The Warmest December (12 page)

“Yes, Da—” My words got caught in my throat at the sight before me. Hy-Lo had Pricilla clutched by the skin of her back—suspended in the air before him. She was hissing and spitting, trying frantically to free herself.

I wanted to run to her and snatch her from his grip, but my feet were glued to the floor, my mouth hung open.

“This cat—” He spoke low. “This cat has been stealing food.” He slapped her across her nose and she hissed. Her breathing was becoming labored and her tongue hung out of her mouth lapping for air.

“She’s been stealing food right out of the goddamn refrigerator!” He shook her with every loud angry word. He shook her and my insides twisted, my heart dropped down to my stomach and then shot up into my throat. I could feel tears stinging at my eyes.

I knew she was doing it. I’d walked into the kitchen one day just as she’d managed to claw the refrigerator door open. I watched in awe as she stood on her hind legs and carefully examined the contents of the refrigerator shelves, finally settling for a slice of baked ham that Hy-Lo had placed uncovered on a plate.

“Daddy.” My words were barely a whisper. I extended my hand out toward him unable to say any more. “Please, Daddy, please.”

He turned and looked at me, his face creased and bloated, his eyes red. I saw evil living there and my hate for him increased. I thought about running to the record player and getting the gun. I took one step sideways toward the living room.

Pricilla hissed again and twisted herself enough to take a swipe at Hy-Lo. Blood sprouted out of the top of his hand and then oozed onto the floor.

“Damnit!” Hy-Lo yelled and Pricilla dropped with a thud to the floor. She was moving so fast that she was no more than a black-and-white blur when she skidded past me. She took the corner too fast and slammed headfirst into the wall. She recovered quickly and disappeared into the dark living room.

Hy-Lo stood staring at his hand; the deep scratch bubbled up revealing pink and white flesh. I half-expected to see the coat of the wild thing that lived inside of him. A thin stream of blood spilled out and onto the white linoleum. That seemed to make him angrier than his wound and he turned eyes on me that were filled with rage.

Hy-Lo cussed under his breath and moved to the sink; he turned on the cold water and shoved his hand beneath the rushing water. His face cringed at the sting the water dealt his open wound.

I waited.

He snatched the dish towel from its place on the rung over the sink and wrapped his hand in the soiled cloth. I almost smiled at the infection I was sure would set up there. I had wiped a spill off the floor with it earlier in the day.

“That cat is going the hell out of here!” he bellowed as he moved past me and into the living room. He flicked the light on and began looking behind the couch and the potted plant that he had picked up for Delia after he’d thrown out the small pots of jasmine she’d had growing on the windowsill.

I knew where she was and my heart beat loudly at the secret I held. The deafening sound of it caused my head to spin and I grabbed the wall for support.

“Go and find her!” he yelled over his shoulder as he checked behind the couch for the third time. He was spilling blood all over the couch and the floor. “Damnit!” he screamed and stomped to the bathroom.

“Jesus Christ, what the hell is going on?’ Delia was standing in the doorway; the whites of her eyes were tawny and her bottom lip hung limp. Her hair was a disheveled mass and for the first time I noticed that she was wearing the same clothes she had worn the day before.

“Shut the fuck up, Delia,” Hy-Lo said as he came slamming back out of the bathroom. His hand was wrapped in a baby blue washcloth, the one with the yellow duck. It was mine. I would have to remember to drop it down the incinerator. “Where is it?” He was looking behind the couch again. “Kenzie!”

“I-I don’t know,” I said and looked at Delia.

“Who are you looking for?” Delia asked as she stepped into the living room and stood near Hy-Lo.

He stood up, considered her for a moment, and then pushed past her so hard that her shoulder hit the wall with a loud thud. She grimaced at the pain and then smirked at Hy-Lo’s back. He was in their bedroom on his knees, peering beneath the bed and cursing at the shadows and dust bunnies that looked back at him.

Malcolm, who had been in our bedroom, came to the door and looked at me. I shook my head in warning and waved him back. He did not argue and hurriedly returned to the safety of his bed, thumb, and G.I. Joe figurine.

“Look for her, Kenzie!” Hy-Lo slammed into my bedroom and ordered Malcolm out of the bed. “Get your ass up and find that piece-of-shit cat. Now!”

Malcolm scrambled from the bed and dropped to his knees, searching beneath the beds for Pricilla.

Delia looked at me and mouthed,
What happened?

I stared at her as if she were crazy. Did she really expect me to explain her husband’s madness to her?
You lie down with
him every night; you tell me what happened.
That’s what I wanted to say, but I just shrugged my shoulders and looked behind the potted plant again.

Hy-Lo was in the living room again; the washcloth was soaked with his blood, turning it a dirty burnt-orange color. He peered down at it and his rage increased. “Call her,” he said and his voice shook. “Call her,” he repeated and spittle flew from his mouth.

I looked at Delia, who had settled herself against the wall. Hy-Lo’s head jerked and she bounced upright as if his movement were a quick reminder of how much he hated anyone touching his walls.

I glanced down at the faded brown of his slippers and the tiny drops of blood that lay drying there and opened my mouth and called out her name. “Pricilla.” It was barely a whisper.

“Louder, Kenzie,” Hy-Lo said and raised his hand in preparation to backhand me if I didn’t obey.

“Pricilla,” I said again, louder. “Here, girl …
pssssst-psssst-psssst
.” I knew no matter how much I called her she wouldn’t come. She could smell him there and sense the danger. Delia unglued herself and stepped carefully around Hy-Lo, her mouth dropped open for a split second as her eyes caught sight of the bloody washcloth. Again she looked at me, but this time her mouth did not ask the question that her eyes asked:
What happened?

She stood there for a moment, her eyes moving between me and Hy-Lo’s wrapped hand. Her eyes moved back and forth like the glass eyes of the dolls she brought me as a child.

“Pricilla,” I called again as Delia moved by me and into the kitchen.

Hy-Lo slammed his wounded fist into the wall and left a bloody smudge there, before stomping into the bathroom again. I could hear the shower curtain being pulled back and forth on the rod. Back and forth until the pink seashell rings that held it gave way with six pops and the curtain fell crumpled into the tub. The lid to the hamper opened and the toilet seat slammed up and then down again. I knew Hy-Lo had lost it. “Kenzie!” he yelled at the top of his voice and flew out of the bathroom toward me.

I raised my hands to protect my face; he was on me before I could brace myself. He snatched at my arm and pulled me into him. His breath was hot on my face and it reeked with the stink of liquor and Camel cigarettes.

“Find that damn cat or it will be your behind. Do you understand me?” He was sweating and I could smell the white rum seeping out through his pores; it was a sick sweet smell that turned my stomach.

“Pricilla,” I called again between the sobs that had started to tear through my body.

“Louder!” he screamed.

“Pricilla!” I matched his deafening tone with my own.

Delia was moving past me again, her features seeming to hang on her face. She wiped at the corner of her mouth as she moved around me; her steps were unsure, and she wobbled for a moment and I caught a whiff of something, but it was gone before I could place it.

“Kenzie!” Hy-Lo’s voice snatched my attention away and I followed it into my room, where he was bent over in my closet tossing out toys, old dolls, and worn sneakers. Each item hit the floor with a loud thud that made me jump with each impact. A shoe box came flying out, barely missing Malcolm’s leg as it crashed to the floor, the lid propelled through the air, and Malcom’s matchbox car collection scattered across the floor like fifty colorful water bugs on the run.

Marbles, Easy Bake oven accessories, and Silly Putty eggs followed until the contents of the closet lay strewn across the floor.

“Throw it all out!” Hy-Lo yelled in a crazed voice. We moved quickly and without question. Both Malcolm and I ran to the kitchen to retrieve garbage bags. That’s when we saw her. Pricilla had left the safety of her hiding place and had settled herself comfortably on the kitchen windowsill.

I froze.

Malcolm hadn’t noticed her lounging there and had hurried back to the bedroom. I could hear Hy-Lo snapping the black plastic Hot Wheels tracks in two and the shrieking sound of the fire truck Mable had brought Malcolm for his birthday as Hy-Lo’s foot came down on its shiny red back.

Pricilla’s big black eyes looked into my own and then she lifted her leg to clean the soft fur of her belly.

I thought about raising the screen and tossing her out the window. I told myself that cats always land on their feet. But suppose that wasn’t the case?

I was torn and my mind was going too fast for my body to keep up. I moved in slow motion toward her, but by then it was too late, Hy-Lo was standing behind me.

He knocked me to one side and snatched Pricilla up by her throat.

“No!” I yelled. “Daddy, please!” I begged and snatched at his shirt. Hy-Lo shrugged me off as effortlessly as if I had been a fly and I went hurling into the refrigerator, sending the mayonnaise jar off the metal shelf inside.

I followed him out into the living room and then to the small hallway that connected my bedroom with my parents’. He stopped there and swung open the closet door. He kept his coats in there: a brown corduroy car coat with a beige collar and a blue waist jacket he wore in the spring.

I knew I was still begging and pleading because I could feel my lips moving, my tongue hitting against the roof of my mouth, and my throat was going dry and tight, but I couldn’t hear my words or any sound around me.

I knew I was begging because my hands were stretched out in front of me, my hands opening and closing—pulling at the air, hoping it would pull at Pricilla too. Her eyes were rolling up in her head and slipping back down to look at me before rolling up in her head again. Hy-Lo’s fingers were locked around her neck, cutting off her air; her chest rose and fell, pulling in nothing.

Delia was sitting there on the edge of the bed, cocking her head left then right then left again. Her eyes were cloudy and she couldn’t get her bottom lip to stay up. She looked like she wanted to say something, but it seemed every time she opened her mouth to try and do just that, the words vanished from her mind.

Hy-Lo held Pricilla way out from him while he dug through the toolbox he kept in his closet. Pricilla was almost dead by then, her paws moved like she was treading water at the shallow end of a pool—easy-like, without the worry that the bottom wouldn’t be there if she had to stand up suddenly.

Hy-Lo pulled out his hammer, a big silver thing with a black rubber handle; it had only been used once to pound a nail in the wall to hang up a picture of the black Jesus Christ over their bed.

He pulled Pricilla closer to him, shook her once or twice until her tail whipped up and her eyes slipped back down to look at me, and then he raised the hammer way up over her head.

The sound came back then, as if a vacuum were turned on inside my body, opening up my ears, allowing everything to rush in at one time. I heard Pricilla mew like a newborn baby, her eyes rolled over me one last time, and I could swear I saw a tear dribble from her eye and get caught in her long white whiskers. Then the sickening sound of the hammer as it crushed her small skull crawled through me, blood spattered the walls, and I fainted right where I stood.

The room was silent except for the sound of my bones rattling beneath my skin. My fingers were stiff and achy from gripping the podium so hard. Someone said it was okay and then another person said it would be all right. Words kept coming at me until the whole room was offering expressions of solace, and then the Korean girl came up and put her hand around my waist. “You did fine,” she whispered in my ear as she guided me toward the back of the room. Someone offered me a Kleenex and I looked at the white sheet of tissue in astonishment, because I didn’t even know I had been crying.

I watched as others stood, introduced themselves, and began to tell their stories, but my mind wasn’t with them. The rest of the story, the part I’d left out, filled my brain and blocked out everything that was going on around me.

I took another sip of my now cold coffee, leaned my head back against the wall, and let the memory have its way with me. I let it come.

After Hy-Lo killed Pricilla I didn’t speak to anyone for two days. I just lay in bed and stared at the wall. I kept seeing Pricilla looking to me for help and me unable to do anything. The sound of her skull being crushed filled my head like running water, and then there was the gun.

I can remember thinking about it every other minute. I touched the palm of my hand and imagined the cold feel of the metal there. The thought made my heart race.

Malcolm told me that Hy-Lo had wrapped Pricilla in a plastic bag and dumped her down the incinerator chute. He wasn’t being mean but I punched him hard in his chest anyway.

On Monday Delia walked into my room and snapped the shade up. “Are you feeling better, Kenzie?” Her voice held little concern and she asked the question because it was her duty as a mother.

She was dressed in a crisp red dress that had a white sailor’s collar. Her hair was pulled neatly back into a ponytail and her lips were painted a cool burgundy.

“No,” I mumbled and pulled the covers up over my head.

She stood there for a while. Maybe she was looking at me or maybe she was thinking about not ever coming back to that place once the big clock on the wall of her office struck five.