Page 5 of Pickled
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PIPER
Gideon walkedme to the foot of my laneway, and for a fleeting moment, I forgot that my daughter’s cat was still missing. Two hours of close proximity to my hot neighbor had been a pleasant distraction, but as we reached 46 Thistle Lane, the weight of the missing cat returned to my chest. My heart ached as I imagined the devastated look on Olive’s little face when I returned empty-handed.
“I’m sorry that we couldn’t find your cat.” Gideon leaned on the stone post at the end of the laneway. “Let me walk you home.”
“I am home.” I pointed to the lights that shone up the hill. “You’ve been out for two hours. You’ve done enough.”
He righted himself and crossed his arms. “What kind of man would let you walk up there by yourself?”
I grabbed him by the arms and turned him to face his house. “The kind that spent two hours helping me look for my lost cat. Go home and get some rest.” The little shove I gave caught him by surprise and sent him two steps in the right direction—away from my house.
“But—”
“It was nice to meet you, Gideon.” I turned and sprinted up the hill before he could protest. My breath was steady as I reached the stairway to the carriage house. Ensuring that Gideon hadn’t followed me, I checked under the stairs for any sign of Pussy. “Come on, Pussy-Cat. Olive is going to be so sad,” I whispered.
That damn name. I guess that’s what happens when you let your four-year-old name the cat. Should I have explained to my hot new neighbor where the name had come from? Probably. But there was a part of me that wanted a few more minutes with him before he completely wrote me off. What was worse? Telling him that I named my cat Pussy or telling him that I had a five-year-old daughter? It was my experience that hot guys like Gideon ran as cold as ice the minute they found out I was a mom.
So sue me if I wanted to wander around the neighborhood with a Grecian-looking god for an hour. I didn’t date, and he was so damn tall he could look for my kitty in places I could never see. My excuses for leaving out the daughter detail came hard and fast.
I went to the back door of the main house and rapped on the window with my knuckle.
Mrs. Lockelhurst opened the sliding door. “Did you find her?”
“No.” I shook my head. “Olive is going to be devastated if we don’t find her cat.”
“I’m sure she’ll turn up.” Mrs. Lockelhurst stepped aside. “Olive woke up for a while, but fell asleep again watchingPaw Patrol.” I followed the flowing hem of her silk housecoat as she led me to the living room. My daughter was curled up under achenille blanket, the blue and pink light from the dog characters flickering on her tiny face.
“She’s still sucking her thumb.” Mrs. Lockelhurst put her hands on her hips.
“Only in her sleep. I don’t know how to get into her subconscious to stop it.”
“Perhaps some hot sauce would help?”
I waited for her to crack a smile but realized she was serious. Mrs. Lockelhurst had three grown children, and her grandchildren were entering their college years. Nannies had raised both generations, so a hot sauce comment, or even one about whiskey in a bottle, didn’t surprise me. But for someone who hadn’t raised her own kids, Mrs. L, as Olive called her, loved my daughter.
Scooping Olive up, I eased the wrinkled thumb from her mouth. She smacked her full little lips, wriggled in the blanket, then nestled into my neck. My heart ached with love for my daughter. I would spend every extra second I had searching the neighborhood if it spared her the heartache of losing a pet.
Mrs. L scrolled on her phone for a minute before shoving the bright screen in my face.
“What is it?” I stepped back to see what was on the screen.
“It’s the animal shelter. Does this look like Pussy?” She enlarged the photo.
“No, that’s a male cat named Max.” I pointed to the information below the photo. “It says here that he’s microchipped.”
“That’s not what I was asking, dear.” Mrs. L shook her head like I was an idiot. “If this looks like her cat, we can get it in the morning.”
“Ohhhh.” I realized what my very wealthy, very out-of-touch boss was scheming. “I don’t think that Olive will fall for the ol’ switcheroo.” I walked to the sliding door. “Thank you for watching her while I searched the neighborhood. Hopefully, the cat will turn up tomorrow.”
“I hope so too.” Mrs. L smiled through a full face of makeup. I wondered when she took it off. She had thousands of bottles of skin care in the bathroom, so I knew that it must come off at some point.
“I’ll be in at the usual time tomorrow.” I tucked the blanket around Olive, even though it was stifling hot outside.
Mrs. L shook her head. “We can go one day without washing the floors, Piper. Keep looking for that cat. I’ll get my assistant to put a bulletin on the community social media page. Maybe someone has found her and is keeping her safe for the night.”
How had I been so lucky to find the job with the Lockelhursts? They were some of the most generous people I’d ever met. “Just so you know, I met the new neighbor. If he finds the cat, he’ll bring her over.”
