The Christmas Cat Part 8

"Sounds like she's a busy woman. Does she have a job?"

"She works from her home. As a seamstress. She does alterations and things like that. Her husband, Riley, manages an appliance store. They are like this sweet, old-fas.h.i.+oned couple, but they're our age."

"Our age?"

"You know . . . thirty-something." She grinned. "Riley might be pus.h.i.+ng forty. But Sabrina has to be midthirties."

"Yeah." He nodded. "And do they have a solid marriage? Or do you know?"

"Very solid. Their biggest problem is that they can't have kids. Sounds like they've spent lots of money trying to. Sabrina is trying to resign herself to it, but I know it's been hard on her. I've been telling her she should get some pets. But she doesn't like dogs."

"Does she like cats?"

Cara shrugged. "I'm not sure. All I know is that she does not like dogs. One of our neighbors has several and she sometimes complains about what they do to her yard."

They chatted on and on as they ate fish and chips and chowder. And by the time they were done, Garrison felt like he'd made real progress.

"Friends?" he said as they prepared to leave the restaurant.

"Friends," she declared as she held out her hand. He grasped it and shook it.

"That's a relief. I was afraid you were never going to get over losing Harry," he confessed.

Her dark eyes twinkled. "Well, I now have a plan for Harry's future. I'm hoping he'll become my neighbor and I'll get to spend lots of time with him."

"You talk to Sabrina and we'll see how it goes," he said as they stepped out into the cold.

"Thanks for dinner," she called out as she pulled her scarf over her head and got ready to dash through the rain.

"Thank you!" Garrison took off after her, waving as they parted ways at their cars. That had gone well. Really, really well. As he started the Pontiac's engine, he looked at the funky old fish house and grinned. What a perfect place for a first date! Cara had been a genius to choose it. Why had he been so doubtful? And Fowlers' looked really beautiful from the car. Against the blackness of a dark rainy night, dozens of strings of colorful lights were cheerfully reflected in the s.h.i.+ning puddles, doubling the effects of the rainbows of light. Even the inflated vinyl Santa standing next to the giant anchor had a certain charm. For some reason everything looked better to him now.

9.

The next morning, Garrison was surprised to hear someone knocking at the back door. It was barely seven. He hurried past where Oreo and Harry were already waiting for breakfast and pulled open the door. "Ruby?" he peered curiously at his bathrobe-clad neighbor. "What are you doing out this early?"

She held out what looked like a covered plate. "Breakfast," she told him with a wide grin.

"Seriously?" He moved back, welcoming her into the house. "What did I do to deserve this?"

"Just being neighborly," she said as she set the oversized plate on the kitchen table, proudly removing the cover. "Ham and eggs. Biscuits and gravy. And grits."

His eyes opened wide and his mouth started to water. "Grits?"

She nodded knowingly.

"I haven't had grits in years." He smiled at her. "Not since I lived here and used to sneak over to eat them from your table."

"That's what I figured." She pulled out a chair. "Go ahead, eat it while it's hot."

"Don't mind if I do." He sat down and she handed him silverware from the drawer.

"Dig in and enjoy, Garrison."

"What about your breakfast?" he asked as he stuck his spoon into the grits.

"I already ate. Don't mind me. I'll just make us some coffee."

"Why are you being so nice to me, Ruby?"

"Just being neighborly," she said again. "Neighbors helping neighbors. That's what we do around here."

"Uh-huh." He nodded as he chewed a bite of ham, watching her with suspicion. She was up to something and he knew it. But whatever it was, he didn't think he cared. He hadn't had a breakfast this good in-years!

He was just finis.h.i.+ng up the grits when she set a mug of steaming coffee in front of him. She had a cup of her own and sat down with a humph across from him. "Well, how do you like it? Can Ruby still cook grits or not?"

"Oh yeah," he murmured contentedly. "No doubt about it. Ruby still can."

She chuckled, then sipped her coffee.

He was almost done with the biscuits and gravy when she cleared her throat. "Elliott came by last night."

"Your house?"

"Yeah. He spent the night. Still sleeping."

"Uh-huh?"

"I could hardly sleep myself last night. Fretting and worrying over that boy. He's broke with no place to go. Down and out. I just don't know what's to become of him." She sighed. "His clothes were filthy. I've already run them through the washer twice. Once last night. And again this morning. Don't know if they'll ever come clean."

"Clothes can be replaced." He pushed the empty plate aside and reached for his coffee.

"I know that." She gave him an exasperated look. "But grandsons cannot."

"Yeah." He nodded. "That's true."

"So I got myself to thinking . . . in the middle of the night . . . after I spent more'n an hour praying to the good Lord to do something about this. I got to thinking that maybe there's something we can do right here. Right under our noses."

"What would that be?"

"Well, I know you're working real hard to fix up Lilly's house. And I got to thinking maybe you could use a spare set of hands." She leaned forward. "Elliott's a strong boy. He can work hard when he sets his mind on it. I thought if he could come over here and help out, well, maybe it would do both you and him some good. What d'you think?"

He chuckled. "I think this breakfast was a bribe."

"Not a bribe exactly. But I thought it might get your undivided attention." She pointed to the empty plate. "Looks like it did too."

"And I'm not complaining either." He smiled at her. "But you didn't need to bring me breakfast, Ruby. I'm happy to hire Elliott. I really could use some help. But I can't afford to pay him much right now."

"I don't want you to pay him at all."

"Why not?"

"Don't want that boy having any money in his pocket. The longer he's broke, the longer he'll stay put."

"I see."

"When it's time to pay him . . . I'll let you know."

"What will I tell him?"

"Don't you worry about that. I'll handle everything." She finished the last of her coffee. "I'll tell him that I'm his manager. If a boy can't trust his grandmother, who can he trust?"

"Good point."

"So . . . if I can get him up-and that might be like raising the dead-I'll get some food into him and send him over here."

"Great." He stood up and rinsed the plate, then handed it back to her. "And thanks for breakfast. I can't remember when I've had a better one."

She reached up and patted his cheek. "You're a sweet boy, Garrison. I sure have missed you."

A couple hours pa.s.sed before Elliott showed up at the back door-wearing low-slung pants, a ripped T-s.h.i.+rt, a knitted black ski cap, and a suspicious dark scowl. He looked around the kitchen with narrowed eyes. "Just what am I supposed to do anyway?"

Garrison reintroduced himself to the sulky boy, then explained his basic plans for fixing up the house. "I've made a long list." He nodded to the fridge.

"This is all about cats."

"The other list. Anyway, right now I need you to help me in getting the living room ready to paint. I want to take the drapes down and mask off the woodwork. After that, you can attack the bathroom." Garrison pulled a fresh particle mask out of a drawer and slipped it on.

"What's that?" Elliott frowned. "We working with toxic stuff or something?"

"No. I just have cat allergies. I take meds, but the masks help too." He jangled another one. "You can wear one if you want, but they get pretty stuffy."

Elliott shook his head then rambled into the living room where the two of them started to remove the dusty drapes and drapery rods. Next Garrison showed Elliott how to mask off the wood, explaining how it was important to get it straight and seal it tight and smooth. Elliott acted nonchalant, but when he started doing it, he took the time to do it right. Garrison could tell this kid was smart. Okay, maybe he wasn't smart when it came to life choices, but he had brains.

"Nice work," he told Elliott when they finished prepping the living room.

Elliott just shrugged. "No big deal."

"Actually, it's a big deal to me," Garrison corrected. "A lot of guys wouldn't do it half as well. I can tell you're intelligent."

Elliott's eyes seemed to light up and then he frowned again. "You mean for a black kid?"

Garrison laughed. "No, that's not what I meant at all. Just take a compliment for what it's worth, okay?"

He shrugged again. "Okay."

"Now if you could go tape off the bathroom beneath the staircase"-he pointed to the door-"just like you did in here, I'd appreciate it."

As Elliott meandered toward the bathroom, Garrison noticed a strange car in front of the house. A pair of women emerged and he felt a surge of happiness to realize that one of them was Cara. The other was a pet.i.te blonde woman. "Come in," he called as he opened the front door.

Cara quickly introduced him to Sabrina. "As it turns out, she is interested in getting a cat," she told him. "I hope you don't mind that we popped in."

"Not at all. I'd offer you a chair, but you can see there's a shortage."

"We just came to see the cats," Sabrina said.

"Harry in particular," Cara added.

Garrison went for the bag of cat treats, rattling the plastic and calling until both Harry and Oreo magically appeared. Harry, as usual, rubbed against his legs, looking up with adoring green eyes. Garrison bent down to scratch his head and chin. "Just two boys left," he told Sabrina, "but if you ask me they're the best of the lot."

"Harry is a Maine c.o.o.n cat," Cara said with enthusiasm. She knelt down next to Garrison, stroking Harry's silky coat. "They are the best cats ever. Very smart and loyal and, in my opinion, gorgeous."

"He is pretty," Sabrina agreed as she petted the other cat. "But so are you, Oreo."

"Handsome Harry," Cara cooed. Then standing, she glanced around the room. "Are you painting?"

"Yeah." Garrison picked up the paint samples, fanning the colors out. "Now if I could just pick a color."

Cara grimaced. "I wouldn't know where to begin." She pointed to Sabrina, who had squatted down to examine the cats. "She's the real color expert. You should get her opinion." She glanced at her watch. "Now if you guys will excuse me, I have to get home for a conference call at ten. I'll just walk back."

"Thanks for coming with me." Sabrina stood and looked at the color cards in Garrison's hands. "You really want help with that?"

"I would be truly grateful." He handed them over to her and she began walking around the room, taking it all in.

"Is this carpet staying?"

"No way," he a.s.sured her. "I'm just leaving it in until I finish painting. Thought it might protect the floors. They're hardwood underneath. I took a peek yesterday and they appear to be in good shape. This house belonged to my grandfather's parents originally and finally to just my grandmother. But I think the carpet was installed back in the sixties." He went over to peel back the corner for her to see.

"Pretty," she said. "It's a lighter wood than I'd have expected. But it'll brighten it up in here. I really like this color." Sabrina pointed to a warm shade of gray. "It's neutral but sophisticated, and it looks really handsome against the dark woodwork. See?" She held it against the wall then handed it back to him.

Garrison studied the color. "I never would've picked that color, but I do like it." He left the card sticking out. "Want to help me with the other rooms?" he asked hopefully.

"Sure. It's the least I can do in exchange for a cat."

"Great. Did you decide on which one?"

She pointed to Oreo. "This guy had me from the get-go. I didn't want to hurt Cara's feelings. She was so set on me adopting Harry. But I had a cat that looked a lot like this one as a child. So if you don't mind, I'd like to have Oreo."

He grinned. "I don't mind at all."

Before Sabrina left, with Oreo happily tucked into a cat crate, she had helped Garrison pick out a nice, pale robin's-egg blue for the downstairs bath and a lighter shade of gray for the downstairs bedroom. She even made some great suggestions for the bath and bedrooms upstairs.

After a quick trip to the paint store, Garrison returned with the living room and bathroom paint. He'd arranged to pick up the other cans at the end of the day and had grabbed a couple of Subway sandwiches. He and Elliott had a quick lunch, then launched into painting. "You're really good at this," he told Elliott as he watched him dipping a roller into the paint. "Have you done it before?"