Insight Page 15

  “Hey, there, neighbor!” Mr. Burnside from next door, hobbled across the lawn.

  She waved and went to meet him halfway. “Hi, Mr. Burnside. How have you been?”

  “Oh, I don’t have any complaints. Well, now, I take that back. I have one complaint.”

  “Oh, what’s that?” She enjoyed her visits with the old man, even if he could be a little crotchety at times.

  “That dad-blamed cat of yours has taken to yowling under my window again.”

  “Oh, he’s not my cat,” she said, then quickly added, “I’m sorry he’s been bothering you. Maybe I should put an ad in the paper…to see if we can find out who he belongs to.”

  He glanced pointedly past her. “You may not think he’s yours, but I think he has different ideas.”

  She turned to see Tiger, contentedly licking his paws over an empty bowl. She grinned guiltily. “He was looking a little scrawny. I thought he needed a little extra food…”

  Mr. Burnside harrumphed, but Olivia thought she detected a hint of a smile behind his rheumy eyes.

  “Well, if you’re going to keep the animal, you’re going to have to do something about his prowling.”

  She sighed and shook her head. “I really can’t afford to keep him, but—”

  “Well, I can’t miss much more of my beauty sleep.” Mr. Burnside screwed up his face and closed one eye in a comical wink. She smiled another apology and made an excuse to go in the house.

  She flipped on the kitchen lights and looked around the house, trying to use a critical eye. Except for the plants and a few things she’d brought from Chicago, the house looked virtually the way it had that day she’d first walked through the back door. Derek had arranged the furniture in neat lines against the walls, and centered the rugs on the floors, but the knickknacks and paintings were still in boxes in the bedrooms and the coat closet in the hallway.

  With a sudden burst of energy, she decided that tonight she would begin to unpack and try to make the house look like a home. Even if she decided to go back to Chicago, she would need to sell the house. In her business, she knew all too well that most people had trouble seeing the potential of an empty shell of a house. A beautifully appointed, lived-in home sold far more quickly.

  She brushed off her hands and went to the broom closet for her tool kit. Her first project would be to hang her painting in the foyer. In spite of her intentions to hang it in a place of honor as soon as she moved, after Derek’s death, she had lost all desire to try to make this place a home. The painting had languished against the back wall of the walk-in closet in their bedroom—her bedroom now. She went and got the painting and held it against two different walls in the airy foyer, leaning back as far as she could to gauge the effect. The sun had almost gone down outside the windows, but remembering how the light played off the west wall in the mornings, she decided that was the best spot.

  She worked for twenty minutes tightening the canvas where it had buckled. Then she measured down from the ceiling and across the breadth of the wall and pounded a nail through the picture hanger, anchoring it in place. She hung the picture and stepped back to view her handiwork.

  It looked good. But then, she thought of Derek’s comments about the painting, and a surge of defiance straightened her posture. Just as quickly her shoulders slumped. She had no reason to defend her right to hang her painting in a place of prominence. Derek was no longer here to defy. A wave of sadness tinged with guilt swept over her.

  She stared at the painting. Slowly, her pastoral scene with its open sky, rolling pastureland and pond and languid cows grazing, started to soothe her as it always had. She could almost feel her blood pressure drop and the tension in her muscles ease. She had work to do.

  She couldn’t invest any real money in fixing up this house, but a lot could be accomplished using the things they’d brought with them from Chicago.

  Unsuccessfully, she tried to picture their town house in the city, to disassemble the rooms in her mind and see what decorative items might work in this house. She’d just have to unpack some boxes and see what was there. She rubbed her hands together and tackled the first box, taking inventory of what she had to work with. Maybe she could weed through their belongings and put together enough castoffs for a garage sale. In their lean newlywed years, that had always been one way she could come up with a little extra cash.

  She could sell some of the art they’d collected, too. She’d always told Derek it was like a small insurance policy. She wasn’t sure if it would even bring what they’d paid for it now. But that would be a last resort.

  One by one, she unpacked boxes, and tried out artwork and linens and decorative items in the various rooms. Though money had been tight, she and Derek had collected a few nice things. Each object seemed to have a memory attached to it—the vintage Shaker basket they’d found for a quarter at a garage sale, the Delft candlesticks he’d bought for her on the Riverwalk in San Antonio. She found herself in tears several times after pulling some memory from a pasteboard box. But it was a blessing to be reminded that they had enjoyed some good times together. Their marriage hadn’t been all conflict and betrayal.

  She found a half-empty bucket of saffron paint left in the garage by the former owners, and on a whim, she painted one wall at the end of the dining area. Her excitement grew with each successful rearrangement of furniture, and each pleasing tabletop vignette she composed. For the first time in weeks, she felt the passion, the exhilaration she always felt when she used her gift for design.

  She worked until after midnight and fell into bed in a satisfied state of fatigue.

  When she woke up the next morning the first thing that greeted her blurry eyes was the cheery arrangement of books and candlesticks and clunky old costume jewelry she’d arranged atop a linen scarf on the oak dresser. Amazing how a few simple items could give her so much joy. “Thank you, Lord,” she whispered.

  She climbed out of bed and headed for the bathroom, whistling. She ate her bagel and coffee at the dining room table, delighted with how her freshly painted golden wall reflected the morning sun. It made a worthy backdrop for the framed print she and Derek had spent half a month’s salary on in a gallery along the Mag Mile one Saturday morning. Never mind that it might soon have to be sold to make a house payment. She really should get in touch with the Realtor and see about listing the house. She shook off the thought. Not today, when this house was finally starting to feel a little like home.

  Why hadn’t she wrought her homey touches on the house weeks ago? She ripped off a bite of bagel. No, that was a foolish thought. She’d been in the throes of grief then. She could no more have thought about decorating this house then, than she could think of kissing Reed Vincent now.

  She sucked in a breath. Where had that come from? And why was she sitting in the privacy of her own kitchen blushing?

  Olivia took a swig of coffee, stuffed the discomfiting thoughts of Reed in a hidden recess of her mind, and shook her head, as if the physical action might clear the muddled slate of her brain.

  She fiddled for a minute with a simple floral centerpiece she’d left unfinished last night, then cleared her dishes off the table. Tiger would be waiting by the back door, meowing for his breakfast. She gathered her things for work, along with the bag of cat food, and went out the back door.

  Tiger was nowhere in sight, but usually a gentle shake of the bag brought him running. She filled his dish and freshened his water bowl, but still no cat.

  “Here kitty, kitty…” She tiptoed through the dewy grass behind the garage, calling for him. The backyard was empty. Yesterday morning, Tiger had presented her with a dead ground squirrel that was almost as big as he was. Maybe he’d given up on her and decided to hunt down a mouse for breakfast.

  She checked her watch. It was almost nine-thirty. She couldn’t wait around for a silly cat. She rolled down the top of the bag of cat food and put it away in the back entryway, locking the door behind her.

  Next door, Mr. Burn
side’s garage door rolled open and Olivia watched his old Plymouth turn into his driveway. He was out and about early. He tooted his horn at her and waved his arms broadly over the steering wheel. Did he want something?

  She walked over to the fence that separated their yards and waited for him to crawl out from behind the wheel.

  “Good morning?” She smiled, and gave him a questioning glance. “You’re up early.”

  He reached out and put a veined hand on the side of his vehicle to steady himself. “Wanted to take care of our little problem right away,” he said, opening the back door and pulling an empty cardboard box from the seat.

  “Oh?” She had no idea what he was talking about.

  “That cat. He yowled half the night again.” He scowled and flapped the upside-down box, as if emptying it of something vile. “I saw him waiting by your back door when I went out to get the paper this morning and figured I’d nab him while I could.”

  Olivia held her breath, managing to push a strangled “Oh?” through her lips.

  “Good thing the pound opens early. They took him right in.”

  Her breath hitched. “You…you took him to the pound?”

  “The Humane Society, actually. I figured if anybody’s looking for him, that’s where they’d go first.” Mr. Burnside looked so proud of himself she wanted to smack him. He’d taken Tiger to the pound? Olivia could only stare, speechless.

  The old man cocked his head, studying her. “You did say you couldn’t keep him, right?”

  “Well, I did, but… Yes. I did.” She was afraid to say anything else. She turned quickly, mumbling over her shoulder. “I need to get to work.”

  Chapter 22

  Olivia crawled into her car and lurched down the driveway in reverse, a sudden fury fueling her. How could he? Tiger wasn’t his to dump at the pound. And he’d taken the cat before he even had anything to eat that morning. She gripped the steering wheel and gnawed at the corner of her bottom lip. She should have given the man a piece of her mind. How could he be so cruel? He hadn’t even asked her!

  Wait a minute, Liv. She talked herself through another wave of fury. Mr. Burnside had asked her if she intended to keep Tiger. Just last night he’d let her know that the cat was still causing him trouble.

  She pounded the steering wheel with the flat of her palm. But she didn’t know he was talking about taking the cat to the pound! He’d never said that!

  The tears came and she permitted herself a good cry all the way to Reed’s house. By the time she turned on to Reed’s street, she was beginning to come to her senses. As much as she’d enjoyed having Tiger around, maybe it was for the best that Mr. Burnside had taken him away. And he’d said it was the Humane Society he’d taken Tiger to, not the city pound. They didn’t destroy animals there, did they? At least not right away. Maybe someone would claim Tiger.

  Tears pooled behind her eyelids, but she tried to listen to her practical side. She had no business spending money on cat food. And if she had taken responsibility for Tiger, she would have had to pay for his shots and the vet bills. Already the expenses had added up to more than she’d expected.

  Still, the little cat had been one of the few bright spots in her life. She’d come to look forward to seeing him at the end of a long day at the studio. It might not make sense to a financial planner, but as far as she was concerned, Tiger was worth every penny she’d spent on him.

  She didn’t dare think too long about what would happen to him if no one claimed him in a few days.

  She parked in front of Reed’s house and dried her tears, checking her makeup in the rearview mirror before getting out of the car.

  A gray cat darted through the yard across the street. Olivia pictured Tiger, caged and meowing pathetically at the pound, and the tears started afresh. Poor little kitten.

  She forced the tremor from her voice and let herself in. But her falsely cheery “good morning” to Reed didn’t fool him.

  He looked up and studied her for a minute, concern in his knit brows. “Olivia? Is everything all right?”

  She waved him away. “It’s nothing.”

  “Well, it doesn’t look like nothing. What’s wrong?”

  She hurried to the worktable and turned her back to him, wishing she could just go home and have a good cry.

  “You want to talk about it?”

  She took a deep breath. “You’d just laugh.”

  “What? Why would I laugh?”

  “Because…” Her voice came out in a broken sob that made her laugh at herself in spite of the genuine ache in her heart. She whirled to face him. “Because I’m crying about a stupid cat.”

  He dropped his paintbrush into a jar of turpentine and leaned back on his stool. “Tiger?”

  She nodded. “My busybody neighbor took him to the pound last night.”

  “Why?”

  The tears were close again and she bit her lip, willing her voice to remain steady. “He was crying under the window at night and—”

  “Your neighbor was crying under the window?”

  The quirk of Reed’s mouth told her he was only trying to inject some levity in the situation. It was apparently working, as she found a smile tugging at her lips.

  “No, silly. Tiger. He meows at night and it keeps Mr. Burnside awake. So he took Tiger to the pound.”

  Reed’s eyes flashed. “Well, that was a low down, dirty-rotten thing to do. He didn’t even ask?”

  Olivia couldn’t help but giggle at the incensed pitch of his voice.

  “It wasn’t his fault, really. I made the mistake of telling him I couldn’t keep the cat. Nobody else claimed him, so…” She shrugged. “He took him to the Humane Society. I’m sure he was just trying to help.”

  Reed’s harrumph reminded her of Mr. Burnside’s reaction when she’d told him she thought Tiger looked a little scrawny.

  “But why can’t you keep him?”

  “I couldn’t afford the shots he’d need…and I’d have to get him neutered. And cat food and kitty litter aren’t exactly cheap.”

  “Kitty litter? You mean he’d be a house cat?”

  She shook her head. “Well, if I could keep him, he would.”

  “Well, then you wouldn’t have to worry about him bothering your neighbor…if he was inside.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Reed.” Her voice rose. “I can’t keep him. I don’t even know if I’ll be—” She stopped short. Reed didn’t need to know that she was still entertaining the idea of moving back to Chicago.

  “But you’d keep Tiger if you could?”

  She shrugged, then nodded vigorously. The tears started again. It didn’t help that Reed was being so sweet about it. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I thought you didn’t like cats.”

  He grinned. “I don’t. But I like you. I’m sorry, Liv. Do you want to just…go home for the day?”

  “No… No.” She turned away, strangely touched by his use of the nickname no one had called her by since childhood. She opened the file drawer and found the inventory sheets she’d been working on yesterday. She was being ridiculous, crying over a dumb cat. “I’m fine,” she told him, when she had control of her voice.

  Reed was quiet the rest of the morning, but Olivia sensed his eyes on her several times, and she felt all the more foolish for making such a scene. She went out for sandwiches at the deli down the street and brought them back to the studio. Reed was in the middle of a painting, so they worked while they ate, making small talk. Reed didn’t bring up the subject of Tiger again, but Olivia thought about the kitten several times throughout the day and hoped he wasn’t too scared and lonely at the shelter. She comforted herself by imagining that Tiger was making all kinds of new feline friends.

  Reed left the studio around four to run some errands. He wasn’t back at five, so she cleaned up the studio and locked up his house behind her. She drove home, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut, and her tears to herself.

  Chapter 23

  Olivia dreaded go
ing to her empty house and all the reminders that Tiger was gone—the empty yard, Tiger’s food and water bowls and the catnip toys she’d bought for him. She drove downtown, hoping to pick up a few things at the tiny office supply store, but it was already closed. She still wasn’t used to this town that closed down before sunset. She wasn’t hungry, but decided she ought to eat for the baby’s sake. She drove out to the diner on the edge of town and ordered a salad at the drive-thru window. She’d only been inside the diner once since that awful night she’d gone there trying to find Derek. But Reed had sent her there to pick up burgers for their lunch one day. Of course he’d had no way of knowing the traumatic memories the diner held for her. And she’d never told him.

  A few weeks ago the owner had installed a drive-thru window and a big neon sign out front. The restaurant held a big grand opening and sent coupons to all the businesses in town, including Reed’s studio. They’d used the drive-thru for lunch there several times since. It didn’t even seem like the same place to her now. In fact, the diner held some rather enjoyable memories now.

  She thought about taking her food to the park to eat. Anything to put off going home tonight. Funny how all her cozy decorating touches couldn’t make up for the fact that her little feline buddy was gone and the house seemed empty again. But eventually, she’d have to face putting away the things that reminded her of Tiger. She briefly entertained the thought of getting another kitten. But right now it would be foolish. Her money would best be spent on trying to get the house ready to sell.

  She tried to get psyched about finishing the decorating projects she’d dived into last night. If the house was going to sell, she needed to get things spruced up. And it would be something to occupy her mind. But her enthusiasm from last night had waned. Sighing, she turned the car toward home.