“Well, it’s just that—”
“I won’t take no for an answer. Let this be my retirement gift to you. I even have leftover birthday cake. Trust me, you won’t be sorry. We will dine in style tonight.”
George didn’t know how to dissuade her, and she’d already turned her car in a direction that he could only assume was toward her house. Besides that, he’d only had an apple for lunch. He was hungry. Hopefully she made a good Stroganoff.
Before long, she was driving through a neighborhood where every tan and beige house looked exactly like the next one. He was about to ask her if she ever got lost in the maze of identical dwellings, but then she turned in to a driveway.“Here we are,” she said cheerfully. “This is going to be such fun.” She led him into a living room with tan walls and an enormous beige sofa shaped like an L. “You make yourself comfortable while I get things ready,” she said. “And don’t mind the cats.”
“Cats?”
“Yes, there are three of them. Sammy and JoJo are very friendly. But Gordie, well, not so much.”
George swallowed nervously as he sat on the sofa. He was not terribly fond of felines. And that was putting it mildly. Oh, he’d liked an amazing cat once ... but his cat, Buddy, had been one in a million. He’d never known a cat like that since. He hoped Patty’s cats would sense his chilly attitude and keep a safe distance. But before long, a large, furry cat was rubbing against his legs, coating his dark blue pants with white hair—and another scrawny gray cat hopped onto his lap and was suddenly kneading his thighs with sharp claws that felt like they could draw blood. Did these animals carry diseases? When was his last tetanus shot?
“Oh my,” Patty declared. “It looks like you’ve met my babies. That’s Sammy on your lap and JoJo down there.” She set a plate of cheese and crackers on the table. “Help yourself to appetizers while I go heat up the Stroganoff.”
As desperately as George wanted to bolt for the door and dash home, he knew it was pointless. Not only was his box of books still in the back of her car, this subdivision was at least five miles from town. Best to just get this over with ... as painlessly and quickly as possible. He was about to reach for a cracker when the fuzzy white cat leaped onto the coffee table and began to sniff at the plate.George’s appetite vanished. Just as JoJo helped himself to a piece of yellow cheese, George pushed Sammy from his lap, rescued the plate of appetizers, and carried them into the kitchen.
“I thought I should come keep you company,” he told Patty. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all.” She smiled as she slid a pan into the oven. “My late husband always liked to sit in the living room while I fixed dinner. I assumed you’d like that too.”
“Not particularly.” George sat down at the breakfast bar. Eying the appetizers, he tried to remember which side of the plate the cat had been working on, hoping it was safe to eat from the other side. He was about to take a cracker when, once again, the big white cat leaped—clear up to the breakfast bar. “What!” George jumped in surprise.
“Oh, JoJo,” Patty scolded gently. “You know you’re not supposed to jump on the counters.” She chuckled. “At least when we have guests.” She shooed the cat down then apologized to George. “Cats are impossible to train. And to be honest, I don’t mind them. Do you like cats, Mr. Emerson?”
“Well, I, uh—”
“And do you mind if I call you George? Mr. Emerson is such a mouthful.”
“No, no, I don’t mind.” George wanted to say what he did mind—and that was ill-mannered cats. To distract himself, he looked around Patty’s kitchen. It was one of those modern ones with silver appliances and black stone countertops that felt strangely cold and showed off JoJo’s white hairs. As George leaned down to blow over the countertop, sending some of the lightweight cat hairs flying, henoticed the pigs. They were everywhere. Pig potholders, pig salt-and-pepper shakers, a pig cutting board, and a pig cookie jar, just to name a few. “You appear to like pigs,” he said absently.
“Oh yes. I adore pigs. I grew up on a farm and raised them for 4-H projects.”
“Interesting.” He couldn’t think of anything less appetizing in a kitchen. Well, except for cats maybe.
“Some people think pigs are dirty, but they are actually rather clean.”
Probably cleaner than cats, George thought as JoJo jumped onto another part of the kitchen counter. At least pigs would be limited to the floor. He suddenly imagined a herd of miniature swine crawling about the floor. Patty continued to chatter away, clearly delighted to have company and, although George tried to act congenial, his head was beginning to throb with a headache ... and the never-ending evening continued.
By the time they were seated at the dining table, with cats still roaming around his ankles, George felt slightly ill. He tried to maintain small talk about school and whatnot as he poked at his not-quite-hot beef Stroganoff. He wasn’t sure if it was him or the food, but it all tasted bland and heavy and greasy. Nothing like his grandmother used to make. And when Patty mentioned her sister’s leftover birthday cake, George patted his midsection and claimed he couldn’t eat another bite.
“I’m afraid this last week of school has worn me out,” he told her.
“I know what you mean,” she said. “I’m still not done with grades.”
“So, perhaps we should call it a night.”
To his relief, Patty was already going for her purse and car keys, and soon they were on their way, with Patty cheerfully carrying the conversation as she drove.
“I’m so glad we got to spend this time together,” Patty declared as she pulled up to his house. “Even if it was a relatively brief dinner. I hope you’ll come over again, George. And it won’t be leftovers next time. I make a mean meatloaf, if I do say so myself. Maybe after you’re settled into your retirement and aren’t feeling so worn out.” She turned to smile at him. “Because I suspect we have a lot in common.”
“Well, thank you again.” He got out of the car. “I’m sure you need to get back to finish your grading.” He retrieved his box of books from the backseat. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow.” Then, without waiting for her response, he closed the door and hurried toward his house. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this glad to get home. Patty was right about one thing. A peaceful, calm, and quiet house—preferably without cats—was most welcome at the end of a long day.
As he set the box of books down on his coffee table, George felt like he was not only a confirmed bachelor, but he was a lost cause when it came to women. “Let this be a lesson to you, Mr. Emerson,” he said aloud as he set his books into the bookshelf section of his cabinet. “Keep yourself to yourself ... unless you want trouble.”
But as he closed the cabinet, he suddenly remembered how Willow had run her hand over this very door. He remembered some of the feelings he’d experienced while being with her ... at the coffeehouse ... in his own backyard overbreakfast. It was nothing like the way he’d felt with Patty tonight. He shuddered to think of Patty’s insufferable cats and homely pigs. He wondered what Willow’s habitat might be like. She probably kept tropical birds ... or a peacock perhaps.
eight
