Chapter 11
Saturday, December 8
The moment I opened my eyes on Saturday, my thoughts hurtled back to the night before. An instant feeling of contentment spread through me, making me snuggle under my duvet a little longer.
When Marco and I had arrived at the shelter, he’d introduced me to the rest of the kitchen crew. After that, we’d jumped right in, and I’d sliced and diced tomatoes, onions, olives, and pepperoni and grated a tower of cheese high enough to rival Trinity Square’s Christmas tree.
In no time, the smell of freshly baked pizza had wafted through the room, making my mouth water. As I watched guests line up, Marco greeted many people by their first name and shared groan-worthy puns like “ Crust me, this pizza’s delicious” and “It’s slice to meet you.” He took his time, never rushing anyone or treating them differently because they’d fallen on hard times and needed a free meal or a place to stay.
I’d always considered myself a fundamentally good and decent person, someone who regularly donated money to charities and GoFundMe campaigns, but watching Marco inspired me to do so much more.
“Do you think I could help out again?” I’d asked as we walked home a few hours later, my hands raw from washing dishes and my heart full.
“For sure,” Marco had said, beaming. “We’d be lucky to have you join anytime you want.”
Now, as I lay in bed, I could still picture his smile and the muscle definition in his arms as he worked the pizza dough. When he’d taken off his sweater, his T-shirt underneath had risen above the waistband of his jeans, exposing a delicate line of hair. It made me wonder what it would feel like to trace it with my fingers…And that was the moment I ordered myself to stop thinking about Marco.
More than a little reluctantly, I focused on today being an Advent calendar task day, so I got up and brushed my teeth before going to the living room to find out what my sister had hidden in box number eight. After locating the next package, I tore off the silver paper and found a handwritten note from Anita stuck on the side of the box.
Today’s mission: Bonding time.
Dazey Rocket has an appointment at Precious Paws—5 p.m. tonight.
Don’t make that face. It’ll be good for you both, and we’ll have fun. Promise.
Clearly, we no longer applied. This was no doubt why my devious sibling had sent me Precious Paws’ details just in case before going to Florida, meaning if I’d paid more attention, I might have seen this coming.
Despite Dazey letting me touch her when she’d freaked out yesterday, I wasn’t happy about having to lure her into the cat carrier on my own and debated whether I should call the pet spa to reschedule. Then I remembered the consequences of reneging on an Advent calendar task.
After mapping Precious Paws’ address on my phone, I saw it was located three miles away. I’d drive there and sit in the waiting room with a book while Dazey got pampered, which didn’t sound too bad for either of us. How hard was taking a cat to the groomer, anyway?
Probably not hard enough to involve Marco, unfortunately , a little voice in my head murmured, and I let out a sigh. It would’ve been nice to see him again. As a friend , I quickly reminded myself, pulling out my phone and dialing Anita’s number.
“I’m guessing you opened your calendar,” she said by way of greeting.
“Now I understand why you gave me the hat and gloves yesterday,” I replied. “They’re to protect me from Dazey.”
Anita chuckled. “They’re only a precautionary measure, and we were supposed to take her together so I could mediate.” She paused and sweetly added, “Does Marco like cats?”
“I’m sure I can manage this task alone. Unless Dazey bites my hands off.”
“She won’t,” Anita said. “She loves you.”
“Maybe deep, deep down.” I glanced at Dazey, who had her mouth open in a lion-sized yawn. “Remember the time you said I should brush her, and she hid under the sofa?”
“It only happened once.”
“Yeah, because I didn’t dare try again,” I said. “What about my failed attempt at getting her in the carrier when you were running late? My scratches lasted over a week. Maybe you should’ve given me extra-large oven mitts for my Advent calendar treat. Or a space suit.”
“NASA’s sale prices are horrendous.”
“Very droll.”
“Please will you take her to the groomer?” Anita said. “Otherwise, I’ll have to wait forever for a new date. Precious Paws book four weeks out, and it’ll be even longer with the holidays.”
“I promise I’ll do my best.”
“Thank you. Gotta go. Breakfast meetings and roller coasters are calling. Talk later?”
“Providing I survive. If you don’t hear from me by tomorrow, send a search party.”
—
After grabbing a sandwich for lunch and heading out for a few Christmas gifts for Mom and Dad, which I’d give to Anita to take to Pineville, I stopped at A Different Drummer to pick up my newly arrived thriller novels before heading back home.
My sister’s fluffy feline was nowhere to be found when I walked into the apartment a little after three, but the pungent scent of the tuna treats I’d put in her food bowl this morning still lingered heavily in the air. I cracked open the living room window before retouching my makeup and pulling on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.
Precious Paws was less than a ten-minute drive from the apartment, but I had no doubt it might take five times as long to cajole Dazey into the cat carrier, so it was time for an initial attempt.
It only took a minute to locate the neon-pink carrier in the hallway closet, but as I removed it from the shelf and set it down, I heard the bell on Dazey’s collar jangle, followed by the thundering of her paws across the floor. I gathered she was hiding again, but when I peered underneath the sofa, Dazey wasn’t there.
Certain I’d heard the tinkling of a bell, I went to Anita’s bedroom, where I checked under the bed and the dresser. It would’ve been a squeeze, but Dazey was a clever cat who’d tricked my sister and me about her whereabouts a few times. On one occasion we’d found her perched on the edge of the bath, hiding behind the shower curtain despite the tub being full of bubbles, some of which had piled on top of Dazey’s head like a helmet.
Continuing my search, I hunted for her behind the bedroom door and swept the rest of the room for alternate hiding places, including the laundry hamper and a hoodie Anita had left on a chair. I even checked behind the cans of paint, old sheets, rollers, and brushes my sister had brought home months ago with the intention of repainting her bedroom—which we hadn’t yet had time for—and still, nothing.
Clearly, this iteration of hide-and-seek would be a battle of Dazey’s will versus my wits, but I was determined to make quick work of it. I retreated to the hall and closed Anita’s door behind me. One room down, four to go.
After checking the bathroom, the kitchen, and—the unlikeliest of places—my bedroom, I still hadn’t found any sign of my sister’s cat. The living area was the only place left to comb through, so I bent over for another peek under the sofa. Unsurprisingly, she wasn’t there, but when I turned my head, I caught the unmistakable swish of a tail behind the Christmas tree.
“Gotcha,” I whispered.
I slowly and ever-so-breezily picked up the box of childhood ornaments and selected a reindeer Anita had made from a wine cork, googly eyes, red pom-poms, and brown pipe cleaners. My plan was to casually hang the decoration on the tree before dropping to my knees and reaching for Dazey. Easy-peasy lemon-squeezy.
As soon as I took a step, Dazey shot out from under the tree and jumped onto the back of the sofa. From there, she bounced off the stack of Advent calendar boxes, hopped onto the windowsill, and, before I had a chance to stop her, slid through the open window in her final bid for freedom.
“No!” I yelped, running over and catching a glimpse of her backside disappearing up the fire escape. “Dazey, come here.”
She never went out— never . In the three plus years since Anita had brought her home as a kitten, Dazey hadn’t expressed any interest in the great outdoors. Whenever the window was open during the warmer months, she’d sit on the sill, her tail moving from side to side as she observed the world from her comfy perch. Now she was on the roof, somewhere she’d never been before. I gasped. What if she got lost? What if she got hurt?
I threw open the window before shoving my feet into the shoes nearest to me, which turned out to be Anita’s slippers, the pair I’d given her on her last birthday. They were pink and fuzzy, with ears and a cute smiling cat face embroidered across the toes. Thankfully, they had rubber soles and a little grip, so with no time to lose, I followed Dazey up the fire escape, immediately wishing I’d had the wherewithal to grab a jacket.
Our old Victorian building had apartments on each of its three levels, and above those sat a small flat section of roof onto which I presumed Dazey must’ve climbed. It wasn’t a large area, so hopefully she’d be easy enough to locate and bring back down.
I’d never had much of a head for heights, but, convincing myself it was no big deal, I pulled myself over the top of the ladder and onto the roof, ready to spot Dazey despite the pinkening skies.
My theory turned out to be wrong again. While enough daylight remained to allow me to see my surroundings, there was no cat, no birds, no nothing. Thankfully, most of the snow up here had melted, although the poor drainage had left a few patchy puddles.
Another flaw in my plan emerged, because as I searched for Dazey, calling her name while making pss-pss-pss noises, Anita’s slippers took on the freezing water faster than a leaky boat.
This was a total disaster—a classic Calamity Callie situation. Maybe Dazey would come back if I let her be, but what if she didn’t? It was almost evening, and I couldn’t leave her to spend the night outside alone. I had to find her.
Doubling down, I searched the section of the roof again, ignoring the fact that my toes had slowly transformed into ice cubes. When I finally heard the jangling of Dazey’s bell behind me, I wanted to whip around and grab her but feared I’d make her run again.
I turned slowly, an inch at a time, and saw her a few feet away, staring at me. As I took half a step, she darted off, leaped onto a stack of wooden crates, and scuttled up the incline of the roof toward the chimney.
It didn’t seem that much higher than I was now, and, driven by a mix of adrenaline and desperation to get Dazey and myself back inside the toasty apartment, I climbed onto the crates and followed. When I looked up, Dazey stopped moving and watched me with an expression of intrigued amusement.
“Come here,” I whispered, inching up the roof. “Please, Dazey.” She was almost within reach now, so I pushed myself higher and a little farther still…
When I reached the top of the gable and looked all the way down to the street below, I understood how much trouble I was in. Shivering, I wanted to let myself slide to the flat part of the roof, but I now felt terrified. My arms and legs were shaking, and the cold dug beneath my skin. Left with no alternative, I shuffled to the chimney, where I threw my arms around the brick tower as best I could.
I heard a meow. Dazey stood near the top of the fire escape we’d climbed. Staring up at me, she licked her whiskers, shook her fur, and gracefully disappeared, presumably on her way home. If she’d been human, she’d have shouted, “Later, sucker.”
As I held on to the chimney, taking a moment to calm myself, I heard a voice in the distance. “You there,” someone yelled. “You on the roof.” It took me a while to locate the man standing at the window in the house on the opposite side of the street. “Are you all right?”
“No,” I croaked, shaking my head. “Not even a little bit.”
Unsure if he’d heard me, I decided I had to climb down before I turned into a Popsicle, except when I tried to lower myself a little, my feet slipped and I panicked. As I kicked to push myself back to the chimney, one of Anita’s fuzzy pink cat slippers flew off my foot, landing in a puddle below.
“Stay put,” the man yelled. “Don’t move.”
“It’s okay,” I shouted, desperate to not make more of a spectacle of myself. “I’m all right.” I wasn’t all right, nor did I think I could handle another attempt at climbing to safety. This was hopeless. Clearly, I needed help.
Back in my safe spot next to the chimney— safe being a relative term—I pulled out my phone. My fingers hovered over Oliver’s name, but I didn’t want him to see me in this situation, not if he’d mistakenly think it was an attention-seeking move on my part to get him to rush over and save me.
Calling Anita wouldn’t help me down, and Hazel had left for the weekend, so after another few seconds, I swallowed my pride and dialed Marco’s number. He’d seen me fall on my butt and get soaked in hot chocolate at the tree market and wipe out on my sled at the park. Embarrassing myself in front of him a third time seemed the obvious choice; plus, he’d offered to help with the Advent calendar tasks. Technically, this was one of them.
“Hi, Callie,” he said, and at the sound of his voice, I felt my shoulders sag with relief. “How are—”
“I’m stuck.” When the words came out as a high-pitched squeak, I repeated them.
“ Stuck ?” Marco asked. “Hold on, is this an Advent task situation?”
“Kind of,” I croaked. “I’m on the roof of my building, and I can’t get down.”
“You’re on…wait, what ?”
“The roof.” I didn’t think I could manage to explain the details to him without freaking out, so I simply added, “Can you…would you mind helping me, please?”
“On my way,” Marco said. “Give me five minutes.”
“I hope it won’t be that long. It’s really high up.”
“I’m already out the door, and I promise I won’t hang up until I’m there.” After a small pause, he continued, “Guess what? I started Game of Thrones when I got home last night. I had to force myself to shut it off after the second episode. I’m hooked.”
“You really enjoyed it?”
“Right from the title sequence,” he replied. “I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to give it a try. Ned Stark’s my favorite character so far. Sean Bean’s awesome.”
I wanted to tell him to not get too attached, but the words wouldn’t come out of my mouth because I looked down at the street again, making my stomach lurch so hard, I thought I might be sick. “Marco…” I whispered, teeth chattering. “I’m really scared, and I’m freezing.”
“It’ll be all right, Callie,” he said gently. “I’ll get there soon, I promise. By the way, I googled Santorini at lunch. It really is spectacular, especially Oia. Is that where you’d stay if you visited?”
“Yes, I’ve dreamed of seeing the white houses and blue roofs for years,” I said, grateful for the way he was carefully attempting to take my mind off things. I closed my eyes, leaned my head against the chimney, and imagined the Greek island, trying to relax a little.
Seconds later, loud sirens rang out, making me jump and loosen my grip on my cell. One moment I was having a wonderfully calming conversation with Marco, and the next I’d lost my phone. I yelped as it slid out of reach, too far down for me to try to grab.
The guy in the house across the street must’ve called 911 because two big fire trucks and an ambulance came roaring up the street and stopped in front of my building. When I found the courage to look down, I recognized one of the firefighters.
“Joe!” I shouted. “Joe, it’s me, Callie.”
“Callie?” he called up. “Try to stay calm. We’re coming to get you.”
As I gave him a tentative thumbs-up, I noticed a small crowd gathering, people staring and pointing, their phones raised toward me, so I ducked behind the chimney. Groaning, I put my head in one hand, only to realize that the T-shirt I’d pulled on earlier this afternoon sported the Microsoft Excel logo and a reference only those who knew the software would understand.
Very soon, all of Fallbrook and maybe beyond would see me stranded on a roof wearing one soggy pink cat slipper and a T-shirt that—in big black letters, no less—proudly announced Freak in the Sheets .