The Cat Sitter's Cradle

6

I drove down Midnight Pass at about twenty miles per hour. Nobody honked or drove right behind me shaking their fists and yelling at me to drive faster. They were all driving slowly, too. It was the time of year when clouds of lovebugs swarm the air, and the more slowly you drive, the more gently the lovebugs splat into your car. The more gently they splat, the easier they are to clean off.

Lovebugs are small black flies with long, narrow wings. They come out of their vegetative hiding places every May and September with an urgent need to copulate. They give the term “hooking up” a meaning even the smallest child can understand. The male attaches to the female, and then they fly around crazily in a cloud of other copulating lovebug couples until they fall dead of exhaustion or smash into a moving vehicle. They leave the windshields smeared with gunk, corrode the paint on the cars, and occasion many a raunchy schoolboy joke. On the other hand, birds like to snack on them, and a lot of car wash businesses would go bankrupt if they disappeared, so we just leave them alone and drive at a snail’s pace a couple of times a year.

Siesta Key is long and narrow, eight miles north to south. On a map, it looks like a fish skeleton, with Midnight Pass Road running down its center like a spine, and smaller lanes like fish bones leading off at regular intervals to the Gulf on the west side and Little Sarasota Bay on the east. The head is at the wider, northern end of the Key, where the main village of shops and restaurants is, and the southern end of the island tapers off like a fishtail. Only about seven thousand people make their home on the Key year-round, but another seventeen thousand or more come here during “season.” People with homes on the bay have boat docks, but there are no docks on the Gulf side, just gentle surf lapping onto a crystal white sandy beach.

I live on the more deserted tail end of the Key in a two-story frame house that faces the Gulf. My grandfather ordered it out of the Sears, Roebuck catalog when he was a young man and land here was cheap. It’s a weathered two-bedroom house at the end of a meandering drive of crushed shell, surrounded by palms, sea grape, pines, and mossy oaks on which night-blooming cereus twine to the top like secret floodlights. Flocks of parakeets nest in the treetops, and wild rabbits forage through the grasses. The drive ends at the Gulf’s edge, so I’ve gone to sleep almost every night of my life with the whispering sound of the surf kissing the shore. That pulse of the sea is like a lover’s heartbeat to me.

When I rounded the last curve in the drive and pulled into my slot in the four-car carport, a huge orange sun was already sliding down the sky toward the horizon. My brother, Michael, and his partner, Paco, were on the deck with their tanned legs stretched out in sturdy Adirondack chairs my grandfather built decades ago. Ella Fitzgerald was with them, sitting in Paco’s lap. Ella is a true calico-Persian mix originally given to me as a kitten, but it didn’t take her long to realize that the good stuff was in Michael’s and Paco’s kitchen, not mine. She likes me well enough and stays with me when the guys are working, but her heart belongs to them.

When I joined them on the deck, Michael took one look at me and said, “You need a beer.” He got up and went into the kitchen, and I dropped into the chair next to Paco. He raised his beer in greeting and gave me a lazy grin.

He said, “Long day?”

“Is it that obvious?”

Paco is the kind of man that women fantasize about turning straight. He’s of Greek American descent, but with his dark good looks and facility with languages he could pass for any nationality in the world. In his line of work with the Special Investigative Bureau, that comes in handy. His family name is Pakodopoulos, but nobody in the world can pronounce that, so he’s called Paco.

Michael returned with a beer for me and a plate of cheese twists still hot from the oven. Michael is blond and blue eyed and just as handsome as Paco. He’s a fireman like our father was and also the firehouse cook. To Michael, food is almost holy, and to feed people is second only in importance to saving their lives. Our mother didn’t have a domestic bone in her body, but he’s made up for it in spades. He’s been feeding me and taking care of me since I was about two years old and he was four. When I was nine, not long after our father died in the line of duty putting out a fire, our mother ran off, so we moved in with our grandparents in the house that Michael and Paco live in now. I live in the garage apartment above the carport. Michael has created our own kind of domestic bliss here. Funny how life curves in on itself like that sometimes.

I decided not to tell them about Corina and the baby, at least not for now. Michael and Paco are both crazily protective of me, and since Paco is part of the Special Investigative Bureau, illegal immigration falls directly under his jurisdiction, and I might be telling him something that he might not be able to ignore. Michael has always felt responsible for me, mainly because he’s my big brother. There’s no changing that, and I know it. There was a time when it really bothered me, and it still does sometimes, but I know it’s in his DNA, just like being a fireman is in his DNA. In his eyes, I will always be the little sister that he has to look out for. So keeping a few things to myself every once in a while makes it easier.

I also decided not to mention my prospective date with Ethan. Not because I thought Michael would object to it, but because, being the little sister, I get a delicious thrill keeping secrets from him every once in a while.

Paco gave Ella Fitzgerald a nibble of cheese twist, and we all watched the sun continue its slide down the sky. Sunsets on Siesta Key are spectacular, even the ones with cloud cover. Every day brings different colors, different shapes of streamers in the sky, different shadows on the water. Even the birds seem to grow silent as the sun hovers for a moment above the sea, toying with it before giving in completely. It always seems to disappear into the water too soon, and we continue to watch for it to show an edge of itself. But it only sends up ribbons of undulating light, cerise, magenta, aquamarine, like favors from an invisible party to which we’re not invited. Every day we’re awed and inspired and vaguely disappointed because we want more.

When the lights had drifted away, Michael waved away some lovebugs and said, “I have chowder inside.”

I said, “Can I take a shower first?”

“Dixie, if you don’t take a shower, we’ll hose you down on the deck.”

Nobody wants to share a meal with a person covered in cat hair. It’s an occupational hazard for pet sitters. I handed him my half-full beer bottle and tried to think of a smart comeback, but I was too tired. I felt like I’d had one of the longest days in the history of my life, so instead I punched him in the arm before I climbed the stairs to my apartment.

Behind me, Paco strolled to my car with a big dripping sponge to wipe away the lovebugs.

Dinner was Florida red chowder made with fresh fish Michael had caught the day before on a fishing trip. With it we had hot buttered French bread, a green salad dressed with a Florida grapefruit vinaigrette, and a fruity white wine. Ella Fitzgerald sat on her appointed stool and watched us with the lazy look of disinterest that only a well-fed cat can manage. The rule for Ella is that she can sit on her stool at the dinner table as long as she’s polite and doesn’t call attention to herself.

We were just finishing the last crumb of bread when my cell phone rang with the tone reserved for business calls. It was Kenny Newman.

I said, “I better take this. It’s my overnight dog sitter, and he’s on a job tonight.”

Michael’s left eyebrow quirked in disapproval as I rose quickly to take the call out on the deck. In our family, it’s a hard and fast rule that phones are not allowed at the table and dinner shouldn’t be interrupted with business. But Kenny was spending the night at the Daltons’ house with their two German shepherds, George and McGee, and I knew he wouldn’t call unless it was something important.

Kenny said, “Hey man, sorry to bother you, but I need a little help here. This girl just came to the door asking if she could take George and McGee out for a walk. She said she’s a neighbor and she walks the dogs all the time, but like, nobody told me anything about a neighbor kid, so I said no. She looked totally pissed off, so I hope I didn’t do the wrong thing.”

“You were completely right. If anyone has permission to walk them, we’d need it in writing from the Daltons. They’ll be back in the morning, so I’ll be in touch with them. If there’s any problem, I’ll take care of it.”

He thanked me, and we rang off before I thought to mention that I was pet sitting at the Harwicks’ house, where he cleaned the pool. I slipped back into my spot at the table and took a sip of wine.

Paco said, “Was that your beach drifter guy?”

“That was Kenny. He had a minor problem that we straightened out. And he is not a drifter.”

“He lives on an old dilapidated boat.”

I sputtered, “Paco, there’s nothing wrong with living on a boat.”

“Yeah, especially if you don’t want to leave behind a trail of those pesky things called mailing addresses.”

Michael said, “Wait a minute, what does he do if it gets cold at night?”

“It never gets that cold here, plus he has a little wood-burning stove.”

Paco rolled his eyes. “Or he sleeps in his car.”

Michael said, “What? Are you kidding me?”

I waved my hand like I was waving away a fly. “He has a truck for his pool-cleaning supplies. He may sleep in it occasionally if the weather’s bad or he doesn’t have a house-sitting job.”

Michael said, “Seems pretty suspicious to me.”

“Maybe he’s just saving up his money. I like that in a person.”

Paco raised one eyebrow. “Or maybe you just like the sexy blond surfer type.”

I said, “Please. He’s a good worker, and he’s honest, and he’s always been fair with me. People can fall on bad times. That doesn’t make them criminals. Anyway, you should have seen how much he loved that old cat of his. In my book, anybody that loves a cat can’t be all bad.”

Michael didn’t look convinced, but I wasn’t worried. I think I’m a pretty good judge of character, and I knew Kenny was a good guy, even though I had to admit, you could see how they might think Kenny was a bit sketchy. I chalked it up to one of the many occupational hazards of being in the line of work they’re in. When you’re in close contact with danger or criminals on a daily basis, you tend to look for the negative in everything and everyone.

To change the subject, I said, “I got a new job today. At a house with a mermaid in a tank in the bathroom.”

Michael grinned and said, “The toilet tank?”

“No, you doofus. I’m talking a huge mermaid. Nearly life-sized. The aquarium is so tall you have to climb up a flight of stairs to feed the fish. Mrs. Harwick said combined the fish are worth hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

Paco said, “Wait a minute. The Harwicks? Roy and Tina Harwick?”

“Yeah, do you know them?”

He shook his head. “Not personally, but Roy Harwick is one of the top executives at Sonnebrook.”

He had a tone in his voice, as if saying the word “Sonnebrook” explained everything. Unfortunately, it kind of did. Sonnebrook is the Oklahoma-based company that inevitably comes up whenever there’s a conversation about war, or oil, or consummate greed. It’s one of the largest oil-drilling and construction companies in the world, not to mention one of the biggest private employers in the country. In the last twenty years, they’ve raked up billions of dollars in no-questions-asked government contracts to maintain military bases or help rebuild war-torn countries. Along the way, they’ve been exposed countless times for corruption, illegal practices, and worse.

Michael said, “It’s all over the papers today. He’s giving a speech in Tampa tomorrow at a conference on earth-friendly energy. Do you believe that? The head of one of the biggest oil-manufacturing companies talking about how we can make the planet greener! That guy is hated all over the world. Sonnebrook has probably bumped off more potentates in those little Middle Eastern countries than the CIA and MI6 combined.”

Paco and I rolled our eyes. Michael’s sense of morality is more highly tuned than ours, and he has a tendency to see conspiracy and skullduggery around every corner. It doesn’t take much to get him going about all the underhanded things done by the world’s biggest corporations and governments, including our own. He can get himself pretty worked up.

“They’ve been implicated in propping up despots just to make a dime and bribing senators to get their way in Congress. I mean, you name it, they’ve done it. They’re all cutthroats and thieves. And of course you can’t touch them with a ten-foot pole because their money is spread all over Washington. The whole operation smells worse than dog shit.”

Paco chuckled and said, “Alright now, calm down.”

Michael laughed. “Well, I’m sorry, but I can’t help it, and I read they have a world-class art collection, too, all of it bought with dirty money, of course. I’m guessing they live in a huge mansion on the water, right?”

I said, “Yep. And they have a gold-plated toilet.”

Michael practically jumped out of his chair. “See? I told you! What kind of person wants to sit on a gold toilet?”

Paco and I both burst out laughing. Paco has a knack for disarming Michael. No matter how worked up Michael gets, Paco can flip his mood like tossing a coin, but I’m good at pushing all his buttons, so together we make a pretty good game of mercilessly teasing him up and down like a yo-yo.

“Yeah, very funny,” Michael said. “We’ll see if you two get any dessert tonight.”

Michael’s desserts are nothing to joke about. He makes the most amazing pies and cookies. You haven’t lived until you’ve had a slice of his key lime pie, which he makes from actual key limes he collects from a wild tree, the whereabouts of which he won’t tell a living soul.

I said, “Okay, okay. No more talk about the Harwicks. They do, however, have a beautiful little Siamese cat named Charlotte that I’m trying to win over. She’s a big grump.”

Michael turned to Ella and smiled. She slitted her eyes and gazed at him with rapt adoration.

He said, “You’d be a big grump too if you lived with murdering thieves.”

Paco and I exchanged grins, but we didn’t say a word because Michael reached over and took the key lime pie off the kitchen counter and set it in the middle of the table.

“Mmmm,” I said. “What were we just talking about?”

Paco said, “I have no idea. Pass the pie!”

All in all, it had been a normal, ordinary end to a long, surreal, and crazy day. I helped clean up the kitchen, kissed Michael and Paco on their handsome cheeks, nuzzled the top of Ella Fitzgerald’s head, and staggered up the stairs to my apartment, drunk on good wine, good company, and good key lime pie.

Just before I drifted off to sleep, I heard a little voice in my head say, Well, at least tomorrow can’t be any crazier than today!

Sometimes that little voice in my head is dead wrong.