GRIFFIN
“What will you name them?” I ask as I carry the box into the house with Vivian by my side.
She looks around at the foyer. “Wow. I thought my parents were the richest people I’d ever meet. I guess I was wrong.”
I shrug. “I excel at business.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“You’re not going to the office?” Mrs. Putnam bustles out from the back hallway, then stops dead. “And who’s this?”
I was wondering how meeting Mrs. Putnam, the matron of my house, would go. I can only hope for the best and silently promise Vivian that I’ll keep her safe from the elderly terror if need be. “Mrs. Putnam, meet Vivian Shelby. She’ll be staying with us for quite some time.”
“She will?” Mrs. Putnam’s gray eyebrows hit her hairline.
I can’t help but feel slightly accomplished. After all, surprising Mrs. Putnam is no easy task.
“She is David and Laverne’s daughter. Apparently, they appointed me her guardian until she reaches her 21st birthday.”
“How old are you, dear?” Mrs. Putnam adopts a warm tone that she’s never used with me as she bustles up to Vivian.
“Eighteen.” She smiles. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Putnam.”
“I’m so happy to have you here, and I’m very sorry about your parents.”
“Thanks.” Vivian lets Mrs. Putnam take her arm.
“You must be hungry. Come into the kitchen. I was making some chicken salad croissant sandwiches for lunch. Do you like chicken salad?”
“I do, actually.”
“Then you’ll love mine. I put grapes in it. But I can always leave them out if you don’t like them. Or I can make you anything you want. Just say the word.” She draws Vivian deeper into the house, leading her right to the kitchen.
I find myself trailing behind with my box of cats. Mrs. Putnam hasn’t even spared me or the animals a glance. Honestly, I find it beyond amusing how she’s taking to Vivian like this. I never would’ve imagined it.
“Have a seat right here.” She pats a stool at the kitchen island. “I’ll have it whipped up in two shakes.”
I slide the box onto the counter and walk into the pantry. There has to be tuna or something a cat would like in here.
“Here you go, my darling girl.” Mrs. Putnam places a heaping sandwich in front of Vivian, then gives her a glass of ice water. “I can order whatever food or drink you like. Just tell me what you want, and I’ll have it all here.”
“Mrs. Putnam?” I call.
She turns. “What?” That’s the Mrs. Putnam I’m used to. Irritated and with absolutely no time for me except to make sure I’m fed and the house is in order.
“Do we have tuna in here?”
She finally looks inside the box. When she coos and starts making psss psss psss sounds, I truly start to believe she’s got multiple personalities. The ornery one for me. The sweet one for Vivian and her cats.
“Of course we have tuna. But I’ll send an order to the store right quick and have cat food, litter, and toys delivered. No problem.”
“Wow, this is so good,” Vivian says around a bite of sandwich.
“I’m happy you like it. Here, let me get you some pita chips. I make them myself.”
Wait, Mrs. Putnam makes her own pita chips? Why has she never offered me any? I shake off those questions and slide onto the stool beside Vivian.
The kitchen goes quiet, and when Vivian looks up, she swallows hard.