Cattitude by Edie Ramer Page A

never leaving. Ever.
    “You can’t stay here,” Caroline said. “You’re
taking advantage of Max’s generous nature. He doesn’t owe you
anything.”
    Spit from Caroline’s mouth hit Belle’s face.
Belle’s muscles tensed and she scooted closer to the edge of the
mattress. If Caroline spit on her again, Belle would make her
sorry.
    Max’s grip on her hand tightened. “Caroline,
I appreciate your concern, but it’s my decision to keep her here
until she’s well enough to leave.”
    Caroline’s cheekbones flushed the same color
she painted her lips. “I’m sorry. I appreciate so much all you’ve
done for me. I guess I’m trying to make things a little easier for
you in return.”
    If Max hadn’t been holding Belle’s hand so
tightly—as if he knew what she was thinking—she would have leapt up
and scratched Caroline’s face.
    “She’ll be okay soon and out of here,” he
said.
    Caroline smiled weakly. “Maybe I should stay
until that happens.”
    “Better not. She seems to have taken a
dislike to you.”
    Caroline backed up, keeping her mouth in a
smile. “Don’t hesitate to call if you need me for anything.” She
swiveled and strode past Ted, who stood just inside the
doorway.
    Belle and Max stood with cocked heads while
they listened to Caroline’s footsteps tap on the wooden hallway
floor. Then Max dropped Belle’s hand and Ted strolled into the
bedroom.
    “What’d I miss? A cat fight?”
    “Go back to bed,” Max said. “You’re not
helping.” He bent over Belle, his tone coaxing, the way he talked
to her when she was a cat and he was ready to sit back and pet her,
his eyes half closed, his body relaxing, a slight hum in his throat
as if in that second he felt like everything was good.
    Of course it was good. She straightened her
head. It was good because he was petting her.
    “I want to help you,” he said, “but if you
don’t give me any information, I’ll have no choice but to go to the
authorities. Someone might be frantic about you. Even if you don’t
have a fiancé,” he glanced at her ring, then back into her eyes,
“you might have a family. A mother or father.”
    She looked down at her lap. What if someone
were looking for Sorcha? What if they found Belle and wanted her to
leave with them? If she refused to go, Max couldn’t make her
go.
    “Maybe you can write. You want to give it a
try?”
    She shook her head.
    “Are you hungry? Do you want food?”
    She shook her head again.
    He straightened. “I’ll leave you for now. If
you want anything, I’ll be in my office. Take the hall straight
down until you reach the door. That’s the office wing. Don’t knock,
just walk on in.”
    She nodded. If he only knew, she could find
her way through the house with her eyes closed. And why not? It was
hers.
    “I’ll give you until after dinner.” His voice
grew stern. “Understand?”
    She didn’t nod and didn’t look at him, her
eyes on his shoes. He only talked to her with this hard voice when
she ate a plant or chased a bird. She didn’t like it. Not at
all.
    His shoes made a circle and he walked out of
the bedroom. Ted’s shoes followed.
    “Want me to close the door?” Ted asked. “Keep
away unwanted visitors?”
    She lifted her head. He was grinning at her,
as if he knew—but of course he didn’t. She nodded and her lips
curved. She guessed she must be smiling. As soon as the door was
closed, she clapped her hands to her cheeks and opened her
mouth.
    “Waaa,” she said. No, that wasn’t right.
Maybe she needed to shape her mouth differently, the way humans
did, and move her tongue around. “Haaa.” No. “Taaa. Caaa. Raaa.
Maaa.” Yes! She had it!
    Going to the mirror, she looked at herself
while making the word again. So that’s how she held her lips.
Together but not too tight. “Mmmaaa. Mmmaaa. Mmmaaa.” Still not Max . She needed more sounds.
    A TV sat on the end of the dresser, about the
size of one of Max’s large books. She picked up the