“Eddie doesn’t look so sure.” Tucker nodded at Fuzz Face, who was reaching out with a paw to touch bright pink petals.
“Hey,” I said, pulling away the bowl. “Not a cat toy.”
Eddie gave me a look of pure disgust and flopped himself onto the seat.
Tucker laughed. “Did you see that look he gave you? I swear he understood what you were saying.”
I turned and scrounged through the kitchen cabinet for the stemmed glasses Kristen had given me last summer so she didn’t have to drink her wine out of plastic cups. “I’m just afraid of the day when he starts talking back.”
Tucker looked at Eddie. Eddie looked at him. “Yeah,” Tucker said. “I see what you mean. Knowing exactly what he’s thinking might not be comfortable.”
I handed Tucker the corkscrew and he popped the cork out of the bottle with an efficiency Kristen would have smiled to see. Wineglasses in hand, I pushed the door open with my elbow and headed out. Tucker paused. “Can Eddie… ? Oh, wait. Never mind.”
Having scooted out between Tucker’s feet, Eddie was already outside and choosing which chaise he’d lounge upon.
“It’s fine,” I said. “We’re often out here.” I took the Eddie chair. Tucker sat on the edge of the other and poured the wine.
“To summer nights,” he said, holding up his glass.
“Long may they last,” I said.
“Mrr,” Eddie said.
Tucker blinked. “You’re sure he can’t… ?”
“Absolutely not,” I said firmly. “He’s a cat. He can’t possibly understand human speech.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Tucker reached forward to give Eddie a cautious pat. “His fur is so soft. Do all cats have fur like this?”
My eyebrows went up. “Eddie is the first cat you’ve ever touched?”
“My parents were dog people. I must have had friends who had cats, but I don’t remember petting one. Maybe I did.” A breeze blew at Tucker’s hair and he pushed at it with his free hand. Which, I noted, now had pieces of Eddie hair on it. “Doesn’t seem possible that I could be thirty-five years old and never petted a cat.”
“I’m thirty-three and I’ve never petted a llama.”
“Well, there you go,” he said. “We have a lot in common.”
I smiled and he smiled back. This was a good thing, being able to be silly with each other. A very good thing. This was extremely good compared to every other relationship I’d ever had. Most times I’d had to repress my silliness for fear of being mocked, but maybe this time… just maybe…
“I hope I’m not getting sick.” Tucker sniffed, then rubbed at his eyes. Scratched at his face. Rubbed the palm of his hand against the edge of the chaise. “My eyes are watering like crazy.”
And, just like that, the pieces fit together, tight and snug. I pulled Eddie into my arms and stared at Tucker. “You’re not sick,” I whispered. And he hadn’t been sick the other night, either. “You’re allergic to cats.”
Chapter 16
Tucker had denied reality until his skin had started to turn a splotchy red. Even then, he’d said he’d be fine. It was the steady stream of eye and nose drippage that sent him home.
Eddie had been nestled in my lap throughout Tucker’s ordeal, saying nothing but blinking every so often, almost as if he were calculating.
I looked over at him. Over and down, to be exact, since he was in his cat carrier on the floor of the bookmobile. Ivy had pulled the carrier up against the bottom of the passenger’s seat, and her legs were draped over the top of the carrier.
What had Mr. Eddie been thinking about last night? Though it was great fun to think that Eddie comprehended everything that was going on around him, it wouldn’t do to anthropomorphize him too much. He was a cat, with a cat’s brain and a cat’s sensibilities. He wasn’t a small furry human and he didn’t think like one. It was far more likely that Eddie had been studying Tucker’s every move to make sure the stranger wasn’t a threat to him than that he’d been calculating how to get rid of a rival.
“Ivy?” I asked. “How smart do you think cats are?”
She turned and looked at me, a quizzical expression on her face. “You sure you want to ask a question like that so close to lunchtime?” I laughed, but she shook her head and tapped Eddie’s carrier with the toes of one sandaled foot. “And do you really want to have that conversation where this one can hear? If you think there’s any chance at all of—”
“Mrrrroowww!”
I winced and jumped at the same time. “Eddie? Are you okay?”
“MrrrRROOWW!”
Ivy was already bending down and examining the howling, yowling critter that Eddie had suddenly become. “He looks all right,” she said, “but—”
“MRRRR-rrrr-OOWW!”
It was the three-syllable howl that got to me. It sounded as if Doom were heading straight for Eddie with no turns in sight.
We were halfway between bookmobile stops, pretty much out in the middle of nowhere. There was only one decent place to pull the bookmobile over, and it was just ahead.
“Hang on, pal,” I told Eddie. “I’ll get this buggy stopped in a minute.”
My promise did nothing to soothe the savage-sounding beast, because he continued to howl and groan and moan the entire time I slowed, braked, and turned into the parking lot of a small restaurant where there was a nice large tree to shade the bookmobile.
At last we came to a complete stop. I unbuckled myself and leaned across to open Eddie’s cage.
“I hope he’s not sick,” Ivy said.
I was fervently hoping the same thing, but as soon as the cage door was open, Eddie stopped howling and looked at me. Blinked. He flopped over onto his side, reached out for my fingers with one white-tipped paw and held my hand.
“He’s purring,” I said flatly.
“Maybe he was a little carsick,” Ivy suggested. “And now that we’re stopped, he feels fine?”
From the doubtful tone of her voice, I don’t think she believed that scenario any more than I did. Eddie had ridden along on the bookmobile perfectly fine for weeks. Why would he suddenly start getting motion sickness?
“I’ll get him some water,” I said, pushing myself to my feet. “See if he can keep that down.”
He could and he did. When he was done, he sat up, dried his whiskers with his paw, and leapt to the headrest behind the driver’s seat.
I sighed. “He’s purring again.”
Ivy laughed. “You sound almost disappointed that he’s not sick.”
“Can you have a cat who cries wolf?”
“Cats can do pretty much anything they decide they want to do.”
I looked at Eddie and was very glad that he didn’t have opposable thumbs. “Well, since it’s lunchtime and since we’re in the parking lot of a restaurant, we might as well get something to eat.”
“I thought you’d never ask,” Ivy said, getting up and opening a cabinet door to retrieve her purse. “I love this place. Fried everything. They even have fried Oreo cookies for dessert.”
“Mrr,” Eddie said.
“You,” I told him, “do not get fried anything.”
“Mrr.”
“Yeah, well, if you’re still hale and hearty when we’re done with lunch, you’ll get some cat food.” I kissed the top of his furry head and locked the bookmobile’s doors behind me. Even though it was the middle of August, it wasn’t anywhere near hot outside, and since I’d parked the bookmobile in the shade, it would take hours before the bookmobile’s interior warmed up to anything Eddie might pant at. He had water and a serious number of cozy places to sleep. What more could an Eddie want?
Inside the restaurant, Ivy was already sliding into a wooden booth. At least I hoped it was Ivy; the place was so dark that I was going by assumption. Dark wooden floor, dark wood-paneled walls, and a dark ceiling that might have been tin, but because it was so dark, I couldn’t tell.