Chapter 14
C h a p t e r F o u r t e e n
A m o s S w a n - T h e c a t
I curl into the chair and enjoy the slight breeze from the window sill. Sylvia doesn’t realize how hot it is in here, she never does.
My eyes are closed but I listen to their conversation. She speaks softly as if scared she’ll send the poor boy running if she says too much about our dead mother.
She throws it out there that the death was no accident and a smile forms on my face, not from happiness, but content with the way her investigation has gone so far. Sylvia is smart, smarter than I ever gave her credit for.
The boy, Alistair, listens well—not similar to the other boy she talked to at school.
His attention never wavers and he doesn’t rush her with insincere condolences like those from Windale did.
Her voice becomes weak at points and I can feel it in my whiskers like the static preceding a storm.
I care too much for Sylvia to see her cry or become broken because of the way of life.
I want to replace her soft touch in the night, to read those creepy little bedtime stories, and say I love you before bed.
Alistair's jaw tightens which I expected but I know as well as she knows there's not much he can do besides help her put the pieces together or he'll be hurt too.
He starts to ask questions and not those dumb questions like how do you feel or are you ok, he circles the truth instead of changing it.
He gives her ways to look at the puzzle much neater—in a way that can be solved.
That’s when I realize he understands death the same way I do, it leaves patterns that you miss if you don’t pay attention.
I uncurl and peek through my paws at the two.
My eyes search Sylvia's and I find a happiness I haven’t seen in awhile.
A dimple settles on her red flushed cheeks and a gleam shines in her eyes, something invisible tightens between them with every shared breath.
I think it's called chemistry but I’ve always noticed it as recognition between souls.
I’m surprised the boy hasn’t cowered away at the mention of death but he stays strong.
His body is slightly stiff as he stills himself in front of her, either to maintain himself or because he's afraid one single move may cause something to shatter. Sylvia’s strong but when it comes to her mother she becomes weak.
As they continue to talk the room seems smaller. Grief has a way of taking up space it's not welcome in and staying. I flick my tail to ground myself and her but I'm not sure if she notices.
He talks about how things don’t add up with some man she’s pointed out from the newspaper and her mood peaks again. It’s always nice to have someone to talk to as well as someone that doesn’t make you feel like you're alone inside a thought.
He’s carefree, kind, and most of all Sylvia likes him. My protective guard drops, at least while her expression remains happy and I actually go to sleep.
He’s smart and she doesn’t have to walk alone, so I’m grateful.