Chapter 2
The instant Madeline moved, the noise stopped. She saw nothing but shadows.
It wasn’t the first time she’d heard odd sounds while alone in this building.
The Second Chance Shop was an old house, after all, and places creaked and shuddered under the weight of their history, much the way people did as they aged.
But something about this noise was . . .
different than the others. She was certain it wasn’t merely the sound of the house’s old bones settling.
It sounded . . . alive. Someone or something had made that noise.
“Hello?” she called, stepping away from the empty room that tortured her so badly. Not a sound greeted her, but the silence seemed heavy as if something was waiting, holding its breath.
And then she saw it, a ripple of movement in a rack of vintage gowns by the entrance to the bedroom that showcased clothing.
She froze. Despite her earlier mental joking, she didn’t believe in literal ghosts—or if she did, she didn’t think they had any bones to pick with people who were currently alive.
They were no doubt as self-obsessed and consumed by their own everyday reality as flesh and blood folks were.
No, she froze because she wanted the thing, whatever it was, to move again.
No further noise or flutter of dresses occurred, and she felt like a loon standing there in the gloom fixating on .
. . nothing. But what of it? She didn’t have anything more pressing to do.
She was new in town and operating a business that hadn’t opened yet.
No one around here even knew her name, except the warehouse guys at the building supply shop and Otto, the carpenter who’d done the work she couldn’t do herself.
I have nothing but time. I can stand here all evening, she wanted to crow.
Like the intruder heard her challenge, the fabric finally moved again—much more noticeably—and the scuffling sound repeated, louder this time.
Madeline advanced quickly to the rack. The top of a gently swaying gown barely moved, but its hem swung a couple inches, and the cause of the shuffling noise was immediately evident.
The green velvet dress had a heavy leather fringe—a 70s marvel if there ever was one!
—and as it grazed the floor, it did indeed sound exactly like a shoe skimming the ground.
The dress was heavy enough that movement ceased on the backswing—then something white flashed against the floorboard, and the scuffle-swing commenced again.
What the—
Madeline lifted the green gown and looked into the circular cavern formed by the hangers of dresses. A cat!
“Silly thing,” Madeline whispered. “How on earth did you get in here?”
Not knowing whether he’d be friendly or try to claw her to bits, Madeline gingerly reached in to scoop the animal out.
He was utterly docile, however, and as she straightened, holding him against her chest, more for his security than out of affection—he was a big cat and needed the support—he commenced a loud, rumbling purr.
“It’s only fair to warn you,” Madeline announced as she strode toward the front of the store and deposited the cat on the counter, “I don’t like cats.” To her surprise, he sat like he owned the place, making no sign of feeling nervous or trying to flee.
She turned on the lights and realized that the shop had been darker than she thought. Now it glowed a warm yellow.
The cat was a deep, smoky gray, with massive white paws and a small white bib—like an old man’s cravat, Madeline thought, then shook her head at herself.
“I don’t like cats,” she repeated. The cat stared at her with brilliant sea glass blue eyes, and the tilt of his broad head was decidedly skeptical. He didn’t believe her.
“I don’t . . .” She drifted off, realizing she was about to repeat herself for the third time.
That was embarrassing, even when just talking to a cat.
“I don’t have any experience with cats,” she amended, then gave a dramatic sigh.
“But apparently, that doesn’t prevent me from acting like a crazy cat lady and talking to you as if you understand me. ”
The cat purred, and Madeline picked him up again. He really was lovely and soft, with fur as thick and plush as velvet—and such a great color.
“You’d make a gorgeous coat,” she mused.
His eyes widened again, making her laugh out loud.
“Don’t worry. I’m only teasing. Besides, you’re a bit small for me.”
His distinctly unamused expression made her laugh again, then sigh as she realized how nice it was to share a laugh with someone again. Even a four-legged someone.
“But I know nothing about cats! Lauren always wanted one, but Lyle was allergic.”
The cat blinked. He really was strangely communicative. Were all cats like this?
She lifted him by his armpits and looked into his face.
Up close, he wasn’t as perfect as he appeared at first glance.
He had an old scar across his nose and a line on his muzzle—probably from the same injury—where no fur grew.
And the tip of one of his ears was gone.
It was healed over but had a slightly ragged edge like it had been bitten off.
Still, Madeline felt he’d had a good home sometime in the not-so-distant past because, although his belly sagged as if he’d lost weight, he wasn’t emaciated. Also, a quick check of his back end revealed he was, as she kept referring to him, a he—and neutered.
“You’ve fallen on hard times, hey, fella?” she whispered. “Don’t worry. We’ll get your feet under you again.”
Madeline liked a plan. Orchestrating this move and designing this store had been her savior after the initial chill and stupor Emily Dickinson referred to in her famous poem about loss finally lifted.
She had yet to experience “letting go” and wasn’t sure she ever would—as the random, out-of-nowhere attacks of despair reminded her all too often—but she could mostly function now.
Have moments of reprieve in which she wasn’t completely overwhelmed by her grief.
Even go stretches of time with something almost like optimism energizing her.
She wasn’t her old self and never would be, but she was no longer a complete shell either.
But enough of all that for now. Back to plan mode.
She would take pictures of Boots here—Aw, Boots, yes, that was a perfect name for him!
—and print posters and hang them up around town.
And she would, by hook or by crook, open the store .
. . soon. Someone would be missing this friendly guy, and with any luck, somebody would come into the shop who knew who that someone was.
So that’s it? All your crises of faith and nerves are suddenly behind you because a raggedy cat showed up? Madeline closed her eyes against the mean inner sneer. Sure, it was paltry motivation, but hey, she’d take anything that kept her moving forward, no matter how small.
When she opened her eyes again, Boots was studying her intently, his furry head cocked to one side. He had a warm, kind gaze.
She tucked Boots under her arm—his rumbling purr kicked in again—and got ready to vacate the shop for the night. She needed to grab him food, treats, and a bed, so he’d be in good shape when his family returned to him.