s eyes.

“Nonsense. It’s always nice to introduce someone to the craft.”

And again, this is where Janice could get a little difficult. For as long as Cat had known her, the woman just wouldn’t let something go until she got her own way. She’d just keep politely (irrefutably politely) barreling her way past protests and arguments to the contrary until she simply wore people down. Cat had never known a woman more prone to refuse social cues and behavioral codes.

Like now.

“She can’t.”

At the introduction of a new voice to the conversation, both Janice and Cat turned to see a frail, short woman clomping up to them, her rheumy blue eyes staring directly at Janice’s arched expression.

Cat blinked. It was Mary. From cards. Mean Mary.

“Excuse me?”

“She can’t join your knitting group.” Mary said, tossing her head dismissively toward Cat.

Janice blinked, confused. “Uh, do you two know each other?”

Mary scowled, one arthritic hand curling around her plastic purse. “Why would I be talking to you now if we didn’t know each other?” she asked, one gnarled finger pointing between herself and Cat.

Janice nodded slowly. “Right. Of course.” She looked to Cat for an explanation.

Cat wasn’t sure she had one—and anyway, she wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. (And…Mary sort of scared her.)

“She’s on our Canasta team.”

“Oh, right” Janice said again. Then she brightened. “Well, maybe she’d be able to do bo—”

“What day of the week is your knitting group?” It wasn’t a question, more an accusation.

Janice squirmed. “Tuesdays.”

“Yup,” Mary said, almost before Janice finished speaking. “Nope. It wouldn’t work.”

Cat loved Mary.

Seeing no other way around the situation, Janice relented. Conceding the point, she turned back to Cat, who was now leaning against the coffee station, her cup of coffee half-obscuring her trembling mouth.

“Well, I’m sure we’re disappointed but…but Cansta sounds fun too.”

Mary harrumphed.

Janice looked vaguely harassed. “But, uh, I suppose I should get back to work…”

“Yeah. Me too….” Pushing off the coffee cart, Cat nodded towards Janice’s quickly back-pedaling figure. Then she glanced at the older woman still standing between them. “Nice to see you, Mary.” Lowering her voice, she added as she made to walk by: “and thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mary muttered. “Just remember not to stink.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“See you Monday. Don’t be late. Maybe I’ll even let you be my partner.”

“Monday?” Hearing the words, Janice, ever-hopeful, spun back around. “But I thought you said you played on Tuesday?”

“And what?” Mary asked, placing her hands on her hips. “Is there some law in town saying we can only play one night of the week?”

Janice actually took a half-step backward. “Uh, no…”

“I didn’t think so.” And with that, head held at an almost regal angle, Mary marched forward, toward the waiting, and quietly amused, bank teller who’d heard every damn word.

Walking back to her office, Cat considered that by now every member of the credit union probably knew that she belonged on a Canasta team, made up of almost entirely retired women…and one lone girl in her late twenties.

Opening her office door, Cat smiled.

She’d made the team.

She’d made the fucking team.

“Yes.”

 

Life Reconstructed: Chapter Eleven

Clomping down the sidewalk, Cat played out her conversation with Matt in her head. Her fingers clenched down at her sides. “So he thinks I’m dramatic, does he?” she muttered, her feet taking her to the front door of Amelia’s new business. Pulling on the handle, she took herself inside. A cramped entrance greeted her—a small rectangular space with light green paint on the walls replete with a small wooden receptionists desk, a long, thin bench riding low beneath the windows of the exterior facing wall and three faded and framed motivational posters. On the far left were two bathrooms and standing just behind the receptionist desk was an arched doorway, leading to the studio.

“And he knows why I went there, to pay him,” she muttered darkly as she took herself into the back of the building. Unlike the front, this room was large, a big open square with glass-mirrors lined up against one wall and, against the other, a hand-washing station and a large, dented, wardrobe. In the middle was polished wooden floors. And nothing else. A wide open space. At the very back of the room were yet two more rooms, both shrouded in darkness with the approaching evening.

Cat snarled. “I was being polite. Courteous. Obviously two things he knows nothing about.”

“I take it your visit to your kind-of, not-really friend didn’t go well?”

Snapping her head at the question, Cat saw Amelia emerge from one of the darkened back rooms. She held two wine glasses in one hand a bottle of chardonnay in the other.

A little embarrassed, Cat nonetheless laughed. Running a hand through her hair, she made an exaggerated face. “Got in on the first guess.”

Without a word, Amelia handed the glasses to cat. With a snap, she twisted off the cap on the wine bottle and proceeded to fill the glasses—to the brims.

Setting the bottle on the floor, she took one of the glasses. Then, holding it out in a cheer, she said: “Well, forget about him.”

“This’ll help.” With a raise of her hand, Cat saluted her new friend. And suddenly, Cat realized that that was what Amelia was. A friend. Just like that. That fast. “And anyway, I want to see your new digs.”

“Yay! Okay. Let me take you on the grand tour.” Amelia smiled, reaching back blindly, she grabbed Cat’s free hand, leading her forward. “We’ll start at the front. That way I can describe what I envision it’ll look like after renovations.”

Back in the front entrance, Amelia frowned in concentration. Following her gaze, Cat waited. “Well, the green paint is definitely going.”

“Good call.”

“And so’s the bench.”

“Not very welcoming.”

Amelia gave her sideways smile. “It’s also unbelievably uncomfortable. Terrible on the bum.”

Cat tilted her head hesitantly. “Is there room…”

Amelia nodded. “Normally no. But I found chairs that work. European design. Small, elegant. Teal green.”

Cat pursed her lips. “Nice.”

“Thank you.” Amelia swung her gaze around the room. “And the pictures.”

“Tacky.”

“Outdated.”

“What will you put up instead?”

Amelia shrugged. “I was thinking different cameras over the ages.”

“Cool.”

“Stenciled work.”

“Do you know someone?”

“Not yet.”

Cat laughed. “But you will.”

“Other than that, it’ll pretty much look the same. Well, I may get a new reception desk. But that’d be saved for a later date.”

Cat shifted her head back. The receptionist desk was a bit dated, curved in a crescent shape with white plastic paneling down the front and a cream Formica counter on top. But Amelia was right. It could wait for another day.

“Okay.”

“And in here…” Turning abruptly, she brought them back into the main studio floor. She shrugged. “Well. Actually not much will change here, either.”

“You’ll keep the mirrors?” Cat took a drink of her wine, contemplating the floor-to-ceiling wall of mirrors ahead of her.

“That?” Amelia made a face. “God, no. That’ll be the first thing out of here.”

“It’s a bit ballet class.”

“It’s a bit jazzercise.”

Cat laughed. “Yeah.”

“But other than that—” Amelia turned them in a tight circle,  her eyes gazing out at the room as though it were the first time, as though she hadn’t already noted every crack, ever chip, every bit of… “It’s perfect.”

“What about that?” Cat nodded with her chin toward the mammoth wardrobe. It looked like something straight out of the seventies.

“What about it?”

“Keeping it?” Trying to infuse a neutrality in her voice, Cat didn’t want to offend Amelia. But honestly, the thing was an eyesore.

Patting the heavily lined wood, Amelia smiled. “Yes.”

“What’ll you do with it?”

“Costumes.”

“Costumes?”

“And props.”

“I thought you were a photographer?”

Amelia laughed. “I am.”

“What do you need costumes for?”

“Style. Mood. Setting.”

Cat considered that for a moment. “Okay.”

Amelia gave her an amused look. “You don’t sound convinced.”

“To be fair, the only photography I really know if is for headshots, school pictures, and weddings.”

“Of which I’ll do only one.”

“School pictures?”

“Funny girl.”

“Portrait photography,” Cat murmured. She remembered the phrase from Amelia’s application. “What exactly does that entail?”

“Pretty much whatever the client wants.”

“And the costumes?”

“Again. Whatever the client wants.”

“And some of them want to dress up?”

“You’d be surprised.”

Cat took another drink. “Still, I’ve got to be honest. The wardrobe is hideous.” There goes her sense of delicacy.

Amelia grimaced, glancing back up at the honey-blonde wood. “Well, I know.” She sighed, as though admitting that had been difficult. “But it’s so damn convenient.”

“Yeah.”

“It’ll go on the maybe-someday replace list.”

Cat squinted at the door, unwilling to let her thoughts roam too freely. There was something about that closet that kept click-clicking…

But Amelia had already told Cat to forget about Matthew for the night.

Cat swirled her wine glass. “And in those rooms?” She pointed to the backrooms.

“Ah. My extra-circulars.”

Cat snorted. “Your what?”

Amelia took her forward, stepping into the door on the left. Inside was a small, square room. It, too, was a painted in the same pale green as the front reception area. Small windows marched across two of the four walls. When Amelia took her into the next room, it appeared much the same, just a mirror image (except of course for the wine bottles that Amelia had purchased that evening, which were lined up on a small table.) Small, square, boring.

“When I found this place, these rooms were like little bonus features.”

“Yeah?”

“For most of my indoor work, I’ll use the main studio. It has the room and the airiness necessary. But these…” Amelia smiled. “The possibilities are endless. Special photoshoots. Classes. Showings. Discussion groups. Limitless.”

Cat nodded.

Amelia turned in a circle. “Don’t be deceived. It’s there very non-descriptness that makes them so perfect. They’re transformative.”

Cat grinned. “You know, when I very first saw the address on your application, my heart skipped.”

Amelia raised one eyebrow before taking a drink from her glass, silently inviting Cat to go on.

“This building. It’s not had the best track record,” Cat said, choosing her words carefully now.

“I sort of figured that out myself.”

“You did?”

“The price was kind of a steal.”

Cat sighed. “Yeah.”

“It was a ballet studio.”

“And a daycare center.” Cat frowned. “And I think it was even a clothing boutique at one time.”

“Worried I won’t stick?” But there was no defensiveness in Amelia’s question. Only curiosity.

Cat grinned. “No. That’s my point. I think this space finally found its home.”

Amelia held out her glass. “Here’s to something new.”

Cat clinked glasses. Something new, indeed.

 

Life Reconstructed: Chapter Ten

Driving the three miles it took to get from the liquor store to McBoy’s, Cat felt her insides tighten. By this time next week, her kitchen would be completely restored. With any luck, the new cabinet door would look exactly like all the others. Not new. Certainly not different.

True to his word, when Matthew had called Cat earlier that afternoon, he’d been able to price out all the material costs. At her word, he’d purchased what was needed and assured her he’d get started on it as soon as possible—and despite her protestations to the contrary, he’d assured her she could pay him back later; he didn’t want to wait to get started.

And, likewise, she’d reminded him that she’d also be paying for labor—which, he’d conspicuously forgotten to mention when offering her the projected estimate.

“So you’ve said,” had been his long-suffering sigh.

“And I meant it. Still do.”

“I know.”

“So? How much?”

“Let’s just wait until it’s done first.”

“Fine. Either way, I’m paying you.” Though it wasn’t said, both heard the silent rider to this statement: even if it sucks.

He’d sighed again. She could practically see one hand rubbing down the side of his head, wearily. “Again. I know.”

 

 

 

Now, pulling up to the backside of the hardware store, Cat felt her foot press down resolutely on the brake pedal. Then, with a crank of her wrist, she shut off her car and, reaching across to the passenger seat, she picked up the six-pack of beer and headed up the long, rutted dirt path to the large, industrial building. Unlike the last time she’d visited the backside of the hardware store, now Cat’s footing was sure, steady as she walked up to the man door just on the side of the building.

Turning her wrist, she quickly entered the low-lit warehouse. And that’s what it felt like: hard, dusty cement flooring met her feet, with cinder block paneling on the walls, wooden-beam joists crisscrossing at the ceiling—and marching across the top half were grimy, small windows. They let in just enough light to be useless. Even the fluorescent bulbs, scattered heavily throughout the space, gave the room little brightness.

And there, standing at the far wall, bent over the table-saw where she’d last seen him, was Matthew McBoy. Only today, he wasn’t wearing the usual flannel shirt. No, instead he was sporting a plain white long-sleeved cotton shirt, liberally specked with a fine yellow coat of wood shavings.

But this time there would be no distractions caused by the man working before her. Cat was intent on making this visit different than the last. No more anxiety. No more bumbling. No more blushing. Keeping her attention focused on the task at hand, she felt her fingers curl more securely around the cardboard container of beer. Walking forward, she waited until Matthew had turned off the saw—his eyes intent as he leaned down over the wood lain out on the table, his hands carefully smoothing up and down on edge—before Cat let her voice be heard.

“Hi Matthew.”

With a snap, his brought his head up. Through the goggles he wore around his eyes, Cat was certain a gleam of surprise, perhaps even confusion, played across the lenses.

“Catherine?”

“Please, call me Cat.” She heard the plea in her voice and clamped down on it. Catherine sounded stiff, formal. And for some reason, she didn’t want that association with him.

With a jerk, he pushed his goggles up on his head. Now she could clearly see the glint in those brown eyes. Then she watched them flicker, down to the present she held down at her side. Then back up to her and then down to the beers again. Making connections.

And in that instant, Cat knew she’d made a mistake. Made a fool out of herself.

His mouth opened, his brows drawing together. “What, uh, what’s up?”

It was less than welcoming. It was almost uncomfortable.

Tilting her chin up a notch, Cat heard the tight ring in her unusually high voice. “I came to pay for the material.”

His eyes widened even more. “Oh. I thought…”

She waited.

“You didn’t need to come all the way down here to do that. I thought you’d just pay me at the end.”

Her skin itched. Another mistake. Worse than sounding desperate, Matthew clearly thought she was desperate. “For your labor, yes. That was the deal.” She pointed in a general capacity of his workshop. “But the material? You shouldn’t have had to pay for it yourself at all.”

He nodded. “Okay.” Walking around the edge of the table, he reached his right hand into the front of his jeans pocket, pulling out a crinkled receipt. He held it out to her.

At the same moment, Cat reached inside her purse, her movements awkward by way of the beers she still held tightly in one hand. Fishing clumsily inside the contents of her bag, she managed retrieve her wallet. By then she realized…. Annoyance flashed, licking at her brain. She’d have to put the beer down anyway. She couldn’t open her wallet one-handed.

With a sigh, hating the rushed, betrayed, jerk of her fumbling body, she placed the six-pack down at her feet before rifling through her wallet for the cash. Taking it out, she quickly swapped it for the paper receipt.

“Thank you.” Her voice was almost petulant. “For purchasing everything. I appreciate how quickly you’re moving.”

He inclined his head. “Yeah.”

“Is that it?” She nodded toward the rectangular piece of wood on the worktable.

Matthew followed the motion of her gaze. Then he nodded. “Yup.”

She whistled. “You’re really not wasting any time.”

One eyebrow lifted. “I thought you just said…?”

“Of course,” she bit out, cutting off his questioning tone. “I just mean—”

“Would you like me to wait on it?”

She knew he was teasing her, picking at her. In response she glowered.

He grinned.

She made a sweeping gesture with her hands, encompassing the workbench. “Please, don’t let me keep you.” Pushing her feet backward, Cat turned around.

She hadn’t taken more than four steps when he called out to her.

“Hey. Cat?”

She half-turned. “Yeah?”

“Don’t forget your beer.”

She flicked her hand toward it dismissively. “Oh that? It’s for you.”

His eyebrows rose again, but she could see the insincerity. He’d known it was for him. He was teasing her again.

“Why?”

Turning the rest of the way around, Cat studied him for a quiet moment. Then she hitched up one shoulder. “To say thank you, I guess.”

His lips twitched. “Okay?”

“Look, I know you don’t really want to do this—I know that Birdie all but forced the issue.”

He inclined his head a little further. She wasn’t sure if it was in agreement or exception. She didn’t want to find out.

“But I really appreciate it, you know? I wanted to…I don’t know. It’s not a big deal or anything. I’m not even sure what you like.”

He glanced down at it. “This’s good.”

She rocked back on her heels. “Is it? Good. Enjoy.” Shifting back around, she resumed her journey toward the door. Her chest felt tight.

Behind her, Matt chuckled again. “Are you always so dramatic?”

Cat paused. Her head snapped back. And then—God, as if to prove his point—she turned back around. “Excuse me?”

“I bet you are.”

She felt her face flush. “What are you talking about?”

“How’d your kitchen door get snapped in half?”

She swallowed. “I told you…”

He waved away her answer. “Why’d you come rushing down here to pay me?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I hardly rushed.”

“And what was with all that, just now?” He waved in her general direction.

She stared at him.

He tipped the beer towards her. “Do you want one?”

Confusion splashed across her face. “N-no. I can’t.”

“No?”

“I have plans tonight.”

“Too bad.”

She opened her mouth—

“Thanks for the beers.” And with that, he moved back toward his work bench, the beer wrapped around one hand.

“You’re welcome.” It came out almost as a question.

 

Life Reconstructed: Chapter Nine

Hunched over her computer screen the next afternoon, Cat’s attention was rudely roused by the sudden, loud ringing of her phone. Frowning, she turned toward the clunky piece of office equipment. She was almost tempted to let it go to voicemail. She had just a few more pieces to review before signing off on the application form before her.

But at the last moment, she felt her hand inch forward, taking the handset off the cradle. “Fireside Credit Union,” she droned, the words slipping almost thoughtlessly out of her mouth. How many phone calls had she started with those very words?

So many that she didn’t bother to switch her attention from the document on her computer screen, her eyes glancing left and right, down to the next line, then left again. “This is Catherine Cryer speaking.”

“Ms. Cryer?”

At the words, Cat started. With a fluster, she dropped her fingers from the keyboard on her desk. Her back straightened just slightly. The voice on the other end of the receiver was masculine. Deep. And it did something funny to her stomach, just hearing it.

She hadn’t actually spoken that many words to the man, but Cat was left in no confusion as to who was on the other end of the line.

“Yes. Hello, Matthew.” Matthew McBoy. Cat was satisfied with the dignified control in her voice. The fact that her fingers shook just the tiniest bit on the top of her desk, she chalked up to surprise.

She hadn’t expected to hear from.

Well, not so soon.

She frowned. Her conversation with him yesterday floated across her consciousness:

            “I’ll price them out and get back to you back tomorrow. Okay?”

Well, whatever.

“I hope I’m not interrupting—?” He paused, just the slightest bit, waiting for her contradict him.

She didn’t disappoint. “No, of course not,” Cat assured him. And, just for effect, she minimized the document glaring out at her across the bluish-white light of her computer. Of course Matt couldn’t see this action, but still… “What can I do for you?”

The moment the question came out of her mouth, Cat knew herself for a fool. She’d tried too hard, in that moment, to appear cool and collected. And, ironically, she’d only come out conspicuously pretentious.

She knew why he was calling.

“Uh…you asked me to cost out the price of a new door?”

“Right. Of course.” Cat laughed, groping wildly for an excuse, something to cover her blunder. “Excuse me. It’s been one of those mornings. Ten o’clock and it’s already been an interminably-long day. I’m afraid I’ve got zombie brain.”

There. She was actually pretty impressed with the sincerity present in that lie.

Matt laughed quietly.

Her stomach clenched. Tightened. Spasmed at the low rumble of sound.

“I thought zombies ate brains?”

“And now you’ve fully grasped how dire the situation is,” Cat mumbled.

Matt chuckled again.

Cat grinned. But, sensing the end of this topic of conversation, she plunged forward. “Now, what have you got for me?”

“All right…”

 

 

 

At five fifteen that afternoon, Cat cringed at the loud door buzzer as she crossed over the slightly greasy threshold of Main Time Liquor Store. A thin, stained carpet of what she supposed had once been light blue stared up at Cat as she veered to the right of the doors. She walked with purpose, but it was only a defense. She had almost no idea what she was doing here.

Well, that wasn’t quite true.

She knew why she was there.

To get beer.

Walking up to the wall of glass display cases—marched one after another and housing every type of beer, from domestics to imports and even a few micro-breweries, she frowned, her fingers pointing as she considered the selection before her. When she’d reached the end of the line, she started back at the beginning, running her eyes of the selections again.

The only problem was, she had no idea what kind of beer she should get…

“Trouble making up your mind?”

At the question, Cat’s head picked up. Turning at the sound of the voice, she felt her eyes widen just the tiniest bit. Standing across from her, her arms loaded down with assorted bottles of wine, was Amelia Kelley.

“Amelia, how are you?”

Cat was treated with one of the largest smiles she’d ever seen. Amelia’s brightly painted lips spread so wide apart that Cat wondered if it didn’t hurt a little.

“I’m great.” A dimple appeared on Amelia’s left cheeks. “Thanks in a large part to you.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t do all that much…”

Amelia shook her head. “Without you, my dreams would still be paper fantasies. You made them a reality. Thank you. Again.”

Cat felt her face heating up. “I only approve of what I believe in. You created that.”

“I got the keys to my studio today,” Amelia said then, the words slipping out with an airy sort of quality. It was as if she were testing the weight and feel of them as they exited her mouth. She gestured toward the copious amount of alcohol in her arms. “That’s actually why I’m here today.”

Cat grinned, tilting her head a little to one side. “Because you decided to become a winery, after all?”

Amelia laughed. “Just for tonight.”

Cat grinned, eyeing up the mass quantity of wine. “That’s a lot of celebrating.”

Amelia grinned. “Especially for one person. But I’m up to the challenge.”

Cat nodded uncertainly. She wasn’t sure what to say to that—

Amelia, however, didn’t seem the least disturbed by her singular status. “I probably won’t drink it all tonight.”

“Probably not.”

“—But I couldn’t figure out what I wanted. So I just nabbed a bit of everything.”

“I can see that.”

Amelia nodded with her chin toward the beer cases. “How about you?”

“Me?”

“Looking for something in particular?”

Cat made a face. “I wish.”

“Huh?”

“No, I mean…” Cat felt her hands open expressively. “I’m not buying the beer for myself.”

“Oh?”

“I’m getting it for a friend. Well, no—he’s not really a friend.”

“No?”

“No.” Cat’s voice was firm. “He’s really more of an acquaintance. And not one who’s entirely pleased with even that slight arrangement.”

Amelia tried to bit back a smile. She failed.

“But he’s doing me this favor and I thought…”

“Bribery?”

Cat sighed. “Yeah.”

“But you don’t know what he drinks,” Amelia considered, her voice conversational.

“It was a stupid idea.”

“No way.” Amelia juggled the bottles in her arms. “What’s he like?”

“Quiet.”

“Okay.”

“He’s a man’s man, you know… a handyman.”

“Okay.”

“Sawdust, flannel shirts, and mumbled replies.”

Amelia considered for a moment. “Hops.”

“Hops?”

“Yeah. The more the better. Get an IPA—maybe a slam.”

“Are we still speaking English?”

“Not a beer fan?”

Cat grinned. “No. Wine and margaritas are pretty much my mainstays.”

“Perfect.”

Cat felt her eyebrows arch just a little bit.

“I’ve thought about it. It would be irresponsible to drink this all alone.” Amelia’s eyes traveled tellingly over the wine in her arms. “Want to join me?”

Cat blinked in surprise. What? “Me?”

“Who else? In fact, the more I think about it the more it makes sense. After all, without you—”

“Without me, another loan manager would have signed off on your application.”

Amelia wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “Help a girl out. It’s depressing, getting drunk alone.”

Cat laughed as she was meant to. “Okay. Yeah. I’m in.” She’d never had any intention of saying no. It would have never occurred to her. She’d simply needed a moment to realize the invitation for what it was. Through a buzzing light-headedness, Cat felt smile stretch across her face to reveal that of Amelia. “Though, I still insist that you have nothing to thank me for.”

Amelia inclined her head vaguely. “Meet at my studio? In an hour? Will that give you enough time to drop off the beers to your kind-of guy friend?”

Cat nodded, resolutely ignoring the latter half of her question. “Sounds good.” She didn’t have to ask where Amelia’s studio was. She remembered from the loan application.

“Fab!” Amelia sang. “See you then!” With an ease of grace, she turned around then and headed for the cash register.

Turning back to the stacks of beers ahead of her, Cat knew the feeling fighting its way up her body. Anticipation.

 

Life Reconstructed: Chapter Eight

An hour and a half later, Cat was surprised to note the time. More than that, she was surprised that she was still there, sitting on the edge of a thinly-padded seat of Julie’s Café, playing cards fanned out across her fingers, in front of her eyes, her left leg bop-bop-bopping impatiently while Erna considered her hand.

“Good God, while I’m young here,” Mary finally barked across at her partner. Not for the first time that afternoon, Cat found herself genuinely thankful that she’d been partnered with Birdie (for obvious reasons, or so Mary muttered, when the teams were picked; that way, if Cat stunk it’d be Birdie’s problem since she was the one who invited her.)

Only Cat hadn’t stunk.

Much as Mary had predicted, she’d picked up on the strategy of the game rather quickly. But that wasn’t the biggest surprise. At least, not for the girl easily forty years younger than the rest of her companions…. Cat was having fun. She was having a great time, actually.

Erna slapped a card down on the discard pile, giving Mary a long, dark scrutiny as she did so—her nose lifted upward a little. “Too late for that, my dear.”

Harriet snorted.

Birdie elbowed Cat.

“Careful,” Mary said, but she wasn’t wagging her finger at Erna. Her milky eyes were glaring straight across the table at a slightly surprised Cat. “You won’t always have that ass.”

“Mary!”

“What? I saw her when she walked to the bathroom. She’s got a nice tush.”

“Oh God.” This came from Erna.

“You know it’s true,” Mary said, still talking to Cat.

Flushing, her bottom wiggling uncomfortably on her chair, Cat shrugged. “I…uh, I don’t know. I’ve never really thought—”

“Oh, enough of that.” Mary snapped her hand in midair, the action quick, sharp, like a whip. “Of course you have. You’ve looked over your shoulder in the mirror. You’ve studied it. Don’t lie to an old woman.”

“What does your being old have to do with it?”

“And don’t be impertinent, either!”

Cat smiled. She couldn’t help it. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

“Speaking of that, why are you here, with us old cows anyway?” Mary gave Erna a quick glance. “Especially with an ass like that.”

“Speak for yourself,” Harriet growled. “I’m no barn animal.”

“I don’t know, Har. We’ve all seen you eat…”

“Oh hush!”

Cat giggled at their antics. In the ninety minutes she’d spent with them, this style of conversation had become anything but unusual. It worked only because, through the biting sarcasm, there was open affection—and everyone clearly felt it.

“Get ya another refill?”

At the introduction of a new voice to their laughter, Cat looked up. Standing just to the left of her seat was their server, an older woman in her mid-forties with too much eye-liner on and a brown smudge on her otherwise white apron. Looking down at her coffee cup, Cat was surprised to see she was, indeed, empty.

“Not for me,” Erna said, covering the top of her mug with on fragile, almost crookedly-shaped hand.

“Me neither.”

“I think we’re good here, Marnie. Thank you.”

Mary looked up at the wall-clock that Cat had been deliberately avoiding all evening. “Shoot. Is it almost eight?” She shook her head. “Somebody better win this hand already. I’ve got to get home.”

Erna nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”

Cat smiled tightly. Staring down at her hand, she waited for Mary to finish her turn. She waited for someone to go out…

 

 

 

It was almost eight-thirty by the time Cat let herself into her apartment that evening. Dropping her purse limply down beside her front door, Cat kicked her shoes off as she walked down the long, narrow hallway toward her bedroom door. She hadn’t bothered to order dinner at Julie’s when she and Birdie arrived—after all, she hadn’t planned to stay. And then, in the heat of learning the game, she’d forgotten. With a weary glance, for a split second she paused with her hand curled around the doorknob to her bedroom, her eyes taking in the kitchen. She could probably scrimmage up something edible…

Only, she wasn’t very hungry. With a twist of her wrist, Cat felt her door fall open. Walking forward, she found her lips splitting into an unexpected smile as she remembered Mary’s final whoop, resound whooping when she and Eleanor had gone out, winning the last game.

“Mary’s always a bit of a poor sport.”

“Spoken like a loser,” Mary had retorted.

“Hey, at least this time she didn’t stick her tongue out at you.” This cheerful piece of advice had come for Harriet.

All the while, unable to help herself, Cat had giggled. Then she’d laughed.

“They can call me a poor sport if they want,” Mary had told her, bending down conspiratorially. Then, loud enough to be heard, she’d hitched her thumb over one shoulder. “When you’ve got that as a partner…well, you take whatever success you can—ow! Hey now…”

“Oh, I’ll give you something to hey now! about,” Eleanor had muttered, dropping the fingers which had just flicked Mary behind her ear back down to her side.

 

 

 

Shuffling fully into her dark bedroom, Cat laughed softly to herself. Flicking on her bedside lamp, she swapped her slacks for fleece, her button-down tunic for a cotton t-shirt. Yawning, she shuffled into her bathroom, which had two convenient access doors—one leading from her livingroom and one directly from her bedroom. The yellow glare of her cheap light fixtures blazed into the hollows of her cheeks, washing out her already pale complexion.

If someone would have told her three days ago that she’d find herself playing Canasta on a Monday night with a group of woman older probably than Cat’s own grandmother she’d have told them…well, she’d have been so shocked by the absurdity of it all she’d probably have been stunned silent.

And if that wasn’t outrageous enough as it was, Cat hadn’t wanted the evening to end, either.

“Thank you so much for letting me join you ladies,” she’d told them as they stacked up the cards into a neat pile at the end of the evening. Pushing her chair back, she made to stand up.

“It was a pleasure, my dear.”

“You have a natural talent for it.”

“It’s always lovely to introduce new players to the game.”

“At least you didn’t make a complete ass out of yourself.”

Smiling, with a half-wave that made her feel more self-conscious—why was saying goodbye always such a protracted affair? Cat swing her purse over her shoulder. “Have a good night, ladies.”

“You too.”

“See you soon.”

“Anytime you want to play, you know where to find us!”

On those words, Cat had walked up to the antiqued cash register at Julie’s Café to pay for the cups of coffee she’d consumed.

Smiling in her dinky vanity mirror, Cat rubbed lotion on her arms and neck before reaching for her toothbrush. Her movements were robotic, soothing as only things of routine can become. Within minutes she’d returned to her bedroom. Pulling back her quilted covers, Cat clambered into her bed. Settling against her pillows, she reached over to shut off the lights.

What happened next was the damnedest thing.

In the midst of the silver light managing to slink through the thick curtains over her windows, through the wisps of sound as late-night travelers trekked down her side-street, Cat felt the soft, wet moisture of tears fall onto her cheeks.

Sniffing with something of snort, she turned on her side. Curling her legs up close to her chest, she felt something explode inside her stomach. Her shoulders quaked, the breath burning, rending as she sobbed.

It was silly, really.

She’d had a lovely night. A great night.

With someone else’s friends.

Life Reconstructed: Chapter Seven

Walking slowly into the sinking afternoon sun, her feet in no particular hurry to zip home and…do what, exactly?—Cat considered her options: watch more TV? Play solitaire? Darkly comedic as it was, her next thought tugged Cat’s lips up the slightest fraction of an inch. Probably, she should take the opportunity to rearrange her snack and soup shelves, now that she didn’t have doors covering either set of scattered arrangements.

Whoop. Crazy Monday afternoon happening at the Cryer residence.

She felt her lips snarl now. .

“Good afternoon, Cat. It is Cat, isn’t it? I tell you what, old age is nothing to envy…”

At onslaught of what appeared to be a one-sided conversation, Cat half turned to see Margaret McBoy walking up towards her. Directly behind her, parked in front of a carefully worded sigh: Reserved Parking. All Others Towed—was a flashy red sports car. As Cat watched, bemused, Margaret pocked her keys.

It was a car that screamed style, money, and youth. Yet, oddly, Cat had a feeling that Margaret rode in the driver’s with an ease of elegance that belied her age.

“Hello Margaret. And yes, it’s Cat.” She smiled.

Margaret shook her head. “I swear to it, I forget more than I remember now.” She sent Cat a toothy smile; a smudge of her wild pink lipstick was smeared across one of her front teeth. Cat was just opening her mouth to tell her, when Margaret continued. “Speaking of that, did I tell you that no one calls me Margaret?”

Cat’s thoughts stumbled, brought to a scattered end. “Uh, no.”

“I didn’t think so.” Margaret’s cheeks creased as she twinkled in amusement. Cat wasn’t sure she’d ever met someone who infused so much happiness in the air simply by standing in it. “In fact, I think you’re the first person to call me that in years.”

“Oh.” Cat wasn’t sure what else to say. For one thing, Margaret had yet to tell her what everyone did call her. And for another, Cat had met this peppery woman only once before—and it’s not like today’s run-in had been scheduled.

“Birdie.”

Cat felt her eyebrows rise in amusement. “Birdie?”

“That’s what everyone calls me.”

“Yeah, I know. I mean, I got that. But—why?” There was hardly any connection between the two names.

In some corner of her mind, Cat realized that she and “Birdie” were still standing outside on the dirt-packed parking lot at the back of a hardware store, absolutely blocking the path of any delivery drivers…having a nice little chat as though nothing were amiss about that.

But then again, there was always the chance that Matt would overhear them and come out…

Whoa. Where the hell had that come from?

Still, Cat noticed that she was standing a little taller now, smiling a little brighter now. Just in case.

“You know, I can’t remember!” Birdie giggled again. And that’s what the sound was, too. A girlish giggle about fifty years too young for her body. Still, like the car, somehow it fit. She brought a finger up to her chin, tap-taping it there as she thought. Finally, she turned her large eyes up to Cat, shrugging dismissively. “Been called Birdie almost my whole life.”

Cat nodded, unsure what to say. There wasn’t really anywhere to go with that story.

“How about you?”

“Me?”

“Is Cat your actual name?”

Cat smiled instinctively. “Uh, no. it’s Catherine.”

“Umm, yes, I suppose that’s what I figured.”

“Disappointed?”

Birdie lifted one shoulder. “No. Only, well, I was hoping—”

“That my mother was obsessed with singing cats?” Cat leaned down to deliver the joke.

Birdie giggled again. “Oh, goodness!”

Cat laughed, too. She had a feeling it was the only natural reaction around Birdie. “No such luck. It’s just Catherine.”

“Nothing plain about that name.”

Cat kicked at the loose gravel underfoot. “No.”

Out of her peripheral vision, Cat watched Birdie’s head shift suddenly, her gaze roaming the industrial buildings hugging the hardware store on either side, as though struck by a new thought.

“What are you doing here?”

That wasn’t the question Cat had been expecting. Still, not much about Birdie seemed to be predictable.

Hurriedly hitching her head over one shoulder, Cat pointed toward McBoy’s rear entrance. “I had to drop off the doors for Matthew.”

“Oh, yes. That’s right.” Birdie smiled. “Was he on good behavior?”

Cat stuttered.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“I didn’t—”

“Don’t let that put you off. He’s a good guy. A great one, in fact.”

“I’m sure.”

Birdie leaned in close. “And I just know, despite his growling, he’s absolutely tickled to be working on this project. He thinks I don’t know it, but I do. This business,” she waved dismissively at the hardware store sharing her last name. “It’s not his dream. Of course, he thinks it’d break my heart to hear that. But I know.”

Cat swallowed, her brain sluggish in the whirlwind of information she had no business hearing.

“This is good practice for him. You’re good for him.”

Cat nodded again, slowly, noncommittally (she hoped). Desperate, she looked for another tract for conversation; oddly, it never occurred to her to simply end the conversation. That would have meant going home. Alone.

“What, ah, what are you doing here?”

Birdie started a little at the question, as if shaken out of her own reverie. She looked back at her car, as if the sight of it would remind her. “Oh, it’s Monday. Me and girls always play Canasta down at Julie’s Café on Mondays.”

“Oh.” That sort of made sense. Julie’s Café was about half a block down from here. But it had its own parking lot. Small, granted, but not likely to be filled at 4:45 p.m.

Birdie seemed to understand Cat’s mild confusion. “I spent the better part of my marriage making sacrifices to my husband’s business. Evening hours, weekends, doubles and mountains of paperwork…sometimes, whole days would go by and I wouldn’t even see him.” She looked lovingly then at the bluish-gray of the exterior building. “He loved this store.”

Cat nodded.

Shaking herself forcibly, Birdie looked back at Cat. “One of my only real recompenses for all those years was the coveted reserved parking spot I’ve secured for myself over there.” With a flick of her head, she nodded toward that red flashy car. “It might not seem it, but it’s prime. I’m within walking distance of the café, the post office, the health food shop, two convenience stores, and a small beauty mart.”

Cat bit her lip. Now she understood. “It would be a shame not to use it at every available opportunity.”

Birdie clicked her tongue. “That’s exactly how I feel about it.”

“Well,” again, Cat felt that insistent realization that her and Birdie’s conversation had come to a natural close. To continue it would only be to delay the older woman from her card game. And though Cat had enjoyed their conversation, she didn’t want to intrude on Birdie’s goodwill, either. “I don’t want to keep you…”

And again, as she’d done with Matthew, Cat took a big step backward, her intentions clear. “Have a good day.” She took another step backward. Only, unlike Matthew, Birdie reached out a hand, the act pausing Cat’s movements.

“Do you play?”

“Excuse me?”

Birdie smiled. “It would be nice to have some fresh blood in the game.” She tilted her head to one side. “Unless, of course, you haves plans.”

It took Cat a moment to answer. “No,” she finally admitted. It wasn’t as humiliating as she’d feared. “No, I don’t.” She shrugged. “But I don’t know how to play—what did you call it?”

“Canasta.”

“Yeah. That.”

Reaching for her arm, Birdie curled hers through the crook in Cat’s elbow. “Well, that’s no bother. We’ll teach you.”

“Isn’t it supposed to be complicated?”

Birdie gave her a sidelong glance. “You seem pretty smart to me. I think you’ll pick it up rather quickly.”

Cat blushed a little as she found herself being led quite willingly up the alleyway until they’d reached the back of Julie’s Café. Edging up the property line to the front of the diner, Cat blinked in bemusement.

She wasn’t entirely sure she even wanted to learn to play cards. Not for another forty or so years, anyway. For a moment, a childish sort of embarrassment filled her person. The only people she could get to hang out with her were people her grandparents’ age. If her college friends could see her now.

Oh God, if they could see her now, she’d probably have to duck under the table.

Or die.

Opening the front door of the café, Cat let herself be led to a round table near the back of the short, squat building. Peeling, faded wallpaper and dusty overhead lights greeted her. As did four pairs of eyes of varying shades.

“Ladies.” Birdie cleared her throat as if to make an important announcement. “I’d like to introduce you to my new friend, Cat—” Birdie blinked. She shot Cat a look. “You know, I’m afraid I don’t know your last name.”

“Cryer.”

“Well, there you have. Meet Cat Cryer.” Then she turned to Cat. “Cat, these are the ladies—” and one by one, she pointed them out. “Harriet, Eleanor, Mary, and Erna.”

Cat waved a hesitant hand. “Hello,” she said quietly.

“Hello.”

“Good afternoon.”

“You played before?”

“Mary!”

“What, the last person who joined—what was her name?”

“It was my granddaughter, as you well know,” Harried informed Mary. “And her name is Elizabeth.”

“Yeah? Well, Elizabeth stunk.”

“Mary!”

“What?”

Blinking in surprise, Cat wasn’t sure if she should smile or turn and run. She wasn’t given the chance to do either, as it turned out. Feeling the pull of Bridie’s fingers on her arm, she looked over at the kindly older woman.

“Pay them no attention. Here, take a seat next to me and I’ll give you a quick rundown of the rules.”

“You’ll be just fine, dearie.” This encouragement was given by Eleanor. At least, Cat thought that was Eleanor. They all sort of looked alike: frail, permed, pale, and utterly content.

“Okay, so each card has a number value attached to it. And there are two wild cards….”

Concentrating, Cat tried to take in everything Birdie told her. Just as she’d suspected, the game was complicated. Listening to Birdie shot up Cat’s heart-rate, her nerves giving way to Mary’s rather harsh words earlier: she feared that, much like Elizabeth, she’d probably stink.

“Does that make sense?” Birdie asked finally. It appeared she’d exhausted the list of concepts, strategies, etc.

“Uh. I think so?”

“Don’t worry. You’ll figure it out as we go.” This came from Mary. Reaching for a ridiculously thick stack of cards, she started shuffling. “We’ll play pairs, so that ought to help.”

“Okay.” Cat prayed she wouldn’t have to be on Mary’s team.

 

Life Reconstructed: Chapter Six

Sitting in her car, Cat felt something sizzle down the center of her stomach—a frisson of emotion she wasn’t sure she wanted to label. Staring directly out her windshield, she squinted at the back entrance of McBoy’s Hardware Store, her eyes searching almost desperately ahead—Matt had requested she come through the loading dock at the back. When she’d thought to raise an eyebrow in question, he’d been gruff.

“We don’t actually repair cabinetry here, you know.”

Oh, yeah. Right.

“No, I know,” she’d rushed to say, feeling embarrassment creep over her skin.

“So I don’t really want customers seeing you drop off a busted door…”

Right, right.

“Sure. Of course.”

So now here she was, staring at the industrial vinyl siding of the mammoth building. On her passenger seat, wrapped in a towel to keep any prying eyes at bay, sat her kitchen doors. All morning at work, she’d wondered about this appointment, her thoughts at once anxious—that he’d take one look at the door and tell her it wasn’t going to work—and in the next, she found herself wanting, excited…why, she hadn’t a clue, really. There should be nothing of interest about this mission. It should hold little more enthusiasm than a trip to the postal office to buy stamps.  And yet…she’d never lost track of the time of day, her eyes itching to glance at the clock every few minutes as her afternoon crawled by.

And now, at last, here she sat. And if she didn’t get moving soon…. With a flick of her wrist, Cat turned off her car. Probably it wasn’t best to keep Matt waiting. Especially as he hadn’t been exactly, well, thrilled with the whole arrangement to begin with. Nor had he been particularly subtle about his feelings on the matter. No need to piss him off any further.

Scurrying around the front of her car, she quickly reached for the passenger door, her long arms stretching across the street to grab her doors. Holding them carefully in her grasp, she knocked the door shut with her hip and turned back toward the building. In front of her were three large garage doors and two smaller man doors. Hesitating for a moment, Cat considered which entrance to use. Hoisting the swaddled doors higher, she felt her stomach tightened. This is what she hated about new things, new places.

Not knowing what the fuck to do.

And feeling so fucking conspicuous about it.

Rooted to the spot, she shook her head. “Okay, don’t be stupid. Just try a door. If you don’t find him, try the next.”

The jerk of her voice, the frustration at her own damn self, seemed to do the trick. No sooner had Cat started walking then she decided to try the man door situated on the side of the building. Weirdly, a sense of calm stole over her person. She’d made a decision and if it were the wrong one…well, it wasn’t like she was snooping or doing anything illegal. And really, if Matt had the gull to get irritated then perhaps he should have been more descriptive. These thoughts led her to the door, where, juggling the items in her arms, she cautiously turned the knob. It twisted easily in her hand.

Pushing the door open, Cat blinked as she crossed over the threshold. The ceiling was incredibly high, as were the windows marching alongside the building. It had the effect of casting a rather dim light over the large space, even accounting for the rows of fluorescent lights flooding down upon the cement flooring.

But at least Cat knew she was in the right spot. Standing almost directly in front of her was Matt. Seeing him gave Cat serious pause as her ears accustomed to the whirling, whining spin of—what was that thing in his hands? Squinting, Cat shrugged as she watched a veritable shower of wood shavings twirl and flyaway around him, flecks and shavings of it sprinkling his clothes, the muscles of his arms bunching as he ran a block of wood across the side of what she at least recognized as a saw of some kind.

Cat had found Matt…but it was obvious he had not yet realized she was in the building with him.

His head was bent down, his goggled eyes concentrating hard as he worked. Cat told herself that was why she paused at the foot of the door, her eyes watching his lithe, easy movements: after all, one wrong move, one surprised jerk and, well…

She told herself she stayed quiet, half-hidden in the shadows of the building, because she didn’t want to scare him, which could cause him to hurt himself. She was merely waiting until he shut off that deadly contraption…

But that was only part of the reason.

Her stomach clenched. She’d never thought to consider that a man might have sexy forearms. But golly.

In her other, rather rushed run-ins with Matt McBoy, Cat had done her best to look at him as infrequently as she possibly could—a defense mechanism to keep him from seeing how  utterly mortified she’d been. If she couldn’t see his eyes then he couldn’t see into hers. She’d wanted to fade into the background, an unremembered, faceless customer. No distractions, no advertisements as to her complete stupidity with home repairs.

She shook her head amusedly. Well, now that they’d jumped over that little hurdle, because there could be no doubt in his mind about her now, she let her eyes drift over his broad shoulders openly. He was wearing flannel again, this one white-and-black, with loose-fitting jeans and a tattered baseball cap, the bill of which was ripped and stained from the sun and probably sweat.

To say he was dressed casually was an understatement, and yet…there was something so—watching him work that machine, watching those bulging forearms, the lines and veins straining and stretching, Cat swallowed thickly.

Her stomach clenched again.

It had been a while since she’d…well, since she’d so much as dated a man. That probably explained her sudden, unacceptable appreciation for the male body so ruggedly on display.

Her fingers curled sharply into the towel as she imagined—

“Uh, hello? Hey?”

At the question, Cat’s eyes jerked upward colliding with the questioning glint in the object of her current fantasy’s gaze. Suddenly, she noticed the silence. The whining hum of the saw in front of him had been shut off. Matt was no longer looking down at the wooden block on his work-table. He was looking straight at her!

And judging by the incredulity of his voice just now, that had not been the first time he’d tried to speak to her.

For the second time in as many minutes, Cat was grateful for the dim lightening in the building. Clearing her throat, because Matt was still staring at her, with one eyebrow raised now, she sputtered: “Yes, hi.” Advancing toward him, Cat prayed her face had slowly lessened its pink hue. She smiled brilliantly. “I’m not sure if you remember me. I was in over the weekend and your grandmother—”

“I remember you.” The way he said it made an idiot of her statement.

And really, it had been a stupid thing to say. Of course he’d remember her. He was fixing her damn door. It wasn’t a normal everyday activity for him. He’d been more than clear on that front.

Clearing her throat again, Cat tried to laugh. It wasn’t a terrible attempt. “Right, of course. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to interrupt you earlier—”

He smirked. “Yeah?”

“Well, yes, at least at first.” Why did she feel the need to explain herself? Cat would do absolutely anything to shut her mouth, and yet she couldn’t seem to stop herself. If she could just rationalize her oogling…She flicked her hair behind her shoulder. “And then, well, you caught me. I was daydreaming.”

He looked shocked.

“I, um, well, maybe daydreaming isn’t the right word,” she corrected, hoping her voice sounded casual. She shrugged. “Long day at the office. You know how it is, sometimes you just can’t shut it off.”

His lips twitched again. Dammit, he wasn’t buying it. Still, he didn’t say anything. He didn’t even bother to agree with her statement, which somehow made it all the more obvious. Instead, he nodded toward the wrapped doors in her hands.

“That it?”

“What? Oh! Yes.” Marching up to him, she held out her hands. “I also brought the broken piece,” she told him as he took the doors off her hands. “I wasn’t sure—you know, if you’d want it. I’m sure you don’t, but just in case…”

“That’s fine.”

Snapping her mouth shut, Cat smiled tightly. She really needed to get the babbling under control. A rush of resentment coursed through her body. She was usually better than this. Clamping her lips together, she watched him set the bundle down on a workbench, slowly unwrapping them from the confines of her peach-colored towel. Silently, she came up to stand beside him as he inspected the piece, turning it this way and that, his fingers running down the curves.

He did this for a few moments, but an eternity of nerves eddied their way up Cat’s arms, closing around her throat.

“So?” Bouncing on the balls of her feet, she despised the pleading note in the question. “What do you think? Can you fix it? Do you think?”

Slowly, he set the cupboard door back down on the counter. Then his eyes shifted to take in the pinched features of her face.

“As I said, I’ll give it a try.”

She supposed she’d have to accept that.

“Okay.” She ran her tongue over her lips. “But you’ll do it?”

He sighed. “Yeah.”

“How much?”

“Excuse me?”

She nodded impatiently. “How much will it cost?”

He shrugged. “Well, this is a basic walnut veneer plywood door, so the material shouldn’t be very hard to come by—or very expensive, for that matter. The fact that your landlord then painted the wood white will actually work in our favor.”

Hearing him say it like that, another jolt of feeling zipped down Cat’s stomach. There was something so scandalous in it all. They were puling one over on her landlord. Though Cat was usually fastidious about her moral compass, for some reason, the thought gave her a kick.

Besides, her landlord was kind of a jerk anyway. So whatever.

And in the grand scheme of things, it was the least of criminal mastermind activities.

“I’ll price them out and get back to you back tomorrow. Okay?”

She nodded, avoiding those brown eyes so close to her own. It felt somehow obvious, when she looked at him, what she was thinking. “Sure, no problem. And you?”

“Me what?”

“What’s the cost for labor?”

Bringing one hand up to the back of his neck, those long tapered fingers rubbed at the muscles distractedly. “Well, how about we wait and see what the finished product looks like first.”

“Okay. But I am going to pay you.”

He shrugged. “No one’s fighting you on that.”

She nodded slowly. “No discounts, either.”

His brows furrowed. “Right. Okay.”

“I’ll pay the going rate.”

He frowned. “I told you, I’m not a professional.”

“And you also told me no one was fighting me on payments.”

That stopped him momentarily. Then, with a weary shake of his head, he took a step back from the workbench. “Fine. That’s up to you.”

She bit back a smile. “Good.”

He inclined his head toward the doors. “I should have it done by the end of the week.”

“Really? That’s fast.”

“It’s an easy design.”

Cat nodded again. She realized they’d reached the end of their conversation and she was assuaged with two diverging feelings: regret because that meant it was time for her to leave, and pure and utter relief that she could escape before she said yet another stupid thing.

She had a sinking feeling she’d replay her conversation with this man over and over again until the early hours of the morning, her groans of mortification the only company she’d have as she berated herself…

Taking a meaningfully step backward, she half raised her hand. “Okay. Well,” she nodded toward the table saw again. “I suppose I should let you get back to it.” She took another step backward, trying to ignore the small voice hoping he’d call her back, ask her to stay…

But he didn’t. “Sounds good. I’ll call you tomorrow to talk about the material.” And with that, he lowered the goggles back of his eyes again and, without bothering to watch her actually leave, turned back to what he’d been doing before she arrived.

“Right.” With a whispered word, she shifted, her feet beating a hasty, almost clumsy, retreat in her desire to leave as quickly as possible.

 

Life Reconstructed: Chapter Five

Getting out of her car on Monday morning, Cat took a deep breath of still morning air. Shouldering the thick strap of her messenger bag, she shut and locked her vehicle before hiking up to the front doors of the credit union. Only, as she was on the verge of slipping through the small foyer and into the main lobby, her eyes caught the sight of the community bulletin board tacked up to a side wall.

She’d seen it numerous times before. Or perhaps it was more apt to say, she’d seen through it. For years, she’d breezed in and out of these same doors, her eyes always in the same direction, boring straight ahead of her, her attention either already sorting through the applications awaiting her on her desk, or contemplating what she’d make herself for dinner as she locked up for the evening.

But today, her eyes zeroed-in and caught the papers stuck to the cork-board, the assortment of colors waving at her with the breeze of the door. Her eyes narrowed and, almost without conscious decision, she felt her feet slant in its direction, bringing her closer.

Her eyes roamed over the announcements: a high school concert, a city council meeting, a few garage sales and—her eyes squinted. What was that? Running her fingertip along one of the pieces of paper, she read the headline:

Dance Classes at the Main Line Community Center—Couples or Singles Welcome!

Feeling the slight pressure of her teeth against her bottom lip, Cat felt her eyes anxiously racing toward the bottom of the sign, where the details seemed to be display. When—?

“Good Morning, Catherine.”

At the sound of a slightly nasal welcome behind her, Cat jumped her hand dropping from the paper as though she’d just been caught doing something inappropriate. Feeling the tips of her ears burning, she turned stiffly.

“Hello Janice.” Janice Beasley—one of the senior tellers at the credit union. She was fifty if she was a day, and though she outranked even the vice-president, she’d never seemed inclined to climb any higher in her career. Still, as far as Janice was concerned, no matter her title, pay grade, or responsibilities, she was the credit union, the face of the company, the employee the entire community knew—and every employee did best to remember that.

Seeing that Cat was almost twenty-five years her junior, it wasn’t really such a wonder that the two women had never exactly bonded. Cat could feel the older woman’s resentment like a heavy blanket, her stalwart resistance because Cat was technically her superior. Likewise, proud of her success and determination, Cat refused to succumb to Janice’s expectation that everyone would fall in line with her little “rules.”

Warily, Cat felt her mouth moving determinedly, quickly, almost rabidly now, as an overwhelming sense of transparency swamped her.

“I, uh, I usually don’t stop to look at the board, obviously. But, um…one of the papers looked like it was about to fall off its thumb tack—” she jerked her chin over her shoulder, pointing at the board for emphasis. She hated lying. She also hated how easily the lie tripped off her tongue.

But Janice clearly wasn’t deceived. Ironically, had Cat not tried so hard to convince her, she probably wouldn’t have noticed anything amiss over the younger woman looking at the announcement board. But that defensive stain on her cheeks, and her quick-fired, and rather lame, excuse was—how did that saying go? Cat had protested too much.

Holding the second set of doors open, Janice nodded to indicate Cat walk in ahead of her. The lobby was still dark, but the sound of Melanie’s, another teller, footsteps could be heard in the back room, as well as the hiss of the coffee maker.

“Yes. That’s how I found my knitting club,” Janice said, surprising herself a little at the note of sympathy in her voice. “I was walking in and I found one of the flyer’s dangling crookedly—” at this, she sent Cat a knowing wink. “—or so the story goes. Anyway, if you have any interest in knitting we’re always welcoming new members…?”

Janice left the sentence dangling meaningfully. Choking a little in surprise, Cat wasn’t sure how to respond to that very unsolicited invitation. She couldn’t think of anything she’d rather do less than sit around a table with a bunch of women like Janice, discussing different types of yarn.

Cat winced. That sounded harsh, even to her own ears.

And really, could she afford to be a choosy? After all, she and Ashley had come up with a big whopping nothing yesterday evening in their attempt to find her some hobbies. Try as they might, no matter how many suggestions they threw out, nothing had materialized. Nothing solid anyway.

Swimming would be difficult, since Cat had never been properly taught. And really, that was almost as bad as reading. Too solitary unless she was on a team.

She didn’t have a fancy camera or a keen eye for pictures.

She was too impatient for painting. And unless she signed up for a class—well, there was that whole solitary business again.

Obviously team sports were out since, well, since she didn’t have a team to join.

So now, staring up at Janice’s unusually kind expression, Cat hesitated. She’d rather bust another cabinet door over her knee that endure conversation over knitting needles, but then, she wasn’t sure she was in a position to turn away any kind of offers for friendship.

She opened her mouth, unsure what she’d intended to say to Janice’s expectation face, when the overhead lights blinked blindly to life. However, squinting against the harsh glare, Cat was spared from answering her—because at that same moment, Melanie appeared, carrying a coffee air pot up to the small service station to one side of the entrance.

“Morning girls,” she called out gaily.

“Morning.”

“Say, Janice. I have a question about my morning cash count…”

And just like that, the moment was over. Slinking quietly out of sight, Cat took herself to her private office. Shutting the door behind her, she leaned against it for a moment, letting her eyes roam over the sparse room: two large, cheaply-made book shelves stood on either side of her desk. Two wooden chairs, with thin forest green padding, stood in the middle of the room, facing these dated furnishings. And against the far wall were framed pictures of tranquil nature scenes; on the opposite wall, lined up in a stately fashion, were her framed college degrees and the miscellany certifications she’d received in the five years she’d worked at the Fireside Credit Union.

The thin bluish-gray carpeting stared up at her when she dropped her eyes, her shoulders sagging with sudden exhaustion. On her desk, beside her computer, she knew a stack of papers were neatly piled besides a few other documents. Her job was spent loaning out money to the hard working residents of Cornwell. She used to love what she did, except of course during those meetings when she was forced to admit that, unfortunately, the customer’s request had been denied. She used to feel like she played an important part in some of the most special moments in people’s lives: their first car, their home, their college tuition, their boat…

But then, face after face, application after application, she’d grown not bored exactly, just indifferent to it all. Her smile had become more robotic, her responses more scripted, her interest waning as her fingertips tapped impatiently on the edge of her desk as she waited for her next appointment.

The thought was as lowering as it was aggravating.

“Oh enough,” she barked suddenly, pulling herself off the door. The sound of her voice jarred her effectively out of her reverie. “This is really just becoming too much now. Grow up, pull yourself together. And while you’re at it, shut the hell up.” Smacked by the force of her own words, Cat flipped on her light switch and walked to her desk, pulling out her chair and turning on her computer.

If she felt like some of the enthusiasm for her job had waned, well that was fine. She could fix that. It was just like any relationship, the love required a little bit of work, a little attention. So fine, no big deal. All she’d needed was a little reminder call—to help her find and nourish those aspects of her job that she once loved so much, to stop taking it for granted.

Well, okay, she’d done that. Now, it was time to put a little muscle behind all that whining.

For the first time in months when she looked down at her appointment book the smallest glint of anticipation filled her person. She had a meeting that very afternoon, at two p.m. to discuss the possibility of someone taking out a small business loan. She felt her shoulders straighten.

 

 

 

“Welcome to Fireside Credit Union, Mrs Amelia Stilton—”

“Actually, it’s Kelley. Ms. Kelley.”

Cat felt her eyebrows pull together in confusion, her glance taking in the application quickly.

“Yes. I’m sorry. I, uh, I hadn’t realized until recently that I was going to take my maiden name back.”

Cat nodded uncomfortably. The woman was had just walked into her office and taken a seat across from her desk couldn’t have been much older than Cat, herself.  Of course, Cat wasn’t so naive as to think that a woman in her late twenties couldn’t be divorced. But still…it wasn’t so common.

And there was something, well, sad about it. Sadder perhaps because of the very youth of it all. Wiping the unnecessary melancholic thought from her mind, Cat brought her attention back to the topic at hand. Studying the application in her hand, she spoke. “I see that you’re applying for a business loan.”

“Yes.” Amelia nodded sharply, her fingers pressed tightly together in her lap.

With a flick of her eyes, Cat noted the stiff posture, the tension in her unbelievably straight shoulders. At the sight, Cat remembered her conviction earlier. Lowering the paper slightly, she leaned across her desk.

“Ms. Kelly.”

“Hmm.”

“I fear that if you grip your hands together any tighter you’re going to cut off the circulation to your fingers.”

“Huh?” Jerking a little, Amelia blinked.

“Please relax. I promise it’s not nearly as painful as, well…” Cat nodded toward Amelia’s clenched hands. “As that.”

Hearing the smile in Cat’s voice, the other woman laughed, her finger springing apart nervously. “Yeah. Sorry. I guess I’m a little nervous.” She rolled her shoulders for good measure.

“Good.”

Amelia’s eyes widened.

Cat smiled. “It means you really want this.”

“Oh, I do!”

Cat nodded. She managed to do it without looking patronizing. It had taken years of practice to master, especially when most of the people sitting across from her tended to be twenty-plus years older than her, and inclined to feel uncomfortable by her very lack of age. “It shows in your application. In fact,” lowering her eyes to the paperwork held loosely in her hand, she whistled. “I’m impressed.”

“You are?” Leaning forward, Amelia aimed a big-eyed glance Cat’s way.

Cat’s smile widened. “Yes. I am. Your business proposal was thorough, as were your references and credentials. Looking at a market analysis…”

And slowly, as the words flowed from her mouth—words of a familiar and comfortable world in which Cat knew her business—she watched as Amelia transformed, her stiffness giving away to an affinity to talk with her hands, her laugh lowering to a normal octave, even a few jokes managed to pass between her lips.

It wasn’t so strange really, then, was it that Cat’s premonition turned out to be correct? She enjoyed her conversation with Ms. Kelley, felt again that flicker of excitement when she informed Amelia that she would indeed be getting her loan. She hardly noticed the time passing as they sat and talked, Amelia pouring out her vision for her new studio to an unexpectedly apt audience.

Standing up at the end of their meeting, Cat held out her hand. “Welcome to Fireside Credit Union. I’m looking forward to doing business with you.”

She was rewarded for her show of good faith by the sudden surge of Amelia’s body bolting up and across her desk, her arms quickly wrapping themselves around Cat’s unsuspecting neck.

Bobbing up and down on the balls of her feet, Amelia promised: “You won’t regret this. You won’t. You absolutely will not.”

“I believe you.”

“I will work endlessly in my pursuit to be successful.”

“Yes—”

Pulling away from her, Amelia brushed quickly at a sheen of tears under her eyes. Sniffling, she smiled. “Thank you. Thank you for taking a chance on me.”

“Of course…”

“And I’m sorry for this,” she said, waving her arms around herself. “I promise I won’t make this a habit.”

“You mean, I can’t expect a hug every time you make a payment on your loan?”

Amelia laughed weakly. “Not every one.” She smiled broadly. “But I make no guarantees when I hand over my final check.”

Cat smiled involuntarily, her professional mask, which she’d spent the last few years perfecting, slipping just the slightest bit. “Well, forewarned is forearmed, as they say.”

Amelia managed to sneak out three or four more fervent thank-you’s before finally making it out of Cat’s office minutes later.

Alone once more, Cat nodded.

There it was. That warmth of satisfaction that she’d just helped to change somebody’s life. Maybe it wasn’t as strong as three years ago, but it felt a little bigger than it had last Friday, when she’d barely acknowledged the triumph of Mary Dean, who’d received her first ever car loan. Cat had offered her little more than an empty smile and a request for her signature.

So okay, the warmth of satisfaction invading her chest wasn’t much. But it was something. And today, something was enough.