Chapter 10
Leap to Faith
Samuel Foster
Icheck my bag once again and glance at my watch before heading through the First Class lounge. Plenty of time before the flight. Cory is waiting for me in the bar. Of course. It’s 8am but he’ll probably be hitting the complimentary Hennessy by now.
“Sam,” he says brightly when he spots me. As expected, he’s in the bar area and he’s holding a tumbler. “All set to go?” I nod. He’s been on his best behavior since our last argument, and I guess he’s redeemed himself by solving my Munchkin dilemma. I couldn’t believe it when he said he’d found a caretaker. Widowed cat-lady with tons of experience with animals. Sounds perfect.
Cory’s booked an overnight gig in New York and I guess it’s the ideal opportunity to make sure the sitter can cope. As usual, he’s coming along for the ride because the man never misses an opportunity to schmooze with the rich and famous. In the past, Munch would stay at our vet’s five-star cat kitty hotel when I’ve traveled but as he’s gotten older, I’ve noticed that he’s really depressed when I get home. I know he doesn’t have a lot of time left, and I hate it when he’s not happy. I really hope this sitter works out.
As if on cue, my phone buzzes with a message and I look down to see her number on the screen. She’s telling me Munchkin had his meds and is eating breakfast. I’ve left detailed instructions, but I’m glad she’s letting me know everything’s on track. Clearly she’s fastidious.Great.I shoot off a reply and reach for my carry-on. The announcer is calling our flight, and I get ready to board.
∞∞∞
Arielle Nygard
After walking through the massive house, trying – and failing – to get my bearings, I find Munchkin lying on a couch in what I assume is the sunroom. Morning sunlight streams through the large windows. The room is cozy and has a lovely lived-in feel, unlike some other parts of the house I’d discovered. Some of the rooms are firmly shut and I resist the urge to look inside. This job is a little unusual and I half-expect to stumble into some freaky torture chamber.
The sunroom is lovely though. The wide-plank wooden floor is covered in a jute rug and the sconces have a real antique look. There’s a wood-burning fireplace at one end and the overstuffed furniture in muted gray tones looks like it was designed for comfort. There’s a small pile of books on one end table, one of which has a strip of bright yellow paper acting as a bookmark. I picture my employer reading here with his dear old cat on his lap. It’s a comforting image – one I need to get rid of the ridiculous torture chamber I’d somehow dreamed up.
A baby grand piano takes pride in place on one side of the room. I’ve never seen one up close before and I walk closer. The top of it has a collection of framed photos – most of an older man posing with a wide-eyed kid. The kid seems to get older in each of the photos; dark-haired, dark-eyed, his intense young face is focused on the man at his side. This must be my employer and his son. I stare closely at the images; for a moment, something flickers at the back of my mind, but after a few minutes of trying to snag the thought, I give up. If it’s important, it’ll come back to me. In all of the photos the older man is seated and it takes me a while to realize that he’s in a wheelchair. It strikes me as poignant, somehow. The two seem so close, and I imagine a world where my son could grow up with his father.
I feel tears threatening and quickly shake it off.
Munchkin is sunning himself in a broad beam of light that spreads over the whole couch. I sit down tentatively on the other end. He raises his head to watch me, but doesn’t move. I take it as a sign that we’re becoming friends, but I don’t push my luck by trying to pet him. I sit quietly, awkwardly, for a few minutes, in the sun with my new charge. But I can’t do this for hours. So I take the plunge. I toe off my sneakers and rearrange myself on the couch, tucking my feet in and lounging against the back rest. I pull my cell phone out of the pocket of my jeans and settle in for a couple hours of mindless scrolling.
After about an hour, Munchkin stretches and rolls over, pointing his kitty toes in my direction. I smile to myself. I’m making headway. He’s coming around, but I’m clearly not supposed to notice. I shift my position, inviting him closer, but he doesn’t move. The filtered sun is warm on my face and I find myself dozing on and off. Exhaustion has taken its toll, though I’d never allowed myself the luxury of admitting it. After another hour passes, my alarm sounds. I need to get back home.
“Okay, boy, that’s it for now,” I say to the cat. I put my shoes back on and head back to the kitchen to collect my purse. Munchkin follows me. I do a last check on his food and water. “I’ll be back this evening to give you dinner. Be good.” He follows me to the front door, but stops at the threshold. I lock up and return to my car, where I notice the check from Mr. Foster on the passenger seat. It must have fallen out earlier. I pick it up and my eyes widen in disbelief.
“Holy crap!” I mutter. Samuel Foster is one generous employer. I tuck the check safely into my purse. The money will go a long way to righting my financial woes.
