scratches marring their backs, but for their size, they were deft and nimble.
She sipped the aromatic coffee and exclaimed, “Wow!”
“Jamaica Blue Mountain. The best coffee in the world. A professor of mine used to drink it.”
“It really is fantastic. Thanks.”
“My pleasure.” Gesturing, he added, “I think the cat is probably still asleep on the couch.”
At the thought of going with him into the front room, Maggie felt her tension return. The kitchen was safe somehow, not as comfortable. Grow up, Maggie. Adults do sometimes have conversations in places other than kitchens.
After the barren aura of the back of the house, the living room was a surprise. It was welcoming, designed for relaxing and reading and quiet conversation. Curled in a corner of the couch, looking considerably cleaner than Maggie had ever seen him, was the old tom.
“Wake up, you old lazy,” Joel growled, scooping the cat into his arms. There were still knots in the cat’s fur, and one ear drooped sadly. He meowed softly at Joel, who turned to Maggie. “Meet Moses Many-Toes.”
She gave him a puzzled smile. “Many-Toes?”
“Look.” He tugged one of the cat’s paws, and Moses let it dangle in Joel’s hand like a lady awaiting a kiss from a count. Beyond the normal five claws and pads, this cat had three more that jutted out like a big thumb, giving his paw the appearance of a hand.
“He could practically toss a baseball,” she commented dryly. “Will he bolt if I pet him?”
“I don’t think so—just go easy. He doesn’t have much trust to spare.”
Gingerly, Maggie stretched her fingers forward for the cat to smell. When he seemed to accept her, she rubbed his blunt, broad head, carefully skirting the ear. “Why, he’s as soft as down,” she said with wonder. “You’re a good old cat, aren’t you?” The cat’s eyes blinked lazily, and a rusty purr sounded in the quiet room.
Touched that he had found refuge after so long a time of suffering, Maggie looked up at Joel to find him watching her closely. “You’re an unusual man, Joel.”
He made a depreciative noise. “So I’ve been told.” He turned to settle the cat back into his corner. “Have a seat,” he invited, taking one of the chairs by the window.
Maggie followed suit. A deep and pregnant pause fell between them, and after enduring it for a moment, casting around for something to say, she risked a glance at him. At the same moment, he turned to look at her. With a ripple of intuition, Maggie finally understood that he was nearly as nervous as she. Impulsively, she grinned. “You know, I hear your marches in the morning.”
“Do you?” He straightened. “I should turn them down, then.”
“No, please don’t. It’s part of sharing walls. You’re a hundred times more polite than a great many of the neighbors I’ve had over the years.” She sipped her coffee. “I’m sure you hear us, too.”
He grinned. “MTV when you’re gone.”
Maggie laughed. “Samantha turns it on to do her housework. Does she play it too loud?”
“No, not at all.” He glanced at Maggie and smiled. “I mean, it’s loud, but I can live with it. She’s just a kid.”
“That’s kind of you. Not everyone is patient with children.”
“I like kids.”
“Do you have any of your own?”
“No.” For a brief span, a sadness flitted over his face. “No,” he repeated, “things didn’t work that way for me.”
“You sound like you’ve lost your only chance. You must be what? Thirty-five? Men have fathered nations at sixty.”
He half shrugged. “We’ll see.”
Maggie glanced at him, at the sudden distance reflected in his eyes, and she felt again that there was something in his past that gave him pain. She sipped her coffee.
As if uncomfortable with the turn in the conversation, he asked, “Where’s Samantha today?”
“She goes to church with my grandmother. I go to the eight o’clock service, but Samantha refuses to get up that
She sipped the aromatic coffee and exclaimed, “Wow!”
“Jamaica Blue Mountain. The best coffee in the world. A professor of mine used to drink it.”
“It really is fantastic. Thanks.”
“My pleasure.” Gesturing, he added, “I think the cat is probably still asleep on the couch.”
At the thought of going with him into the front room, Maggie felt her tension return. The kitchen was safe somehow, not as comfortable. Grow up, Maggie. Adults do sometimes have conversations in places other than kitchens.
After the barren aura of the back of the house, the living room was a surprise. It was welcoming, designed for relaxing and reading and quiet conversation. Curled in a corner of the couch, looking considerably cleaner than Maggie had ever seen him, was the old tom.
“Wake up, you old lazy,” Joel growled, scooping the cat into his arms. There were still knots in the cat’s fur, and one ear drooped sadly. He meowed softly at Joel, who turned to Maggie. “Meet Moses Many-Toes.”
She gave him a puzzled smile. “Many-Toes?”
“Look.” He tugged one of the cat’s paws, and Moses let it dangle in Joel’s hand like a lady awaiting a kiss from a count. Beyond the normal five claws and pads, this cat had three more that jutted out like a big thumb, giving his paw the appearance of a hand.
“He could practically toss a baseball,” she commented dryly. “Will he bolt if I pet him?”
“I don’t think so—just go easy. He doesn’t have much trust to spare.”
Gingerly, Maggie stretched her fingers forward for the cat to smell. When he seemed to accept her, she rubbed his blunt, broad head, carefully skirting the ear. “Why, he’s as soft as down,” she said with wonder. “You’re a good old cat, aren’t you?” The cat’s eyes blinked lazily, and a rusty purr sounded in the quiet room.
Touched that he had found refuge after so long a time of suffering, Maggie looked up at Joel to find him watching her closely. “You’re an unusual man, Joel.”
He made a depreciative noise. “So I’ve been told.” He turned to settle the cat back into his corner. “Have a seat,” he invited, taking one of the chairs by the window.
Maggie followed suit. A deep and pregnant pause fell between them, and after enduring it for a moment, casting around for something to say, she risked a glance at him. At the same moment, he turned to look at her. With a ripple of intuition, Maggie finally understood that he was nearly as nervous as she. Impulsively, she grinned. “You know, I hear your marches in the morning.”
“Do you?” He straightened. “I should turn them down, then.”
“No, please don’t. It’s part of sharing walls. You’re a hundred times more polite than a great many of the neighbors I’ve had over the years.” She sipped her coffee. “I’m sure you hear us, too.”
He grinned. “MTV when you’re gone.”
Maggie laughed. “Samantha turns it on to do her housework. Does she play it too loud?”
“No, not at all.” He glanced at Maggie and smiled. “I mean, it’s loud, but I can live with it. She’s just a kid.”
“That’s kind of you. Not everyone is patient with children.”
“I like kids.”
“Do you have any of your own?”
“No.” For a brief span, a sadness flitted over his face. “No,” he repeated, “things didn’t work that way for me.”
“You sound like you’ve lost your only chance. You must be what? Thirty-five? Men have fathered nations at sixty.”
He half shrugged. “We’ll see.”
Maggie glanced at him, at the sudden distance reflected in his eyes, and she felt again that there was something in his past that gave him pain. She sipped her coffee.
As if uncomfortable with the turn in the conversation, he asked, “Where’s Samantha today?”
“She goes to church with my grandmother. I go to the eight o’clock service, but Samantha refuses to get up that
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