"You do have a sweet and convincing way with words, Kitty."
"I love ya. Ain't that all that counts?" Kitty said, her voice sounding suddenly vulnerable.
I stared upward, wondering what was
happening. Was he stripping off her clothes, full of desire just because this time she was going to let him?
When I heard Cal in the downstairs bath the next morning, I got up and started breakfast. Cal was whistling in the shower. Was he happy now?
Kitty came from upstairs apparently a changed woman, smiling at me as if she hadn't burned my most beloved possession and punched me in the face. "Why, honey baby," she crooned, "why'd ya stay upstairs durin t'party ya gave me, huh, why did ya? Missed ya, I did. Wanted ya there t'show
ya off Call my friends. Why, all t'girls were dyin t'see ya, an ya were shy an didn't show up an let em see my pretty daughta gets betta-lookin every day. Really, honey doll, ya do gotta get used t'monthly cramps, an ferget all about em--or else yer neva gonna enjoy bein a woman."
"You tell me where Keith and Our Jane are!" I shouted. "You promised to tell me!"
"Why, honey, what ya talkin bout? How would / know?" She smiled, so help me, she smiled as if she'd completely forgotten all she'd done. Was she pretending? Oh, she had to be! She wasn't that crazy! Then came the more dreadful thought--maybe she really was insane!
Cal strode in and threw Kitty a look of disgust, though he didn't say anything. Behind her back his eyes met mine, sending me a silent warning. Do nothing. Say nothing. Let Kitty play her pretend game, and we'd play ours. A knot formed in the pit of my stomach. How could I live through day after day of this? My eyes lowered to watch the eggs sizzling in the pan.
It was May now, and the hustle and bustle of preparing for exams was in the air. I studied hours on end so I'd earn good grades. Very late in the month, a weird kind of northeaster blew in and chased away spring warmth, and suddenly it was unseasonably cold. Furnaces that had been shut down in March were started up again. Sweaters put in mothballs came out with woolen skirts. On the coldest Friday in May I'd ever known, I stayed late for a conference with Mr. Taylor, my biology teacher. He asked me if I'd please take our class hamster, Chuckles, home for the weekend.
The dilemma I faced showed up clearly in my troubled expression as I stood by the hamster's large wire cage, wanting to shout out the truth about Kitty and her diabolical hatred of all living animals, when under any other circumstances I would have been delighted to be in charge of the pregnant hamster that was the biology-class pet.
"Oh, no," I said quickly when he persisted. "I've told you. Mr. Taylor, my mother doesn't approve of pets in her house. They're messy, smelly, and she's always sniffing the air for odors she doesn't
recognize."
"Oh, come now, Heaven," said Mr. Taylor, "you're exaggerating, I know you are. Your mother is a lovely, gracious woman, I can tell from the way she smiles at you."
Yeah, how sweet and kind were the smiles of Kitty Dennison. How dumb men could be, really. Even book-smart ones like Mr. Taylor.
My teacher's voice took on a persuading tone while the wild northeast winds whipped around the school building, making me shiver even with the heat on. On and on he wheedled: "The city orders us to turn off the heat on weekends, and all the other students are gone. Do you want the poor little expectant mother to stay in a freezing room so we'll find her dead on Monday? Come, dear, share the responsibility of loving a pet . . . that's what love is all about, you know, responsibilities and caring."
"But my mother hates animals," I said in a weak voice, really wanting to have Chuckles for an entire weekend.
He must have seen some yearning in my expression, for he went on cajoling. "Gets mighty cold in here," he said, watching my face in a calculating way. "Even if Chuckles has food and water, mighty cold for a wee dear caged expectant mother."
"But . . . but . . ."
"No buts. It's your duty. Your obligation. I'm leaving this weekend with my family, or else I'd take Chuckles home with me. I could leave her in my home alone with plenty of food in her cage, and her bottle of water . . . but she might give birth any day. And I want you there with the movie camera I taught you how to use to show the class the miracle of birth, in case it happens while she's with you."
And so I was persuaded against my better judy ent, and in Kitty's spick-and-span white-and-pink house, among all the brilliant ceramic critters, tanand-white Chuckles was established in the basement, a place Kitty never went now that she had a slave to do the clothes washing and drying.
However, Kitty was not in the least predictable. Her mood swings were startling, dramatic, and, most of all, dangerous. With much trepidation I bustled about making a clear and clean place, out of drafts, for the big cage. Under a sunny high window seemed to me just perfect. I found an old standing screen with its black lacquer peeling off, and I set it up. Now Chuckles would be protected not only from drafts but from Kitty's cruel seawater eyes if ever she dared to enter the basement. There was absolutely no reason for her to come to where I had Chuckles cozily established against a distant wall. I felt only a small apprehension for Chuckles' safety.
"Now, you take it easy down here, Chuckles," I warned the small animal, who sat up on her haunches and nibbled daintily on the slice of apple I gave her. "Try not to use your treadmill so much. In your condition, you might overdo it."
The darn wheel squeaked and squealed, and even after I took the wheel out and oiled the moving parts, it still made a certain amount of noise when I spun it with my fingers. Chuckles ran madly about in her cage, wanting her exercise wheel back. Once I put it back in the cage, Chuckles instantly jumped in and began to run in the wheel--it still squealed, but not very much.
Upstairs in the back hall I pressed my ear against the closed basement door. All was silent down there. I opened the door and listened. Still I couldn't hear anything. Good. I descended the stairs, five, six, then seven of them, paused to listen. Only then could I hear a faint sound, but it was all right. Kitty would never enter the basement alone, and she couldn't do anything if Cal was at his workbench. I had finished with the laundry, so why should she check?
In another few minutes I had a few old chairs put one on each side of the screen, so it wouldn't topple over and fall on the cage. I tested it, found it stable enough, and once more told Chuckles to be a good girl, and please don't have your babies before I have the camera set up and ready."
Chuckles went right on spinning in the treadmill.
It was another of those strange evenings, with Kitty not working overtime as she used to do. There was a distraught look in her pale eyes. "Got another migraine," she complained in a whiny tone. "Goin t'bed early," she announced after an early supper. "Don't want t'hear t'dishwasher goin, ya hear? Makes t'house vibrate. I'm gonna swallow some pills an sleep an sleep an sleep."
Wonderful!