CLARICE
Driving home, Clarice still couldn’t figure out how Gil had gotten into her car. She walked through everything in her mind, over and over again. She had the box of clothes and toys in her arms. She opened the door with one hand and shoved the box in. There were already a few things back there—small boxes for donation and some of her own miscellaneous things as well, like an umbrella left over from the summer, a box she put paper trash in, an extra sweater. Had Gil already been in the car at that point? No, she surely would have noticed him when she put the box in, no matter how distracted she was.
And she’d shut the door at that point, right? It wasn’t like she turned away or left it open for any length of time. It was right behind the driver’s seat, so she hadn’t even gone around the car. Wouldn’t she have seen him get in?
She’d checked her phone for messages out of habit when she sat down and buckled, but she couldn’t have been so oblivious she missed the door behind her opening and closing. Shecouldn’thave.
Couldshe?
There’d been a text from Veronica reminding her to do something she’d already done, and she answered it, but it had only taken a few seconds. Not even a minute. Then she’d driven to the donation center, and there was Gil. The locks automatically turned on when she put the car in drive, so he couldn’t even have smuggled himself in when she was stopped at the corner or waiting for a light.
Clarice crossed the railroad into her neighborhood, frowning in concentration. She could not make sense out of what had happened.
What shecouldmake sense of was how Hot Guy could notwaitto get away from her after she’d returned his not-kidnapped son.
He’d been standing in the middle of the road like he’d fallen from heaven, looking all handsome and distraught. Clarice, already wound to eleven, felt like she’d been struck by lightning, and it took a moment to remember to slam on the brakes so she didn’t hit him, sliding ungracefully sideways in her haste. “That’s my DAD!” Gil said happily.
Clarice didn’t remember what she said to Hot Guy, trying to explain why his kid was in her car. Of course, she couldn’t explain it at all, no more then than she could now, so she probably sounded like a blabbering idiot.
Part of it was that he was so strikingly handsome. He was poetically tall and dark, with a neatly trimmed mustache and beard. Clarice didn’t consider herself a mustache aficionado, but it was a good mustache, not even slightly car-salesman, and the short beard couldn’t hide the fact that he had a nice, strong jaw.
As if that wasn’t enough, he didn’t hesitate to sweep Gil up into his arms as if the kid was absolutely weightless, not too manly to fold the little boy into a heartfelt embrace that made Clarice’s chest flutter. Gorgeous and openlyaffectionate, with big, strong arms that Clarice shouldn’t be imagining claspingher.
Then Hot Guy got all gruff as Gil tried to deny climbing into her car, and marched away without looking back.
Clarice told herself that it was very logical to want to get his missing kid back inside. Probably he’d had a bit of a shock. He wasn’t being rude, exactly. Just worried. But he certainly hadn’t wanted to linger and find out more about Gil’s adventure or continue their conversation.
Clarice pulled into her parking space carefully. Her elderly neighbor had a big old sedan with wood panelling on the side and never quite parked in the lines, so it was always tight.
Despite her care, her car door banged against her neighbor’s car. Not hard enough to mar it, but hard enough for Clarice to look around, feeling guilty. No one had witnessed it, and she locked her car carefully behind her. Wouldn’t it be ironic to have all the donations stolen? Clarice’s nerves were still shot. She probably would have made an idiot out of herself if they had conversed longeranyway.
Clarice climbed the stairs to her apartment. It was a nice apartment, for the Tails, and that wasn’t saying much. The Tails was the literal bad side of the tracks in Nickel City, with cheap, overcrowded housing that had been built during the town’s boom in the 1950s and not really renovated since. The wallpaper of the era had been painted over several times, with spooky stains that still barely showed through the off-white ivory. A brick accent wall was likewise painted, but a prior tenant had tried to make it a terra cotta centerpiece and somehow managed to make it the exact color of Velveeta cheese.
The floor was shag carpeting, probably from the 70s,given its avocado hue, and the kitchen had scratched-up Formica counters and speckled linoleum floors that at least had the advantage of hiding spills and crumbs.
Clarice hadn’t bothered to get a Christmas tree, but she had hung up some lights and a few holiday decorations; there was a stocking with her name embroidered on it over the radiator, and a “Welcome Santa” sign that her grade school niece had painted for her on the bookcase.
Her cat Horatio was furious with her for letting his food dish show empty bowl at the bottom, and he yowled and twitched his fluffy tail, staying just out of reach.
“There is more to life, Horatio, than cat food.” Clarice kicked off her shoes and pulled off her sweater. Her glasses snagged on a loose loop at the neck and she was momentarily blind, clutching after them. She put them back on her nose and while her vision swam back into focus, she tried again to make sense of Gil getting into her car.
Teleportation?
It was absurd, but it explained everything. It even made sense that he was naked if his clothes couldn’t teleport with him.
Maybe Tiny Paws reallywaschildcare for a cult.
Clarice had always figured that Veronica’s conspiracy theories were just nonsense to be tolerated, but even stopped clocks were right twice a day and there certainly was something very cliquish about the day care clientele. Clarice had figured it was cultural or religious, but maybe it reallywassomething supernatural. She had alwayswantedto believe in fairies and werewolves and vampires, even if she was too practical to think there was truth to the stories she read.
Horatio hissed at her when she went to pet him, not satisfied with his dinner, his litter box, or his water bowl. Clarice diligently fixed everything to his liking, but he onlycrouched under the couch and stared balefully out at her when she tried to coax him out with a treat. She ended up tossing it under to him and flipped through her pile of library books for something frothy to settle her nerves. Maybe she should look for books that could explain teleportation.
Clarice supposed she should be afraid of the idea of a whole society of magical people living secretly among them, but it was hard to be afraid of Gil, and if there was magic in the world, maybe there were other wonderful things, like love at first sight and pets that didn’t build their entire personality around being ungrateful.
Horatio emerged to eat a few token bites of his refilled food and came to groom himself on the couch an arm’s length from Clarice, who slowly put a hand towards him. Sometimes, he would let her touch him if he was feeling generous.
Horatio let her stroke his soft ruff and even purred before he realized what he’d done and swiped unsheathed claws at her in ire. Clarice snatched her hand back in time to avoid bloodshed and told herself that someday, Horatio would understand how much she loved him and let her cuddle with him and maybe even boop his nose with her own.
Someday.
