15
Anne
“How does this look?” Anne stepped back and surveyed her work.
“It looks good,” Claire approved. “Very beachy.”
They had scoured three different transfer-station bargain shops to find some odds and ends to spruce up the guest rooms and bathrooms. Given the chance to collaborate instead of just being dragged along, Claire had jumped into their redecorating efforts head-first.
Fresh paint on the walls and furniture went a long way, and some new decorations helped the spaces feel a bit more grown up. Three of the bedrooms were already done, and Claire had finished decorating the final room herself.
“Ya done good, kid.” Anne put an arm around her. “I think it’s ready for photos.”
“Hey Mom?” Pete shuffled into the room, unusually quiet and slow. She turned to find him cradling a bundled-up towel in his arms.
“What have you got there?”
“A kitten?” he said uncertainly. “Or… I dunno. It’s not a possum, because they have pink tails like rats and this one has a fuzzy tail.”
Anne stepped closer to see what he was holding: a tiny creature with a pointed face and a little pink nose. Its fur was dark brown flecked with tan.
“Whatisthat?” Claire asked, peering down at it.
The pup stretched and made a long chirping sound, then curled back into the towel. It was adorable, a fuzzy little baby the size of a four-week-old kitten.
“It’s a mongoose,” Anne said.
Pete’s worried expression broke into a grin. “Like Rikki Tikki Tavi?”
“Yeah.” She let out a huff of a laugh. “Just like that.”
“Where did you find it?” Claire asked.
“He was under that pink hibiscus bush out front, all wet and shivering. His mom was in the road, I think, but the car messed her up too bad to see what kind of animal she was, so I didn’t know if she was a cat or what. It was really gross and sad.”
Anne sighed and walked out of the room. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“Your grandma used to foster kittens all the time. I know she has bottles around here somewhere. Maybe even some kitten formula.”
“Can mongooses drink kitten formula?” Pete asked as they walked down the stairs.
“They can,” said a deep male voice, “but you have to dilute it.”
“Jesus Christ,” Anne muttered, pressing one hand over her racing heart.
“Nope,” Noah said. He was standing in their kitchen as casually as if he lived there – which he had, more than once, but that was decades ago now. “Just me.”
“You scared me.”
“Sorry about that. I was looking for Dawn.”
“She went out,” Claire said. She stood behind Pete, arms crossed, and narrowed her eyes at Noah.
“She did?” Anne asked, surprised. “Out where?”
“I dunno. Just… out.”
