Chapter Three #2
I went inside, not sure what the hell was going on. “Your arm through?” I asked. He put his arm into the crawlspace willingly? “What exactly are you trying to reach?”
Then we heard it again. A tiny little cry.
“Sounds like you’ve got critters in there,” he said.
Critters?
“What kind of critters?”
“Kittens, by the sound of ’em,” he replied.
Kittens.
Oh no.
The stray cat.
I put my hand to my forehead, and Gunter was beside me then, concerned. “What’s wrong?”
“There are kittens stuck under the floor,” I said. “Oh god. Last night I ran over a cat. I rushed it to the vet but it couldn’t be saved. I think I killed the momma cat, and now her babies are stuck.”
“The white cat that hangs around the back?” he asked.
“You know it? Oh my word, was she yours? I’m so sorry! I tried to save her, but she must have been asleep under my car or hiding, I don’t know. I didn’t see her until—”
“No, she was a stray,” he said. “The kids would leave food out for her sometimes, but she wasn’t too friendly.” Then he looked at the workers. “And there’re babies stuck in there?”
They both nodded. “I was drilling the brackets in for the shelves and heard something.”
“How do we get them out?” I asked, trying not to panic. “I don’t know if I can start cutting holes in walls.”
The guy who’d tried to stick his arm through the gap shook his head. “Nah. Through the outside would probably be easier. Gonna need an angle grinder though.”
An angle grinder? I wasn’t even sure I knew what that was. I mean, I knew what Grindr was . . .
“Could Soren do that?” Gunter asked Doctor Rob.
I hadn’t even noticed Rob was in the room, but he took his phone out in a flash and grinned as he spoke into it. “So I know firemen rescue cats from trees, but what about from crawlspaces or walls?”
Firemen?
Oh god.
Rob chuckled. “And an angle grinder . . . Okay. Yep, the new bookstore across from the rec center . . . Okay. See you soon.”
He disconnected the call and smiled. “They’ll come take a look.”
“Firemen?” I asked, trying not to show how horrifying that was. “We don’t need the whole flashing-lights and sirens thing, do we? Loud and attention-grabbing so the whole town comes to see really isn’t my thing.”
It actually made me feel a little ill.
Rob and Gunter both laughed. “Ah, no, they’re just around the corner,” Gunter said.
Then my aunt Ro arrived, curious about the small crowd in the store and why we were all looking at the wall and why one man had his ear pressed to the floor.
“What are we doing?” she asked. She looked fabulous with her bright green glasses and matching sweater today.
“There are kittens stuck,” I said. “Orphan kittens.”
She put her hand to her heart. “Oh.” Then she realized, her gaze shooting to me. “Oh.”
I grimaced. “I know.”
Then two very fit, very gorgeous men in Hartbridge Fire Department coveralls jogged into the shop.
“Oh,” I muttered. “Well, this isn’t terrible.”
“No, no, it’s not,” Ro whispered.
Gunter chuckled beside us, and Rob was grinning. Fireman number one went to him first. “What have we got? Kittens stuck, you said?”
Doctor Rob gave him a nod, then he turned to me. “Soren, this is Winter Atkins. He owns the bookstore. Winter, this is my partner, Soren.”
Partner . . .
“Oh,” I said, clueing in far too late. I looked between Gunter and Rob. “I thought you two were . . .”
They both shook their heads. “No,” Gunter replied. Then he waved me off. “I’ll explain it all later.”
Okay then.
It was determined that yes, going into the crawlspace from the outside would be best, and yes, the angle grinder was required.
But Fireman Soren and fireman not-Soren made short work of that.
Soren got down on his belly and, armed with a box, went in while not-Soren held a torch.
He shuffled in until only his legs and boots remained, and after a few minutes of grumbling, grunting, and an expletive or two—while we all stood there, watching—Soren shuffled backward and not-Soren helped pull him out.
He got to his feet, covered in dirt and spiderwebs, grinning, holding the box.
“There were only two. Unless one wandered off, but I couldn’t see any others,” he said, handing the box to me.
Inside were two very dirty, very tiny, very cute little orange-and-white kittens. “Oh my goodness,” I whispered. They were scared and meowing for their momma. “You poor little babies.”
“Oh, they’re just the sweetest,” Ro whispered beside me.
“Thank you so much!” I said to Soren, not-Soren, and to Rob and Gunter. “Thank you. Oh, these babies must be so hungry. I should take them to the vet. Get them checked over and learn what to feed them.” I looked at Ro then. “I have to keep them. I’m the reason they’re orphans.”
She put her arm around my shoulder and nodded. “I know.”
“I’ll take them now,” I said.
“Yes, yes. I’ll stay here until you get back.”
“Thank you.”
Fishing the keys from my pocket, I unlocked my car and carefully put the precious box on the passenger seat. Then before I got in, I checked underneath my car for any more cats, which my entire audience found funny for some reason. Then I drove out.
The vet clinic was busier than I’d expected. Not that I’d given one single thought to how busy a small-town veterinarian clinic should be. But still. There was a man with a cat in a carrier and a woman with a golden retriever who was doing his very best to smile at everyone.
So cute.
“Can I help you?” the receptionist asked, looking at the box more than me.
“Uh, yes. I don’t have an appointment, sorry. I came in last night with the cat that . . . succumbed to its injuries”—I cringed at the two people in the waiting room—“but here I have two kittens that I’m fairly certain are the babies to the . . . now dearly departed momma cat.”
Recognition flashed in her eyes. “Oh yes, last night. I remember.”
“Yes. It was horrible and I still feel really bad. But these little babies were stuck under the floor or in a wall. I’m not entirely sure. Some firemen had to come get them out.” I put the box on the counter and opened the lid so we could see the two little kittens. “They’re very young.”
She nodded. “Hmm. Were you just dropping them off?”
Dropping them off?
“What? No, no. I want to keep them. I mean, I’m the reason they’re orphans so it’s only right, right? Out of guilt or moral obligation, I suppose. I was raised Catholic, so both probably.”
Someone snorted, and when I looked up, there was a man smiling at me. He was around fifty, at a guess. Handsome in a dad-next-door kind of way. And he was wearing scrubs with the vet logo on the breast.
“Hello,” he said, coming over to look in the box. “What have we got here?”
“Two little baby orphans,” I said. “The very nice fireman had to cut into the subfloor thing to pull them out.”
He lifted one out, and it gave the cutest little squeaky meow. “Orphans, you say?”
“Well, yes. I brought the momma cat in last night, but she didn’t . . .” I winced again. “It was my fault. She must have been hiding under my car but I didn’t check. I actually didn’t even know checking for cats was a thing I should be doing, but anyway . . .”
He smiled. “Ah, I know someone who’ll be very happy to see these little ones.”
He does?
“You do? Do they have an owner? Oh goodness, did I kill someone’s cat? Please tell me I didn’t. Oh my.” I put my hand to my forehead, not feeling the best.
Still smiling, he nodded to a door off the waiting room. “Come this way.”
I took the box with the one remaining kitten and followed the vet into the room. There was another door, which he opened and called out, “Deacon? Room two, please.”
I scooped up the second tiny kitten, holding it to my chest. “Is Deacon the owner?” I asked, trying to put on my bravest face. “It was a terrible accident—”
“No, no,” the vet said, just as Deacon came into the room.
I stared at him.
Deacon. Deacon was the guy who’d quoted Norwegian Wood.
He stood there, as awkward as I felt. He noticed the kittens we were holding and his wide eyes went to the vet. “Are these . . . ?”
The older guy handed the kitten over to him, then gestured to me. “I think so. This gentleman said he brought the injured cat in last night.”
Deacon looked at me for a second before giving the man a nod. “Yes.”
“He said these kittens were nearby?”
He looked at me to clarify his question.
“Yes,” I said. “At my store. I’m opening the bookstore on Short Street, and that’s where I hit the momma cat.
Then today we heard little meows under the floor, so the fireman had to cut the siding to get them out.
There were only two. They’re very young, so I thought I should get them checked.
They’ve been a whole night without their momma, which means no food, and I don’t know how to look after them.
So I thought I’d bring them here to get them checked out and maybe some information on what to feed them, because I have no clue. ”
Deacon blinked at my word-vomit, and the older guy smiled and took some pity on me.
“Deacon here was worried last night there might have been kittens left behind because the mother was feeding. We checked the camera footage this morning to see if we could find your car, maybe find out where you’d hit the cat.
But we couldn’t see anything, and we didn’t get a name. ”
“I was a bit of a mess last night. I’ve never killed anything in my life, and Deacon quoted Norwegian Wood, and it’s one of my favorite books, and anyway my name is Winter Atkins.”
Deacon was staring at me. Like, staring, staring at me but not at my eyes. Almost as if he’d picked a spot at the outer corner of my eye, or maybe he was staring at the space between us. I wasn’t sure. His cheeks were a little pink.
The older man looked at Deacon for a long beat, then back at me, and he smiled. “Okay. Well, Mr. Atkins—”
“Please, call me Winter. Actually, most people call me Win.”