Beauty & the Beasts (18 page)

But what if she and Dad really fell in love? If his
own mother had quit paying any attention to him, he bet Madeline would, too. And Dad.

Mom kept saying she wasn’t dumping him. But she was. Dad kept saying he wanted him. Maybe he really did. But if he had Madeline, he wouldn’t Garth couldn’t begin to compete with her.

Along with the purr, his anxiety quieted and his eyes grew heavy. Now he wouldn’t have to compete. Now Dad wouldn’t be too busy to want to have him here. So maybe this way was better, even if he
couldn’t
go to the shelter.

Chev stirred under his hand, and he heard the soft crunch of Ron eating dried food.

“I’ve got you guys, anyway,” he whispered, and let sleep take him.

CHAPTER TEN

M
ADELINE SAT
on the board of Ten Lives, which sounded more formal than it was. Jean and the four volunteers met once a month at the shelter; ordered a pizza and discussed successes, failures and the direction they were going.

Today’s meeting was held in Joan’s kitchen; everyone munched on veggie pizza, talked in quick bursts between bites and laughed frequently.

Madeline finished a slice while listening to another volunteer talk about a conflict with the manager of a store where they’d been holding adoption days. They agreed on a possible solution. In the lull afterward she said, “Joan, I don’t know that I even told you about a promising conversation I had this week.”

Heads turned her way. “A woman who’d called to see if we could take an older cat—Sophy, the beautiful white short-hair who came yesterday— turns out to head a hospice organization. They provide nursing care and meals to terminally ill patients who are still in their homes. Sophy belonged to a young man with AIDS who recently died and had no one willing to take the cat. This woman—Maria Garcia—says that pretty regularly they’re left having to place pets. But the interesting part is that they have
patients who would love to have a cat but don’t feel they can adopt one because they worry about what would happen to the animals when they die. I told her I’d get back to her, but—” Madeline glanced around at the other members “—what do you think about the possibility of our placing cats temporarily through her? She thinks that in most cases the cat could be indoor only, so that ones who are leukemia or FIV-positive could go. They’d have a home for a while, get lots of affection, and the fact that
they’re
terminally ill, too, wouldn’t matter.”

“Essentially, these would be foster homes,” Carla said.

“Right.”

They discussed the idea, excitement generating the electricity that kept all of them going through times of discouragement and frustration. In the end the vote was to give it a try. Cats that were currently unplaceable could enjoy homes, even if for a short time; the patients would have someone to cuddle and love, without worrying about what would happen to their new pet when they died.

“Just so we check them out,” Joan said. “If we place a leukemia-positive, we have to be sure the person is trustworthy. It might be best to visit, make sure the windows are screened and the setup is such that the cat can’t wander out.”

“We’ll emphasize the fact that these cats are contagious,” Madeline agreed. “I don’t mind doing the visiting.”

“Good.” Joan closed the lid of the empty pizza box. “Any more business?”

There seemed to be none. Amid a chorus of goodbyes and some personal gossip, the women departed, Joan for work and the others for home. Only Madeline stayed. Garth was in the main part of the house—she’d picked him up after making sure Eric wouldn’t be home—and now she tracked him down to see whether he was ready to leave.

She found Eric’s son patiently visiting with a couple of shy depressed newcomers whose owners were in the midst of a divorce and had decided neither could take care of the cats. Curiously the big gray male was also the more timid and frightened of the two. His sister, a smaller gray-and-cream tortoiseshell, was somewhat more willing to peek out of the cage or to hop down from the upper shelf when someone visited.

In response to Madeline’s hi, Garth said, “They’re really nice cats. How come they’re here?”

She explained.

He frowned. “Well, why couldn’t either the man or the woman take the cats? I mean, did they ditch their kids, too?”

“God knows.” She’d had the same thought. “In this case, the woman said they were selling the house, both were renting places that either wouldn’t allow pets at all or demanded huge deposits, and she couldn’t cope.”

“Yeah, but look at these guys.” After having tried to stay aloof, the male pushed suddenly against Garth’s hand, then tilted his head for those wonderful fingers to find the right spot. His eyes were so huge and anxious and he was so grateful for the attention
that Madeline’s heart ached. Garth’s, too, apparently, because he sounded distressed. “How could someone just
leave
them?”

“I couldn’t,” she said quietly. “Too many pet owners just don’t see animals the same way we do. To them, their cats are like, I don’t know, nice furniture or favorite sweaters. To be enjoyed, maybe even indulged, but not mourned when they wear out or become inconvenient Trouble is, the cats mourn.”

“Yeah.” He was silent for a moment. “You’ll find a new home for these guys, won’t you?”

“I hope so.” She blinked so he wouldn’t see the tears that stung her eyes. “They’re eleven years old, though, so they’ll be hard to place. Especially since they really ought to stay together if we can possibly manage it.”

“Yeah.” Garth’s voice was subdued. He slowly closed the cage. “Did you want to leave?”

“I’m ready.” Madeline worked up a smile for him. “How about you?”

“I guess. Can I get some more litter for Chev and Ron?”

He threw a couple of bags in the trunk of her car while she collected a sack of canned cat food to replace what he’d already used.

Today was the first time they’d seen each other since her breakup with Eric. She’d run into Teresa at the post office and delicately worked the conversation to find out which days Eric would cover at the clinic. She’d waited this morning until she was sure he’d left, then phoned Garth.

Now in the car, she gave him a sidelong glance,
wondering how much Eric had told him. And oh, it was pathetic, but she needed badly to know whether Eric was any happier than she was. Maybe she’d been no more than another woman he’d dated. Probably she’d be better off not knowing, but she wasn’t strong enough to resist.

“How are you and your dad getting along?” she asked casually.

Garth shrugged. “Okay.”

Well,
that
was informative. “He, um, told you we aren’t seeing each other anymore?”

“Yeah.” Garth stole a glance at her. “He didn’t say why.”

Because he told me my breasts were perfect.
“I guess he thought the things we said should stay private.”

“Yeah.” Garth sounded disappointed.

“I’m afraid it was mostly my fault.”

“Yours?” he said incredulously.

She drove half a mile in silence. What finally came out wasn’t exactly what she’d meant to say. “Sometimes I wish I didn’t look the way I do.”

His eyebrows shot up so high they nearly touched his hairline. “But…but you’re a babe!” Crimson flooded his cheeks. “I mean…that is…” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be.” She took one hand off the wheel to touch his arm lightly. “You see, that’s the problem. All anyone ever sees is my face or my figure. They don’t see
me.
I realized your dad didn’t, either.”

Now deep furrows appeared in the boy’s forehead. “But he really liked you.”

Are you sure? How do you know?
she wanted to ask.
What did he say about me?
But she had some dignity remaining.

Not much.

After the tiniest of pauses, she asked, “Is he upset?” Pray God her voice didn’t betray that this one question was the entire point of the conversation.

“Yeah, I think so.” Garth was still frowning. “He looked awful that night. Since then…I don’t know, I guess he’s kind of quiet.”

Did
quiet
translate to
suffering?
Maybe he just didn’t have anything to say. The black hole inside her expanded. She wanted to know that he
hurt,
that he felt empty, angry, lost. She wanted to know that she’d been more than a pleasant diversion.

“Do you miss him?” Garth asked in a small voice.

Madeline was silent again. “Yes,” she admitted at last. “And you. I’ve had fun with you guys. I’m glad you could come today.”

He mumbled something that she understood to be, “I like going.”

“I do, too,” she said, giving him a crooked smile. “You know, there has to be a shelter like Ten Lives in San Francisco. You could volunteer there. Maybe foster cats.”

“Chuckie probably hates them,” Garth said gloomily.

“Or maybe not.” Her smile became more natural. “Ask him, and your mom. Think of the cats. Not your pride.”

“It’s not pride—” He stopped. Emotions chased each other across his face. “Maybe it is. Kinda. But I have good reason…”

She turned into his driveway. “I bet having your mom remarry is a real shock. Especially if you don’t like your stepfather.”

Garth bowed his head. With only that peach fuzz of hair covering his scalp, he looked so vulnerable, the ripple of vertebrae exposed on the nape of his neck. “Chuck’s not that bad,” Garth said haltingly. “But he’s all Mom pays attention to anymore! We were okay without him! Why did she have to get married?”

Lonely decisions and empty nights.
The answer came without hesitation, which worried Madeline. What happened to being happy with her own life?

Probably Garth’s mother used to tell herself—and her son—the same thing: they were happy; nothing ever had to change.

In front of Eric’s house Madeline put the car in park. Facing Garth, she said, “I don’t know your mother, but…sometimes it’s hard for a woman to be on her own.” She raised her hand to forestall an explosion. “I know she wasn’t exactly on her own, but even if you were a help and you two are good friends, it’s not the same as having another adult. It’s a different kind of relationship. Your mom has this fierce need to protect you and make sure you don’t have to worry about things like money or safety or her health or her own past or future.” Now how did she know that? Madeline wondered. “She needs someone she can talk to about stuff like that. And—”
she flashed a wicked smile “—we are, after all, biologically programmed to want sex. You’ve probably begun to notice.”

He blushed again.

“Scoot,” she said.
Before your dad comes out.
“Before I say something even worse.”

His smile was a youthful version of his father’s charm. “Okay. If you want to get rid of me.”

“Garth.”

“Just kidding.” He opened the car door and hopped out, then hesitated. “I wish you were staying for dinner.”

She did, too. “Thanks,” she said. “Maybe I’ll take you out one of these nights.”

“Cool!” He slammed the door and waved goodbye as she drove away—hoping she didn’t meet Eric’s pickup in the driveway.

Or maybe Eric was already home, standing back from a window watching his son race toward the house. Eric probably wanted to run into her no more than she wanted to run into him.

Unexpectedly the thought stung. Her vision suddenly blurred, and she had to brake at the foot of the driveway and rest her head against the steering wheel for a moment. Most nights the tears didn’t come until she was in bed, alone but for the comforting presence of the cats curled the length of her body like pearls on a string.

“Dammit,” she whispered, lifting her head and drying her tears with the back of her hand. “He didn’t love you. Live with it.”

With a deliberate effort, she wrenched the picture
of Eric off her mental bulletin board and replaced it with one of her mother. Waiting in Madeline’s small house, probably already dishing up dinner. Preparing a few tactful critiques like tiny barbs to insert in her daughter’s flesh. Apparently
not
preparing to go home in the near future.

Turning onto the road, Madeline wondered if her mother had ever had a fierce need to protect her. If so, how had maternal devotion twisted into a determination to use her daughter? And did her mother even know the difference?

“G
OOD DAY
?” Eric asked casually as he set an onion on the cutting board.

“Yeah, it was okay.” Though somewhat bland, this was a step up from three weeks ago, when Garth would have said with blistering sarcasm, “Yeah, right.”

“I saw Madeline drop you off.” He’d hidden behind the curtains like an old busybody.

“We went to the shelter.” Garth was making the salad. He shook wet lettuce leaves, soaking everything within three feet with a fine spray. Including his father. The boy appeared not to notice. “These two cats just came in. They’re eleven, and they’re really nice, but they’re scared, and Madeline says they’ll be hard to place ‘cause nobody wants ones that old.”

“Why are they there?”

“Their owners are getting divorced and don’t want them anymore.” Garth studied him, and Eric could feel what was coming. He continued chopping the
onion. “Don’t you know somebody who’d take them?” Garth asked. “I mean, you know practically everybody in town, right?”

“Well, I wouldn’t put it that strongly.”

“I really like those cats.” Garth ripped the lettuce into huge chunks, which he dropped into a bowl.

Having Garth care about something again was worth any price. Eric vowed he’d find a home for that pair if it killed him.

Resignedly he asked, “Do you know if they were indoor only or if they’re used to dogs?”

“No.” His son frowned. “I guess you’d have to ask Madeline.”

“Or you can ask her.”

He gave his father a sidelong glance. “Yeah. I guess.” He reached for a carrot. Peelings flew. “She says she misses you.”

The knife slipped and blood beaded on Eric’s finger. He swore. What the hell was wrong with him? Of course she’d said that—when his twelve-year-old son asked her! If she really missed him, she’d call, say she was sorry, ask if they could talk. She’d give him a chance to say, “I like the heart that’s underneath your perfect breasts, too.”