Sharon’s news had set me on edge, and now every new inconvenience—whether big or small—pushed me closer and close to my falling point.
Quarreling animals.
A rude proprietress.
My missing ring.
The unlatchable door.
That last one really irked me. Generally, Maine was a safe place to be, but I didn’t like the thought that just anyone could walk off the street and accost us while we were sleeping.
Since I couldn’t sleep anyway, I decided to research the bed-and-breakfast online. First I checked the site Charles had used to book our stay, where our host had a 3.5-star average. Some of the less favorable reviews mentioned how rude and off-putting Millicent had been toward them during their stay, but most of the negative remarks centered around far more mundane things—an uncleaned room, cat barf in the hallway, not enough gluten-free breakfast options.
Feeling somewhat justified in my disdain for Mrs. Strobel, I decided to dig deeper, moving on to the more well-known travel sites to see what I could find in the much larger sampling of guest feedback there. One of the more recent reviews actually mentioned the faulty door we’d gotten stuck with. I read on with interest. That was two weeks ago, and still Millicent hadn’t bothered to fix the issue. I wondered if she even planned to fix it at all.
How far back did this issue go?
I did a search for“door” within the reviews and found three others that mentioned it. One was written several months ago. It also mentioned an antique brooch that had gone missing. I searched for “missing,” “stolen,” and other synonyms and found four more reviewers who had lost something valuable while staying in this bed-and-breakfast.
Was Millicent a thief? Were those gaudy earrings I’d noticed earlier taken from an unwitting guest?
And had Millicent moved Charles and me to this room with two double beds not out of judgment but rather to gain access to my engagement ring?
These were the questions on my mind when I finally drifted off.
I didn’t stay asleep for long, though. A cold breeze tickled at my cheeks, drawing my eyes to the glass door.
Open again.
Paisley lay curled at my hip, nestled between me and Charles under the blankets, but Octo-Cat’s bed sat empty.
I pulled on my robe and worked my feet into my shoes sans socks, then headed out using my phone as a flashlight.
“Octo-Cat,” I whisper-yelled after sliding the door shut after me. It would probably be open again by the time I got back to the room, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t at least try to close it properly. Had Octavius opened it on his way out, or did someone else enter our room?
I shuddered at the possibility of just that as I moved closer to the lake. An owl hooted in the distance, and a host of crickets sang a song about the night. It was catchy, that ditty of theirs. Perhaps one day I would learn the words for myself.
Right now, I was too worried about my cat to bother with anything else.
A dark shape shifted on the dock, and I increased my pace.
I pulled up short as I spotted Octo-Cat leaping and flipping into the air, almost dancing in the moonlight. This must’ve been what he was talking about when he mentioned his nighttime activities.
Standing there in the moonlight, I felt a little guilty for intruding on his joy.
“Angela, I can feel you standing there,” he said suddenly, falling to all four feet and then pausing on the pier.
“Sorry,” I muttered, going over to sit next to him. “I was just having trouble sleeping and you were missing. I got worried.”
“I woke up because that stupid door was open again,” he said, meticulously grooming himself. “I got up to see what was going on and I spotted that ugly, flat-faced, sorry excuse for a cat wandering around. I was going to give him a piece of my mind, but, of course, he disappeared before I could. You’d figure with a smell like that he’d be easier to follow.”
“Don’t get into any fights,” I warned him.
“Relax, Angela. I know what I’m doing,” he purred. “So why couldn’t you sleep?”
“The door,” I admitted with a sigh.
“Just the door? I figured you’d be nervous about meeting your grandmother,” he said, smoothing out his tail. “But you know you don’t need to be, right?”
I sat there shocked. Was Octo-Cat actually being… nice? To me? Now?
I stared at him, mouth agape.
“Don’t look so surprised. Sometimes your human ways actually make sense,” he continued, blinking slowly in my direction. “When we talked about finding my family, I was a bit nervous about the possibility. I mean, how could they possibly be as amazing as I am?”
He chuckled, and I found myself absently petting him behind the ears.
“But I realized something, Angela. If they aren’t amazing or awesome, that doesn’t change me. Because I’m still a superb specimen of feline perfection, even if they don’t quite measure up. I mean, so few could ever hope to hold a candle to this.” He postured himself with his chest puffed out and his nose held high, which made me burst out in laughter.
He nodded his approval.“The worst thing that can happen from meeting your grandmother is… well, nothing. Your life doesn’t change, and you just go back and live like you always have. And if we’re being totally honest here, you have a pretty great life for a human.”
I didn’t reply. I didn’t need to.
If I drew this out, Octo-Cat would just return to his usual snark, and I wanted to savor this moment while I could. And so we sat there in the moonlight for a while longer before heading back to our room.
Yes, I needed the people and animals in my life to help me through this, which at first blush might make me seem weak and incapable of handling my own challenges.
But then again, that’s why we have loved ones to begin with. To get us through the bad and to share in the good.
Hopefully tomorrow would bring the latter for Charles, Octo-Cat, Paisley, me…
And my grandmother.
11
The next morning I was already showered, dressed, and ready by the time Charles woke up. I’d spent all week planning my outfit, and now that I was actually wearing it, an odd sense of reverence washed over me.
This was one of the most important things I’d ever done. And whatever happened—good, bad, or somewhere in between—this would be a defining moment of my life.
We fed the pets, then grabbed some coffee from the continental breakfast set-up Millicent had waiting for her guests.
Charles took a pre-packaged Danish, but I was too nervous to even attempt eating anything. Besides, I’d been spoiled by Nan’s expert baking all my life and had become something of a muffin snob. The blueberry to cake ratio of the ones sitting before me was all wrong. I didn’t have to try them to know that. The baked “goods” also looked more than a few days old. No wonder there had been complaints. The longer we stayed, the more and more reasons I was finding to justify the bad reviews.
“Let me just say it one more time,” Charles said as he jabbed his key in the ignition, and I pulled my seatbelt over my lap. “I think I’ve found the right place, but we won’t know for sure until we meet her.”
I nodded once.“Right. And I’m going in without any expectations.Que ser? ser? and all that.”
Charles reached for my hand and twined his fingers through mine.“No, you’re not. And that’s okay. It’s okay to want things to go well, so stop giving yourself such a hard time about that. Whatever happens, I’ll be right here.”
“Holding my hand?” I suggested with a grin.
He returned my smile and gave my hand another squeeze.“If you want me to.”
We held hands the entire drive, except for the few parts where Charles had a left turn to make or we ran into a bit of traffic.
Octo-Cat made occasional retching sounds from the back seat.
Good to see he’d recovered from the strange bout of compassion he’d shown me last night. I wondered if he was always like that at night. If he was only crabby during the day because he was sleepy.