Chapter 19 - Eleven Nights
A year passed.
People at Lakeside still asked about Charlie.
The crying cat.
The cat who solved a case.
I corrected them every time.
“He didn’t solve anything.”
“But he found the evidence.”
“Because Robert used scent, routine, and objects Charlie recognized.”
“So he helped.”
“Yes.”
That was different.
Animals do not need supernatural powers to change human lives.
Charlie turned thirteen.
Maybe fourteen.
He developed arthritis.
Kidney disease followed.
Nothing dramatic.
Just age.
Margaret gave fluids at home twice a week.
Charlie objected loudly.
Good.
Crying from pain is one thing.
Complaining because dinner is six minutes late is healthier.
On the anniversary of Robert’s death, Margaret asked if I would sit with her at five.
We sat in the garage.
The workbench remained.
The camera was gone.
The red toolbox was now evidence returned and emptied.
Charlie walked in.
Looked at Robert’s old stool.
Then jumped onto it.
Margaret held her breath.
Charlie turned twice.
Lay down.
No waiting at the door.
No crying.
Margaret whispered:
“Eleven nights.”
“What?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think he knew Robert was gone?”
I thought about it.
“I think he knew Robert was missing from every place Robert should have been.”
She nodded.
“That sounds worse.”
“Maybe.”
Then she smiled.
“Maybe more honest.”
Charlie reached one paw toward Margaret.
She took it gently.
There are griefs people try to solve because not solving them feels unbearable.
It is a room you learn to live in until one day you realize you opened a window.
Margaret looked around the garage.
“We should paint this place.”
“What color?”
“Anything but gray.”
Charlie sneezed.
We laughed.
Then he stood suddenly.
Scratched once.
Margaret and I froze.
“Not again,” she said.
I opened the cabinet.
May you like
Inside was an envelope we had somehow missed.
My name was on it.
