The Cat Sitter’s Cradle (4 page)

“I told you.” She pulled a pen from her purse and the napkin from her back pocket
and started writing on it. “This is my pediatrician. Kind of a dork, but total sliding
scale and no questions asked.” She handed the sticky napkin to me with a poignant
look. “Watch out for the oatmeal.”

I laughed. “I was wondering what that was. I’m Dixie, by the way.”

The girl looked at me expectantly, and for a moment I thought she might be waiting
for me to give her a tip.

She said, “Can I have my baby back?”

“Oh my gosh, of course!”

She laughed and took the baby. His head smelled sweet, like talcum powder and clean
sweat. As soon as he was back in his mother’s arms he stopped crying and turned around
to look at me accusingly.

“I could use a break,” she said, “but I figure you’ve already got enough babies to
deal with for today.”

Just then my cell phone rang.

“Well, I’m out of here,” she said. “This monster’s due for his nap. Cool?”

“Oh my gosh, yes. Thank you so much for your help,” I said, fishing my phone out of
my bag. “I would have been shopping for hours!”

“I know,” she said as she disappeared around the end of the aisle. “Call that doctor.”

I pulled my phone out and flipped it open. My heart skipped a beat when I saw it was
Ethan Crane. I held the phone to my ear with one shoulder and swung the cart around
to head for the checkout lanes.

He said, “Hey, it’s Ethan. What are you doing?”

I thought for a moment. Just the sound of his voice made me a little weak in the knees.

“I’m shopping.”

“What for?”

I wondered how he would react if I said I was at Walmart buying a cartful of baby
supplies for an illegal alien and her newborn baby that I found this morning behind
the bushes in a bed of blood-soaked leaves.

“Hats,” I said.

“Fun. Listen, my friend just opened a restaurant downtown, and I was wondering if
you might want to go down and check it out this Friday night.”

I stopped the cart in the middle of the aisle. “With you?”

“Yes, with me.”

“Oh, sure,” I said. “I can do that.”

“I’m asking you to go with me. Like a date.”

“Yes, I got that.”

“Just making sure.”

I said, “No, I’d love to.”

I couldn’t think of anything I’d rather not do. Not that I hadn’t been thinking about
Ethan a lot lately, and not that I don’t find him completely irresistible, but the
idea of going on a date with him made me so nervous that I wanted to stick my head
in a hole.

“I have a meeting at six,” I lied. “So I’ll meet you there?”

“Excellent. Eight o’clock?”

Eight o’clock seemed horrible. “Perfect. See you then!”

As I clicked the phone off I heard him say, “Dixie, you don’t even know where—”

The D-word,
I said to myself as I rolled my cart into the checkout line. Ethan had used the damn
D-word. I’d known it was only a matter of time before he asked me out on a date, but
I still wasn’t ready for it. Did this man think we were going to be a couple now?
Did he think he was just going to drop in and sweep me off my feet? Did he know things
were over with Guidry?
Were
things over with Guidry? And did he not realize I had absolutely nothing cute to
wear?

Then I caught myself. There was that voice in my head again—telling me to run away,
to hide, to stay
safe.

I decided for now I wouldn’t think about it. Six bags and three hundred and seventy
five dollars later, I was back in the Bronco on my way to Joyce’s when the phone rang
again. It was Ethan, but this time I let it go to voice mail. Ethan had used the D-word.…

At Joyce’s, I carried the first two of the bags up the front walk and was about to
set them down on the mat when Joyce slipped out the front door and pulled it closed
behind her. She looked a little bit flustered.

“How is she?” I asked. “How’s the baby?”

“They’re fine, they’re fine,” she whispered. “They’re just waking up. But I have two
things to tell you.”

“Oh, no,” I said. “What happened?”

She looked over her shoulder and then leaned in with a whisper. “There’s ten one-thousand-dollar
bills in Corina’s purse!”

I put the bags down.

“What?”

She said, “I know, I know. I shouldn’t have been going through her purse, but she
was asleep and I thought I might be able to find a phone number, somebody I could
call and let them know she was okay, a relative or something, and that’s when I saw
the money. It’s just loose in her purse. Ten thousand dollars!”

“Does she know you found it?”

“No no no, she’s still resting and I put it right back. Oh, Dixie, why on earth would
she have that kind of money in her purse?”

I said, “Now, let’s don’t jump to any conclusions. For whatever reason, she has a
lot of money. It could be her life savings for all we know.”

“You’d think with that kind of money if she knew she was going to have a baby, she’d
at least have gotten a hotel room.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, and plus it’s none of our business.”

Joyce didn’t look convinced, and to tell the truth I wasn’t too sure either. It did
seem strange. Why would a young girl who apparently had nothing but a cardboard box
and the clothes on her back walk around with so much cash? I had heard that illegals
often come into the country with every penny they own. They need money to pay the
people who help smuggle them in, and they have to pay for everything with cash.
Still …

We decided to let it go. For whatever reason, Corina had a ton of money in her purse,
and it wasn’t our place to ask why. Although I did wonder if I shouldn’t give her
my Walmart receipt.

I said, “What’s the second thing?”

“What second thing?”

“The second thing you wanted to tell me.”

She nodded. “Oh yeah. You know that dead bird?”

“Yes?”

“Well it’s not dead!”

*   *   *

Joyce’s handbag was sitting on the coffee table in the living room. It had exploded.
There were bits and pieces of tissue thrown about, a scattering of crumbs from what
looked like a granola bar, a couple of lipstick cases, loose change, and a few fluffy
chartreuse feathers. Proudly perched atop the handbag in all its multicolored glory
was the resplendent quetzal, clutching a ring of keys in its bright yellow beak and
eyeing us curiously.

I said, “Joyce, that bird is not dead.”

She said, “Nope. In fact, it is very much alive.”

The bird cocked its head to one side, flicked the ring of keys onto the table, and
chirped what sounded like a cheerful
cool!

Joyce said, “I was in the bedroom with Corina and the baby, and I thought I heard
you out here unpacking things. I came out and there he was. He looks a little groggy,
but other than that he seems perfectly fine. Do you think he got sick and just passed
out?”

“Could be something he ate,” I said, “or just plumb exhausted. Do you have a box or
something we can put him in?”

“I can do better than that. I have an old antique birdcage in the garage.”

I kept an eye on the bird while Joyce went out to the garage. He did seem a little
out of sorts. Occasionally his eyelids would droop and he’d list to one side for a
split second, but since I’d never spent a lot of quality time with a resplendent quetzal,
for all I knew that was perfectly normal behavior.

Joyce returned with a beautiful handmade wire cage, about three feet tall. It had
a gabled roof and several swinging perches, a couple of wooden feeding boxes, and
a hinged door just big enough for the bird to fit through.

“Now all we have to do is catch him,” Joyce said.

I got down on my knees so my eyes weren’t higher than the bird’s and then shuffled
slowly toward him. He hopped to the far end of the handbag and eyed me warily.

“We could use the pool net,” Joyce said, “or I can throw a blanket over him and you
grab him.”

“I have a feeling it’s going to be a lot easier than that.”

Looking away from the bird, I moved my arm toward him with my palm down and two fingers
extended. He hopped right off the bag and onto my hand with a high-pitched
cool!
and started pecking at my watch.

Joyce said, “Oh my gosh! Who are you, the bird whisperer?”

“His flight feathers are clipped,” I said. “This little guy didn’t blow in with a
hurricane. He’s somebody’s pet.”

Joyce set the cage down on the coffee table and opened its little hinged door. Moving
my hand as slowly as possible, I ferried the bird up to the cage and held him level
with the doorway. He flicked his long tail a couple of times, looked at me with one
eye and then the other, and then hopped right in without so much as a peep.

There was a sharp intake of breath behind us, and we both started at the sound of
it. I turned to see Corina standing in the doorway of the bedroom, her eyes as big
as dinner plates and her jaw hanging wide open. She reached out to the door frame
to steady herself.

We both jumped up and helped her to the couch. I got a pillow to put behind her back,
and Joyce went into the kitchen to get a glass of water. Corina was staring at the
bird like it was a ghost.

“El pájaro,”
she said, shaking her head.
“Ay dios mío.”

Joyce came back with the water and handed it to Corina. “She must have seen it lying
dead on the path.”

“She probably thinks it’s a sign,” I said. “I know that’s what I’d be thinking if
I were her.”

I sat down on the couch next to her and pointed at the bird.

“Uh, the bird …
no es muerte. Es muy bueno!
”

“Yes,” Corina said and nodded. “It is good.”

“Joyce found it on the path this morning, uh …
esta mañana,
right before we heard the baby …
antes de la niña.
”

“Yes, yes,” Corina said. She couldn’t take her eyes off the bird.

“It’s very exotic,” I said, trying to think of the Spanish word for rare. “It’s not
from here.
No es de aquí.
”

“Dios mío,”
she said, shaking her head. “
Dios mío, dios mío, dios mío
.”

I decided to take this opportunity to ask Corina again about seeing a doctor. I had
the number that the young mother had given me at Walmart, and if anything was a sign,
it was that a random stranger had given us a doctor that supposedly wouldn’t ask too
many questions. I didn’t want to risk anyone turning Corina over to the immigration
officials, but I didn’t see how it was possible that we could let her go much longer
without at least having the baby looked at by a pediatrician—and this seemed like
my only chance.

“Corina,” I said, taking the crumpled napkin with the doctor’s number on it out of
my pocket.
“Es necessario…”

I paused to make sure I was using the right words.

She looked at the napkin and said, “Yes?”

“Es necessario … el médico.”

She was silent.

“
Es muy importante,
for the baby.”

She nodded. “Yes, yes I know.”

I tried to figure out a way to tell her that I had a doctor that would probably not
report her to immigration, but I just couldn’t do it. All I could do was look Corina
in the eye, woman to woman, and tell her with my voice that everything was going to
be okay.

I said,
“El médico es bueno.”

I could see a little note of doubt in her eyes, but it vanished. She seemed to understand.

She said, “Okay, I can go.”

“I promise nothing bad will happen,” I said, even though I knew I couldn’t honestly
make that promise, and I’m sure Corina knew it as well, but we had no choice.

I said, “I’ll call the doctor and make the appointment.
Comprende?
”

“Yes, I understand.
Gracias
, Dixie.”

Joyce handed me the phone, and I dialed the number on the napkin.

A woman answered the phone. “Doctor’s office, how can I help you?”

I said, “Hi, I wanted to know if I could talk to the doctor? I just have a few questions
for him before I make an appointment.”

She said, “What can I help you with?”

“Well, it’s a little personal, actually. I really would feel better if I could speak
to him directly.”

“Alright,” she said, “hold on while I get the doctor.”

“Thanks very much.” I nodded to Joyce and Corina. “She’s getting the doctor.”

There was a slight pause, and then the same woman said, “Hello, this is Dr. Harper.”

“Oh no,” I said. “I am a complete fool.”

The woman laughed and said, “No, no, it’s my fault, I should have told you when I
answered the phone. My receptionist is out today with the flu, so I’m wearing a variety
of hats and it’s making me a little bonkers.”

I knew right then and there that I could trust this doctor. I can relate to bonkers.

“A friend gave me your number,” I said. “I have a newborn that needs to see a doctor
right away.”

“Alright, when would you like to come in? And congratulations, by the way.”

I nearly shouted, “Oh, it’s not mine! It belongs to a friend, but she doesn’t speak
English so I’m calling for her.”

“I understand. I happen to have a cancellation tomorrow afternoon at three. Can you
bring the baby and the mother then?”

“Oh, that would be great, thank you so much.”

“And the name?”

“Corina … uh, hold on one sec.”

I covered the phone and turned to her. “What is your last name? Corina…”

She hesitated. It was clear she didn’t want to tell me, but she must have known there
was no sense in trying to hide anymore. We were clearly here to help her.

“Flores.”

“Corina Flores,” I said into the phone.

“And the baby’s name?”

I sighed. This was going to be tricker than I thought. I covered the phone again and
turned to Corina.