23. Chapter 23
Elowen
When we arrive at the shelter, the door swings open with that familiar squeak that I’ve grown to love. Behind me, Leo clutches his worn copy of “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” while Meredith skips ahead.
“Morning, Elowen!” Nora calls from behind the reception desk. “We’ve got three new arrivals last night. One’s perfect for Leo’s reading program.”
“Hear that, buddy?” I touch Leo’s shoulder. “Sounds like you have a new listener today.”
Leo’s eyes light up, though his expression remains serious. “What’s their temperament assessment?”
Actually, that’s a great question.
“Scared but not aggressive,” Nora answers, matching his professional tone. “Hiding under the blanket, but responsive to soft voices. No signs of biting or intentional clawing when getting too close.”
My son nods. He has more patience than most adults I know, and certainly more than Julian ever showed.
“How about me, Ms. Nora? Can I help with the puppies today?” Meredith plants her hands on the counter, standing on tiptoes to peer over the edge.
“Sorry, Mi-Mi. The puppies have their check-ups this morning. But the community room could use a toy organizer.”
Before Meredith can respond, Sarah bursts through the side door. Her eyes lock on me immediately, widening with urgency.
“El,” she says, her voice tight. “I need you. Now.”
The children are already drifting toward their assigned areas.
They know to stick with the volunteers and not leave unless I go with them.
I follow Sarah to the small break room. Aside from the scent of over-brewed, stale coffee—which lingers because the only volunteer who drinks it constantly forgets to clean out the pot—we’re alone.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Did something happen with our grant proposal?”
Sarah shakes her head, pulling out her phone with slightly trembling fingers. “I saw them last night. At Castellano’s.” She doesn’t need to clarify who “them” is. The way her jaw tightens tells me exactly who she means.
I collapse into a chair, not sure how to feel about it. Going to a charity gala under the pretense of business is one thing, but a private dinner is another.
Sarah holds out her phone, the screen already queued to a video.
Julian sits at a white-clothed table across from Carmella, whose dress and perfect posture look exactly as I’d expect.
They’re leaning close, heads nearly touching in what appears to be an intimate conversation.
Carmella reaches across the table, and that’s where the video ends.
“Bobby grabbed my phone,” she says.
My body tenses, muscles contracting in a visceral response I can’t control.
But then, when I force my body to relax, something strange happens.
Instead of the crushing pain I might have expected weeks ago, my mind drifts backward, pulling up memories like old photographs from a forgotten album.
Julian on our first date, standing as I approached the table.
The way he held my chair, with his fingers brushing my shoulder in a way that was seemingly accidental but not.
His voice, passionate as he described his vision for Plaza Investments.
The memory of his touch was warm and sure, and so different from the hesitant dates I’d had before him.
Now, it overlaps with the video on the phone.
The same man, but a different woman across from him.
It’s nothing compared to my memory. Julian looks disinterested in Carmella. Perhaps even annoyed.
Oh well, Julian. You chose her.
Then my mind jumps elsewhere, thinking of how Sarah got this footage in the first place.
A bubble rises in my chest. For a moment, I try to contain it, falling back on years of restraint.
But then it breaks free, erupting from my lips in a sound that startles us both.
I clamp a hand over my mouth, trying to choke it back, but the laugh cuts right through my fingers.
It’s a mixture between a hyena and a deranged clown.
Trying to stop, I double over through my aching back’s protests.
“El, what’s going on?” Sarah drops her hands to her sides, her voice wavering. “D-do I need to call EMS?”
I wave a hand weakly at her phone, unable to straighten up. Tears drag down my cheeks, hot and messy. “Remember,” I wheeze. “Remember Spoon? On your last date?”
Sarah blinks, her shoulders dropping as the urgency leaves her. “The hamster guy? What about him?”
“Now,” I manage, the words cracking as another wave of laughter hits me. “Now that date is going to have stories about you.”
Sarah’s jaw sets. She snaps her arms across her chest, gripping her phone tight in one fist. “No. Spoon’s dad was way worse.”
The giggles finally slow. “He’ll say you grabbed your phone and started filming a random man across the room.”
“That ‘random man’ was your husband,” Sarah protests, her voice rising. “Eating dinner with the She-Devil incarnate.”
“I’m picturing poor What’s-His-Name sitting there while you went full surveillance mode.”
“His name is Bobby, and he understood completely once I explained.” Sarah’s chin lifts, but the corners of her mouth twitch upward. “Besides, we were almost done with dinner, anyway.”
“You explained after Bobby had to take away your phone. Did you stalk them during the entire dessert course?” The amusement bubbles up again, lighter this time. “Did you hide behind a plant? Follow Carmella to the bathroom and plant a recorder in her purse?”
“I was gathering evidence.” Sarah bites her inner cheek, trying to suppress the grin breaking across her face. “You know, most women would be upset seeing that video.”
I let out a long, quiet breath, letting my shoulders sink back against the chair. Peace finally settles into the room. “Most women haven’t heard of their husband’s wife-comparison spreadsheet.”
“True.” Sarah nods solemnly before adding, “Though, the spreadsheet thing would make a killer story. You should bring it up during your next date.”
This sets us off again, both of us laughing.
“Seriously though,” Sarah says when we’ve calmed again. “Are you okay?”
I take her phone, studying the frozen image of Julian and Carmella. “It’s just so predictable.”
Sarah squeezes my arm. “And here I was, ready to pour sugar into his gas tank.”
I hand back the phone. “Nah. Save your criminal record.”
Beatrix’s voice cuts through our conversation as she appears in the doorway. “Oh no, who has a criminal record?” Her gaze travels between us. “Whatever soap opera you two are discussing will have to wait. Sarah, the outdoor cat enclosure needs cleaning before the adoption fair opens at noon.”
Sarah glances at her watch, eyes widening. “I can’t. I have that meet-and-greet in five minutes. They’re interested in Princess Pony.”
“Well, someone needs to clean that enclosure,” Beatrix says, unmoved.
Before she can respond, I stand. “I’ll do it.”
Both women turn to me with identical expressions of surprise. So far, my job duties have largely been about the budget and grants. My children have had more hands-on experience than I have.
Speaking of which, I quickly add, “Leo and Meredith can help. Leo wanted to try out the new cat brushes anyway, and Meredith has been begging to use the little broom.”
Is it pathetic that I’m adding my children to the equation, as if they will supervise me.
“Fine,” Beatrix says. “But make sure the water bowls are scrubbed, not just refilled.”
“Thank you,” Sarah mouths to me as Beatrix turns away.
“No problem.” The video of Julian and Carmella that had momentarily invaded my morning has already begun to fade.
As Sarah hurries off to prepare for her adoption meeting, I head toward the main area to collect my children for our new assignment.
I find Leo exactly where I expect him: sitting cross-legged on the floor, already introducing himself to the new arrival.
A pair of yellow eyes peers from beneath a blanket in the corner of the kennel, tracking his movements but not retreating.
Looks like progress. I hate to interrupt, but I need his and Meredith’s help.
“Leo,” I say softly, matching his calm tone. “We have a special job today. The outdoor enclosure needs cleaning before the adoption fair.”
He looks up, conflicted. The boy who once refused to leave activities unfinished now weighs his responsibility to this frightened new cat. I watch the slight press of his lips.
“Can I read one more page?” he asks. “I think she’s starting to trust me.”
“That’s fair. One page while I grab your sister.”
I leave him whispering to the yellow eyes, finding Meredith in the community room with the animal toys. There are small fluffy balls in one basket, fake mice in another, and feather wands standing in a container that looks like a flower vase. Her dedication is admirable.
“That looks amazing,” I say, genuinely impressed by her system. “But we have a special assignment from Ms. Beatrix. The outdoor enclosure needs cleaning.”
Meredith’s head snaps up, eyes wide with excitement. “Can I use the little broom?”
“Mm-hmm, and the dustpan, too.”
“YES!” She pumps her fist in the air.
I smile as she races to the supply closet, already knowing exactly where all the cleaning supplies are kept. “I’ll handle the cleaner!” I tell her. We use animal-safe, non-toxic cleaners, but I still don’t want the kids handling any chemicals.
“I knoooooow, Mom.”
A few minutes later, we’re outside. The outdoor enclosure is a converted patio space with a wooden frame and soft mesh securely wrapped around the enclosure so the cats can hear and see outside with limited obstruction.
There’s even a cat door from inside the building that goes to the enclosure.
I believe I heard Sarah call it a “catio.”
Meredith stands at the enclosure entrance, hands on her hips in a perfect mimic of Beatrix’s impatient stance. “The door’s locked!”
“Hang on.” I fish the key ring from my pocket. Beatrix gave me a copy of the master keys a few days ago, which was a big deal since only a small number of us have our own set.
Once inside, we shut the door. Some cats go back inside using their cat door, while others lazily watch us with curious or annoyed gazes. One cat I’ve grown quite fond of, named Buttons, trots to us and stares in question.
“Hi, Buttons,” Leo says. “We’re going to clean your home so it’s nice for the adoption fair.”
I hand Meredith her prized child-sized broom. She begins in the corner, making big, exaggerated sweeps that are more enthusiastic than effective, but the joy she takes in the task is infectious.
We work together in comfortable fun. It’s then I realize I haven’t thought about Julian and Carmella for the past twenty minutes.
Their dinner, their intimate conversation, their plans: none of it matters with work to be done and cats to care for, and children who are becoming their best selves before my eyes.
Rolling up my sleeves, I tackle a particularly stubborn spot on the concrete, my mind firmly in the present moment rather than lingering on a past that hurts to remember.
That is, until Meredith starts waving and screaming, “Daddy! You’re here!”