Page 48 of Something Old

He found her in the dining room section—her favorite place to haunt, it seemed, though now he hated thinking the word “haunt” in relation to her, even casually.

She was huddled on a ladder-backed chair, clutching a green velvet cushion with gold tassels to her stomach.

She looked up as Grant approached, and he was shocked. Her eyes were swollen and puffy, her face was splotchy from crying, and her hair was an uncharacteristic mess as if she’d tried to pull it out by the handful and, failing to do so, had shoved it back behind her ears. Worse, she seemed deflated, somehow. Fragile. Words he’d never associate with Madeline in a hundred years.

Grant wanted to take her face in his hands and rub away the tension he saw in the lines by her mouth with his thumbs. He wanted to press his lips to the three sharp grooves between her eyebrows. He wanted her to rest against him until she was strong again. Everything in her rigid body language said, Stay Away, however. And yet . . . she’d called him.

“Mads.” His voice faltered. “What is it?”

She shook her head, pressed her lips into a hard line, and closed her eyes briefly. Moisture beaded on her lashes. “Only my sister calls—called—me that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I like it.”

Grant nodded but felt no reassurance, only deeper worry. “So . . .” he tried again. “What’s up?”

“It’s stupid. I shouldn’t have called you.”

“Of course, you should’ve. Anytime. Always.”

She squeezed the pillow tighter and rocked back and forth in her chair. “He’s just a cat. It’s not like losing a person. I know, I know.”

A rock of sorrow and horror thudded in Grant’s gut. “Something’s happened to Boots?”

Madeline shook her head again. “Not ‘Boots,’ no. Apparently, he’s Garfield.”

Grant suddenly registered a crumpled sheet of paper on the floor by Madeline’s foot. The Found Cat poster. Everything clicked at once.

He scrubbed his face with his hands. “Someone claimed your cat?”

“Well, I guess that’s the whole point, right? He wasn’t really mine.”

Grant grunted in disagreement. “I’ve never seen a cat belong to one person so much—and Garfield? That doesn’t suit him at all.”

For a second, Madeline’s demeanor lightened. She almost smiled as she nodded. “Right? You should’ve seen the look he gave the woman when she called him that.”

She slumped again almost immediately, however. “I know he’s just a cat,” she repeated, “but it just, he just . . . He was such a good friend. He really helped me. I’ve been trying so hard, and—” Her voice broke. “It’s stupid. I’m a moron.”

Grant thought about how inheriting Grover along with his Dad’s mess in the aftermath of Holly’s devastating betrayal had been, probably literally, a lifesaver. Having to feed and water his dog—and thus himself, so he could continue to care for the dog. Being forced to go for regular walks and not just hole up in the house. Having something warm and alive and unconditionally affectionate when everyone else gossiped about him or thought he’d gone off the deep end . . . He had to look away for a moment. Then he cleared his throat.

“It’s the furthest thing from stupid, and you are the furthest thing from a moron.”

She laughed shakily. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Grant sank into a chaise longue beside the doorway leading to the living room section of the shop. “Join me?”

To his surprise, she did. Carefully setting the cushion she was gripping aside, she plunked herself down between his legs, her back to his chest. He dropped his chin to her crown and wrapped his arms around her. “I can’t even imagine what another loss feels like on top of everything else.”

“It just . . . brings back a lot of stuff, you know?”

He nodded against her hair.

“At first, I was totally prepared to give him back—I was.” She said the last bit as if Grant had expressed doubts about that. “But then, I admit, so much time passed, I kind of forgot he wasn’t really mine. I never should’ve hung all those stupid posters—but then, if I hadn’t, maybe it’d be my fault someone else felt like I do now.”

Grant doubted the previous owner had ever felt as bad as Madeline did.

“He’s just a cat,” Madeline repeated, “but that’s why I thought loving him was . . . safe.” She sighed heavily and didn’t have to say anything else. Loving someone or something was a lot of things, but safe wasn’t one of them.