I rummaged around in the garage and found a shallow, unused plastic storage bin, and filled it up with shredded newspaper as an impromptu cat box. I brought it inside, and set it in the sunroom. “Shit in here,” I said to the cat, picking him up and placing him inside the box. He stared at me, batted at one of the strips of newspaper, and then hopped back out. “Shit in there, you hear me?” I called after him as he strolled back into the house like he belonged here. I huffed a resigned laugh and followed him.
My old childhood bedroom upstairs, along with my Dad’s old study, was packed to the brim with moving boxes filled with things from my old New York apartment. Charles and I had lived there together for five years—the duration of our marriage. We’d been together for seven, though the definition of “together” was a bit up in the air. He’d been somewhat of a mentor during my last years at Beasley University, managing at the gallery that I’d showed and sold my ceramics work in, and after I’d finished my masters he’d taken me under his wing. I stayed at the gallery, and it wasn’t long before he’d pitched her idea to me for starting a ceramics design firm. We’d start small, with me as the lead designer until we could bring on others, and we’d sell work to people interested in limited, high quality pieces that weren’t quite one of a kind, but felt that way.
I was a fan of money—still am—and so I saw the value in doing the commercial stuff. And hey, I could still retain some of my artistic integrity. I was head designer after all, and I could make what I thought was good. It didn’t stay that way, though.
The company grew, my work’s reputation grew, and soon we were getting offers from big corporations requesting designer features to use in their catalogues. Being a fan of money, it didn’t take much convincing for me to start making
my work more and more mainstream, and more consumable. By this time too, Charles and I had decided to move in with each other. He’d been the one to suggest it. I was hesitant, but my mother was sick at the time, and she was so concerned that I wasn’t married yet, so… to ease my dying mother’s concern for her youngest daughter, I asked Charles if he wanted to get married.
Was he in love with me? I don’t know. Like I’d said, we’d made a great partnership, and he was a great friend. Maybe Charles was the type of man who normally wouldn’t have been interested in marriage. He was forty when we married, and he’d never mentioned any prior marriages or girlfriends. Business and art was his life. He knew the advantages of our marriage, and he knew why I’d asked him. He’d never been interested in my body.
I’d been back here for two months now, and I still hadn’t unpacked most of my things—just the tools, mostly, and some necessary clothing. I didn’t know how long I would be staying here. Just until I got over this creative block, I’d told myself, but I’d begun to wonder if that would ever happen.
3
Chrissy
Lee had offered to put me up at his and his wife’s house until the storm lifted enough that we could mount a proper search operation for Henry. I’d spent over an hour trudging around in the mud and rain in the woods surrounding the gas station, but I’d found no sign of him. It was when the lightning started to strike that I’d decided Lee and Reynold were right, and it would be safer for me to wait, but the thought of Henry scared and lost somewhere out there during that thunder and lightning tore me up inside. That night, Lee’s wife, Margery, made a big lasagna dinner and gave me a slice of apple pie. It was the best I’d eaten since I’d left Georgia, but it was difficult to enjoy it knowing that Henry was out there hungry somewhere.
I was responsible for the little guy, and I’d let him get lost right under my nose. I figured he must’ve wandered outside when Lee had opened the garage, and gotten startled by the thunder and ran off somewhere to hide. The other possibility, which I really didn’t want to think about, was that he had gotten snatched up by some coyote or hawk out there. He was small, so it was possible…
I lay awake in the guest bed, my eyes blurry with tears. Damnit, I thought. Please let me find him. The thought of moving on to California without Henry just killed me, and the thought of going back to Georgia was even worse. And there still remained the problem of what I would do next. Get another soul sucking job? Same shit, different town?
Maybe I could stay here. It was a weird thought, but at the same time, a pleasant one. All the people I’d met here were so nice, and there was a real sense of community. Of course, I doubted there were any apartment buildings I could move into, and the nearest city was an hour’s drive, so staying here was probably not going to happen. I’d find Henry, and then move on.
Please let me find him, I thought again.
I was sad and couldn’t stop thinking about him, but my body was exhausted and relieved to finally have a proper bed to sleep on, and I quickly fell asleep.
I woke to another dreary day, the sun hiding behind grey clouds. Margery had made pancakes, and the news on the kitchen television said that the storm was passing east. “Worst of it’s over for us, I think,” she said, drizzling maple syrup onto her pancakes. She was robust as her husband, with an appetite to match her size, and her stack of pancakes towered over mine.
The stairs groaned and creaked with Lee’s heavy footsteps. He appeared in the kitchen wearing a rain jacket and holding two pairs of rubber boots. “Good morning,” he said, dropping the boots by the front door. “You have a raincoat, Chrissy?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“Finish up your breakfast and we’ll get looking. It’s just a drizzle right now. I’ve got a pair of boots you can borrow.”
“Okay,” I said, scarfing down the rest of my pancakes. “What about you? Aren’t you going to eat?”
“I’ll be fine. I’d like to get out there as soon as possible. It was eating at me all night. I’d feel better the sooner we get out looking for Henry.”
“It’s not your fault, Lee. But I appreciate your help. I appreciate what both of you have done for me.”
Margery smiled. “We do what we can to help folks in need around here. The world needs a little more kindness in it, I think.” She picked an apple out from a basket on the table and handed it to her husband. “It’ll tide you over for now.”
“Alright, you ready to go?”
I nodded and quickly brought my plate over to the sink. “Thank you for breakfast,” I said. “Hold on, let me grab my raincoat.” I dashed upstairs to the guest room to dig my jacket out of my bag, then jogged back down and pulled on the spare pair of boots. They fit me perfectly.
“Belonged to our daughter,” Lee said. “She’s in Phoenix now. Programmer.”
We pulled up our hoods and headed out the door. The rain was light—not much more than a scattered pattering. We hopped into Lee’s car and drove the short distance to the gas station. My eyes scanned the trees in a shallow hope that I might spot Henry, but of course, I saw nothing. The woods spanned wide areas between houses and the chances of spotting him from the car were slim.
The chances of spotting him in general are slim.
I pushed the thought from my mind, and we pulled up to the gas station. We went up to the minimart, and I was surprised to see a paper flier taped up to the glass on the inside of the front door that said, MISSING: Henry. Black Cat, five months old. Call Reynold at 555-346-2311. Reynold was watching TV, his feet propped up on the counter, and he stood up when he saw us walk in.
“’Morning, you two,” he said.