Then again.
Then three more times in rapid succession.
“So,” Mom says slowly, straightening up. “That’s a cat.”
“That’s ademon,” Silas corrects, dabbing his eyes with his napkin. “That is a demon from hell who just used me as a scratching post.”
“Someone want to explain this?” Mom asks with an eyebrow arched.
THIRTEEN
CALEB
Harper explainsabout having the cat the whole time she’s been here, and swears up and down to keep the cat upstairs in her room out of the way, just like she’s been doing, and how she’ll be no problem, just please don’t make her get rid of her.
“I’ve been helping her,” I volunteer when Harper doesn’t bring me up.
I don’t miss Mom’s surprise at that. “You’ve been lying to me for months?”
I wince down to my core.
Don’t disappoint Momis one of the core rules. Top ten. Number seven, specifically. Right betweenBe politeandHelp around the house.
I’ve broken rule number seven.
My hands find my pockets. Thumb to index, indexto middle, middle to ring, ring to pinky. Repeat. If I do it four times, maybe?—
No. That’s not how this works. Breaking the rules has consequences. Mom’s disappointed. That’s a fact. No amount of counting will undo it.
But my fingers keep moving anyway.
“Harper rescued the cat, and I—” I start lamely.
“He was helping me, and I asked him not to tell,” Harper says, averting Mom’s attention back to her. “It’s my fault.” She explains about Marie’s dad and then exclaims defiantly, “I couldn’t just let her die.”
She accurately estimates the way to get to Mom’s heart.
“Well, of course not, honey.”
Then Mom and Silas share a long, silent look. His face turns red, brows down, but finally turns acquiescing. “Fine,” he sighs. “I guess I can take some Zyrtec. But onlyifshe keeps that little monster away from me.”
“Really?” Harper pipes up, shock clear in her voice. “We can keep her?”
“We’re not going to take away your cat, honey,” Mom says.
Harper’s still looking a little shocked by the time she manages to lure the cat from underneath the couch ten minutes later, tugging the kitty out by her rump once she finally gets a hold of her.
“Gotcha!” Harper says. “Oh, what do we have here?”
I look over from where I’ve been helping Mom clean up the spilled pennies and cards to see Harper tugging some sort of leather-looking fabric out of the cat’s claws.
“Oh!” Mom says, “Been wondering where thosewent.” She scurries over to Harper, who’s just flung the bunched fabric outward to reveal a pair of leather… thigh highs.
I choke a little and turn my back.
Knowing my mom has sex is bad enough, but God. Witnessing the proof? No thanks.
“Thanks, honey,” Mom says to Harper, and thankfully, she’s got the leather bundled under her arm by the time I turn back.