Love Saves The Day

I put one paw tentatively on Lauraís knee, waiting to see if sheíll make any sudden movementsóor try to stop meóas I crawl into her lap to get closer to the little sweaters. I rub my cheeks and the backs of my ears so hard against themótrying to get rid of that other catís smell and also trying to get that little bit ofSarah-smell onto meóthat the clasp of my red collar gets stuck on a thread and Laura has to untangle me. Once Iím freed I rub my head on the sweaters again, trying to re-create some of that good Sarah-and-me-together smell. Laura begins to massage her fingers gently behind my ears. Closing my eyes, I lean the side of my head into her hand and purr. She cups her hand and runs it from the tip of my nose all the way down my back in a good, firm way that makes the skin under my fur tingle.

Suddenly we hear the jangling of keys downstairs that means Josh is home. Whenever he comes home this late, itís usually because heís been meeting with the humans who live in that building above the music studioócollecting their stories, he says. We hear his footsteps coming up the stairs, and Laura moves the white box top so that it mostly covers the little clothes that arenít underneath my head. In another moment Josh is in the doorway with speckles of rainwater all over his jeans, saying, ďHello, ladies.Ē

Josh still comes in here sometimes to look through Sarahís black disks. It doesnít bother me anymore when he does this, because he always washes his hands first and treats them so respectfully. Heís looking for music that got recorded at that studio, I heard him tell Laura. Sarah has hundreds of black disks, so itís taking him a while to get through all of them. He never touches things in the Sarah-boxes, thoughóthe ones that donít have any black disks in themólike Laura and I do.

But now heís not here to look through black disks. He smiles like he always does when he sees Laura in here with me, looking at Sarahís things, and tells her, ďI picked up a tuna sub at Defonteís, if you want half.Ē

ďHow did you know I was thinking about cold tuna for dinner?Ē Laura asks, smiling back at him.

Josh leans his shoulder against the door frame.ďYou know, itíll be our anniversary in a few weeks. We should do something grand.Ē

ďNottoo grand,Ē Laura says.

ďHow many first anniversaries are we going to get?Ē he asks her. ďAnd Iím talking about dinner out. Not a week in Paris.Ē He looks at her hopefully. ďCome on. We havenít gone out for a great meal in a long time, and Iíll still have a couple of weeks left of my severance.Ē

He says this like itís good news, although from the deepening frown on Lauraís face, she doesnít think the same thing. But all she says is, ďIíll be down in a minute for the sub.Ē

Josh walks toward their bedroom, and Laura throws the little clothes back into their white box, then tosses the whole thing into one of the Sarah-boxes.ďYou must want dinner, too,Ē she says to me. Scratching some of the shedding fur on the bottom of my chin, she adds, ďAnd maybe a good brushing later on.Ē

I look back at the Sarah-boxes for a moment. But thenóthinking about my dinnerand tunaand a nice, long brushingóI follow Laura down the stairs.

Josh never used to talk about his work very much, but now he talks about it whenever he can find somebody to listen. Laura usually wrinkles up her forehead and changes the subject. Or else she says things likeMm-hmm orReally in a way that doesnít sound like she wants Josh to keep talking about it. But the littermates ask him lots of questions. Josh brings them here one day a week to help him organize his papers and stuff them into envelopes. I usually help, too, by scattering the papers onto the floor to make sure there arenít any rats hiding in themóIíve been extra cautious ever since we found that rat in the Sarah-boxes, even though it turned out to be a fake. Josh isnít always as grateful for my efforts as he should be, though. He acts frustrated and says, ďAh, Prudence, why are you doing this to me?Ē while arranging the papers back into a tidy stack. But you can tell how happy and relieved the littermates are, when they laugh and praise me for all my help. Occasionally Josh, acting like heís doing me afavor, will crumple one piece of paper into a ball and toss it for me to practice my mice-fighting with. Although the littermates have invented an irritatingďgameĒócalled Keep Prudenceís Paper Ball Away from Heróand they toss my paper ball back and forth to each other over my head, yelling, ďKeep away! Keep away!Ē until, finally, I jump high enough in the air to smack it away from them and take it downstairs to under-the-couch.

Having the littermates here one day a week is more disruptive than it was having Josh aroundfive days a week after he first lost his job. They have a hard time doing the sensible things cats (and older humans) do, like sitting in one spot for stretches of time, thinking important thoughts, and watching Upper West Side through our windows. Their constant movements disturb the air around me and make my whiskers tickle. And theyalways fight with me for my favorite napping spot on the couch. Josh and Laura have learned that a catís preferred sleep area is her own property and should be respected. But the littermates will plop themselves down on my spoteven if Iím already sleeping there, which means I have to wake up from wonderful dreams of green grass and Sarahís singing so I can scramble away from their lowering backsides before I get squashed. Even when I chuff and growl at them, they ignore me. Youíd think that such young humans would begrateful to have a cat instructing them in proper manners. But never once have they said to me,Thank you, Prudence, for trying to teach us how to be polite. If it werenít for the lure of rustling papers in Home Office whenever theyíre here, I would stay away from them all the time.

Theyíre better behaved with Josh, though. Maybe thatís because heís so patient and gentle with them, the way Sarah always is with me. (Although Iím more deserving of gentle patience than the littermates.) If theyíre sitting at the little table in Joshís office, theyíll even raise one handin the air before asking him questions. I think this must be a good-manners thing that gets taught to young humans. Itís surprising to me that the littermates have been able to learn anything thatís good manners. But Iíve never seen any fully grown humans put their hands up before asking something, so obviouslysomebody trained the littermates to do this.

ďUncle Josh,Ē Robert asks with his hand in the air, ďhow come the people who live in the apartment building have to move away?Ē

ďThey donít have toóyet,Ē Josh tells him. ďThere are rules that say how much money the people who own the building are allowed to charge people for living there. Now they want to change the rules and make the building so expensive that the people who live there wonít be able to afford it anymore.Ē

ďThatís what happened to us.Ē Abbieís face looks solemn. ďWhen Mom and Dad got a divorce, we couldnít afford to live in our house near Nana and Pop-pop anymore. We had to come live in an apartment because Dad stopped giving Mom money.Ē

Josh is putting some papers into a creamy-colored folder, but his hand freezes, the way a cat freezes when she spots something sheís going to pounce on. He looks so wary that I think maybe a mouse managed to find a hiding spot in those papers after all, and I peer around from my spot next to Robertís chair, checking to make sure I didnít miss a threat. ďWho told you that about your father?Ē Josh asks Abbie quietly.

The littermates look at each other. Then Abbie says,ďSometimes we hear Mom on the phone, even though she has the door to her room closed.Ē Robertís eyes get big and round, like heís scared of what Abbie just said. ďWe doníttry to listen,Ē she says quickly. ďItís just sometimes we canít help it.Ē

Joshís eyes turn sad and also angry. But his voice is kind when he tells her, ďYou and Robert are lucky that your mom was able to find a good job, and that you have Nana and Pop-pop, and Aunt Laura and me, to help her make sure you wonít ever have to move away again. But the people who live in this apartment building already have so little money, they wouldnít be able to afford a nice apartment if they had to move. And theyíve been living in their apartments a long,long time. Some of them have been living there since even beforeI was born.Ē Abbieís and Robertís eyes grow bigger, as if they canít begin to imagine how long agothat must have been.

ďDo any of the people who live there have cats like Prudence?Ē Robert wants to know.

ďA few of them do,Ē Josh says, smiling. ďTheyíre worried that if they have to move, they might not be able to find a new apartment building that would let them bring their cats with them.Ē

Well! Imagine that! What kind of crazy apartment building wouldnítwant cats living there? Who would protect them from all the mice and rats if there werenít any cats? Good luck finding adog to do that as smartly and thoroughly as a cat can! Just when I think Iíve heard all the ridiculous things humans can do and say, I hear something else that makes me realize thereís no limit to how foolish humans can be.

The next time the littermates come over, Joshís father drives his car from his house in New Jersey to go out to lunch with them. I dart upstairs to take a nap on the cat bed in Home Office, but when I hear everybody come back, I leap down and curl up beneath Joshís desk, trying to look as if thatís where Iíve been napping all along. By the time theyíve gotten upstairs, Iím licking my right front paw and using it to wash my face clean in a lazy-looking way, just to make sure theyíre completely fooled.

ďWhew!Ē Joshís father says, and settles himself into one of the chairs Abbie and Robert usually sit in. His face looks paler than I remember it being, and there are little drops of sweat-water on his forehead. ďThe heatís so much worse here in the city than where your mother and I live. Itís hard on an old man.Ē

ďAre you all right, Dad?Ē Josh sounds anxious. ďDo you need a glass of water?Ē

ďIím fine, Iím fine.Ē His father waves his hand in front of his face. ďDonít tell Mother I got dizzy,Ē he adds sternly. ďShe worries ever since that scare with my heart last year. Iím seventy-five years old, and she still thinks I donít know how to take care of myself.Ē

ďIíll bring you a glass of water, Pop-pop,Ē Abbie says. ďRobert and I are thirsty anyways.Ē The two of them run out of the room (the littermates never seem towalk), and I can hear their footsteps thudding down the stairs.

ďSo tell me about this work youíve been doing,Ē Joshís father says. ďItís all the kids can talk about these days.Ē

ďIím only doing a small part of it.Ē For the first time, Josh seems almost embarrassed to talk about his work. ďThere are organizations that exist for the sole purpose of preserving Mitchell-Lama housing. Iím just helping a little where I can.Ē

ďShow me,Ē Joshís father says. ďIím interested.Ē

ďWell†ÖĒ Josh pulls together some of the papers he usually gives to Abbie and Robert to put into envelopes. ďIíve been writing press releases and sending them out to reporters at newspapers and different websites, letting them know whatís going on. And Iíve been interviewing all the tenants in the building, collecting their stories. Iím writing them up and putting them together with some old photographs they were able to give me. I think showing that side of the issue might be effective.Ē He hands the papers to his father, who begins to flip through them slowly.

ďIíve also been pulling together a history of the music studio in the buildingís Basement. Itís actually become pretty important in the community over the years. Iím trying to help them reincorporate as a not-for-profit, so they have some legal standing if weíre able to get this to a hearing.Ē Josh walks out and goes into my room, returning with a stack of Sarahís black disks. A wisp of Sarah-smell follows them. I have a sudden, vivid memory of Sarah in our old apartment, wearing a long, thin summer dress and standing in front of the shelves where she kept her black disks, saying,I think Iím in the mood for Betty Wright today. What do you think, Prudence? But, just as quickly as the memory pops into my head, it pops back out and goes to where I canít find it.

ďIf you look at the liner notesĒóJosh hands the black disks to his father and points to some of the tiny word-writing on their cardboard coversóďyou can see how many important albums were recorded there. So Iíve been putting write-ups ofthat together with photos of some of the bands, and sending it to the editors at my old magazine and some of ourótheir, I meanócompetitors. Iíve also created a website and Facebook page for the building, and weíve been encouraging community residents and owners of nearby mom-and-pops, whoíll eventually be threatened by the same economic factors, to contribute their own stories and memories. And weíve put together an online petition. Weíve gotten about five thousand signatures so far.Ē

ďSome of these photos take me back,Ē Joshís father says. ďYour mother and I were buying the house we raised you and your sister in at around the same time this building went up, it looks like.Ē

ďProbably.Ē Josh smiles a little. ďThere are tenants whoíve been living there since the sixties.Ē

His father half closes his eyes.ďWhen a man has lived in one place for fifty years,Ē he says, ďand raised a family there, he doesnít like to leave unless itís on his own terms.Ē

ďI wouldnít think so,Ē Josh says quietly.

His father opens his eyes.ďYouíve put a lot of work into this. It must have taken a lot of time to talk to everybody and do all this writing and research.Ē

Joshís face turns a light pink. ďIíve certainly had the time.Ē

His father sighs and then he sets the papers and photos down on the little table.ďI never really understood that job you had. I could see it was making you money, but it never seemed like real work to me. Butthis is something I understand. Helping people who want to keep their homes, I understand. And all this work youíve doneĒóhe gestures at the papersóďthis is something you can look at and touch and hold in your hands at the end of the day. Iím sure all those people youíre calling now think of you differently because youíre coming to themdoing work, notasking for work.Ē

ďItíd be nice to think so.Ē Joshís smile is lopsided.

ďTrust me,Ē his father says. ďPeople always respect a man who works hard and saves his money.Ē

ďItís tough to save money when you arenít making any.Ē

ďThe money will come.Ē Joshís father says it very firmly. ďIt wasnít always easy for your mother and me, you know. She had to get that job at the jewelry counter so we could send you and your sister to college. But we worked hard and, one way or another, the money always came.Ē

Abbie and Robert come running back with a glass for Joshís father. As he drinks from it, Robert says, ďHey, whereís Prudence, Uncle Josh?Ē

ďI think sheís hanging out under the desk,Ē Josh says, bending over to check. His sideways eyes look into mine. ďPrudence, do you want to come out and say hello to my father?Ē

I donít, really. But Josh is (finally) trying to introduce me the right way, which means thatnot coming out would be bad manners.

ďWell, hello there, Prudence.Ē Joshís father pats my head awkwardly, and Iím relieved when it seems like thatís all heís going to attempt to do. ďRemember Sammy?Ē he asks Josh. ďYou and your sister were crazy about that dog. He could chase cats all day.Ē

I continue to stand there and let Joshís father pat my head, even though I canít help liking him a little less for having one of those wretched dogs that thinks itís fun to chase cats just because theyíre not smart enough to think of anything sensible to do. Joshís father doesnít know as much about cats as I do about humans, because he says, ďI think Prudence likes her Pop-pop.Ē

Josh laughs out loud.ďSo Prudence is your granddaughter now?Ē

ďSheís the closest thing you and Laura have given me so far.Ē His father sounds stern again.

Joshís smile shrinks. ďWeíre working on it, Dad.Ē

ďI may be an old man, Josh,Ē his father tells him. ďBut I can still remember that if you think of it as work, youíre doing it wrong.Ē

Josh is in a good mood after his father leaves. He walks around the apartment, humming music under his breath and snapping his fingers. He goes into Home Office and bangs away on the cat bed/keyboard for a little while, but I can tell he has too much energy to sit still for long. Pretty soon I hear what sounds like heavy things being moved around in Home Officeís closet, and then Josh comes into my room, carrying a big stack of black disks. I can tell by their scent that these were never Sarahísóhe must have had more black disks than I realized, living inside the closet of Home Office all this time.

Josh sits cross-legged and starts spreading out the black disks all over the floor, arranging and then rearranging them in ways that must make sense to him, although I canít tell what the pattern is. I jump on top of one of the Sarah-boxes, to get out of his way, and soon the whole floor is colorful with the cardboard holders for black disks. Then he scooches over to the boxes of Sarahís black disks, and starts pulling out some of those and puttingthem on the floor, looking at the word-writing on each of them and then deciding which ones should go where.

Sarah used to do this sometimes, take out all her black disks and spread them over the floors of our apartment. She was always coming up with new ways to arrange them on their shelvesóby what year they came out, or by things she called ďgenreĒ or ďinfluence.Ē Onceóthis is the last way she did it while we lived togetheróshe put them all in what she said was alphabetical order. I can understand Josh wanting to do the same thing with his own black disks, but itís making me nervous to see Sarahís all spread out this way without her being here to supervise. Cautiously, I climb out of the Sarah-box Iíve been lying in and try to step into the small spaces between the cardboard covers on my way out, but there arenít any, really. Sarah wouldnever let me walk on her black disks! The covers feel smooth and slippery under the pads of my feet, but Iím afraid to use my claws to try and get more traction.

While Iím trying to find a good way out, I hear Laura come through the front door. ďJosh?Ē she calls out.

ďUp here,Ē he calls back.

The sound of the feet-shoes Laura wears to work comes clicking up the wooden stairs. Her face seems to draw inward when she gets to the doorway of my room and sees what Josh is doing.ďWhatís all this?Ē

ďDonít worry,Ē Josh tells her, looking up with a quick grin. ďI know which ones are mine and which are your momís.Ē

ďBut what are youdoing?Ē she asks again.

ďIím trying to get a visual sense of which of these were recorded at Alphaville, which ones were influenced by artists who came out of Alphaville, which ones use sessions guys who recordedother albums at Alphaville.Ē He leans back to rest on his heels and admire his work. ďQuite a history for one down-on-its-luck recording studio, huh?Ē

ďIt looks like a record store in here,Ē Laura says faintly.

I donít think sheís agreeing with him, exactly, but thatís the way Josh must understand it, because he smiles at her again. ďYou know, some of these are worth real money.Ē

ďProbably.Ē Lauraís lips thin together.

Josh looks up and finally notices the expression on her face.ďIím not saying we should sell them. Iím sorry if that seemed insensitive. Itís just the geek in me getting excited looking at all this stuff.Ē

ďI didnít think you were.Ē I think she means it, but her lips stay thin.

Josh has decided to change the subject, because the next thing he says is,ďMy dad was here today. We took the kids out for lunch, and afterward I was showing him everything Iíve been working on. What he responded to most was the personal side of the storyóthe people living in this building whoíll have to move and uproot their lives. I donít think Iíve done enough with that part of it yet. I was thinking maybe you could help me.Ē

ďMe?Ē Laura looks completely surprised.ďHow couldI help?Ē

ďWell, the night we met,Ē Josh says. ďYou have no idea how moving you were when you were talking about the building you grew up in, and the people you knew there. I know you all had to move when the place was condemned. You have a much better grasp on the emotional side of what these people are facing now than I do.Ē

Lauraís face draws even further into itself. Little bumps appear in the tops of her shoes as her toes curl up. When she speaks, her voice sounds funny. ďWhat kinds of things do you want to hear?Ē

ďI donít know.Ē Josh gives a small shrug. ďHow you found out youíd have to move. How your mom and your neighbors felt about it. What it was like having to move away from your friends and all those people youíd known for years. It doesnít necessarily have to be the bad stuff,Ē he adds gently. ďI know youíve been going through your motherís things with Prudence lately. That must have jogged some good memories.Ē

Listening to Laura talk about her Sarah-memories has become one of my favorite things. Leaping into the nearest Sarah-box, I helpfully push something out with my nose and paws. This way Laura has something to start talking about. The plastic bag I spill onto the ground holds tiny white-and-blue ceramic cups called aďsake setĒ that Anise brought back from a place called Japan for Sarah to keep in her record store. They clink against each other as they roll from the bag and around the cardboard covers scattered on the floor. The floor is so many different colors now from all the covers that itís hard to see where some of the sake-set cups end up.

ďSee?Ē Josh smiles. ďPrudence thinks itís a good idea, too.Ē His smile turns wistful. ďYou see me with my family all the time. I hardly know anything about what you and your mother were like together. Iíd just love to hear you talk about it.Ē

They look at each other for a long moment. Then Laura says,ďI have to get out of these work clothes.Ē As her feet-shoes click down the hall, her voice calls back to us, ďLet me know when youíre ready for dinner.Ē

12

Prudence

AT THE END OF AUGUST IS A LONG HOLIDAY WEEKEND CALLED Labor Day. Humans need holidays and calendars to tell them things cats already knowólike when the summer ends, and when the air starts to smell smokier and feel cooler. After Labor Day, the littermates go back to their school and stop coming here.

Itís around then that Laura starts getting sick in the mornings. Sheís been sickevery morning these past two weeks. My stomach gets upset sometimes, too (and I always try to hide it in some out-of-the-way place, because itís embarrassing when humans have to clean up after me), but Lauraís stomach has been upset every single day. After Josh has gone downstairs to start making the coffee, Laura throws up into the toilet in their bathroomóI can hear it from under the door. Then she washes her face and brushes herteeth, and the two of us go downstairs so she can give me my breakfast. Sometimes, when she opens the cans that hold my food, Laura gets a look on her face like the smell of my food is making her feel sick again. Even the way she smells is differentóstronger and more sugary since three weeks before she started throwing up.

I donít think Josh knows anything about how sick sheís been feeling, though, because if he did Iím sure he would insist she go to whatever the human version of the Bad Place is. Laura probably hates the Bad Place as much as I do, and thatís why she hasnít said anything about it.

Still, I wish Josh would notice, because Lauraís being sick is also putting her in a bad mood. Ever since that night when Josh spread all the black disks out on the floor of my room, Laura hasnít seemed as interested anymore in coming in here to look through the Sarah-boxes with me. Still, I keep trying to think of ways to encourage her. Like this morning. I find one of the shoe boxes with Sarahís matchbook toys and nudge it out of the big brown box so Laura and I can look through them and she can tell me things about Sarah. Itís true that once a few of the matchbooks spill out, I start batting the rest of them around, until there are matchbooks scattered all over the floor and wedged underneath some of the big boxes. But Iím pretty sure that when she sees how much fun it is to bat the matchbook toys around, sheíll want to join me.

Thatís not what happens, though. Laura is walking quickly past my room, but when she sees how the matchbook toys are strewn all over the place, she stops. I nose a few hopefully in her direction, but I can tell sheís angry by her hard, rapid footsteps as she comes into the room.

ďNo!Ē she yells.ďNo, Prudence! Stop pushing things out of boxes and making a mess!Why canít you just leave me alone?Ē She tosses the matchbook toys back into the smaller box theyíre supposed to live in, then throws the whole thing into one of the bigger Sarah-boxes. She starts going around to all the boxes and folding their flaps over so that they stay closed by themselves. Then she shoves them around on topof each other until theyíre all in two big stacks that are so high I canít possibly reach the top. Sheís breathing hard from her effort, and there are dots of sweat-water on her forehead.

Iíve never had my feelings hurt by a human before, but now I feel hurtóand also confused. What did I do that was so bad? What was so wrong with wanting to play with Sarahís matchbook toys that Laura had to yell at me and putall of Sarahís and my old things where I canít even get to them? How will I remember Sarah enough to make her come back and always be with me if I donít have anything to remember herwith?

I stretch out all my front claws and scratch at the floor, leaving long, angry slashes in the dark wood Laura cares about so much. I had thought that she and I were becoming close,almost like maybe I was a part of the family thatís made up of her and Josh. This is what I get for forgetting Iím just an immigrant here, and thatSarah is my one-and-only Most Important Person.

Josh hasnít made eggs for Laura in a long time, but this morning is the one-year anniversary of when they got married, and I smell the aroma of scrambled eggs coming upstairs from the kitchen. It also smells like Josh is frying bacon and pouring orange juiceóall the things Laura used to like so much on Sunday mornings.

When Laura gets close to the kitchen and smells the eggs cooking, she has to run back upstairsóprobably to throw up again. Josh is whistling while he cooks, so I donít think he notices. He scoops the eggs onto plates, and then he puts a little onto a Prudence-plate that he sets on the floor. Lauraís face looks much paler than it usually does by the time she comes back to the kitchen to sit down.

Josh stops cooking long enough to come over to her seat with a plate of eggs and bacon.ďHappy anniversary,Ē Josh says, and kisses her on the mouth.

ďHappy anniversary,Ē she tells him, with a smile that somehow makes her face look even paler. She pushes the eggs around with her fork.

ďAre you okay?Ē Josh asks Laura. His forehead wrinkles in concern.

Laura tries to smile again.ďIím fine,Ē she says. ďJust not that hungry, I guess.Ē

ďI hope youíre hungry tonight. The reservationís at eight, so if youíre running late at work we can always meet there.Ē

ďIíve been thinking.Ē The squeaky sound of Lauraís fork scraping against the plate is too high-pitched for humans to hear, but the agonizing squeal of it makes my ears twitch until the left one nearly folds in half. ďDel Posto might be a little†Ö†extravagant for us right now. Maybe weshould take a pass.Ē

ďOkay,Ē Josh says slowly. He sounds confused. ďDid you want to go somewhere else?Ē

ďI donít know.Ē She swallows hard a couple of times, like maybe the smell of the eggs is making her feel sick again. ďWe can talk about it later, I guess.Ē

ďIf thatís what you want.Ē Laura looks down at her plate while Joshís eyes look at her face, as if heís seeing for the first time that something might be wrong with her. Theyíre both silent until Josh says, ďListen, Iíve been wanting to ask you about Anise Pierce. I was wondering ifmaybe you could get in touch with her.Ē

Laura looks up in surprise.ďAnise Pierce? Why would I want to get in touch with Anise Pierce?Ē

ďShe recorded a couple of albums in Alphaville Studios. Weíre up to ten thousand signatures on the online petition, and Iíve got a few media outlets sniffing around. I thought that if someone of her stature came on board, we might be able to nail something down.Ē

ďI donít want to get in touch with Anise.Ē Laura picks up the folded paper napkin in her lap and drops it over the uneaten plate of eggs. I can tell already that Laura is going to show her bad mood to Josh, just like she showed it to me upstairsóand I think how much luckier Josh is than I am, because he can talk back to her.

He looks confused again for a moment.ďI just think it would really help us ifóĒ

ďI already told you, I donít want to,Ē Laura interrupts. ďI donít think this building on Avenue A should be your priority right now. Weíve got things to worry about here.Ē

ďWhat kind of things? What are you talking about?Ē

ďIf you want to worry about who can afford to live where,Ē she tells him, ďmaybe you should worry about whereweíre going to live when your severance runs out next week and we canít afford to keep this place anymore.Ē

Nowmy stomach feels upset, like somebody is squeezing it in their fist. We might have to leave this apartment? How is that possible? Why didnít anybody tell me that something like this could happen? If Sarah doesnít know where to find Laura, how will she know where to find me?

ďOh, come off it, Laura,Ē Josh says. ďI know weíve lost a chunk of our savings, but weíre still a long way from losing this apartment.Ē

ďYou come off it, Josh.Ē Lauraís voice gets louder. ďI refuse to be the only person around here who worries about work. Do you ever think about what might happen if I suddenly lostmy job? Do you evenknow how bad things have been at the firm lately?Ē

ďHow the hellshould I know?Ē Joshís voice gets louder, too. ďYou donít talk to me about whatís happening at your job. You donít talk to me about anything. For months Iíve been trying as hard as I know how to get you to open up aboutsomethingóyour mother, your job, anything at allóbut all you do is shut me down. What am I, a mind reader?Ē

ďI didnít realize you had to be a mind reader to do basic math,Ē Laura says. Her voice sounds angrier than it sounded even when she used to get mad at Sarah. ďI didnít realize you had to be a mind reader to add thezero dollars youíll be earning to our monthly budget and come up withzero dollars for rent.Ē Laura is shouting now. She stands up and slams her chair so hard against the kitchen table that it bounces off and tumbles on its side onto the floor. The loud noise and the shouting scare me so much, I skid as I run for under-the-couch. I can still see and hear Laura and Josh, but I feel saferhere as I twitch the fur on my back fast-fast-fast. Laura laughs, but itís a kind of laugh that sounds the exact opposite of when a human finds something funny. ďAnd the trulyoutstanding part of the whole thing is thatI never wanted an apartment this big or expensive in the first place!Ē

ďGive me a break with your revisionist historybullshit!Ē I hear Josh yell. ďWe picked out this apartment together.We spent weeks looking for a place where we could start a family. You didnít have one word to say against any of that, but now you turn green every time the subject of having children comes up. Maybe Iím not a mind reader, and maybe I canít do basic math, but Iím notblind, Laura.Ē

ďHow can we even think about having children if we donít have any money!Ē

ďOh, and you were justso thrilled when you got pregnant the first time.Ē Nowhis voice sounds mean.ďYour happiness and absoluteelation were written all over your face. How stupid do you think I am?Ē

ďDonít mix things up! That was then, and this is now, andnow wecanít have children without worrying about how weíll pay for everything.Ē

ďEnough already!Ē Josh roars.ďEverything with you is about money! Stop with the money! Wehave money!Ē

ďNot enough!Ē Laura yells back at him. ďYou have no idea how terrifying it is to have no money at all! You donít know what itís like whenóĒ Suddenly Laura stops yelling and is silent.

ďWhenwhat?Ē Josh demands. ďWhenwhat, Laura? What happened to you that was so terrible you canít even talk about it?Ē

Laura is silent. When she speaks again, her voice is lower, but it sounds cold.ďWhat happened is that my husband started caring more about strangers, and about playing babysitter to his niece and nephew, than he does about our future.Ē

Joshís voice gets lower, too, but somehow that makes his words crueler. ďYou are not the person to giveme lessons on how to treat family. You left your mother alone in that miserable apartment you could barely bring yourself to visit once a month. You didnít even take time off work when she died.Think about that, Laura. And donít talk tome about family.Ē

Lauraís breathing gets loud and hard, the way mine does when Iím chuffing.ďWhat the hell do you know about it?Ē Her shriek makes all the fur on my back stand up, and no matter how fast I twitch it I canít make it lie down again. ďWhat doyou know about me or my mother oranything? With your normal, happy,perfect family where everybody pulls together and helps each other out and just loves each otherso much!Ē

ďDo you even hear what youíre saying?Ē Josh yells. ďIsthat what you think? You think thereís such a thing as a perfect family? Sometimes my dadís the greatest guy in the world, and sometimes he pisses me off so much I want tostrangle him, but I wonít spend the rest of my life blaming him for everything that goes wrong in it.Ē I hear the sound of Joshís shoes clopping against the kitchen tile as he paces. ďWhatever it is you think your mother did that was so awful, get over it! I can practicallyhear you fighting with her in your head, like sheís still here and youíre still fourteen.Your mother is dead,Laura! Grow up already!Ē

Now I realize itówhat Josh said before about Laura not taking time off from work. Sarah is dead. Sarah is dead, and nobody ever told me. Sarah is dead, and Iíll never see her again. Sheíll never feed me or hold me or stroke my fur again. Never never never never. No matter how much time I spend with her boxesor my memories, nothing will ever bring Sarah back to me. The ache in my chest from Sarahís being gone rips back open so suddenly that I canít breathe. I curl up in a tight ball under the couch with my nose pressed into my tail, trying to make my ripped-open chest stay together.

ďFirst Iím not grieving enough,Ē Laura yells, ďand now I canít get over it. Which is it?Ē

ďStop with the logic games, Counselor. Iím not your client and we all know youíre not my lawyer.Ē

ďMaybeyouíre the one who needs to grow up! Stop trying to be the king of community activism andget a job. Charity begins at home.Ē

ďDo you have any idea how hard it is to get a job right now?Ē Josh shouts. ďDo you have any idea what itís like to watch your profession crumble up and blow away into nothing, and have people telling you day after day how the only job you know how to do doesnít exist anymore? When youíre nearlyforty? Does it occur to you at any point during the fifteen hours a day when youarenít here to think about howthat feels? Or are you too busy totting up in your headexactly what you contribute andexactly what I contribute?Ē

ďWhoís the oblivious one, Josh?Ē Laura yells back. ďWhenís the last time I worked a fifteen-hour day? Has it ever occurred toyou to wonder what might be going on withmy job?Ē

ďNo, I donítwonder about your job!Ē It sounds like Josh has slammed his fist down on the kitchen table. I curl into a tighter ball under the living room couch, thinking,Please stop, please stop, please stop. Sarah is dead. I canít take this, too.ďJust like you donít sit around your office all day wondering whatís going on with me. You know what I wonder about? I wonder why I never get to go out to dinner, or make plans with friends, or talk about a vacation. I wonder why I sit around here night after nightalone. I think about the night we metówe danced, we talked, we hadfun. We had a lot of nights like that. When was the last time we did any of those things? And I guess we donít have to do anything on our anniversary, either, because another night at home will be such ablast! If you ever once came home and suggested we go out anddo something, I think Iíd have a heart attack.Ē I can hear Laura breathe in sharply when Josh saysheart attack.ďI know how important it is to you to make partner. But what are we doing here?Ē

ďThatís not fair.Ē Lauraís voice has tears in it. ďYouknew how demanding my job was. You told me it was one of the things you loved most about me, and now youíre second-guessing it whenmy job is the only thing bringing any money into this house. How can we do any of those things if we donít have money to do them with?Ē

Joshís voice is quieter now. ďWhatís the point of having all the money in the world, Laura, if weíre miserable?Ē

When Laura speaks again, she sounds hoarse.ďI didnít realize I was making you miserable,Ē she says.

ďLaura, IóĒ Josh starts, but Laura doesnít let him finish.

ďI have to go,Ē she says. ďI have to get to my job while I still have one.Ē She walks to the closet, and I hear her open it to pull out her purse and heavy shoulder bag. Then she walks out the front door, slamming it shut behind her.

The apartment is silent after Laura leaves. The only thing I hear is the sound of Josh pacing and rain pounding on our windows. Josh walks around and around the kitchen and living room, and then he walks up the stairs and back down the stairs and up the stairs again. I hear him opening drawers and slamming them back closed, and once it sounds like he kicks something. Every so often I hear him say,ďDammit!Ē under his breath. I donít think heís looking for anything specific as he walks around and opens drawers. I think heís trying to find a way to feel less anxious. Hemust feel anxious, because I donít thinkIíve ever been this upset. I havenít heard humans yell like that since I lived outside with my littermates. The doorbell rings, and I can hear Josh open the door and say a curt, ďThanks,Ē to whoever is there. He walks into the kitchen, and I hear him set something on the counter. Then he grabs an umbrella from the tall stand near the front door like heís angry at it and goes out. The apartment is silent once again.

Sarah is dead. Sarah is never coming back. Iíll never see her again. Maybe we were just roommates, but we loved each other. All those times Laura told me things about Sarah, how could she not have told methis? And then I have an even worse thought: What if Laura and Josh donít want to be a family anymore because of the vicious words they just said to each other? What if they donít want to live with each other? What if neither of them wants to live with me, either? They might not love me like Sarah did, but if Sarah is really gone forever then thereís nobody elsein the whole world to care even a little about where I live or what happens to me.

What I should do now is finish my breakfast, like I do every morning. If I do everything the way I usually do, Laura and Josh will have to come back and be happy together the way they usually are. Except I canít quite manage it right now. My chest is hurting and so is my stomach. The hole in my chest from Sarahís not being here has moved down to my belly. Now itís in both places.

Itís the new smell from the kitchen that finally draws me out from under-the-couch. Thereís a bunch of flowers on the counter, arranged in a glass vase. The flowers have little drops of water on them from the rain outside, and the spicy-earth scent of them fills the whole downstairs of our apartment.

I know what kind of flowers these are. Theyíre the same kind as Laura is holding in the pictures from when she and Josh got married.

The smell of the flowers pulls me up. Almost before Iíve made the decision to do it, Iím sitting on the counter next to them. I remember the cat grass Sarah used to keep for me when we lived together. When my stomach felt upset like it does now, the cat grass would help make it feel better.

Josh must know how upset I am, and thatís why he had the man at the door bring flowers for me to eat. He knows I like to eat the things he leaves on the counter.

So I put my whole face into the middle of those flowers and breathe in their delicious smell. Then I start to eat. I chew on the leaves and stems and the soft parts of the flowers themselves. I eat and eat and wait for my stomach to stop twisting around so much, and when my stomach doesnít feel better right away I eat some more†Ö

Ö†and now thereís nothing except Badness. I feel the Badness all over my whole body. My stomach heaves and spins trying to get the Badness out of me, but it doesnít work. I throw up and catch my breath and throw up again, and still I canít get the Badness out. Iím thirsty and try to drink from my water bowl, but the Badness rises up and throws the water out of my mouth as soon as I take it in. Itís making everything look funny. Small things look too big and things that are far away look too close and my legs wonít work right and my mouth wonít stop making water. I bump into things because I canít see them right and theyíre playing tricks on me, sneaking closer when Iím not looking, on purpose to make me trip over my own feet. All these things are happening, but none of them is making the Badness go away.

I try to meow for help, so that somebody can hear me, like that day when Sarah and I first found each other. But when I open my mouth I throw up again and it just makes me feel dizzier. I try to walk to a cooler part of the room, maybe under-the-couch or down the hall away from the big windows, but my legs arenít working right. I fall over once and then twice, and then I realize Iím not getting closer to where Iím trying to go because Iím walking in circles.

When I lived with Sarah and my belly felt upset, she would stroke my forehead and say,Shhh, little girl. Donít worry. Everythingís okay. Everythingís going to be just fine†Ö

But everythingís not going to be just fine, because now Darkness comes to work with the Badness. Itís like a black sack has been thrown over my head. Except after a few moments, I notice that my body feels lighter, like I donít weigh anything. The closer the Darkness comes, the farther away the Badness feels.

And then, itís the strangest thing. Sarah is here! I canít see or hear or smell her, but I can feel her in the room, like the silent hum when a TV is turned on even if there isnít any sound or picture.Sarah! I think. But now the Darkness is going away again, and I know somehow that if it goes, Sarah will go, too. I struggle to keep my eyes closed, to stay inside the Darkness where Sarah and I can find each other.

Sarah! I think.Donít leave me, Sarah! I knew youíd come back for me! I knew youíd find me again! I knew youíd

And then everything is Darkness and Silence.

[ ŗūÚŤŪÍŗ: img_5]

13

Sarah

LAURA TURNED FOURTEEN IN THE FALL OF 1994 AND BEGAN ATTENDING Stuyvesant High School down in Battery Park City. For the first time, she started taking the bus and subway on her own every day. Once, this would have terrified me. But Mayor Giuliani had taken office by then, and heíd started cracking down on things like graffiti and street crime and the homeless guys whoíd come right up to your car window with a squeegee while you were stopped at intersections. He got rid of the corrupt cops who for so many years had taken bribes and allowed the street-corner drug dealers to go about their business. There was no question that New York City in general and the Lower East Side specifically were growing cleaner and safer by the day.

There were mixed feelings about all this on the LES. Nobody liked crime, of course, and it was a relief to feel that our streets were less dangerous. On the other hand, we were rather proud of our graffiti. People like Cortes and Keith Haring were acknowledged as legitimate artists pursuing a legitimate art form. There were people who grumbled that Giuliani was a fascist. Maybe he is, Iíd reply, but you know what? Drug dealers are fascists, too. Now there was nobody to menace my daughter and her friends when they walked down the streets, to tell her which corners she could linger on and which she couldnít.

ďQuality of Life,Ē Giulianiís campaign was called. Many of us were in favor of it at first. But eventually we came to realize just how nebulous an expression ďquality of lifeĒ is. If you wanted to, you could interpret it to mean almost anything.

Later, after the dust had settled, lawyers and reporters would try to create a chronology of what had happened on June 3, 1995. We were able to ascertain a few definite factsóthat a concerned citizenís 911 call really had started the whole thing, that there really were a few bricks that had slipped from our apartment buildingís rear fa?ade. Nobody disputed that our landlords had disregarded necessary repairs over the years. Margarita Lopez, the city council member for our neighborhood, would later confirm ninety-eight Class B (serious enough to warrant court action) and Class C (supposed to be repaired within twenty-four hours) violations on record with the City. We tenants had banded together in the past, chosen representatives, complained formally to theCity. But the City had done nothing for us. All of us living there were old, or we were immigrants, or we were poor. We worked. We paid our rent every month and our taxes every year. But, in the end, we were expendable.

There was money coming to us, the lawyers insisted. Somebody had to pay for what had happened. I attended a few meetings, but my heart wasnít in it. What difference could it make? And when we ended up getting nothing, or next to nothing, I wasnít surprised or even disappointed. We were too broken by then. We were a group of Humpty Dumptys, and there werenít enough horses or men in all of New York to make us whole again.

[ ŗūÚŤŪÍŗ: img_3]

It was a Saturday morning. Laura moved with brisk purpose through the apartment, wearing a nightgown with a cartoon drawing on it of a girl who stood in the window of a tenement building much like ours. The girl in the drawing had thrown a clock from the window.Jane Wanted to See Time Fly, the caption said. It was a childís nightgown, even though Laura had grown so much in the past year I could hardly believe she was the same girl. It wasnít a nightgown I would have worn at her age. But when I was Lauraís age, I was already trying to be older. Laura would turn fifteen in only five months. I had been fifteen when Iíd met Anise. A chance meeting a lifetime ago, in a secondhand store Iíd never intended to go into. And somehow, from that day, events had unfolded one after the other and brought me here. I had a teenage daughter, and this was where we lived.

I wasnít due at Ear Wax until the afternoon. Still, I was up early because Laura was up early, and I sang in the kitchen as I fixed toast and cereal for the both of us. Laura was waiting for Mr. Mandelbaum to return from the cramped, ancient synagogue two doors down from our building. He had gone thereto pray every Saturday morning for the past fifty years. Today was different, though. It was Shavuot, the holiday that celebrates Godís giving the Ten Commandments to Moses. The Yizkor, the Jewish memorial prayer for the dead, is recited four times a year. One of those times is Shavuot, and Mr. Mandelbaum would be reciting the Yizkor today for Mrs. Mandelbaum, whoíd died in her sleep during the past winter.

Mr. Mandelbaum hadnít been the same since. His eyes would roam the room instead of looking at your face when you talked to him. The voice that had once boomed down hallways, audible sometimes even downstairs in our apartment, had faded to a whisper. He would forget to take his medication for days at a time. Even Honey seemed to sense the difference. She had always been close to him, always been ďhisĒ catóhis and Lauraísóbut now she hovered near him constantly. Whenever we went up to see him, Honey was in his lap or sitting next to him on the arm of his chair. Her soft eyes looked anxious as they followed his every small movement. If Mr. Mandelbaum hadnít remembered to shop for Honey, to buy her food and bring her the little tidbits of turkey she loved from the corner deli, he might not have remembered to shop at all.

Laura and I tried to spend as much time with him as possible. But there were too many hours in the day given to school and to work, too many hours when Mr. Mandelbaum was by himself in that apartment filled with photos of the wife and son heíd lost. Too many hours with only his cat for company. The book Mrs. Mandelbaum had been reading aloud to him the night she died still rested, facedown, on the coffee table where sheíd left it before going to bed. Laura had seen him only yesterday, heart torn at Mrs. Mandelbaumís absence fromthe kitchen where sheíd prepared cheese blintzes every year for Shavuot. Lauraís idea today was to take Mr. Mandelbaum for a walk, maybe to Katzís for the blintzes they served there. Anything that would keep him from spending the rest of the day alone in his apartment.

But it was pouring outside. Laura fretted at the idea of Mr. Mandelbaum being outside in this weather, fretted also that he might not have remembered to bring an umbrella with him when heíd walked to the synagogue that morning. He was apt to forget such things these days.

It was nine when we heard the knock on our door. Laura, already dressed and hoping it was Mr. Mandelbaum, ran to answer it. I was in my bedroom, just starting to change out of my nightshirt. I heard an unfamiliar manís voice, the upward tilt of Lauraís voice responding with a question. ďMom?Ē she called out. ďCan you come here?Ē

My hands fumbled with the buttons on my shirt.ďIím coming,Ē I called back.

I had missed a button and my shirt was on lopsided. There were two firemen at our door. One of them, the younger one, seemed to notice my shirt but refrained from pointing it out.ďIs there anybody else in the apartment, maíam?Ē he asked me. Their yellow-and-black raincoats gleamed wetly, and I remember thinking their muddy boots would make a mess in the hall.

ďWhy?Ē I wanted to know. ďWhatís going on?Ē

ďWeíre evacuating the building,Ē the other one said. ďPart of the rear fa?ade has been damaged from the rain. Thereís a possibility the whole building might collapse.Ē

I heard his words, but it was information my brain instantly rejected.ďIím sorry?Ē I said.

ďWeíre evacuating the building,Ē the older fireman repeated, patiently. ďThis building is in danger of imminent collapse, maíam.Ē

ďOh my God.Ē I felt a vein begin to throb in my throat. My mind whirred and skipped, a phonograph needle trying to settle into the right groove. I had a sudden, unbearable image of my daughter crushed beneath a collapsed building, her body broken underneath a pile of bricks and beams. I knew, though, that I couldnít let panic alone, or the sharp pain of my heart thudding in my chest, determine my actions of the next few minutes. I had to force that image away for a second. I had to stop and think.

Itís an impossible question to answer in the abstract, what you might take with you if somebody knocked on your door and told you that your home and everything in it could be destroyed in the next few minutes. Itís impossible because, when the moment comes, itís always unexpected and you canít think. Only later do you remember things like favorite albums or your grandmotherís wedding ring, or the metal lockbox of personal treasures stored on the top shelf of your closet. If youíre a mother, your first thoughts go where they always goóto what youíll need to care for your child. Food, clothing, shelter, whatever youíll need in the way of wallet contents and insurance papers to ensure those things are provided without interruption. And so, when my mind stopped skipping, thatís where it settled.Tell Laura to grab enough clothing for a few days, it said,while you get your purse, your phone book, and the insurance policies.

ďQuick,Ē I said to Laura, I could hear the rain lashing at our windows. ďThereís a suitcase on the top shelf of the linen closet. Get it down and weíllóĒ

ďThereís no time, maíam,Ē the younger fireman interrupted. ďThis building could collapse any second.Ē Laura turned her face up to mine, fear and bewilderment in her eyes, but also trust. Not doubting for a second that her mother would know exactly what we should do.

It was Lauraís face that snapped me into decisiveness. ďPut your shoes on,Ē I told her. ďHurry!Ē Without a word, she ran off to her bedroom. Turning back to the firemen, I asked, ďIs there truly no time to bring anything else?Ē

ďWeíll have it stabilized soon,Ē the younger fireman told me reassuringly. ďYouíll probably be back in a couple of hours. Weíre evacuating mainly as a precaution. Just take what you need for right now.Ē

His words eased the knot of panic in my chest, but only a little. The image of Laura in a collapsing building was too agonizing to be dismissed easily.

ďMom,Ē Laura said as she hurriedly laced her sneakers, ďwhat aboutóĒ

ďEverythingís going to be fine.Ē I tried to sound soothing. ďBut we have to go now.Ē

ďButóĒ

ďNow, Laura. No discussions.Ē

I wasnít in the habit of speaking to her so sharply. She threw me a surprised look, but finished tying her shoes.

I can almost laugh today, remembering how Laura and I raced to grab keys, wallets, umbrellas. At my urging (ďQuickly!Ē I told Laura, tugging at her arm,ďRun!Ē), we bolted down the stairs as if the building were already collapsing around us. We were breathless when we reached the sidewalk.

Most of our neighbors were outside. We whispered among ourselves as we milled about in the rain.ďA few bricks fell off the back of the building,Ē the performance artist from the ground floor told me. ďBecause of the rain. Somebody called 911. They should be able to fix it pretty easily.Ē

It was a comforting thought. Then the police arrived with barricades and yellow tape, and the vein in my throat began to pulse again. All this because of a few fallen bricks? A crowd, larger than the twenty-five or so people who lived in our building, was starting to gather.

It was Laura who first spotted Mr. Mandelbaum, in the thirty-year-old suit heíd worn to his wifeís funeral, clutching a small plastic bag in his hand. ďWeíre over here!Ē she called to him, waving. Laura and I angled our umbrellas so all three of us could fit under them while rain pounded staccato on the fabric over our heads. Lauraís face was pale and pinched, but in Mr. Mandelbaumís presence she composed it into a serene expression as she quickly explained what was happening.

Mr. Mandelbaumís eyes swept past the cops, now busily using the barricades and yellow tape to create a perimeter around the building. It stood on the corner, and the barricade extended from all the way around the corner and around back to the narrow alley between our building and the one next to it. Then Mr. Mandelbaum looked up at the building itself. The red bricks rising into gray sky looked every bit as solid as any other building on the block.

For a moment, I was pleased to see his eyes focus in a way they hadnít in months. It was heartening, even under circumstances like these, to see his eyes flicker with life and interest. Then I realized it wasnít understanding that focused his gaze. It was fear.

ďHoney,Ē he said.

Itís an interesting thing to think about, how rumors get started. How a crowd comes to know something no one individual can account for. When did it happen? When was the moment of certainty? And how was it that we knew for sure?

We had been told that the building could collapse at any second, but two hours later not so much as a single brick had fallen, not one visible crack had appeared in the structure. They had told us we would be allowed back inďsoon,Ē but by noon not one of us had been allowed back in. Police officers and representatives from the Office of Emergency Management roamed freely in and out of the building, seeming unconcerned about the dangers weíd been warned of. Many didnít bother to wear hard hats. In hushed voicespeople asked one another,Doesnít that seem odd to you?

Whispers ran among us as we all stood there in the rain, waiting to see what would happen. People talked about SROs whose occupants had been dragged from their beds in the middle of the night and scattered into the streets like cockroaches. The buildings would be demolished the very next morning to make room for expensive new condos and restaurants. There were the squatters who took over apartment buildings nominally owned by the City because the landlords had been unable to afford repairs or taxes. Buildings the City abandoned and neglected until they became crack houses. The squatters would chase out the dealers and addicts, bring in wiring, fix walls and roofs, plant gardens, make the building and sometimes whole blocks livable again. You would see children playing stickball on streets that only a few months earlier no child could have safely walked past. And then one day police would come to chase the squatters out, not letting them take any personal belongings with them. The City wouldďreclaimĒ the building and sell it for a profit.

But those people were different from us. The people who stayed in SROs had no formal contracts; they paid on a nightly or perhaps weekly basis. Technically, the squatters had no legal claim to be where they were.We held signed leases in our own names.We paid our rent every month, as formally and contractually as any millionaire with a Park Avenue pied-?-terre. What had happened to those other people could never happen tous.

Maybe it was when Mayor Giuliani pulled up in a Town Car. By then the crowd was enormous. At first people were cheered by the sight of the mayor striding confidently into that building. He didnít wear a hard hat, either. How dangerous could the building be, if the mayor himself was entering it?

But then the murmurs went around again: Whywas the mayor here? Why should he concern himself withus, with our one little building? Maybe it was a goodwill gesture, an attempt to garner votes in a neighborhood that hadnít supported him in the last election?

But, then†Ö†why didnít he make eye contact with anybody, or give us even a parting wave, as he exited the building and disappeared back into his car?

One of our local community board members, an architect, was circulating.ďDonít worry,Ē he told people. ďI went around back and saw the damage theyíre talking about. Two, maybe three bricks, and that rear wallís at least six bricks deep. Thereís no way this building is going to collapse.Ē

Few people seemed comforted at hearing this. I noted that. Noted, too, that at some point the crowd had started to lose faith in the idea that whatever was happening here today was a rescue mission. A breeze blew up and I shivered, drawing Laura closer to me.

I donít remember all the events of that day as clearly as I should. Maybe I just donít want to. Or maybe, perversely, too much of my memory got used up in the wrong places. Because the parts I remember most clearly are the ones I would give anythingóall the remaining years of my lifeóto forget. The rest of it comes to me in fragments.

The crowd sighed and surged and swelled and collapsed inward upon itself, only to expand again. Rain fell harder, and people huddled under umbrellas or simply stood motionless and got wet, and then the rain subsided. Faces blurred and shifted around me, as if I were standing still in front of a merry-go-round. The Bengali couple from the fourth floor threaded through the crowd, their three children following them like ducklings in a row. The Polish woman who lived across the hall from us and took in laundry muttered something, to nobody in particular, about the clothing she still had piled up in her living room.

ďFive thousand dollars I have in that apartment,Ē Consuela Verde, Maria Elenaís mother, said to me. The two youngest of her five children clung to her beneath an enormous flowered umbrella, still wearing their pajamas. Anger and anguish competed for toeholds on the rounded contours of her face. ďAll our lives, my husband and me worked for that money. All the money we ever have. We no trust the banks. And now thesehijos de la gran putaĒóshe spat on the sidewalkóďnow they will take it from us. You watch and see.Ē

More hours ticked by. Rain-fed puddles deepened and joined to form small rivers that rushed over feet and carried bobbing, twirling dead leaves toward drains. My stomach churned in time with the movements of the crowd, its anxious circles, the growing sense that something wasnít right. It had been hours since the toast and cereal Iíd eaten that morning. Somebody pressed a paper cup of hot coffee into my hand. But my stomach recoiled at the thought of it, so I carefully set the cup down on the asphalt beside me.

Nothing happened to indicate any repairs being made to our building. Why were we kept waiting in the rain? Why, when the building had remained standing for so many hours, couldnít we go in and at least collect a few of our things?

A leg would grow uncomfortable from my standing on it too long, and Iíd shift my weight to the other leg. I halfheartedly swung my umbrella around whenever the wind changed direction. Still, I was soaked through. I tried to re-button my lopsided shirt one-handed and succeeded only in making it more lopsided. My purse began to feel too heavy hanging from my right shoulder, so I switched it to the left. It occurred to me that I was long overdue at the store, that Noel would be worried about me. But I didnít want to leave to find a pay phone. The thought faded. Sometimes I decided to count how many people in the crowd had blond hair, how many red, how many brown. It was easy when you could see the tops of everybodyís head. I remained within the crowd, so I could hear what was going on, and kept one eye on Laura, who stood with Mr. Mandelbaum across the street.

Laura never left Mr. Mandelbaumís side. He sat on an overturned orange crate, and Laura held her umbrella over his head so he wouldnít get wet. For hours she stood protectively over him, the tallest woman in the crowd aside from me. Lauraís smooth, pale hand against the black plastic of the umbrella handle. Mr. Mandelbaumís knotted hands twisting and untwisting the plastic bag he still gripped. Occasionally Maria Elena went over to talk to her. Once, I think, she tried to convince Laura to go someplace with her. I could tell by the gestures her hands were making. But Laura smiled wanly and shook her headno, motioning toward Mr. Mandelbaum. Maria Elena disappeared back into the crowd.

I hovered as close to the barricades as I could without being completely swallowed up by the crowd. People from our building kept approaching the yellow line and the cops standing on the other side of it. They pleaded, raged, argued, wept. Those who didnít speak English, or didnít speak it well, brought their children as interpreters. I tried, too, to reason with the cops. Tension had become a living pain in my chest, but I forced myself to be calm. Years of working retail had taught me to speak calmly, smilingly, to unreasonable people. I hada child, I told them. My child needed clothing. She needed her schoolbooks. So many people had gone into the building all day and come out unharmed. If we could have a few minutes, only a few minutes to†Ö

ďWeíll let you back in,Ē the cops told us again and again. ďOnce the building has been deemed safe for reentry, weíll let you back in. You have nothing to worry about.Ē

Every half hour or so, I helped Mr. Mandelbaum through the crowd and up to the barricades. I took him from Laura as if we were two parents exchanging custody. I held my umbrella over his head with one hand as we walked. I encircled him with the other, to protect him from being pushed by the crowd. He couldnít be allowed to slip and fall. I had to remind myself to walk slowly, to pace my longer steps to his shuffling ones.

Mr. Mandelbaumís whole face beseeched the unyielding cops on the other side of the barricades. Their eyes never so much as flickered in his direction.

ďPlease,Ē Mr. Mandelbaum kept saying. ďPlease let me get my cat out. Sheís in there all alone. Please let me get her.Ē

More than a few times, I tried to argue on Mr. Mandelbaumís behalf. I circled the barricades looking for different faces, cops I hadnít already spoken to. ďHeís an old man,Ē I said. ďHe has prescription medication in there that he needs to take.Ē

Nothing. No response at all.

ďLook,Ē I said, lowering my voice to a confidential tone. As if we were allies, partners on the same side of a negotiation. ďThe manís wife just died. He lived here with her forfifty years. That cat means the world to him. Just let him get his cat out. Sheís a living thing, too.Ē I repeated this sentence often, as if it contained magic words. An unanswerable argument.A living thing.ďCouldnít somebody at least get her for him? I could get his keys. I keep seeing people going in and out andóĒ

Finally, one of the cops rolled his eyes.ďLady,Ē he said in an exasperated tone, ďwe got more important things to worry about right now than some old guyíscat.Ē

The crowd continued to grow. It became increasingly restive as the day went onócommunity board members, friends and relatives, tenants from neighboring apartment buildings swelled our ranks, until there were over two hundred of us and cars couldnít drive down Stanton Street. Jostles became shoves. Murmurs rose to shouts. Chants went up. Who came up with them? How did everybody know to say the same thing at the same time?ďGive us fifteen minutes!Ē the crowd howled with one voice, fists in the air.ďGive us fifteen minutes!Ē Or else they chanted,ďMr. Moriarty, stop this party!Ē referring to OEM deputy director John Moriarty, who was on-site that day.

I did try to make Laura leave. The Red Cross had set up a relief center a few blocks away, and I tried to send her there.ďNo,Ē she told me. One hand fell to rest on Mr. Mandelbaumís shoulder. ďWeíre not leaving until we know Honey is safe.Ē

ďLauraóĒ

ďNo!Ē Her voice was edged with panic. ďIím not going! You canít make me!Ē

You canít make me. A childís argument. But Laura and I had never argued. We were as close as two fingers on the same hand, she and I.

Eventually, somebody came to me with a petition. Somebody else came with an affidavit. I signed both. I was told papers were being prepared and notarized at the nearby middle school. A judge had been found who was willing to have the papers delivered to his home on a Saturday. For the first time in the nine hours since our building had been evacuated, I allowed myself to feel hope.

Suddenly Laura was beside me. She held Mr. Mandelbaumís arm. What was she doing here, near the barricades? I had thought, I had been certain, that weíd both understood the terms of our unspoken agreement. She was to remain safely across the street with Mr. Mandelbaum. If he wanted to try talking to the cops again,I would bring him over. There was no reason forher to behere. No reason at all.

Yet here she was.ďFifty years Iíve lived here,Ē Mr. Mandelbaum was saying now. His voice was no longer a quiet plea. It had gained volume, agitated for the first time. ďEverything I have in the world is in that apartment, but I donít care. I donít care! Just let me go to my cat. Iím begging you!Ē Hedragged the wet sleeve of his coat across his face.

The cops continued to ignore him. He was only an old man, after all. They didnít budge for him. Their eyes moved only for Laura, moved up and down, taking her in. A tall, slender, beautiful girl, wearing jeans and a red cotton T-shirt that clung to her body in the rain.

I could see Lauraís tight face, the crease between her eyebrows far too deep for a girl her age, as she fought to restrain her own tears. Tears for this man she loved, and the cat she loved almost as much as the man. I couldnít hear her words, but I knew she was adding her own soft, murmured pleas.

A gust of wind came up. It blew Mr. Mandelbaumís coat backward, molded Lauraís T-shirt more tightly to her chest. The copsí eyes drifted downward. Sly grins scurried across their faces.

Something uncoiled inside me. It curled my hands into fists, set my heart to pounding so hard I could hear it inside my own ears. My body flooded with a surge of rage so pure and sharp that, for one exhilarating moment, it was indistinguishable from joy.

The crowd roiled again, chaotic now. I was pushed hard from all sides. I struggled to remain standing. I had the wild thought that I had caused this, that my rage had spilled over and seeped into the people around me.

But it had nothing to do with me. I had taken my attention away from the crowd for a second, and in that second the crowd-mind had reached a consensus I knew nothing about.

A crane had arrived.

It rumbled down Clinton Street. Its neck was yellow. Gradually the neck stretched itself up until it rose as high as our buildingís roof. From the end of the yellow neck hung a brownish gray beak with a row of thick metal teeth, each longer than a manís leg. The bottom half of the beak was a slab. It would catch whatever chunks the teeth tore out.

Large metal containers and lighting trees were maneuvered into place. It had been hard to gauge the dayís passage under such a gray sky, but I realized with a kind of dizzy surprise that soon it would be nightfall. There were sounds of machinery switching on and off. Then only the low-gear rattle of the diesel engine of the craneís cab.

The beak opened its maw and poised over the roof, waiting.

The crowd roared and surged and broke in waves against the police barricades. But underneath the waves, in deeper places, were currents and crosscurrents. Related to the waves, yet unaffected by them.

Word was spreading. The judge was going to issue a temporary restraining order. The restraining order was on its way! Quick as light beams, from person to person, this message was communicated. Somebody shouted it to John Moriarty from the OEM. He took out a cellular phone and made a call. Nodded a few times in response to whatever the person on the other end said. Then he hung up and spoke into his walkie-talkie.

ďDo it now,Ē he said.

The rattle of the diesel engine was drowned in a new soundóa loud, continuous hum. People screamed and sobbed. I could hear the wailing of children. For the first time, the police seemed nearly overwhelmed by the force of the crowd struggling to break through the tape and barricades.

ďMy cat!Ē Mr. Mandelbaum cried out. Tears coursed thickly down his wrinkled face. ďSheís a living thing! Sheís still in there! Please! Sheís all I got!Ē The plastic bag he still held twisted convulsively in his hands as he fell, kneeling on the pavement.ďSheís all I got!Ē

ďLaura!Ē I yelled, bending toward Mr. Mandelbaum. ďLaura, help me!Ē I looked up, and then I fell silent.

Laura wasnít there.

ďLaura?Ē I rose to my full height, stood on tiptoes. Laura and I were both tall. Even in a crowd like this I should be able to see the top of her head. So why couldnít I? I left Mr. Mandelbaum with Hugo Verde, Maria Elenaís father.Watch him, I mouthed, pointing from my eye to Mr. Mandelbaum. Hugo nodded and leaned down to help Mr. Mandelbaum, still crying, shakily to his feet. I angled through the crowd, turning sideways to slip through crevices between bodies, using my hands to push people out of the way. I no longer felt separate from the crowd, from its terror and frenzy. I was a part of it.ďLaura!Ē I called. ďLaura, where are you? Laura, answer me!Ē I remembered when she was three, when sheíd slipped away from me once at a block party. Iíd found her that day, but Iíd always had nightmares since then. Nightmares just like this. Laura was missing in a crowd, and I couldnít find her. Anything could have happened to her. What if sheíd fallen? What if the crowd was trampling her?ďLaura!Ē The hard pain in my chest was now a black hole of panic.ďIím yourmother! Answer me, dammit!Ē

The crane, fully powered up now, swung back to gather momentum and made its first test swing at the top of the building. The deafening crunch of metal against brick echoed over the heads of the crowd.

Then the head and shoulders of a girl pushed their way through an open window on the third floor. A fair-skinned girl with long brown hair. She wore a red cotton T-shirt. The sky was black now, the clouds had finally thinned, and the girl, the building, the metal containers waiting to swallow them on the ground below, all of them were spotlit by the blazing lights from the lighting trees. They looked superimposed against the black sky. Unreal, dreamlike. The girl waved her arms furiously.ďWait!Ē she shouted. ďWait, Iím in here!Ē

ďLAURA!Ē I shoved my way through the crowd again, so hard this time that people fell back as I muscled past them. Dear God, what if I couldnít get to the barricade in time? Already the crane was pulling back, preparing for another swing. Its jaws gaped, glinted in the artificial white light.ďStop them!Ē I screamed. I kept screaming.ďStop them! Somebody stop them!Ē But my screams were swallowed in the crowd. Finally I got to the barricade and clawed at the arm of the nearest cop.ďMy daughter is in that building!Ē

The cop looked at me and said something terse to the officer standing next to him, who rolled his eyes upon hearing it. The two of them motioned to a third officer to guard their post as they turned and ran into the building. The OEM official barked something into his walkie-talkie, and the crane was still.

Needle-thin raindrops darted silver through the glow of the lighting trees. The crowd, emboldened by the unexpected pause in the craneís movements, flailed against the police barricades with renewed frenzy. My fingers curled, convulsing in rhythm to my anguish. How many more raindrops, how many more seconds, minutes, eternities until Laura was safely in my arms.

Finally, the cops reappeared in the doorway, wrangling a struggling Laura between them. Theyíd put her in handcuffs, the metal glinting cruelly against the soft flesh of her wrists. My heart clutched in horror.My child, my child.

When they reached the barricade, one of the officers unlocked the cuffs and pushed Laura toward me. I stumbled as the weight of her body fell awkwardly against mine, and my arms automatically rose to encircle her. My hands moved from her head to her shoulders, down her arms. Checking to see if anything was hurt, anything broken.ďWe could lock her up for disturbing the peace,Ē the cop told me. ďKeep an eye on your kid, will ya?Ē

My jaw was so tight it was painful.ďKeep your handsoff my child.Ē I pushed the words through clenched teeth with enough force to send a line of spittle down my chin. The cop took one look at my face and backed off.

ďMom,Ē Laura was saying frantically. ďMom, I had her! I had Honey! Those cops scared her and she jumped out of my arms when they came for me. She ran under the bed. I know exactly where she is! Tell them! Tell them where she is so they can go back and get her!Ē

My arm drew up into the air, hand open. It sped down to land across Lauraís face in a resounding slap. The force of it rocked her head back and to one side. She staggered, instinctively clutching the shirt of a person standing behind her to keep from falling.

Lauraís already fair skin turned white. Chalk white save for the blood-red mark on her face, which took the shape of my hand. Her eyes widened. Raindrops gathered in her hair and spilled down the sides of her face.

ďARE YOU CRAZY?Ē I shrieked. Except I was the one who sounded crazy. And even as I was screaming, even as I struck her for the first and only time in her life, even then a part of my mind was thinking,Oh, my child, my girl. That you should live to see aday like this one. I grabbed her shoulders and shook her until her teeth rattled in her head.ďA CAT?Ē I screeched.ďYou risked your life to save a cat?Who cares about the cat! TO HELL WITH THE STUPID CAT!Ē

I didnít mean it. Of course I didnít mean it. What I meant was,Yes, we love the cat, but youare more important than any cat. What I meant was,Please, if you love me, donít do anything like this again. I couldnít bear to go on if anything were to happen to you. But I didnít say those things. Not in that moment. How could I? How could I speak calmly when I was gasping for air? When my legs shook beyond my control? When my heart was knocking so hard in my chest, it sent pains shooting through my body?

All I wanted was for Laura to leave. Every instinct in my body was screaming for her to go, to get her away, away, away. Away from the machine with its ravenous metal jaws that wanted to kill something. Had tried to kill her once already. Away from the crowd that also wanted to kill something now.

But Laura wasnít going. She stood there with tears in her eyes, gaping at me as if she didnít know me. Didnít recognize me. The look of perfect trust her eyes had held only that morning was gone. And I knew, as I stood there, I knew I would never see it again. Something had changed between us. I knew it, Ijust didnít understandwhy. How could my own daughter, the child of my own body, distrust me when I was the only oneóthe only person in this whole crowdówho was trying to protect her? I felt myself on the verge of hysteria. Clutching her arm, I dragged her through the crowd to where it thinned at the edges. I saw Hugo Verde helping his children and Mr. Mandelbaum into a Red Cross bus. Later I would learn that it had taken people from our building to a motel out in Queens, near LaGuardia Airport.

And then Noel was standing next to me.ďI was worried when you didnít show up today. You werenít answering your phone. I came as soon as my shift ended.Ē He stared at meómy face twisted, panting heavilyóand trailed off. ďIs there anything I can do?Ē he asked uncertainly.

I put my hand against Lauraís shoulder and shoved her, hard, in his direction. ďTake her,Ē I gritted. ďTake her to your apartment. Take her anywhere. Just get her away from here.Ē

Maybe if Laura had cried, maybe then it would still have been okay. If she had cried, if her face had softened, of course I would have put my arms around her. I would have hugged her close and whispered,Iím sorry. Iím so sorry, baby. I was scared, thatís all. I love you. I love you so much. And Laura would have hugged me back, she would have sobbed against my shoulder, and I would have comforted her as best I could.

But Laura didnít cry. The tears in her eyes dried without falling. Her lips pressed into a thin line. Noel tried to put his arm around her shoulders, but she shook it off. ďIím fine,Ē she told him.

Noel threw me a look that pleaded for clemency.Give the kid a break, the look said.ďCome on,Ē he told her softly. ďEverythingís going to be fine. Your momís going to stay here and make sure everything is just fine.Ē Placing one hand lightly between her shoulder blades, he started to guide her away from the edges of the crowd.

I watched their backs recede. When theyíd gotten half a block away, Laura broke away from Noel and whirled around to face me.ďI hate you!Ē she screamed. Hurling the words at me with all the force she had.

Lauraís hands rose to cover her face, and she turned to bury both face and hands in Noelís shoulder. Noelís arm went around her. The two of them kept walking until they disappeared from sight.

It took thirteen hours for the crane to tear our building apart, piece by piece, to level it all the way down to the ground floor. For thirteen hours, chunk by chunk, the metal jaws of the crane ate into it and ripped it open. The building never did collapse. Those of us left to watch who had lived here and knew it well werenít surprised. That building had stood for a hundred years.

You could see inside peopleís apartments as the walls were torn off. The first massive chunk ripped by the crane sent a large Bible flying into the air. That was the Verdesí apartment. Laura had told me once about that Bible. On the flyleaf theyíd written the names of everyone in their family going back four generations.

Furniture looked exposed and naked under the lights, like people caught in the act of changing clothes. Rugs slid into cracks that opened in the floor, dragging couches and tables along with them until everything tilted and teetered at crazy angles, like in a fun-house. Kitchen cabinets were squeezed in the machineís jaws until they vomited up breakfast cereals and silverware, wedding china and plastic bowls for children. Occasionally the white lights would catch a piece of jewelry or a shard of broken glass and beam out to blind me unexpectedly. A tiny blue sweater became snarled in one of the craneís teeth and hung there for an absurdly long time, as if someone were clinging fiercely to the thing, desperate to stop it. Not that the crane cared or even paused. It had all night to complete its work.

I stood there and watched numbly. It was only when the crane had eaten down to the third floor, where Mr. Mandelbaum had lived, that I had to leave. I told myself I was hungry, that I hadnít eaten all day. I went to a diner on First Avenue and sat there with a sandwich and a mug of coffee in front of me for two hours. I took one bite of the sandwich, but the bite marks my teeth left looked too much like the holes gouged out of our building by the crane. My head pounded and my facefelt hot, and I bent to rest my cheek against the cool surface of the table.

ďYou okay, miss?Ē

A busboy had approached and he hovered, looking worried.ďIím fine.Ē My voice sounded rough, and I cleared my throat. ďIs there a pay phone I could use?Ē

ďAround back. Next to the bathrooms.Ē He gestured in the direction of the kitchen. ďYou sure youíre okay?Ē

My hair fell forward as I bent over my wallet, looking for a few bills to leave on the table and some change for the phone. When I lifted my eyes, the busboy was still looking at me with concern. I smiled weakly.ďJust not as hungry as I thought I was.Ē

Someone had etched WORSHIP GOD into the metal of the pay phoneís base. It ate two of my quarters before a third produced the sound of a phone ringing on the other end of the line. Noel answered in the middle of the first ring. ďHow is she?Ē I asked.

ďSleeping,Ē he answered. ďShe passed out as soon as she changed out of her wet clothes. I was going to try to wake her and make her eat something, but I figured she needs the sleep more right now.Ē

ďThank you, Noel.Ē No matter how much I cleared my throat, I couldnít seem to erase the gritty texture from it. I didnít sound grateful, although I was. I didnít even sound like me. ďIíll come by for her in the morning.Ē

ďWhere will you sleep tonight?Ē

I laughedóa hoarse, barking sound. ďNowhere,Ē I told him.

There was nothing I could do there, but I walked back to Stanton Street anyway. The crane was still at work, and it had reached the second floor. I was there to see its jaws come through the wall of Lauraís bedroom, devouring the dolls and board games that had come to live permanently in her closet as sheíd gotten too old for them. The curtains Mrs. Mandelbaum had sewn for her. The wallpaper weíd spent days choosing and hours hanging in that room that had once been papered in sheet music. Thecrane ate it all without pausing.

For years, I waited for Laura to ask me about that night. There were a lot of questions I waited for Laura to ask me, but she never did. I always thought, though, that if she were to ask about why I went back, why I stayed there through the night and into the next morning in the damp, crumpled clothing Iíd worn all day, that it would be the one question for which I wouldnít have an answer that would make sense to a practical girl like Laura. I couldnít have explained to her why I stayed, why I had to see all of itóall of our life togetherótorn apart piece by piece. Why I felt like the destruction needed a witness. Not a witness in the sense that a lawyer uses the word. Not that, exactly.

I stayed for the same reason you would sit up all night by the bedside of a dying friend. Because it was something friendship required of you. And because nothing should die alone.

[ ŗūÚŤŪÍŗ: img_3]

The same bus that had brought everybody to the motel out by the airport brought them back the next morning. The police had made a cursory attempt to retrieve some personal effects from the rubble of the demolished building. Waterlogged furniture and clothing, soggy pillows, torn photos, shattered picture frames, pots that held shredded plants, an antique silver hairbrush, yards of snarled tape from the insides of videocassettes, a guitar that had been snapped at the neck, a curling iron, a brush for a cat, endless cracked pieces of china, a chipped commemorative plate celebrating the wedding of Prince Charles to Lady Diana. The things the cops had pulled sat in a wet mound where once our building had stood.

Noel brought Laura back while I climbed the mound, looking through it all, but I made him take her away again. I didnít want her to see this, to see me picking through a pile of broken things on the street like a scavenger. There was only one thing I was looking for, anyway.

It took nearly five hours for me to find it, and it had started to rain again. My hands were torn and bloody by then, and I didnít know if it was dust or tears that had clogged my lungs and made my eyes run. The rest of my former neighborsóthose who had even bothered looking through the moundóhad long since dispersed. I was the only one left by the time I found what I was looking for. Once I did, I went to find Laura.

In the end, those of us who lived there were compensated to the tune of three nights at the airport motel and $250 in gift certificates to buy clothing at Sears, courtesy of the Red Cross. That was all. Two hundred and fifty dollars for a home. Two hundred and fifty dollars for a life. Tenants with children who asked,But where will I take my children? Where can we go? were told they would have to check into one of the Cityís homeless shelters and remain there for forty days before they could officially be considered homeless and receive government assistance. I donít think anybody took them up on that offer. But I canít know for sure. I never saw most of them again, except for Mr. Mandelbaumóand by the time I found him, I knew he was beyond taking help from anybody. When the buildingís owners couldnít afford to repay the City for the demolition cost, ownership of the property reverted to the City by default. They sold it to developers for millions. Condos would eventually be built there, starting at $1.2 million for a one-bedroom.

But construction didnít begin immediately. It wouldnít begin for a long, long time.

Laura and I stayed with Noel and his wife and two children for a few days, but it seemed impossible to take advantage of them by staying too long in their already crowded East Village apartment. We spent a few weeks rotating among friendsí couches and sleeping bags while I tried to keep my business running and waited for my insurance company to send me a check. Laura was nearly catatonic most of the time, falling into restless sleeps in which she tossed and turned and called out for Honey or Mr. Mandelbaum. And when she wasnít silent or sleeping, she raged at me, demanding the return of some favorite blanket or cherished nightgown that she couldnít try to sleep one more night without.

Sometimes I raged back at her, thinking she was doing this just to torment me, because she must have known how impossible it was for me to restore any of the things weíd lost, how much I would have given if I could have done so. Now I understand that she needed somebody to be angry at, so that anger would give her the strength to fight through and survive those difficult days. Mostly, though, she was exercising a childís prerogative (for she was still a child, even if she wouldnít be much longer) to demand that her mother do what mothers are supposed to doómake everything better.

But I couldnít. I couldnít make anything better. Our resentments grew as the days passed, although I could only guess at Lauraís. When we werenít yelling at each other we didnít speak, except when I told her every day how Iíd been trying to get in touch with Anise, that Anise would be able to do something to help us, would do it any day now. Anise was on tour in Europe. In those days, most people didnít have email addresses or cell phones. I left messages with her management company, who assured me they were doing everything they could to reach her at each tour stop, although it always seemed as if theyíd just missed her before sheíd checked out of one hotel and moved on to the next city. They probably thought I was a hanger-on and decided not to bother her.

It was five weeks before I heard from my insurance company, and they informed me that my renterís policy didnít cover lawful acts of emergency demolition by the City. By then Laura and I were staying in cheap hotels on the Lower East Side, and my credit was nearly exhausted. I arranged a ďfire saleĒ at Ear Wax, selling everything that could be sold for whatever price I could get for it to the obsessive collectors who had always been my best customers. At the end of it, I turned the keys and the lease over to Noel. I still had hundreds of records left that were scratched or damaged, or that the collectors hadnít been interested in, and perhaps two dozen that I couldnít bringmyself to part with. They werenít worth much anyway (although I donít think Laura, when she saw how many remained unsold, believed that), but now you could probably sell them for something simply because theyíre old. All of them, along with my personal effects from the store, went into the same storage unit Iíd first rented back when Laura was born. Another phase of my life had been boxed up and put away in a dark room, left there to molder and gather dust.

We were living in an SRO up in Harlemóall I could afford at that point, and more accessible by subway to the Midtown employment agencies I had applied withówhen we finally heard from Anise in early August. I brought Laura with me to every typing test and every job interviewóbecause where could I have left her?óand that, along with my lack of a ďrealĒ address, wasnít helping my job hunt. Most of what Anise had to say about her management companyówhich, as I suspected, hadnít made much of an effort to pass my messages alongówas unrepeatable. She fired them a few days later, and her ousting them in the middle ofan international tour over ďcreative differencesĒ became a minor news item. The new management company she quickly signed with arranged for Laura and me to stay in one of their corporate apartments. Anise offered to do a lot more than that for us, but I refused to take it from her. I knew Iídnever be able to pay her back.

Once I had an address, I was able to find a job as a typist at a small real estate law firm. The hourly rate was good, and I learned that if I was willing to work off-hoursólate at night, for exampleóI could make up to double my hourly rate. I was used to keeping odd hours because of the record store, so that suited me fine.

Having a job meant I could finally fill out the reams of paperwork for a two-bedroom apartment in a Mitchell-Lama building in the East Twenties. Only thirteen blocks from the technical boundary of my old neighborhood, but still a world away. We were more or less settled by the time Lauraís school year started, although it was Christmas before I could afford to buy us any real furniture beyond the two mattresses Iíd used up the last of my credit for when we moved in.

Laura was barely speaking to me those days. When I lost Lauraís voice, I lost the music in my head, too. Or it was more like the music in my headwas my daughterís voice. Laura was my music. It was like living with my parents all over again, except this time the only person to blame was me. I knew the only way I could make things right would be to find Mr. Mandelbaum, to salvage whatever there was left to salvage of our old lives.

I went back to our old neighborhood every night after work, every morning before I was due at the office. I had the photo of Laura and Mr. Mandelbaum that Iíd kept in my wallet, and I showed it to people. All the hookers and squatters and street people Iíd come to know over the years. Except that there werenít as many of them anymore. How had I not noticed? I even went to the beat cops, the ones I knew from my store. Cops who hadnít been on the other side of the barricades that day. In the end it was Povercide Bob from his usual haunt in front of Rayís Candy Store on Avenue A whoóafter subjecting me to a twenty-minute diatribe about how the government and the CIA were conspiring to kill the poor, and how what had happened to our building was proofódirected me to a seedy SRO on the Bowery.

I thought (foolishly, I now realize) that if I went to Mr. Mandelbaum with a plan for getting him out of that place, everything could still be all right. I told myself nothing had happened to any of us that couldnít be fixed by time and the quiet order of a clean new home. I called City agencies on my lunch breaks, trying to find a place for him to go. I got shuffled around a lot. Eventually I was referred to the Jewish Home for the Aged, who would be able to find Mr. Mandelbaum an apartment only a hundred dollars a month more than the old place had been. Of course, a hundred dollars a month is a fortune to somebody on a fixed income. But I was making more money now, more than Iíd made with the record store. My bigger paychecks, our cleaner, bigger apartment, hung in the air between Laura and me like unspoken accusations. I had to do something. I had to make it right.

The man at the front desk of the SRO pointed me to a room on the fifth floor. How did Mr. Mandelbaum manage to climb up and down five flights of stairs every day? His room was at the end of a drab corridor, next to a large plastic trash can beneath a naked lightbulb. The floors had probably been tiled at some point, although now they were no more than hard puddles of red, blue, and brown.

Mr. Mandelbaumís room contained a single cot and an ancient wooden dresser. A plywood divider separated this room from the one next to it. Mr. Mandelbaum lay on the cot, still wearing the brown suit heíd worn to synagogue the day weíd lost our home. On top of the dresser, an ashtray overflowed. The room stank of smoke, unwashed clothing, and trash from the hallway. I had imagined Lauraís joy upon being reunited with Mr. Mandelbaum. It had been the only truly happy prospect I could imagine for any of us these past months. But I knew now as I looked around that I could never bring her to see him here.

ďIíve been waiting for you,Ē he said dully. He struggled a bit until he was in a half-sitting position, his eyes refusing to meet mine. ďI wanted to give you something.Ē His hand fumbled along the top of the dresser pressed flush against his cot. ďI bought this for Honey, but I didníthave a chance to give it to her.Ē He handed me a crumpled plastic bag. ďSomeone should have it.Ē

I accepted the bag and sat down on the bed next to him, trying to think how to begin.ďI didnít know you smoked,Ē I finally said. I hadnít meant it to sound like an accusation, but somehow it did. It was the wrong way to begin.

ďI donít.Ē He seemed confused. ďIda made me quit thirty years ago. Sheíd kill me if she thought I was smoking again.Ē

I let it go.ďWe should talk about what youíre going to do now.Ē I tried to sound efficient and cheerful.Everything is fine, my voice insisted.Itís all just a question of logistics.ďIíve found a place for you to live through the Jewish Home for the Aged. Itíll cost a bit more than what you were paying, but I have a good job now. Laura and I can help with the rent. We want to.Ē

He continued to look at the wall.ďI lost one home already,Ē he said. ďIím not starting over in a new neighborhood. Not at my age.Ē

ďBut you canít stay here in this place.Ē

ďWhat difference does it make where I die?Ē

ďMr. Mandelbaum†ÖĒ I took his hand in mine. ďMax,Ē I said gently. ďThere are still people who love you and need you. I do. Laura does, too. To her youíre like†ÖĒLike the father she should have had, I thought.ďLike family.Ē

ďEvery time Laura looks at me, sheíll think of that day,Ē Mr. Mandelbaum said. ďBetter she shouldnít remember. Sheís still young enough to forget.Ē

Something sharp darted through my chest.If only she could!ďYouíre wrong. Laura needs you more than ever now. You need each other. Doesnít she matter to you at all?Ē My voice became more urgent. ďThe world is the same place it was three months ago. There are still things in it worth living for.Ē

Finally, he turned to face me.ďOh, Sarah.Ē There were tears in his eyes, and a look of compassion. As if in this moment it were I and not he who needed understanding. ďYou know I havenít wanted to live since Ida died.Ē

My throat closed in a hard, painful lump. There was nothing I could say.

The hand I held squeezed faintly against mine. I felt how it trembled, cold and papery and crisscrossed with thick veins. The skin slid loosely over the bones of his knuckles, as if there were nothing to connect them.

ďAs long as I had Honey and my memories, well†ÖĒ He withdrew his hand to pass it over his eyes. ďYou and Laura will be fine without me,Ē he said. ďWhen they buried my cat and everything that reminded me of my wife, they buried me, too.Ē He turned his face to the wall again. ďItísalready like I never existed.Ē

Laura had always been a good student. But now all she did was study. She had this grim, determined air about her, like a prisoner trying to claw her way through solid earth. Although maybe thatís not as true as I think it is. Maybe Laura gossiped with friends and dated boys and thought about some of the other things pretty teenage girls are supposed to think about. Itís impossible for me to know. I worked a lot of late nights, earning as much as I could so I would have something to put away for Lauraís college. We didnít see much of each other. We were like roommates, I remember telling Anise once, years later. Like roommates, rather than family. Two people who happened to share a living space because it was convenient and made financial sense for them to do so.

In a way, it was like living with my parents all over again. Our home was silentóno conversations, no music. I knew Laura resented my music, I knew she blamed me for loving it so much that Iíd raised her the way I had. She screamed it at me once. It was a month after Iíd gone to see Mr. Mandelbaum at the SRO, when I had to tell Laura that heíd died. I had gone to visithim every day after Iíd found him, bringing food and soap and whatever comfort I could. I had succeeded so far as getting him to change into the clean clothes that Iíd brought. But I couldnít persuade him to leave that place altogether.

It wasnít that Laura blamed me for his death exactly, but that she blamed me for everythingófor our having lived in that building in that neighborhood in the first place. ďBecause of yourmusic!Ē sheíd yelled. ďBecause your music was more important to you thanI was. You could have gotten a job, you could have asked your mother for help, you could have doneanything when I was born that would have gotten me out of that place. But you didnít!Ē

And what could I say? Ihad given up music for her. Iíd stopped trying to be a DJ or a performer and went into the business side of it. It was only now, now when everything had ended, that I could see my mistakes. I wanted to say,I was only nineteen! Only four years older than you are now! Music was the only thing I knew anything about back then. I wanted to say,I didnít want to be one of those single mothers who spends all day in an office and never sees her children. I wanted to spend every second I could with you. I didnít just want us to live,I wanted us to have a life.I did the best I could, the very best I could at the time†Ö

I wanted to say those things, but I couldnít. The hardest thing in the world is to admit obvious past mistakes. Not because the admission of guilt is hard (I would have confessed to, would have apologized for, anything at all to win back Lauraís love). But because, in light of how stupid you turned out to have been, your defenses end up sounding like nothing more than excuses. Lame excuses, at that.

For years I thought I resented Laura for the guilt she made me carry. (As if I wasnít carrying enough already.) Guilt for things that were beyond my control, for decisions Iíd made so long ago (and for such good reasons!) that it didnít seem fair to punish me for them now. For the first time in my life, I craved the silence Iíd grown up with. I came to understand my mother better, how a woman could decide that she didnít want to talk to her own child. There were times when Iíd catch a look on Lauraís face, as if she were about to say something of more substance thanGoing to the library. Iíll be back later. Perhaps if Iíd encouraged her†Ö†but I donít know. I never did encourage her. I didnít want to hear her repeat the accusations I made against myself daily. Sometimes I thought there was nothing left inside me but tears, and that if Laura said the wrong thing Iíd put my head down and cry all those tears out until there was nothing left of me at all.

Maybe it wouldnít have mattered anyway. Laura needed to be angry at someone. Who could she be angry at if not at me? The City? The developers greedy for more land they could overprice? Those were anonymous entities, nothing more than a thousand worst-case scenarios Laura blamed me for not having thought enough about. And then one day the anger and silence become a habit. One day itís been so long since youíve talked to someone that itís impossible to say the things you should have said years ago.

Maybe thatís why I blather so relentlessly at Laura when she comes to visit me now. Too late I realized how insidious silence is. I think sometimes that maybeóby sheer accidentóIíll find the one right thing to say, the one thing that will make Laura look at me again the way she used to.

After Laura graduated from college and moved away, she was no longer my legal dependent, and I had to move out of the Mitchell-Lama building. Not that it mattered much to me. That apartment had never felt like a real home, anyway.

I moved back to the Lower East Side. I had to go all the way out to Avenue Bóonce an unthinkable place to live, certainly for a woman aloneóto find an apartment I could afford. It wasnít exactly the same when I moved back (you can never go home again, as they say)ónot even remotely the same, really. But it was the only place where I could find traces of what had been, and what might have been if not for one rainy day and a few fallen bricks.

I still couldnít bring myself to listen to my music. But I could no longer stand the silence, either. I started watching a lot of TV. And I went out for long, roaming walks. I felt like a ghost haunting the neighborhood. It was odd to see how much things had changed in eight years. The building where Anise andI used to live was now a luxury high-rise where a one-bedroom apartment started at four thousand dollars a month for only five hundred square feet. A tall silver box divided into dozens of smaller silver boxes, none with any more personality than the other. Lofts the size of the one Anise and I shared now sold for three million dollars, which struck me as something beyond madness. The SRO where Mr. Mandelbaum died was now a high-end boutique hotel. Its lobby bar was thronged at night with young girls who were beautiful and looked very expensive.

But there are still traces of the place I once knew. The DIE YUPPIE SCUM! graffiti on the occasional brick wall. ChicoísLoisaida mural on Avenue C. Walking through these streets I used to know so well is like running into a girl you once knew at your twentieth high school reunion, some girl whoís had a lot of plastic surgery. She looks older and yet she also looks younger. Like herself and also like a different person from the one you remember.

One day I found myself walking down Stanton Street, where Laura and I used to live. It was raining, and maybe that was what drew my feet in that direction. Where our building had been was now a construction site littered with cement blocks, stacks of lumber and steel beams, and a silent crane. Gaily striped banners proclaimed that luxury lofts were being erected.

I stood there in the rain and looked at it for a while, the way Iíd stood in the rain that night, watching our old building come down. I couldnít remember the name of Mr. Mandelbaumís cat anymore, that cat Laura had loved so much sheíd been willing to risk her life for her. I tell myself all the time that Iím too young to be so forgetful, even though Ihave a grown daughter. Iím not even fifty yet. But my memory has become full of holes.

This day wasnít rainy as that other day had been. After one intense, tropical burst, the clouds cleared and the sun was beating down again. Just as I was preparing to leave, I saw something move near one of the cement blocks scattered on the ground.

It was a kitten. A tiny little thing. Probably no more than a few weeks old, cowering behind something solid. The creature looked soaked through. She was trying hard to remain unseen, and for a second I did consider leaving her to her privacy. And yetósurely this was some kind of miracle, wasnít it? That I should find a kittenóone who looked so much like how I remembered the Mandelbaumsí catóonthis spot, inthis place? She had the same green eyes, the same black tiger stripes and little white socks on her paws. Surely I was being offered a second chance, to save now what I hadnít been able to save for Laura all those years ago.

And didnít I also need saving? Didnít I also need someone to love?It was meant to be, a voice in my head whispered.

I crouched down, holding out my hand.ďHey, kitty,Ē I whispered. ďAre you lost?Ē The kitten shrank back, afraid.Poor thing! I thought, and something in my chest that had been hard and frozen for years began to loosen. I reached out to her again, and she seemed to draw herself inward until she was a tight ball of watchful fluff, just beyond the reach of my fingers. It was probably prudent, I told myself, for such a young kitten to be wary of a strange human. As this thought crossed my mind, I remembered Aniseís cats, all named for Beatles songs, and I smiled. ďPrudence?Ē I said. ďIs that your name?Ē

The kitten looked at me with enormous, fearful emerald eyes. And then, without thinking about it, I began to sing. For the first time in fourteen years, I found my voice.ďDear Prudence,Ē I sang softly.ďWonít you come out to play?Ē

At first the kitten looked bewildered. I wasnít surprised. My voice sounded scratchy, and it was deeper than it used to be. I didnít even sound like me anymore. But as I sang, my voice gained strength and I started to recognize it again.ďThe sun is up, the sky is blue†Ö†itís beautiful, and so are you†ÖĒ

Timidly, cautiously, the kitten crept out from the shadow of the cinder block. She sniffed my fingers, inching forward, and allowed me to lift her. She was soaking wet, and I bundled her under my jacket, against the warmth of my chest. She pressed one paw, tentatively, softly, to my cheek. I noted what looked like a funny little extra toe.

ďLetís go home, Prudence,Ē I whispered. The kitten responded with a series of cheeping mews, as if she were trying to sing back to me.

One day Laura came to my apartment with the news that she was engaged. I was happy for her, of course I was happy for her, and yet I also thought,My only daughter is engaged to a man Iíve never even met. Laura tells me so little about her life. But there was a happiness, a sweetness that seemed to exist despite itself in her blue, blue eyes, so much like her fatherís. I know my daughter well enough to know when sheís happy. And when she invited me to have lunch with her and her fianc? and I met him for the first time, I could see why.

I actually ran into Josh once after that, completely unexpectedly. It was at night, maybe around eleven oíclock or so, during one of my endless walks. One small club I passed had live music playing, and, impulsively, I drifted inside. It was a three-piece acoustic band, performing a cover of Blind Faithís ďCanít Find My Way Home.Ē

There are moments when a song hits you in a certain way. You know itís soupy and self-indulgent, but even knowing that doesnít stop the tears from rising. And suddenly I was so tired, a bone-deep exhaustion Iíd been feeling more and more lately. I sat down at the bar, needing a moment to pull myself together.

And then, out of nowhere, Josh was beside me.ďWhat a surprise!Ē he exclaimed, kissing me on the cheek. ďIím here with some of the writers from my magazine, checking out this band. Come over and Iíll introduce you. Iím sure the three of you could talk music for hours.Ē

Josh was only nine or ten years younger than I was. Still, he looked like he belonged in this place. Looking around at all the young faces, I was suddenly aware of my age, how far-too-old I was for Lower East Side dives where young artists played in the hope of being discovered. One day you look around and realize everyone in New York is younger than you are.ďOh,Ē I said to Josh. ďThatís okay. I was just going to have a quick drink and head home.Ē

ďIíll have a drink with you, then.Ē He sat on the bar stool next to mine and ordered a Makerís Mark rocks from the bartender.

ďHowís your family?Ē I asked, at a loss for anything else to say. ďIím looking forward to meeting them.Ē

ďTheyíre good,Ē he said. ďMy parents still live out in Parsipanny in the house I grew up in. My dadís getting ready to retire soon. My sister has a house near them, but sheís looking for a place in the City, closer to where she works.Ē His face hardened subtly. ďShe and her husband split up and he†Ö†doesnít do a lot for their kids. Sheís basically raising them on her own.Ē Then he sighed. ďOh well. Itíll probably make her and the kids closer with each other as they grow up.Ē

ďYes,Ē I said faintly. ďIt happens that way, sometimes.Ē

There was a mirror behind the bar. The Josh sitting next to me on the bar stool was looking into it. But the Josh reflected in the mirror was looking at me. I turned my eyes down and twirled the straw in my drink a few times.

ďHey,Ē he said. ďDid you ever hear how Laura and I met?Ē

ďNo.Ē I tried to smile. Tried not to think of all the little ways Iíd long ago stopped being a part of Lauraís inner life. ďI donít think I have.Ē

ďShe came to my office one day. Her firm represents my company and they had a meeting of some kind. Anyway, I was on my way to see somebody when I saw this beautiful woman near the elevator. She has thoseeyes, you know? And she was struggling with these two enormous briefcases.Ē He laughed. ďI mean, they lookedheavy. Heavier than her, maybe. So, naturally, I went over to help, but she didnít want me to. She didnít just say,No, thatís okay, I can manage. Shereally didnít want me to carry those briefcases for her. I could tell she was embarrassed. Shecared about managing those two heavy briefcases on her own.

ďFor days, I couldnít get it out of my head. Why would somebody care so much about such a simple thing? It wasnít stubbornness, I could tell that, but it was something. I thought about it all the time, trying to figure it out. Finally, I called her office and asked her out.Ē He paused, tooka sip of his drink.

ďLater she told me it was her first client meeting. Apparently, itís a customary thing for an associate to carry a partnerís briefcases when they go to meetings. I said to her,But that guy you were with was all the way back in the conference room. Itís not like he would have seen me helping you. And she kept saying,But an associate is supposedto carry the briefcases. Thatís part of the job. Itís what youíre supposedto do. And I thought that Iíd probably never met anybody who cared so much about doing the right thing, doing what youíresupposed to do, all the way down to the little things.

ďI couldnít have known it that first time I saw her. But Idid know it somehow, you know? How sometimes you look at someoneís face, and you donít know what exactly it is youíre seeing, but you know itís important. Laura thinks she has such a poker face.Ē He laughed again. ďI know how hard she works to convince herself sheís in control of things all the time. But you can tell when she really cares about something. Itís written all over her face.Ē His eyes in the mirror found mine. ďI saw it when she looked at you at lunch,Ē he said. ďI donít know, maybe you think the two of you arenít as close as youíd like to be. Laura doesnít talk about it much. I have an older sister. I know it can be rough between mothers and daughters sometimes. My sister loves my mother, and the two of them talk all the time. But I never see in her face what I saw in Lauraís when she looked at you.Ē

I had to turn my head aside and clear my throat, embarrassed for Josh to see me cry. He was silent as I pulled a tissue from my purse and blew my nose. Then in the mirror, his eyes smiled at mine.

ďLetís have one more drink,Ē he said. ďI want to toast my mother-in-law this time.Ē

Last week I had chest pains so bad I had to go to the emergency room. After a battery of tests the doctors came back with their conclusions: angina. Also high blood pressure. Who knew? They say itís unusual for a woman my age, but my fatherís dying prematurely of a heart attack puts me at higher risk. Sometimes these things happen. There are all kinds of things I have to do now to manage my condition. They tell me thereís no reason why, with diet and exercise and medical care, I shouldnít live out a normal life span.

That conversation I had with Josh keeps coming back to me. And I know, somehow, that the doctors are wrong. I donít have much time left. I donít mean that I feel sick. I feel fine most days. And yet, as Josh said, sometimes you know a thing when you see it.

Last night I went into my closet and went through some of the things Iíd taken out of storage after Prudence had given my music back to me. I pulled out the old Love Saves the Day bag where Iíd put a bunch of old newspapers and magazines and, all the way at the very bottom, the crushed metal box Iíd managed to find in the wreckage of our old building. I had to struggle to open it. Old, broken things donít like giving up their secrets too easily. Hidden in the clutter of that little box was the red collar Mr. Mandelbaum had bought for Honey on the morning of the day when our building came down. I put the collar around Prudenceís neck and told her, ďTomorrow weíll get some tags for you that say PRUDENCE. And maybe weíll have Sheila downstairs take a picture of the two of us together. Would you like that, little girl?Ē I buried my fingers in the ruff of her neck, and Prudence leaned her head against my hand and purred.

I know now what Laura knew already that day when she risked her life for Honeyísóthat love is love, whether it goes on two legs or four. Someday Prudence will love Laura. Prudence will love her on those days when it seems as if nobody else does. Sheíll make Laura laugh when nobody else can even make her smile. Prudence will carry my love for Laura into her new home andher new life. Sheíll carry my memories back to Laura, tooómemories of fourteen years of love and music and a life that was too good to be destroyed altogether, even by that one terrible day. Sheíll help Laura find her way back into those memoriesómemories of all of us, of Honey and the Mandelbaums, who loved her also, and of days in a dusty downtown record store when nothing in the world mattered except a mother and daughter who were always happiest when they were together. Sheíll take with her a love that never died, even if it did change forms.

Iwas meant to find Prudence that day. I know that now, and it seems as if Iíve known it always.

Iíve always known I was keeping her for Laura.

14

Laura

LAURA WAS IN A TEN-THIRTY MEETING IN CLAYTON NEWELLíS OFFICE when she got the call. There was a 250-page contract to review for one of their largest clients, and the client wanted notes by the end of the day. The matter was pressing enough that Clay himself had gotten involved.

The phone on Clayís desk buzzed, and his assistantís voice over the intercom said, ďThereís a call for Ms. Dyen, Mr. Newell.Ē

ďWhat is it regarding?Ē Clay asked before Laura could say anything.

ďItís her husband,Ē Clayís assistant answered. ďHe says itís an emergency.Ē

ďI left my cell in my office,Ē Laura said. Her stomach, which had started to unknot after her fight with Josh that morning as the familiar routines of work took over, clenched again. ďHe wouldnít call on this line if it wasnít important.Ē

Clay nodded.ďPut the call through, Diane.Ē Laura remembered the day sheíd gotten the emergency call from her motherís office, only six months earlier. She rose from the couches where sheíd been sitting with Clay and Perry, and crossed the room to the ringing phone on Clayís desk. Her hand trembled as she answered it.

ďJosh,Ē she said. ďJosh, whatís wrong?Ē

ďItís Prudence.Ē The anger of two hours ago was gone from his voice, replaced by a controlled panic. ďI went out for a walk, and when I came home she was just lying there unconscious. It looks like she threw up all over the place.Ē

Laura, who didnít know what sheíd expected to hear, but hadnít expected this, needed a moment to redirect her thoughts. ďIs she breathing?Ē

ďI think so,Ē Josh replied. ďWhich animal hospital should I take her to?Ē

ďSt. Markís Vet down on Ninth and First,Ē Laura responded immediately, trying to control the panic now rising in her own chest. ďThatís where my mother always took her.Ē

ďThatís all the way downtown. Shouldnít I bring her someplace closer?Ē

ďWhat if she has a medical condition they know about and we donít?ĒLike my mother did, she thought.ďTell the cabbie youíll double the fare if he can get you there in fifteen minutes. Triple if he makes it in ten.Ē

ďLaura, IóĒ

ďJustgo,Ē Laura interrupted. ďGo now. Iím on my way down.Ē She hung up and turned to look at Clay and Perry, still seated across the room and watching her closely.

ďIs everything okay?Ē Perry asked.

ďMyóĒ Laura stopped, hearing in her own head the words she was about to say, knowing how they would sound to Clay and even to Perry. Squaring her shoulders, she said it anyway. ďMy cat is sick.Ē

At first, Clay looked more startled than anything else.ďWhat?Ē he asked.

ďMy cat is sick,Ē Laura repeated. ďSheís unconscious and sheís on her way to the animal hospital. I have to go meet her there.Ē

Having made this statement, Laura felt foolish for a moment. Not because of what sheíd said, or for wanting to rush immediately to the animal hospital. She simply didnít know how to get out of the room. If sheíd had a child, and if sheíd said,My daughter is sick, sheís unconscious, she could have left instantly. Nobody would have expected her to do anything else. But this was something different. Instinctively she waited either for permission, as a good underling should, or for the confrontation that would make permission irrelevant and carry her out the door.

ďYouíre kidding, right?Ē Clay glanced at Perry. Turning to Laura again, he said, ďWhat did you say?Ē

Laura had fought already with her husband that morning. Sheíd even fought with Prudence who (her heart clutched with guilt and fear) was now on her way to the hospital.Might as well make a clean sweep of it, she thought grimly. Aloud to Clay she said,ďI think you heard me just fine.Ē

ďNo, I donít think I did,Ē Clay replied. ďBecause what it sounded like you said is that you, an associate, are walking out on a multimillion-dollar contract review with two senior partners because yourcat is sick.Ē

ďSee?Ē Laura was gathering her notes and papers. ďI knew you heard me.Ē

For one second, Clay gaped at her. It was inconceivable that anybody, any associate, would have the nerve to speak to Clayton Newell this way in his own office. Then his eyes hardened.ďOf course I heard you.Ē His voice was wintry. There wasnít an associate in the firm who didnít tremble when Clay sounded like this. ďIt just never occurred to me that you were serious.Ē

Laura thought of all her late nights in the office, all the times sheíd worked twelve, thirteen, fourteen hours, leaving Josh to stew at home, because Clay had dropped some last-minute project on her desk, demanding an immediate turnaround even as he knewóas Laura herself had knownóthat he wouldnít be in the next morning until hours after the deadline heídgiven her.

ďClay,Ē Laura said, turning to face him, ďyou know how committed I am to this firm. I didnít even take time off when my mother died.Ē She heard her own words echo in her head.I didnít take time off when my mother died. My mother died,and I came right back to work. As if nothing had happened.ďIíve never put anything else first. You know I havenít. Not once in all the years Iíve been here. But this is something I have to do, and I have to go now.Ē

ďDonít throw your commitment in my face like it was a special favor you conferred on us.Ē Clay was angry now. ďYou were committed and you worked hard because thatís the price of admission in a firm like this, andyou know that.Ē

ďClayóĒ Perry attempted, but Laura interrupted him.

ďNo, Perry, heís right. I was back in this office one hour after my motherís funeral. I didnít want anybody to think that I wasnít man enough to handle it.Ē

ďYou could have taken all the time off you needed,Ē Perry remonstrated gently. ďWe would have given it to you.I would have given it to you. All you had to do was ask.Ē

ďI know.Ē Laura took a shaky breath. ďI do know that. Iím not blaming anybody. But I came back here anyway. And I was back here after my husband lost his job, even knowing that every single one of you knew it was about to happen and didnít tell me. I thought I knew where my loyalties weresupposed to be. I made a choice.Ē She remembered the day Sarahís and her apartment had been torn down.You canít make me! sheíd cried when Sarah had tried to get her to leave. She thought of Josh, who only this morning had yelled at her about how they never went out, never had enough time together, because of her job. She had been outraged, unable to believe that Josh could be so unreasonable as to act as if she had any choice in the matter, any control over the number of hours she spent at the office.

Except that she did have a choice. She always had.

ďI made a choice,Ē she repeated. ďAnd Iím making one now.Ē She walked to the door.

ďDonít assume youíll be welcome here if you decide to come in tomorrow,Ē Clay said to her back. ďIíve got r?sum?s for at least a hundred people as good as you are whoíd kill to take your place.Ē

ďClay,Ē Perry said quietly. Always the voice of reason. ďDonít say things you donít mean.Ē

Laura paused in the doorway but didnít turn around. What had she expected to find in this place, anyway? Had she thought Perry was herfather? Perry had his own family, his own children. If she lost Josh, if they couldnít get past the things they said to each other that morning, and if she lost this pregnancy like sheíd lost the last one†Ö†If this office was truly all she had left, then what was it, really, that she would have? Some money. A bit of tenuous security, so long as she saidyes andno at all the right times and was properly obedient. Late nights of stumbling home, bleary-eyed, to an empty apartment and a phone that didnít ring once all weekend.

She remembered the day sheíd gotten the official offer from Neuman Daines. How proud sheíd been! She had called Sarah to let her know, but not in the way a daughter calls her mother to share in the glow of her accomplishments. Just matter-of-fact.Hereís where Iíll be working. Hereís where you can reach me if you need me. Except that Sarahhad needed her. And she had needed Sarah. It wasnít confusion over phone numbers that had kept them apart.

ďShe was my motherís cat, Clay.Ē Lauraís voice was no longer argumentative. ďSheís all I have left of my mother.Ē

She didnít wait to hear if Clay or Perry responded. She walked out.

In the back of the cab that sped down a rain-slick Park Avenue, Laura pressed her right foot impatiently against the floor as if there were an imaginary accelerator beneath it, willing the car to go faster. When it slowed down behind another cab making a turn, Laura leaned forward and said desperately to the driver,ďGo around him, goaround.Ē She knew, somehow, that this was her fault. Sheíd yelled at Prudence only this morning.Why canít you just leave me alone? Lauraís stomach lurched in agony, and she pressed her hand, cool from the rain outside, against her forehead. If thiswas her fault, if she had done this to Prudence somehow, then surely she could undo whatever it was, if only she got there quickly enough.

When had it happenedóhow long had it been since Prudence, nearly unnoticed, had crept into that place in her heart once held by Honey, a place she had kept resolutely closed for so many years? Prudence with her black tiger stripes and dainty white paws. Prudence waiting patiently outside her bathroom when she was sick in the mornings, then following at her heels, turning in eager circles as Laura prepared her morning meal. Prudence sitting up with her night after night, purring melodically next to her on the couch, her only comfortóthe only reason she was finally able to fall asleepóon so many nights during these past few months. Laura thought about Prudenceís peremptory, guttural meows as she demanded some treat of tuna or cheese. Why hadnít she given those things to Prudence from the first day sheíd arrived in their home? Why had she needed to be asked? She had known the things cats liked, that made them happy. And she had known how it felt to lose Sarah.

The taxi passed a green apartment building awning, beneath which a woman held the hand of a chubby, diapered infant, clearly in the early bowlegged days of learning to walk. Laura thought of Prudenceís funny little kitten waddle in her motherís kitchen, Prudence rising on fuzzy, unsteady legs to snatch some treat or tidbit from Sarahís outstretched hand. The cab was racing down Second Avenue now, past Baby Boís Cantina. Sarah had loved their quesadillas. Theyíd been a Sunday ritual for her, along with the fried plantains sheíd known Laura enjoyed and had made a point of having when she knew Laura would be coming over. Laura had noticed when Sarah stopped bringing the quesadillas home, sharing the sour cream and pulled chicken with Prudence. But she hadnít thought to ask why.

A garbage truck turned a corner to emerge and stop in front of them. The cabbie slammed the brakes, flinging Lauraóstill leaning forwardóagainst the Plexiglas partition separating the front seat from the back. Rubbing her forehead, she was about to make another impassioned plea for him to goaround the wretched thing, but the driver was already looking over his left shoulder and sliding into the next lane. They made better time after that, easing into the rhythm of the lights and making it through a few yellows at the last possible second. St. Markís Church, where she and Sarah had gone every New Yearís Eve to listen to all-night poetry readings, flew by on their right. At Second and Ninth they passed Veselka, where she and Sarah had sometimes treated themselves to borscht in the summer, mushroom-barley soup in the winter. The restaurantand the church remained, but Laura would never go to either of those places with her mother again.

With one loss, Laura realized, others multiplied. Suddenly she wanted her mother with a desperate want that sat on her chest and wouldnít let her breathe. She wanted to feel her motherís arms around her, to press her face into the graceful bend between her motherís neck and shoulder and inhale the comforting scent of her motherís hair. More than anything, she wanted to hear her mother sing. She hadnít heard Sarah sing insixteen years, not since that June day when Laura was only fourteen.

But she would never hear her mother sing again. For the first time since Sarah died, Laura truly understoodófelt all the way down to the pit of her stomachóthe awful finality of the wordnever. She would never hear Sarahís voice again. She would never have her motherís comfort again. She hadnít felt the loss as deeply as she should have because Prudence had been there, a living piece of her mother that was still with her. And now she didnít know if Prudence would survive the day.

For months Laura had been unable to cry for her motherís death. For one dreadful moment, she felt herself on the verge of breaking down completely, right here in the back of this cab. She bent forward to put her head between her knees, willing herself to hold it together.

With a squeal of rubber against wet pavement, the cab skidded to a stop.ďTwelve dollars, miss,Ē the driver told her. Laura handed him a twenty from her purse and hastily murmured, ďKeep the change.Ē She drew the jacket of her suit over her head to protect it from the rain as she ran from the car and down the short flight of metal stairs to the basement-level entrance of the animal hospital.

The waiting room was tiny. Blond-wood floors and recessed lighting created what probably had been intended as a warm, comforting atmosphere. But it was the kind of gray, rainy day when even lighting the lamps seemed to enhance the gloom rather than dispel it.

As Laura shook the rainwater from her jacket, she saw Josh pacing the small room. He had turned a strangerís face to her that morning. It had been like that other day all over again, when her mother had turned on her with a strangerís eyes and slapped her across the face. Worse than seeing their home destroyed, worse even than losing Honey and Mr. Mandelbaum, had been seeing a person she didnít know wearing her motherís face. It had seemed impossible that she and Josh could ever again speak to each other kindly, with love in their voices, after the things theyíd said.

But Laura could see at once that all that had been put aside, at least for the moment. Joshís face was as taut as her own, his eyes red. ďJosh,Ē she said. She quickly crossed the room to where he stood and, without thinking, put her hand on his arm. She felt the warmth of his skin beneath his shirt. ďJosh, what happened?Ē

ďIt was the lilies,Ē he said, and Lauraís heart turned over at the haggard look on his face.

ďWhat lilies? Whathappened?Ē

Josh sank onto one of the benches in the waiting room, wooden benches that suggested festive outdoor activities where people might bring their dogs, and that held wicker baskets containing magazines likeCat Fancy andBest Friends.ďFor our anniversary, I went to the florist who made your wedding bouquet. I had him make an identical one. It was supposed to come before you left for work today.Ē He gave a mirthless laugh. ďNothing this morning has gone the way Iíd planned.Ē

Laura felt tears sting her eyes.ďOh, Josh,Ē she murmured, and sank down onto the bench next to him.

ďPrudence ate some of the lilies.Ē Josh seemed to address this to the bulletin board with flyers for lost dogs and kittens for adoption that hung on the wall across the tiny room, unable or unwilling to look her in the face.

ďOkay,Ē Laura said, confused. ďCats eat plants sometimes.Ē

ďYes,Ē Josh said. ďBut lilies aretoxic to cats. Thereís something in them that shuts their kidneys down.Ē

ďBut sheíll be okay, right?Ē Laura willed Josh to look at her, but his eyes stayed fixed on the wall. ďYou got Prudence here quickly and theyíll be able to†Ö†to fix her, wonít they?Ē

Joshís hands rose to cover his face. ďI donít know. Theyíre still working on her. Nobodyís been able to tell me anything yet.Ē Josh rose and began pacing the room again. When he finally turned to Laura, his eyes were outraged. ďWhy doesnít anybodytell you something like this? There should be a†Ö†I donít know, amanual or a warning label that gets sent home with every cat, with a picture of a lily in one of those big red circles with a line through it. I didnít know.Ē His voice was ragged. ďI had no idea. I wouldnever have let those flowers into our house if†Ö†if Iíd†ÖĒ

ďYou couldnít have known, Josh,Ē Laura said, softly. ďI had a cat growing up, and I didnít know, either. You did the right thing. You brought her here, and thatís the best possible thing you could have done for her.Ē

Josh nodded, although he looked unconvinced, and came to sit by Laura once again.

The minutes ticked by, marked by an oversized clock above the reception desk, until Laura was so tense from theticktock ticktock she thought she might scream and hurl the nearest blunt object at the thing. Twice she walked over to the reception desk and asked, in a hushed voice, if there was any word yet about Prudence Broder? The first time, the dark-haired womanówearing blue scrubs and a nose ringópressed Lauraís hand and said, ďI was sorry to hear about your mother,mam?.Ē Laura was unable to respond beyond nodding and leaving her hand in the receptionistís for a moment. As she returned to her seat, a black-skinned man in a whiteguayabera walked in with a large green parrot perched on his shoulder.ďHello, this is Oliver. Hello, this is Oliver,Ē the parrot squawked.ďHello, Oliver,Ē the receptionist greeted the parrot in a cheerful, trilling voice, and the three of themóman, woman, and birdódisappeared through a swinging door into an exam room. The receptionist returned in time to welcome a large woman carrying a tiny dog of indeterminate breed, wearing a pink sweater and attached to a rhinestone-studded leash. ďDr. Luk is waiting for you and Pancake in exam room three,Ē the receptionist told the woman. ďYou can go on back.Ē

Laura rose and walked to the reception desk again. Was there anything the receptionist could tell them? Any news about Prudence at all?ďDr. DeMeola is with her right now.Ē The receptionistís voice was so sympathetic that it made Lauraís heart lurch, certain the news could only be bad. ďSheíll be out to update you as soon as she can.Ē Laura nodded once more and returned to her seat next to Josh. She tried flipping through one of the magazines in the basket next to her, but page after glossy page filled with photos of other peopleís happy, healthy cats did nothing to ease the knot in her stomach. Finally, she gave up and tossed the magazine back into its basket.

ďYou never told me you had a cat when you were growing up,Ē Josh said suddenly.

ďWell, she was our upstairs neighborsí cat.Ē Laura smiled wanly. ďBut we were close. She†Ö†died. When I was fourteen.Ē

Joshís long legs were stretched out in front of him, and Laura studied his jeans. Theyíd come home one Sunday afternoon to find Prudence sleeping comfortably on them where Josh had tossed them across the bed, and Josh hadnít had the heart to make her move. There were a couple of snags where Prudenceís claws must have caught them. ďI had a cat when I was a kid, too,Ē Josh said after a moment. ďFor about five minutes.Ē

ďWhat are you talking about?Ē

ďI was fifteen. I had my first after-school job at a Sizzler near our house, but I didnít have my driverís license yet. So my dad would come to pick me up at the end of my shift. One night we found this cat, sitting in the middle of the street. He had been hit by a car. He was just kind of wagging his head, you know? People were honking and honking at him, but he wouldnít move. I got out of the car and wrapped him up in this blanket we kept in the trunk. My father drove to the nearest emergency animal hospital as fast as he could.Ē

Josh shifted slightly, leaning his head back to rest it on the wall behind their bench.ďI remember holding this cat, his eyes were open and staring up at me, and he was panting so hard. He must have been in shock. The whole time my father was driving, I kept thinking,Donít die. Donít die. Donít die. When we got to the hospital, the vet on duty examined him and said he could save the cat, but it would cost a lot of money and the cat would need a lot of looking after while he was recovering. My dad explained that he wasnít our cat, and that we couldnít take him home with us because of our dog. Thatís when the vet said that maybe the best thing to do would be to euthanize him, so at least he wouldnít suffer anymore.Ē

Josh fell silent. Laura didnít know if the pity choking her throat was for the cat in the story, or for the boy Josh had beenóthe boy who was now a man and still didnít understand why there should have to be such a thing as suffering in the world.

ďBut I thought,no. I thought if I could go home and call all my friends, surely one of them would offer to take him. I had a girlfriend, Cindy, and she had cats, and I thought maybe her parents would agree to take him. My father wanted to euthanize the cat while we were there, but I talked him into taking me home and letting me try. I thought I at least had totry.

ďOf course,Ē Josh continued, ďI couldnít find anybody who was willing to take on the financial burden of some cat they didnít know who might require all kinds of long-term care. I called everybody I could think of, but they all said no. I guess it was stupid of me to think someone might take him. I was only fifteen, what did I know? My dad called the vet hospital and told them to go ahead and euthanize the cat. But they couldnít do it without my dad coming in to sign some paperwork first. And my dad, whoíd been working all day, was so angry. Here it was, nearly midnight, and he had to drive all the way back to the animal hospital. I was in my bedroom on the phone with Cindy, and my father came in and yelled at me for all the trouble and inconvenience I was putting him through, and to tell me how selfish Iíd been.

ďCindy could hear him shouting. I donít think Iíve ever felt worse. The cat was going to die. Iíd made all this extra work for my father, and he was yelling at me. And my girlfriend couldhear him yelling. You know how the most embarrassing thing in the world when youíre a teenager is for your friends to hear your parents yell at you.Ē Laura, who had only ever been yelled at by Sarah once, and never in front of her friends, nodded anyway. ďWhen he left, Cindy said,Listen to me, Josh. Listen to me. Youíre a good person. Youíre a good person,Josh, and you did a good thing. Donít listen to what your father said.Ē He shook his head. ďI donít think I ever came as close to hating my dad as I did that night.Ē

ďI can understand that,Ē Laura said softly.

Josh looked up at her.ďMy parents were having money problems then, although they didnít tell us at the time. Thatís why he was working such long hours, why he was so tired at the end of his day. He worried about me so I could have the luxury of worrying about a stray cat.Ē He held her gaze. ďI can see where you might think I was doing the same thing now, letting you worry about money so I can worry about other things. Thatís not what Iíve been doing, but I understand how it could look that way.Ē

Laura was silent for a moment. Then she said,ďYou never told me that story.Ē

ďNo,Ē Josh agreed. ďI guess I try to only tell you the good ones.Ē His left hand plucked at the folds on the sleeve of his sweater. Laura saw the glint of his wedding band as it caught the light. ďThere are a lot of stories you havenít toldme. I wish you would.Ē

Her chest and throat were so heavy with tears that wouldnít come out, she could hardly speak. She looked down at her own hands. ďWhat if my stories arenít good?Ē she whispered.

He laughed. The sound incongruous in the humid air of the waiting room.ďWhat do you think, I got married so I could hearinteresting stories for the rest of my life?Ē Laura lifted her eyes to his face and saw that he was smiling at her.

Josh slid closer to her on the bench, putting one arm around her shoulders and drawing her to his chest. She rested her head in the curve of his neck and smelled the familiar scents of his aftershave, of their home.ďSheíll be okay, Laura,Ē Josh said, and Laura didnít know if he was trying to convince her or himself. ďPrudence is tougher than we give her credit for. Weíll take her home, and sheíll go right back to throwing things on the floor and bossing us around.Ē Laura tried to laugh, although it came out sounding strangled. She felt Joshís hand stroke her hair. ďWe love her too much for anything bad to happen to her.Ē

ďThat doesnít always matter.Ē Lauraís voice was still thick. ďSometimes love isnít enough.Ē

ďThis isnít one of those times.Ē He kissed the top of her head, murmuring against her hair. ďYouíll see.Ē

The door behind the reception desk swung open and a young woman with curly brown hair wearing a white coat emerged.ďMr. and Mrs. Broder?Ē

ďYes,Ē Laura said, rising quickly to her feet.

Josh rose, too.ďHowís Prudence? Will she be okay?Ē

ďWeíve done what we can for her. We had to induce vomiting for a while.Ē At the look of dismay on their faces, the doctor added gently, ďItis very unpleasant for the cat, but it was necessary. What we want is to stop the toxins from the lilies from getting into her system and reaching her kidneys. We have her on an IV fluid drip right now, to flush everything out and give her kidneys some extra support. We also have her on a charcoal drip, to coat her intestines and help prevent any further toxins from being absorbed. Weíve drawn some blood, but we wonít get the results back until tomorrow.Ē She paused, the hint of a frown creasing her forehead. ďPrudence is unconscious right now, which is unusual. Weíre not sure whatís causing it. Iíd feel a lot better about her odds if she were awake.Ē She hesitated, then looked at them. ďGenerally, with lilies and potential kidney problems, we like to keep them here at least three days. There are also some additional tests weíd like to run, and that can get a bit expensive. If money is an issue†ÖĒ

ďMoneyís no issue at all,Ē Laura said. ďDo whatever you have to do for her. Can we see her?Ē

ďTypically we donít like to bring people back into the tech area.Ē The veterinarian looked at Laura and Josh, and Laura knew how much anxiety could be read in their eyes. ďIíd feel a lot better, though, if Prudence was awake. Her vitals are shakier than they should be just from the lily toxicity. I think itíd be okay if one of you came back. Sometimes their moms can do more for them than we can.Ē Touching the sleeve of Lauraís jacket, she added, ďWe were all so sorry to hear about your mother, Mrs. Broder. Sarah was a good soul. Everybody here really liked her.Ē

ďThank you,Ē Laura murmured. Giving Joshís arm one last squeeze, she followed Dr. DeMeola back through the swinging door and up a narrow flight of stairs. At the top of the stairs was a large white room filled with kennels. Prudence lay in one of them, as still as something dead. Laura could barely even see the rise and fall of her abdomen as she breathed. Her front legs had been shaved for the insertion of drips and tubes, and the flesh that had lain hidden beneath her white socks was pink and vulnerable-looking. Laura couldnít remember the last time sheíd seen Prudence without herlittle red collar, and the fur of her neck looked naked without it.

ďIíll leave you alone with her for a few minutes,Ē Dr. DeMeola said, unlatching the door to Prudenceís kennel and walking noiselessly out.

Laura crouched down to bring her head closer to Prudenceís. In a low voice she said, ďHi, Prudence. Hi, my sweet girl.Ē Tears rose in her eyes as she saw how silent and still Prudence remained. ďThe doctor says youíll be just fine in a few days, and then you can come home. But weíd all feel better if youíd wake up and say hi to us.Ē She waited for a sign that Prudence could hear her, a tiny meow, a twitching paw, anything. But Prudence remained utterly still.

Laura brought her face to the fur of Prudenceís neck, whispering into it, ďIím sorry, Prudence. Iím so sorry I yelled at you this morning. I donít really want you to leave me alone.Ē Laura began to stroke the fur of her back, combing her fingers through the way she knew Prudence liked. ďI couldnít stand it if you left me. Please, Prudence. Canít you try to open your eyes for me? Just a little? Josh and I love you so much. Please donít leave us, Prudence. You donít know how much of me youíd be taking with you if you did.Ē

Laura looked down at Prudenceís still, silent form, and thought of her mother, of the way Prudence had nestled in Sarahís arms and given her the love Laura herself had always felt, even after sheíd lost the words to tell her mother so. She had wanted to get past the wall of words Sarah had put up between the two of them,had desperately wanted to say somethingreal. But everything she tried to say to her mother ended up coming out wrong. Why was it that, with a cat, issues of love and trust could be so straightforward? Was it because a cat could love you for your better self, the self you wanted to be and knew you could be, if not for the endless complications of human relationships?

Their moms, the vet had said. Was she aďmomĒócould she be a mom to the baby she was carrying? For she realized now that she wanted this child, even if she was pregnant only because of the two or three morning pills she now realized she had forgotten to take a few months back. She wanted her child and she wanted Josh, even if he never worked another day in his life. And she wanted Prudence. Sheíd lost the Mandelbaums, and Honey, and her mother. Laura couldnít bear to lose one more thing that she loved.

It was Sarah whoíd been a mother to both her and Prudence, who would have been a grandmother to this unborn child. It was Sarah who should be here right now, for all their sakes. It wasnít fair†Ö†it wasnít fair at all†Ö

For all of Lauraís young life, before all the things that had gone wrong between her and her mother, the most comforting thing in her small world had been the sound of her mother singing. She reached down to stroke Prudenceís head, and suddenly she heard a voice that sounded like her motherís issuing from her own throat.ďDear Prudence,Ē she sang.ďOpen up your eyes†ÖĒ Then she stopped, the threat of more tears choking her throat shut. She imagined her mother standing next to her, holding her hand and adding her voice to Lauraís, the way theyíd sung together in that music studio when Laura was a child. Laura sang now, and could have sworn that she heard her motherís voice singing with her here in this room.ďThe wind is low, the birds will sing†Ö†that you are part of everything†ÖĒ Then Laura bent to kiss Prudenceís forehead at the spot where her tiger stripes formed a little ďMĒ above her eyes. ďDear, dear Prudence,Ē she whispered. ďWonít you open up your eyes?Ē Lauraís voice was her own again. Desperate now, she pressed her lips to Prudenceís ear and murmured, ďCome on, little girl. My little love. Open your eyes for me.Ē

And Prudence did.

15

Prudence

THEREíS A TALL GREEN PLANT THAT LIVES NEXT TO THE LIVING ROOM window leading to the fire escape. The sunlight through the window today is brighter than usual, so bright I have to squint my eyes. That doesnít make the game any less fun, though. This is Sarahís and my favorite game.

Sarah is walking from the bedroom to the kitchen. She passes my hiding place inside the plant, and the rustling sound of leaves as I crouch lower makes her head start to turn. The movement is so small only a cat would notice it. I know she knows Iím here, but she keeps walking.

Just as she passes the plant, I leap out and pounce on her ankles. Sarah pretends to be very surprised by this. She thinks I donít know that she knew I was about to pounce, but pretending is what makes this game fun for both of us. Now my paws are wrapped around her right ankle, my teeth on the skin of her heel (although I donít press down in areal bite).ďOh no!Ē she cries. ďItís the deadly attack kitty!Ē I switch and wrap my paws around her left ankle. But Sarah knew I was going to do this, because sheís already bending to her left to scoop me up in her arms. ďWhoís the vicious kitty?Ē she says, in the voice she only uses when sheís talking to me. ďWhoís my brave little hunter?Ē She brings my face closer to hers, and I press my forehead against hers. She knows I donít like being held in the air for very long, though, so she puts me back down on my own legs. She shakes off some of my fur that got onto her hands andsays, ďI think somebody could use a good brushing. What do you think?Ē From a drawer in the kitchen, she takes out the special brush thatís only used for brushing my fur, and the two of us settle on the couch with me in her lap.

The brush-bristles against my skin feel nice, and Sarahís hand following the movement of the brush down my back feels nicer. Sarahís smell is even more wonderful in my nose than it usually is.I knew you werenít really dead! I think.I knew youíd come back to me! I donít know why I think that, though. Whoever said anything about Sarah being dead?

ďDonít leave,Ē Sarah says. ďPlease donít leave us.Ē Her voice sounds different, a little deeper than normal maybe, and I wonder why sheís asking me to stay. Where would I go? And why is she sayingus? Thereís only one of her. When I look up at her, her eyes are full of sorrow. The skin of her forehead puckers just a little above the inner corners of her eyebrows. But the brush feels so comfortable, and Sarah smells so warm and safe, that my eyes start to close before I can think any more about that. I feel a purr start in my throat, spreading its warmth into my chest.

Thatís when Sarah starts to sing. Her singing voice also sounds different, like maybe itís the voice of someone Iíve heard talk before, but who Iíve never heard sing. This is strange, because singing is almost the first thing I ever heard Sarah do. The voice is Sarah and not-Sarah at the same time. Still, itís a voice I know I could listen to forever and be happy. It sounds the way love feels.

Prudence, the voice sings,open your eyes. I donít want to open them, though. Iím too comfortable and sleepy. But the voice keeps singing and saying,Dear, dear Prudence†Ö†wonít you open up your eyes? My little love. Itís so insistent that I have no choice. I have to fight with my eyelids, which have become heavy and stubborn. Thereís a powerful light over my head, hurting my eyes and pushing my eyelids down. I finally pry them apart, and it takes a moment to focus and see things around me clearly.

When I look up, itís not Sarahís face I see. Itís Lauraís.

ďDr. DeMeola!Ē Laura cries. ďSheís awake!Ē The blurry shape of a familiar-looking woman drifts through my vision, somewhere behind where Laura is standing. Lauraís smiling, and there are tears in her eyes. I donít realize Iím on my side until I feel her hand start to rub gently behind my right ear, the one that isnít pressed against whatever it is Iím lying on. There are bad smells in this placeóscary smellsóbut Lauraís Laura-smell is stronger than they are as she continues to stroke behind my ear and down the length of my body. I try to lift my backside the way I usually do when my back is scratched like this. But my body wonít move when I tell it to, so I blink once at her, slowly, instead.

Laura brings her mouth close to my ear and murmurs,ďDonít scare us like that again, little girl. We need you to stay with us. Can you do that, Prudence?Ē Her eyes look into mine, and I recognize her expression. Itís the one I used to see on her face sometimes when she looked at Sarah. I used to wonder what that look meant, but now I know. Her eyes are filled with love.

My throat is raw and scratchy. It feels like something bad happened to it. But Iím still able to answer with a faintMew.

ďGood,Ē Laura murmurs, and she kisses my forehead.

From the cage they make me sleep in (I have to sleep in a cage!), I can smell nervous cats all around me. They stand and pace, hoping to find some warm new corner or a way to get out they havenít discovered already. Their movements disturb the air and make my whiskers tickle. At night, when most of the humans who work here have left, some of the cats cry out, wanting their own humans to come and take them home. But I never cry. Sarah is never coming back for me.

There are whole chunks of pink skin showing on my front paws, where my beautiful white fur used to be. One of the stabbing people here shaved the fur off so they could attach dripping tubes. Sarah was the first one who ever said my white paws looked like human socks. Now, with so much of the fur missing, they donít look like socks at all. I lick and lick at the spots where fur is supposed to be and think,This is what happens when the human you love dies. Pieces of you go missing.

But Laura will always come back for me. I saw it in her eyes when she sang to me and woke me up. When I think about Laura singing theDear Prudence song, the hole in my chest from missing Sarah begins to fill. Thereís something growing there. Soon it will fill up the whole space.

For three days Iím forced to live here, and every day Laura and Josh come to visit me. A woman with curly hair unsticks my front paws from the tape that fastens dripping tubes into them, and then she wraps me in a strange blanket that doesnít even smell like me and carries me into one of the smaller rooms where Sarah brought me once a year to get stabbed with needles. The room smells like the metal of the high table where needles get stuck into cats. It also smells like Laura and Josh fresh from being outside, sweating slightly under their coats and forced to stand too-close when the stabbing lady comes in to tell them how Iím doing. She says Iím not really sick, that theyíre making me stay here ďjust as a precaution.Ē A precaution against what? Itís being locked in a room with sick cats all the time, away from my own food and special Prudence-bowls, thatís going to make me sick if anything will. I try showing Josh and Laura how little they should trust the stabbing lady by hissing at her every time she comes near me, but that just makes them laugh and say things like,Look how feisty Prudence is! Sheíll be better in no time, wonít you, little girl?

I recognize this stabbing ladyósheís the same one who once agreed with Sarah that my front paws looked like socks. Josh keeps standing, but Laura sits cross-legged on the floor next to me and strokes my back while I lick. ďItíll grow back, Prudence,Ē she says gently. ďItíll all grow back.Ē She hums theDear Prudence song while she pets me. Her humming voice sounds so much like Sarahís that I stop licking my paws and walk into her lap, sitting on my haunches and pressing the whole side of my face against her chest. Her arms come around me and one hand rubs the good spot underneath my chin until I purr.

ďSweet girl,Ē she murmurs. ďWhoís my little love?Ē

Sarahís eyes looked sad in my dream because she knew she had to stay in that place, without me, just like I have to stay here without her. But Lauraís eyes smile as she looks down at me now. ďYou can come home with us tomorrow,Ē she says, as her fingers keep finding good places beneath my chin. I know now that ďhomeĒ is wherever I live with Laura.

I donít think Iíve ever been happier to get into my carrier than I am the next morning when Josh and Laura come to pick me up. The humans at the Bad Place remember to put my red collar and Prudence-tags back on me before I leave, and thereís no more tape on my front paws. Just the faintest little fuzz of white on the pink skin. Even from inside my carrier and cuddled up with the old Sarah-shirt that Laura put in here with me, the air outside feels cold and scrapes against my furless spots. It hasnít rained since the day I got sick, but the little patches of dirt around the trees in the sidewalk still smell damp. This is the time of year when leaves change color and start to fall off trees. Sometimes Sarah would come home with red and orange leaves clinging to her hair or coat, and she would put them on the floor for me so I could roll around on them while they made crunching sounds and broke up into little pieces. The pain in my belly when I think of Sarah flares again, until I look through the bars of my carrier and see that Laura and Josh are holding hands.

Laura is the one who holds my carrier as we leave the Bad Place. Iíve been living high in the air in Upper West Side for so long, Iíd almost forgotten how things look and smell down here on the streets. Laura must have stepped right near where a pigeon is sitting, because one flutters up past the bars of my carrier with a gurgling coo. I can hear the squeaks of mice, too high-pitched for humans to notice, burrowing into soft dirt, and cars speeding by on the streets. A woman walks quickly past, talking into a tiny phone. Her voice goes up at the end of every sentence even though it doesnít sound like sheís asking any questions.So I said to him? I was, like, if you think you can treat methat way? Youíve got the wrong girl.

The bricks from the buildings here smell older than they used to, and I canít decide if thatís because Iíve been away from Lower East Side for so long, or because Iíve gotten used to the newer, bigger buildings in Upper West Side. I realize that Iím not an immigrant anymoreóthat Upper West Side is the country where I live now. Laura stops in front of one building and says to Josh, ďThis is where my motherís record store used to be.Ē The vibrations from her chest when she speaks travel down her arm and make the walls of the carrier hum. The shop she points to has tiny clothes in the window, probably for human infants.

ďThis is a nice block,Ē Josh says.

ďIt always was. The guy who used to own this place sold chess sets he madeĒóLaura points to another windowóďand there was a candle shop next to that.Ē Her arm sweeps back, to her left. ďAnd down there, on Second Avenue, was Love Saves the Day.Ē Sheís silent for a moment. ďI think I heard itís a noodle place now.Ē

Josh puts an arm around her shoulders, bringing my carrier closer to the side of her leg.ďDid you want to pick up some lunch there?Ē

ďNah,Ē she tells him. ďLetís get something Prudence likes. Maybe tuna sandwiches.Ē

They walk to the end of the block, and Josh puts his arm in the air until a yellow-colored car pulls over next to us. All three of us get into the backseat and Laura settles my carrier onto her lap. I think about tuna sandwiches the whole way home.

[ ŗūÚŤŪÍŗ: img_3]

Itís funny how a place you know well can feel so different when you come back after a long time. Part of it is realizing how bad I smell now (like the Bad Place) after smelling all the things at home with my regular Prudence-smell. But the whole apartment looks bigger in some places and smaller in others, and justodd in general. Maybe it was being with Sarah in our old apartment while I was sleeping that makes everything around here seem different than it used to, and like I was away for longer than I was. Still, itís good to be home. First I spend long moments remarking my scratching post (I didnít have anything to scratch on at the Bad Place). My Prudence-bowls are filled with food, exactly where I left them. Iím even happy (only for a moment) to see that awful blue mat with the fake-happy cats resting beneath them. When I jostle the water bowl, itís because I can only drink moving water, not because Iím angry about the mat anymore.

Laura and Josh must have gone shopping while I was staying in the Bad Place, because now the living room floor is crowded with store-bought cat toys. There are little toys that look just like miceówith fur and everythingóthat squeak when I bite them, and balls with tiny bells that roll in all directions and remind me of the jingly toys Sarah brought home when I first went to live with her. Josh and Laura remembered to save the big paper bag the toys came in, and I crawl all the way intothe back of it, holding one of my mice in my teeth and swiping out at their feet with my front paws whenever they walk past. Thereís also one toy thatís like a long stick with feathersólike the ones from Sarahís bird-clothesódangling from a string at the end. Laura holds the end of the stick over my head and drags it around while I try to catch the dangling feathers. She laughs when I stand up on my hind legs and bat at them with my front paws, until I wonder whoís supposed to be enjoying this toyóher or me?

They also brought home something called catnip, which looks a little like the cooking herbs Sarah used to make our food with but smellsso much more wonderful. Josh sprinkled some on the living room floor, and at first I was just breathing its smell in and noticing how nice it was. Then, the next thing you know, I was rolling around on my back and all I could think was,This is sooooooo gooooood. This, of course, is not a dignified way for a cat to behave. I was able to recover a little bit of dignity when Laura walked by while I was rolling around, and I leapt at her ankles. She seemed as delighted with this display of feline hunting skills as Sarah ever had. She even scooped me up the way Sarah used to and asked,ďWhoís my happy girl?Ē I rubbed my forehead against hers just the way I used to with Sarah when we lived in Lower East Side.

Days pass, Iím not sure how many. Laura doesnít go to her office during the day, and she doesnít read any work papers at night. Now she spends a lot of time napping, and I nap with her. Sometimes we nap together in the big bed upstairs, and sometimes we fall asleep on the couch until Josh comes to throw a blanket over us. Heís always very quiet, trying not to disturb us. He seems concerned about making sure Laura is getting enough rest, even though she isnít getting sick in the mornings anymore.

She and Josh talk and watch movies and go out to lunch on days that arenít even Sundays. Last night, they went out together to celebrate some sort of word-writing about that building on Avenue A. ďWe got a story!Ē Josh kept saying. ďA story inThe New York Times!Ē But he didnít say howmany times, or timeswhat, so it was hard to know why it was such a big deal. It must have made more sense to Laura than it did to me, because she put her arms around Josh and said,ďIím proud of you.Ē The skin on her forehead didnít even tighten the way it used to whenever Josh mentioned that building.

Later that night, after they came home, Laura told Josh a story about when she was fourteen, and the apartment building she and Sarah were living in got torn down. I was lying on the back of the couch, behind Lauraís head, and she reached one hand back to press my face close to hers when she talked about what happened to Honey the cat.

Josh was sitting at the other end of the couch. His eyes never left her face, and he moved closer when she got to the part about Honey and Mr. Mandelbaum, taking her hand and squeezing it tight.ďIím sorry,Ē he said when she was finished talking, and pressed her face to his shoulder. ďOh, Laura, Iím so sorry. But youmust know,Ē he squeezed her hand harder, ďyou have to know that nothing like that is ever going to happen to us.Ē

ďHow can you know that?Ē Lauraís voice sounded like she was ready to cry, even though she didnít. ďHow can you possibly know whatís going to happen to us?Ē

Josh exhaled loudly through his nose and let go of her hand, running his own back and forth across the top of his head.ďYouíre right. I donít know for sure. There could be a fire or a flood. Or a freak tornado could flatten New York. But we have resources. And we have each other.Ē Laura was staring down at her hands while Josh said all this, and he fell silent until she looked up into his face. ďNothing like that is ever going to happen to us, or to our child.Ē

Laura didnít say anything. She leaned her head back against the couch, her hair brushing against my whiskers, and Josh put his arm around her again. He held her until her eyes closed, and she and I both settled into a peaceful sleep.

Two days later, at breakfast, Joshís forehead is knotted, like heís thinking hard about something. He fiddles with the twisty-tie from the loaf of bread he made his toast from, and when I stretch up one paw to reach for it, he drops it onto the ground in front of me so I can pick it up and toss it into the air. I chase it into the corner behind the kitchen table, where it tries to hide from me. Laura and Josh watch. ďI have to tell you something,Ē Josh finally says.

Lauraís body stiffens a little. ďOkay.Ē Her voice sounds deeper than usual, the way a humanís voice sounds when theyíre nervous but trying not to sound that way.

ďIíve been getting a lot of calls since theTimes article came out,Ē he tells her. ďMagazines and other papers that want to do follow-up stories, things like that. Iíve also been hearing from a lot of the artists whoíve recorded in the music studio over the years. Some of them are pretty big names.Ē He pauses. ďAnise Pierce called last night after you went to bed. She read the article, too. She wants to come out here and help.Ē

Lauraís left hand, which has been resting in her lap, rises onto the table. She drums two fingers against it. From underneath the table, where Iím sitting with my twisty-tie, I can hear the lightthump thump of fingers against wood.ďAnise,Ē she repeats. ďAnise Pierce wants to comehere, all the way from Asia, to help save a music studio she hasnít set foot in for thirty years.Ē I think Laura may be asking a question, although I canít be sure. Her voice doesnít go higher at the end of what she says the way human voices usually do when theyíre asking a question.

ďSheís in California now,Ē Josh tells Laura. ďShe got back a few weeks ago. To be honest, I think she wants to come out here to see you more than Alphaville.Ē

Laura doesnít say anything right away, although I can see her toes curl up inside her socks. At last she says, ďYou said yourself that all kinds of people have been coming forward since theTimes article ran. Do you really need Aniseís help?Ē

ďMaybe it would be good for you to see her again,Ē Josh says. ďHow many people knew your mother as well as she did?Ē

ďLetís talk about it later.Ē Laura pushes back her chair and stands. ďRight now I want to do some grocery shopping, and Iím not sure I have anything to wear outside that still fits me.Ē

Laura has been getting fatter lately, probably because she sleeps a lot more and stopped drinking coffee. She pauses in the doorway and, without turning around, says to Josh,ďYou can call Anise and tell her to come if she wants.Ē

Laura walks up the stairs, and I follow her. If sheís unsure about what clothes to wear, sheíll want my opinion, the way Sarah always did.

For days Laura attacks our apartment. She moves everything around on counters so she can scrub every little corner, pushes rugs out of the way to sweep away whatever bits of dust might be hiding there, and stands on ladders so she can wipe shelves and the tops of furniture too tall for a human standing on the floor to see anyway. Blue liquid from a spritzy bottle makes rainbows in the sunlight when she stands near the window to clean, but it smells fake sweet and falls onto my fur when I get too close. I squint my eyes and let my mouth hang open, trying to keep the stink of it from invading my nostrils. Even The Monster gets taken from its special closet. I hide in Home Officeówhich is the one room Josh told Laura she isnít allowed to cleanóuntil The Monster is safely back in its cave.

ďMaybe we should hire someone to do all this,Ē Josh says.

Laura is lying on her belly on the floor of their bedroom, half underneath the bed as she tries to get rid of something calledďdust bunnies.Ē I see little balls of fur and human hair, but nothing that looks like a bunny. ďWe donít need to hire somebody,Ē Laura says. ďItís not like Iím busy doing anything else these days.Ē

Josh has been standing in the doorway to the bedroom watching Laura chase the invisible bunnies. Now he turns to leave.ďAnise Pierce isnít going to look under the bed,Ē he says over his shoulder.

ďYeah? Thanks for letting me know,Ē she says in her ďdryĒ voice.

By the time the doorbell rings the next night, the apartment is so clean it doesnít smell like anybody lives here. Iím busy rubbing my Prudence-smell back into the living room couch when Josh opens the door. Laura is seated on the couch with her back straight and her hands folded in her lap. After spending a lot of time deciding what to wear, she finally put on a pair of jeans and a soft, light blue sweater thatís big enough to hide her growing belly. I think the color of the sweater looks beautiful with her eyes.

Thereís the sound of Josh saying hello and Aniseís familiar voice, deep and raspy, answering him. Then she walks into the room behind Josh. Seeing her face again and smelling her Anise-smell makes memories of Sarah and our old apartment fill my mind so fast, I have to lie down for a moment and feel the cool wood of the floor against the skin of my belly. I see Sarah and Anise singing along to black disks and talking about The Old Days, Sarah telling Anise about Laura and Josh back before I knew that, someday, Laura would become my Most Important Person. I remember Sarah holding me in her lap while she told Anise there was something wrong with her heart, and Anise saying,You should tell Laura, Sarah. Sheíd want to know. She loves you more than either of you realizes.

Laura stands, and Anise and Laura look at each other for a long moment. I can tell from the way Lauraís eyes widen that sheís remembering things, too. ďMy God,Ē Anise finally says. ďYou look just like her. Iíd forgotten.Ē

ďNot the eyes,Ē Laura replies. ďShe always said I had my fatherís eyes.Ē

Aniseís laugh is loud and hoarse-sounding. ďWe wonít hold that against you.Ē She crosses the room in only three long steps and wraps her arms around Laura. She seems to grow taller, so that all of Laura is folded up into her hug. ďIím sorry, baby. Iím so sorry. Itís a terrible thing to lose your mother, especially when she was so young.Ē Aniseís eyes over Lauraís shoulder are shiny with water. ďI still canít believe sheís gone.Ē She pulls back to look at Laura. ďIím sorry I couldnít be here for her funeral.Ē

Laura takes a step back from Anise.ďI know how hard it can be to reach you when youíre overseas.Ē

ďI have a cell phone now,Ē Anise says. ďI donít think you would have had trouble reaching me, if youíd really wanted to.Ē

Anise looks at Laura, who seems to shrink a bit until it looks almost like she and Anise are the same size. Aniseís words sound like an accusation, but then she smiles and adds, ďYou must have gotten your stubbornness from your father, too.Ē

Laura doesnít seem to know what to say to this. Josh, whoís been standing there watching them asks, ďAnise, what are you drinking?Ē

ďJust some tea with lemon, if youíve got it,Ē she tells him and Josh disappears into the kitchen.

ďHave a seat,Ē Laura says, and Anise perches on the shorter end of the couch. Now that sheís closer to me, I realize how familiar she smells. There was a hint of this same smell on the bird-clothes Sarah kept in the back of her closet.

Anise notices me sniffing her leg and grins.ďPrudence!Ē Putting one hand beneath my nose, she says, ďItís a long time since Iíve seen you, baby doll.Ē She begins petting me almost before I know whatís happening, but her fingers are so skilled they find all the good places behind my ears and under my chin that Iím helpless to protest. I fall to the ground and flip onto my back, sad when Anise pulls her hand away too soon. ďLook at this apartment,Ē she says, her bright eyes darting around the room. Then she laughs. ďSarah must havehated this place.Ē

Laura laughs, too, in an unthinking way that seems to surprise her.ďYouíre right,Ē she tells Anise. ďMy mother said buildings like this look more like hotels than homes. But then,Ē she adds, ďI remember her complaining about how hard the stairs in her building were on her knees whenever it rained.Ē

ďIt stinks getting older,Ē Anise agrees cheerfully. The little lines around her eyes crinkle as she smiles again. ďYour whole life youíre young, and thatís all you know how to be. Thatís all youremember being. Everything anybody says to you starts with,Youíre young. Youíre young so you donít know any better. Youíre too young to know what being tired feels like. And then one day they stop saying it. You realize itís been years since anybody called you young. These days everything people say to me begins with,At our age. At our age, who has the energy to run around Asia with a rock band?Ē Josh has returned with two cups of tea, handing one to Anise and the other to Laura. Anise sips at hers and says, ďI donít think Iíll ever be the grown-up your mother already was at nineteen, but she also had a gift for staying young. Thatís tough to pull off. I appreciate it more everyday.Ē

Laura drinks from her teacup, too, but doesnít respond to this. Josh walks across the room to fiddle with something next to the TV, and music fills the room. Anise is also silent for a moment, then says, ďIs this Sarahís copy ofCountry Life?Ē

Josh looks surprised.ďIt is,Ē he tells her. ďHow did you know?Ē

ďBecause I gave it to her.Ē She puts her teacup down on the coffee table. ďBefore I moved to California. You always recognize the crackle of your own records.Ē

ďWe have a bunch of her records and things upstairs,Ē Josh says. ďYou guys should look through them.Ē

Lauraís face tightens. But Anise says, ďIíd love that, if itís okay with you?Ē

She looks over to Laura, who hesitates before nodding and putting her teacup on the table next to Aniseís. Standing, she says, ďCome on. Iíll show you where everything is.Ē

My fur prickles as I follow everyone into the room with the Sarah-boxes. I havenít been in here since before I got sick. Even now, knowing that it doesnít matter if everything in them stays in the right place because remembering things wonít bring Sarah back, itís hard for me to watch Anise take things out.

Still, itís nice to hear her talk about Sarah. She has memories that are different from Lauraís and mine. She exclaims over the box of matchbook toys (I canít believe she kept them all these years!) and tells Laura stories about the places she and Sarah used to go and the things that happened to them there. She also tells Laura stories that Laura is too young to remember.ďWe had your fourth birthday party at Ear Wax. You wouldnít stop trying to rip up record covers, and it drove your mom nuts. She was always so patient with you, though. More patient than I would have been.Ē She looks through Sarahís collection of black disks like theyíre old friends. ďIrememberyou!Ē she exclaims a few times. Laughing, she pulls something from one stiff cardboard holder. Itís not a black disk, but a colorful one that looks just like Anise except smaller! The cut-out is Anise holding a guitar and throwing her head back with her hair flying around behind her. Thereís a hole right in the middle that lets you put it on the special table Sarah had, just like the black disks. ďI always told your mom these picture disks would never be worth anything,Ē she says to Laura. ďBut she insisted on holding on to them.Ē

ďShe put most of this stuff into storage when we moved into the apartment on Stanton.Ē Laura shakes her head. ďI could never figure out why she kept it all.Ē

Aniseís eyes narrow in confusion. ďWhy does anybody keep anything? To help you remember.Ē Then she looks around this room, which is still empty except for the Sarah-boxes, and doesnít say anything else until she sees the black garbage bag with the bird-clothes. ďNoway!Ē she says happily. ďLook at all these! I made most of these for your mom, you know. We had disco outfits for when we went to her kind of clubsĒóAnise makes a faceóďand all these little punk-rock-girl clothes for when she came with me to the places where I played.Ē She holds up a shirt that looks like itís been clawed up, held together with silver safety pins. ďDid you know your mom was a drag king for about thirty seconds back in the day?Ē

Laura has been sitting cross-legged on the floor with me in her lap, watching as Anise looks through everything but not doing much herself. I feel her surprise in the sudden slight movement of her arms and shoulders as she says,ďWait, what?Ē

Anise laughs.ďNobody wanted to give a girl DJ a break back then. It used to kill me to see Sarah spending so many hours at Alphaville, making audition tapes nobody would listen to. So one day I came up with the idea of dressing her like a guy. Neither of us had much in the way of a chestĒóAnise looks down at her own skinny shapeóďand she was so tall anyway that all it took was some clever needlework. In the clothes I made, and with her hair up under a hat, she looked like a very pretty boy.Ē Aniseís smile is gentle. ďI never saw anyone as beautiful as your mother whowas so completely unaware of how beautiful she was. Like it was nothing. The first time I met her was in a store where she was trying on dresses. She came out of that dressing room looking like a model, but you could tell just by looking at her that she didnít see it when she looked in the mirror.Ē Anise makes a funny face and sticks out her tongue. ďI thoughtsomebody should tell her what a knockout she was.Ē

Lauraís voice is hesitant. ďSo why did she stop? Being a DJ, I mean,Ē she adds, when Anise looks confused. ďShe talked about it sometimes, and even when I was a kid I could tell how much she loved it. Why did she give up the way she did?Ē

Aniseís eyes widen. ďBecause of you,Ē she says. ďBecause once you came along, nothing else was more important. Not even her music. She used to sayyou were her music.Ē

Lauraís fingers have been stroking my fur, and the pressure from the tips becomes a bit harder, as if her fingers are curling up. I start to purr, hoping it will ease her tension. ďBut then, why did she have that record store? Why did she raise me in that neighborhood?Ē Laura is starting to sound angry. ďWhy did we live the way we did if I was more important to her than anything else?Ē

ďGo sing that sad song to your husband.My mother didnít love me enough.Ē Anise looks as mad as Laura just sounded. ďYou forgetóI was there. What kid was ever happier than you were? What kid ever had a mother whoadored her the way your mother adored you?Ē Aniseís hands rise into the air and start making gestures. ďYour mother gave you afamily,Ē she insists. ďShe gave you alife. Isnít that what every parent wants, to give their children what they never had? Do you think I canít tell whatyouíre hoping to give your children just by looking at this apartment?Ē

ďYou havenít seen me in fifteen years.Ē Lauraís voice is low and sharp. ďYou donít know anything about me or what Iím trying to do.Ē

ďDonít I?Ē Aniseís voice doesnít get louder, exactly, but it sounds more powerful. ďI know youíve been letting onehorrible day roam around in your head like a monster you canít kill and wonít ever let die. And yes, I know how bad that day was for you,Ē she adds when Laura takes a breath as if sheís about to interrupt. ďBad things happen and people spend months andyears trying to recover because they donít get the kind of help from friends that your mother did. Help she didnít get from those grandparents of yours, who you donít even remember because they never cared enough to meet you. You had the Mandelbaums for grandparents and that girl who lived upstairsówhat was her name? Maria something?ófor your sister, and Noel from the store and everybody in the neighborhood your mom made a point of knowing so theyíd all look out for you. You had a mother who picked you up at school every afternoon and built an entire life around being able to spend time with you. And she was lucky, because not everybody has the chance or the resources to do what she did.Ē

Laura doesnít say anything when Aniseís rush of words stops. I look up and see the skin of her throat tightening, like those times when she wanted to say something to Sarah, but couldnít.

ďLook,Ē Anise says. ďItís not my place to tell you what you should think of your mother, Laura. But donít ever think she didnít give you enough. Sarah gave youeverything. She gave you a family. And here you sitósmart, successful, and happily married, so she obviously didsomething right. I donít think youíll ever knowĒóAnise leans forward and touches Lauraís handóďhow proud of you she was.Ē

Lauraís touches the tips of her fingers lightly to Aniseís, then moves them through my fur again. I press my forehead against her arm and think about what Anise said, about Laura and Josh, and about how Sarah gave me a family, too.

When Laura speaks, her voice sounds almost as hoarse as Aniseís laugh. ďI still havenít cried for her.Ē She raises one hand to run fingers through her hair, just like Sarah used to. ďI donít know whatís wrong with me. But I canít. I havenít been able to.Ē

The inside corners of Aniseís eyebrows rise, making her face look softer. ďSarah would have been proud of what you and Josh are doing for Alphaville and the people who live in that building.Ē

ďItís just Josh.Ē Laura clears her throat. ďI havenít done anything.Ē

Anise smiles and tilts her head to one side. Itís the way she used to look at Sarah sometimes. ďYou will.Ē

Later that night, after Anise has left and itís just Josh and Laura and me sitting together in the living room, Laura tells Josh, ďIíd like to help with what youíre doing for this building on Avenue A.Ē

The corners of his eyes push up in a smile.ďReally?Ē

Laura starts to smile, too, and her voice sounds casual, but her eyes are still serious.ďWhy not?Ē she says. ďSleeping twelve hours a day is completely overrated.Ē

Just when I finally think I have humans figured out, I realize again what mysterious creatures they really are.

16

Prudence

THE PHONE RINGS WITH TWO SHORT RINGS INSTEAD OF ONE LONG one, the way it does when the man who lives in the lobby downstairs is calling to say someone is on their way up to see us. Laura looks up in surprise from where sheís sitting on the couch with me on one side of her and a stack of papers bigger than me on the other. On the coffee table are a lot of thick books that Laura went to get from her office one night. Josh is out at a meeting, so itís just Laura and me by ourselves in the apartment.

ďYes?Ē Laura says when she answers the phone. After a pause she says, ďOf course, send him up.Ē Then she runs to the little bathroom in the short hallway near the front door, where she pulls a brush through her hair and splashes cold water on her face. I stretch and walk over to the entrance of the kitchen, which is also next to the front door, to help Laura in case this surprise is a bad one. Sheís patting her face dry when the doorbell rings.

ďPerry!Ē Laura says, as she pulls the door open. ďWhat a surprise!Ē Thereís a smile on her face, and she reaches out one hand to hold the strangerís for a moment, but her eyes are cautious.

Perryís eyes arenít cautious like Lauraís, but they look at her closely without seeming to. When he says, ďYou look good. Better than good, actually,Ē Lauraís face turns pink. The lids slide closed over his eyes so briefly it almost isnít noticeable, as if Lauraís face changing colors has confirmed something he suspected. ďMay I come in?Ē he asks.

ďOf course.Ē She leads him into the living room, where he sits on one of the chairs facing the couch. ďCan I get you anything?Ē

ďA glass of water would be nice,Ē he says, and Laura walks into the kitchen to get it for him. Now Iím standing near the other entrance to the kitchenóthe one that opens onto the dining room table and living roomóand from here I take a closer look at Perry. Some humans, when they see a cat, immediately want to pet her and say something like,Come here, kitty, come here. Some humans look annoyed (especially if theyíre allergic), and some humans donít even notice cats at all. Perry doesnít do any of these things. He sits in his chair, his shoulders and spine held in a way that looks alert yet completely comfortable, with the kind of control that cats have mastered but that humans rarely can. He looks right back at me with his dark brown eyes, and in them I see a hint of amusement.

I notice his outfit, which is a jacket that matches his pants, both of them made from a material that looks wonderfully soft, yet doesnít bunch up or wrinkle the way a lot of humansí clothes do when theyíre sitting. Around his neck is a piece of dark yellow material that some of the human men on TV wear, although Iíve never seen Josh wear one. His shoes are black and perfectly clean, what Sarah would have called ďimmaculate.Ē I can tell why it used to be so important to Laura to make Perry happy with her work, and suddenly Iím glad the fur on my paws has grown almost completely back.

Laura walks into the room with two glasses and hands one to Perry. The two of them talk for a while. Laura says the names of humans who work at their office and asks how theyíre doing. Both of them seem to know, as they sip from their glasses, that Perry didnít decide to visit us so he could tell Laura that her assistant got her hair cut too short, or that someone named Greg keeps making everybody look at pictures of his new baby. But Perry seems comfortable and not like heís in a hurry to say his real reason for coming.

ďSo howís Josh?Ē he asks. ďI donít think Iíve seen him since your wedding. I was hoping Iíd get to say hello.Ē His voice is deep and strong without being loud. Itís so deep that listening to it starts a faint rumble in my chest, like a purr coming from outside my body.

ďHe wonít be back for a couple of hours,Ē Laura says. ďHeís working on a project, and there was a meeting he had to go to.Ē

ďAh, yes. The Mitchell-Lama on Avenue A. I read about it in theTimes.Ē

Laura laughs.ďI always forget you know everything,Ē she says. ďYes, heís meeting with the owners of the music studio in the buildingís Basement. Theyíre incorporating as a 501(c)(3) so they have a firmer legal standing if it comes down to a hearing. Josh is helping them with the paperwork.Ē

Perry nods.ďYouíll forgive an old friend for prying, but what are Joshís plans after this whole thing is over?Ē

ďIf things go our wayĒóPerryís eyebrows rise when Laura saysouróďweíre hoping that, eventually, he might be able to help them raise enough funds for their community outreach programs to justify some kind of paid position. If not†ÖĒ She spreads her hands in front of her. ďWho knows? Itís tough out there right now. Weíre trying to take things one day at a time.Ē

Perry tilts his head at her.ďYou say I know everything, but I have no idea why you havenít been back to the office in nearly four weeks.Ē

ďIím taking a leave of absence,Ē Laura says slowly. ďIf you check with HR, youíll find the paperwork properly filed and authorized.Ē

Perry leans forward.ďCome on, Laura. I always thought you and I could talk to each other like people. Of course all the paperwork is in order. Thatís not what Iím asking you.Ē

Laura squares her shoulders and straightens her spine.ďTo be honest, Iím surprised to hear youídwant me to come back. I thought Clay made himself fairly clear about that the last time we spoke.Ē

ďClay knows how good you are as well as I do,Ē Perry tells her. ďPeople get overworked sometimes, and tempers flare. We all know how it is in this business. Everybody at the firm wants to see you come back. ActuallyĒóPerry smilesóďyouíve become something of a legend. Like the man who shot Liberty Valence. Youíre the associate who told Clay off in his own office and lived to tell the tale.Ē

Lauraís smile is teasing. ďI see. You want me to come back so you can prove Clay didnít have my body dumped in the East River.Ē

He looks her in the eye.ďWe want you to come back because we think you have a great future with us.Ē

ďThe kind of great future that might include a raise?Ē Lauraís smile gets wider, although her eyes narrow as she looks at Perry.

ďA raise, yes.Ē Now Perry is smiling, too. ďA raise big enough to justify that Cheshire-Cat grin? Probably not.Ē

ďA bigger expense account might get me to come halfway.Ē Lauraís voice still sounds playful.

ďSo weíre negotiating now? I may know of a corner office thatís about to open up. Normally weíd save it for a new partner but†ÖĒ Perry laughs. ďWe could probably work something out. If youíre serious.Ē

Lauraís face is friendly, but her smile fades. ďI donít know, Perry. It isnítreally about Clay or my salary or which office Iím in or any of that. I took time off because I needed to think about where my life is going. I donít know if I want the same things I wanted a few years ago. Rightnow I want to help my husband save this building. You know,Ē she adds, ďit was your idea.Ē

Perry looks startled for the first time.ďMy idea?Ē

ďDonít you remember?Ē Lauraís posture relaxes, and she leans back a little. ďWhen I came to ask you that time about Mitchell-Lama buildings, you were the one who said that an attorney who was an ace with paperwork, and who could ferret out all the contradictory statutes and building maintenance issues, might be able to force the owners to the negotiating table.Ē

ďI see.Ē Perry shakes his head. ďHoisted by my own petard.Ē

ďAnyway,Ē Laura continues, ďthis just seems like the right thing for me to work on now. And after that, I truly donít know. Things are†Ö†changing in my personal life. A position with a smaller firm might be a better fit.Ē

ďI suspected as much,Ē he says. ďIs it too early to offer my congratulations?Ē

Lauraís face turns light red again, although itís hard for me to know why she seems embarrassed. Usually, congratulations are things humans like to hear. ďWe wonít start telling people officially for another couple of weeks.Ē Her voice is hesitant. Then she smiles and rests her hand on the swell of her belly. ďBut no, it isnít too early.Ē

ďArrangements can be worked out,Ē Perry says. ďFlextime, reduced hours for a while. Weíve done it before.Ē Laura opens her mouth like sheís about to say something, and he insists, ďI just want you to think about what youíd be giving up. Youíll never see the kind of money with a boutique firm that youíll be on track to make with us in a few years.Ē

One corner of Lauraís mouth turns up in a half smile. ďI know,Ē she says. ďBut money isnít everything.Ē

Perry nods his head again, just a little. He sips one last time from his glass, then stands, running one hand over the front of his jacket. Laura stands, too.ďI should be getting back.Ē With a sigh he adds, ďItís the end of the month, and I donít think anyone in our group has submitted time sheets yet. They canít all be like you.Ē

Theyíve reached the front door when Perry stops and says, ďI almost forgot. I was hoping Iíd get to meet the famous cat who started all this ruckus.Ē

Laura looks around and spots me sitting on my haunches near the entrance to the kitchen.ďHey, Prudence,Ē she says. Lately sheís been talking to me sometimes in the same kind of special voice Sarah had when she talked to me. Thatís how she says my name now. ďWould you like to come over and meet my friend Perry?Ē

Itís only when I get closer to them that I realize Laura is taller than Perry, although neither of them acts like she is. Itís also the first time I notice the smell of Perryís cologne. Usually I donít like artificial human-cologne smells, but Perryís is different. His smell is deep and rich, like earth, and other animals, and flowers that only send their odor into the air at night. He smells so good that I find myself rubbing my head against his ankles without waiting for him to put his hand down for me to sniff, and then I squeeze between them until I walk all the way through to theother side, where I rub my head some more against the backs of his legs.

ďWow,Ē Laura says. ďIíve never seen Prudence act so friendly with someone she doesnít know.Ē She smiles in a way that lets me know sheís joking when she adds, ďMaybe she wants to follow you home.Ē