Page 51 of On Dry Land

“You have room?” I ask, noting his slightly resigned tone. He doesn’t sound excited about the prospect of bringing her home.

“Plenty,” Rudy confirms. “However, I also have four dogs who think cats are for chasing. I’ll just have to crate her and keep her separated. It’s no big deal. Happens all the time.”

He smiles at me, wrinkles fanning out from the corners of his eyes. I like Rudy. He’s kind and talks in a slow, calm voice that soothes the people as well as the animals. He doesn’t ask me prying questions and is concerned about adequate breaks and whether or not I had enough food for lunch. He’s a good boss, and if I were sticking around, I’d be happy working here.

“I could take her for a few nights,” I offer. She’s so small, and four dogs is a lot. “Until you find a home.”

“Probably won’t take long,” Rudy allows, and I nod in agreement. Kittens are fuzzy and adorable, and this one is all black except for the tip of her tail and a little bit of white on her face that looks like a mustache. Someone will likely adopt her by tomorrow.

“I’ll take her,” I repeat, thinking about Dryden’s big glass house. There’s nothing in there that a kitten could destroy, and if he wanted to keep her contained to a single room, he’s certainly got plenty to choose from. Rudy, who knows damn well where I’m staying, pinches his mouth together, eyes dancing with mirth.

“It’s your funeral,” he acquiesces.

Rudy packs me up a kitten care package with samples he keeps in the back for times like these. I leave with a bag packed full of cat accoutrements in one hand and a boxed-up kitten in the other. The Porsche isn’t idling at the curb when I walk out the front door, so I turn right back around to find Rudy. As much as I’d like to walk, it’s way too far to do in a reasonable amount of time, even without a baby animal with me. I could text Dryden and see if he’ll be around soon and then wait, but I hate bothering him. Accepting so much help bothers me.

Besides, riding with Rudy will give me plenty of time to come up with a plan for what to say to Dryden. It’s possible that bringing home a pet is taking liberties with his immense hospitality. It’s possible he’s allergic or hates animals. But it’s also possible that maybe the reason he was so open to inviting me to live in the guest cottage is that he’s lonely.

If there is one thing I’ve learned about Dryden since I’ve been here, it’s that he internalizes things. He keeps his emotions inward-facing. And although I can understand that it’s a safer way to live altogether, I also know it’s an isolating one. I do think he’s happy alone and was probably perfectly content before I showed up. But he’s also the person who will sit silently next to the pool while I swim and invite me inside with him while he watches a hockey game. He’s the person who patiently shows me over and over and over again how to tie a hitch knot and gently maneuvers my fingers when I stumble through the steps. He frowns and makes sarcastic remarks, but participates in making snowmen for hours out in the cold.

Maybe I’m completely off base, and this will be a terrible idea. Or maybe I’m right in suspecting that Dryden is a little bit starved for love, and the easiest and most efficient way to give him some is a kitten. Nothing in this world provides the kind of selfless adoration that comes from animals, and I won’t always be here to pick up the slack.

Dryden’s car isn’t in the driveway when I make it home. I wave a goodbye to Rudy, watch him pull away down the driveway, and lock the cottage door behind me. My furry companion has been silent for the ride home, and when I open the lid to check on her, I smile when I see the little black body curled into the blanket, dead asleep.

Leaving her to rest after what was probably an exciting day for a baby so young, I shed my clothes and take a hot shower. It was a busy day at the clinic, and I stink of antiseptic and bleach. It feels good to wash it all away. I linger under the hot water, head tipped forward and eyes closed, letting the warmth seep into my sore muscles.

I put on the sweats Dryden loaned me when I get out of the shower, running my fingers through my hair as I check out the front window to see if he’s home yet. Grinning, I let the curtain fall and reach for my jacket. The lights are on at the big house.

“Dry?” I call, peeking my head through the unlocked back door. I pause, listening for an answer, and become aware of the sound of running water. He’s in the shower.

Glancing down at the box and thinking about the kitten inside, I let myself in. A dozen times, Dryden has told me to do this, told me that I don’t have to knock or wait for a specific invitation each time. I can’t allow myself that level of comfort, usually, knowing exactly how badly it will hurt on the day it’s taken away. Today, with a kitten that shouldn’t be out in the cold, I have no choice.

I sit down on the couch to wait for Dryden, the kitten starting to make plaintive little mewling sounds as she scratches at the side of the box. My stomach flips with nervous energy when I finally hear steps coming down the stairs. Here we go, I think with a furtive glance toward the cat carrier. I’m standing up just as Dryden reaches the bottom of the stairs, his mouth softening into something that teases a smile.

“Spencer,” he says in greeting, walking barefoot toward the kitchen.

“Hey, Dry. Busy day?”

“Yes.” He sounds exhausted. I’d suspected, when he wasn’t there to pick me up after work, that it meant hauling had been rough today, and it sounds like I might have been correct in that assumption.

“I brought you a present,” I tell him. He looks over his shoulder at me, freezer door open in front of him, expression incredulous.

“A what?”

“A present. I brought you one,” I repeat, picking up the cat box and lifting it to show him. Frowning, he abandons his search for dinner and approaches me.

Arms underneath the box, keeping it steady, I hold my breath as Dryden opens the top flaps. He scowls into the box, fingertips resting along the upper edge. The kitten cries.

“Spencer.”

“Surprise!” I say, smiling when he looks up at me, scowl firmly in place.

“What is that,” he replies, so toneless that it couldn’t possibly be a question.

“A kitten.”

He stares at me. “If I wanted a kitten, I would have bought one.”

“I mean…would you, though?” Raising my eyebrows, I look around the room, taking in the hideous furniture he never replaced after the previous owners and the weird art on the wall that I know he doesn’t like. He narrows his eyes and looks back down into the box, reaching in to pluck out the kitten.