Christmas Wishes and Mistletoe Kisses(7)

“Hi, Mama,” he said, putting his little arms around her waist. “What was that noise?”

“Gramps’s cat knocked over Nana’s tree.”

“Gramps has a cat?” Max said.

“Yes. He hides most of the time,” her mom explained. “He hasn’t been around all day,” she said to Abbey, shaking her head. “I knew I should’ve waited until after Thanksgiving to decorate. I should’ve given the cat time to settle down after his move.”

“Will that cat get me?” Max’s face was serious with concern. His brows were pulled together, his lips pursed, a hint of a dimple showing on his cheek.

“No,” her mom laughed. “That cat won’t get anywhere near you, don’t worry. He hates people.”

“Then why does Gramps have him?” he asked.

“When Gramps found him, he was starving outside—skin and bones—in the cold of winter, and he felt like he could give him a better life. He loves that cat.” She shook her head again. “But I think the affection is one-sided.”

The front door wasn’t latched—the drama of the falling Christmas tree had clearly distracted her as she’d come in—so Abbey shut it, the cold air now overwhelming them in the small entryway. The snow had really started to come down, and she noticed how the bottom edges of her high heels were now discolored from the melting precipitation. She kicked them off. “Please sit, Mom,” she said. “You need to rest that ankle. Right now, I’ll get the tree back up for you.”

Her mom sat down, her face grateful.

As Abbey lifted the tree, the scent of pine making her nose itch, she caught sight of Señor Freckles in the corner. He was licking his paw until he noticed her glance. He stopped and stared at her unrelentingly as if he were about to pounce. She cut her eyes at him. “Don’t even think about it,” she said in his direction. “It’s awfully cold outside,” she teased. Her mom and Max both looked over at Señor Freckles too. The cat had turned his head and was now looking directly at Max, his gaze like lasers.

“I won’t let her put you outside,” he whispered to the cat across the room. “But you can’t scratch me or anything.”

Señor Freckles broke eye contact and began licking his paw again. In that moment, Max seemed a lot like his grandfather in temperament.

“Tell me about Nick Sinclair!” Abbey’s mother said with excitement in her eyes. “Is he as handsome as I’ve heard?”

Abbey eyed Max who was still looking at the cat. “He is,” she said. What she’d experienced earlier with him now felt like a dream.

“Is he nice?”

Abbey shrugged. “For a rich guy, I guess.”

“What does that mean?”

“He has a very different life than we do.”

“Obviously. Wouldn’t it be great to live like that?”

Abbey contemplated that answer. She thought about Nick’s indifference regarding spending thousands of dollars on decorators and cars. Did he realize that there were others out there who were struggling to make ends meet? “I wouldn’t want to live like that,” she decided aloud.

“Speak for yourself!” her mother laughed.

“You never told me how you hurt your ankle, only that you’d hurt it,” Abbey said, changing the subject as she tipped the tree into the stand and set it upright. The water in the tray at the bottom had spilled all over the hardwoods, and she knew she’d need a towel to sop it up.

“I slipped on the ice outside. I was trying to keep Dad steady, and I fell.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Mom,” she said. Abbey was glad to be there to help her mother. Her arthritis was giving her enough trouble; taking care of Gramps was just adding to it. For so many years, her mom had helped her; now it was Abbey’s turn to pay that back. “Where is Gramps?” she asked, as Max began to walk toward the cat. It skirted away, darting around the corner. He followed it.

“He’s taking a nap in his room, but he could be awake. You should check on him and see. He’s getting worse.”

“The medicine’s not working?”

“It is. But at some point, I worry it just won’t work at all. And his insurance isn’t great, you know. You and I can’t afford to give him the care he really needs. All we can do is give him the best we have.”

“I’ll go see him now. I need to find Max anyway. He’s probably chased Señor Freckles outside, and it’s freezing out there. I don’t want him out without a hat.”

The house where Abbey had grown up wasn’t anything grand—a single-level three bedroom with a small front porch and a deck out back—but it had a fenced in backyard, and her wooden play-set was still there, so Max could swing.