The Space Between Sisters (22 page)

And there was another reason she didn't tell her sister then. Sharing it with Win might make
her
feel better, for a little while, but it would make Win feel
terrible
. And then there was the part about forgetting . . . It would be easier for her to forget by herself than for both of them to forget together, wouldn't it?

“Don't worry about me,” Poppy said now to Win, who still looked worried. “I'll get better. I promise.”

And, in fact, after Poppy returned to school a few days later, two good things happened to her, one after the other. The first happened while she was sitting in Spanish class. She'd felt a
familiar cramping sensation. She'd gotten a hall pass, and, in the third stall to the right in the second floor girl's bathroom, she'd learned that she was not pregnant. She was almost light-headed with relief, since this ended a fear almost too terrifying to consider.

And then, that night, a second good thing happened. She met Sasquatch for the first time. She was at her bedroom window, looking out at the night, and trying, hard, not to think about what had happened, when she saw a gray cat slinking along the fire escape. She wondered if he would come to her.

Three nights later, she stood there again.

“Poppy, what are you doing?” Win asked, irritably, from her bed. “I want to go to sleep.”

“I'm waiting for him,” she said.

“Waiting for who?”

“The cat.”

“You mean the flea-bitten thing that you
call
a cat,” Win said, with a groan. “Don't pet him anymore, Pops. I swear, if you do, you'll probably get some disease, and then you'll give it to me.”

But Poppy ignored her. She liked the cat. She'd already nicknamed him Sasquatch—Big Foot had been one of Poppy and Win's childhood obsessions—and she was of the opinion that while he might look a little matted, he most definitely did not have fleas. She knew because she'd petted him three nights in a row and she hadn't seen any on him. Now she hoped that if she left the lights on and the window open and stayed very still, and waited very patiently, he would come again.

“Pops, I'm tired,” Win said now. “I have an algebra test tomorrow. Can you please turn the light off?”

“In a minute,” Poppy said softly, because right then she saw Sasquatch edging along the fire escape.

Win huffed, and rolled over, pulling the covers over her head.

“Come here, boy,” Poppy whispered, but she knew he couldn't be hurried. He would come in his own good time. And, in fact, after a moment's hesitation, he leapt, gracefully, onto the windowsill. Poppy allowed herself to smile, but otherwise stayed still. Now Sasquatch sauntered, casually, over to her, as if their meeting here was a complete coincidence, and not something that was becoming a nightly ritual. Poppy waited until he stopped in front of her, then reached out, slowly, and began to stroke him, running her fingers lightly down his back, from his neck to his tail.

Where had he come from? she wondered. He didn't have a collar on him. Had he run away? Gotten lost? Been left behind? Or had he always been a stray? Or—and this was a worst-case scenario for Poppy—did he already belong to another person or another family, and was he simply visiting her on his nightly trek around the neighborhood? She didn't know. But she hoped, secretly, she was the only human in his life, or, if not the only one, than at least the most important one.

After Poppy petted Sasquatch for a few minutes, he began to purr. It sounded, at first, like an electrical hum, and then it progressed to a steady drone. Poppy sighed, contentedly.

“Pops,” Win mumbled. “The lights. Please.”

Poppy frowned, and went to turn off the lights. This was usually the point at which Sasquatch left, but tonight he stayed. Poppy, navigating in the dark, came back to the window. She had an idea. She'd never tried anything like this before, but tonight, for some reason, the timing seemed right. She patted Sasquatch again, and then she picked him up, carefully. She waited for some sign of resistance. None came. She carried him over to her bed and set him down on the end of it. She waited for him to jump off. Instead, he curled up with the air of someone who was settling in
for the night. Poppy closed the window, and locked it, and then got into bed, slowly, so as not to disturb him. Chances were, he'd wake her in the night and want to be let out the window so he could go back to wherever it was he'd come from.

When Poppy woke up in the morning, though, he was still there, curled up at the end of her bed, luxuriating in the sunshine streaming in through the window. She was so excited she could barely contain herself.
This is better than Christmas morning at Grandpa and Grandma's,
she thought, reaching down to pet him. He started purring again, almost immediately, and Poppy was so happy she barely paid any attention when Win rolled over in her bed and sat up and said, “Oh, my God. You let him sleep here.
Why,
Poppy?”

“Because he makes me feel safe,” Poppy said without thinking.

Later that week, she and her dad took Sasquatch to a veterinarian's office. Poppy was anxious because she was afraid that, for some reason, the veterinarian would tell her she couldn't keep Sasquatch. Poppy's dad was anxious because he knew this appointment would cost a lot of money and he had, as usual, very little of it. And Sasquatch was anxious, Poppy assumed, because this was a new and unfamiliar place for him, and because the staff here had already drawn his blood and given him a vaccine. (Poppy was grateful this part of the exam had been done behind the scenes, out of her sight; the very thought of someone sticking a needle into Sasquatch made her feel queasy.)

“It's okay, Sasquatch,” she whispered, near his ear, as she held him in her lap. “Everything's going to be all right.” And, in fact, at that moment, the veterinarian came back into the examination room, armed with a file folder and a reassuring smile.

“Thank you for waiting,” she said, as she pulled a plastic chair over to them and sat down. Poppy had liked her immediately. She
seemed so young to be wearing such a serious white coat, though Poppy was interested to see that she'd paired it with some very
un
serious looking high heels. “I've got some good news for you,” she said. “Your cat—Sasquatch,” she added, respectfully, “has already been neutered. He's healthy, and he doesn't have parasites or fleas.”

“I knew it,” Poppy said, loyally.

“Overall,” the vet continued, “he's in excellent health. Whoever last took care of him, took very good care of him.”

“So he's not a feral cat?” Poppy asked. She'd been doing research on feral cats at her school library.

“No. He's definitely not feral. He's too tame. Which brings me to my only real concern here. Are you sure you've done everything you can to find his former owner?”

Poppy nodded, emphatically. “He never had a collar on,” she said. “And my sister and I put up flyers with his picture on them all over the neighborhood. And I called all the local animal shelters and gave them his description.” This was true. She had done all of these things. She hadn't wanted him to be found, but, on the other hand, she hadn't wanted to keep him if she couldn't do it with a clear conscience.

“All right then,” the vet said, beaming at her and Sasquatch. “I think it's fair to say that you, young lady, have got yourself a cat.”

Poppy smiled, enthusiastically, but her dad managed only a halfhearted “How about that.” Poppy glanced at him. He looked tired. He'd had a late night last night, he'd told her, though as far as she could tell,
all
of his nights were late nights.

“How old do you think he is?” Poppy asked the vet, ignoring him.

“Based on his muscle tone and his fur, I would say about two or three years old.”

“Did you hear that?” Poppy said to Sasquatch. “We're going to have a long time together.”

“I hope so,” the vet said, smiling, but then she turned serious. “My guess is that Sasquatch was abandoned by someone. It's hard to know why. Sometimes, it's due to an owner's death, or a move to another city. Sometimes a family falls on hard times, or a couple splits up and a pet falls through the cracks. If that's the case with him,” she said, giving Sasquatch an expert pat, “then I don't think you need to worry about him leaving. But if he left his old owner voluntarily, despite the fact that they were taking good care of him, he might leave again sometime. There are cats like that. They have something . . . call it wanderlust, that makes them not want to stay in any one place for too long. On a brighter note, though,” she said, going to get some pamphlets for Poppy. “Let's go over his care and feeding instructions.”

After the appointment, Poppy and her dad stood on the corner outside the veterinarian's office, waiting for the light to change. Poppy was holding Sasquatch in his pet carrier, a new purchase of which she was very proud, and her dad was looking wistfully at a bar across the street. He slid his wallet out of his pocket and opened it up. It only had a few ones left in it.

“Your friend here cleaned me out, kid,” he said, gesturing at Sasquatch.

“Sorry, Dad,” Poppy said. But she wasn't. She asked so little of him, of both of her parents. Besides, she
needed
Sasquatch. Needed him more than her dad could know. He made her feel safe, something Win found absurd.
How can a twelve-pound ball of fur make you feel safe?
she'd asked Poppy.
He just can,
Poppy had said, without trying to explain.

“You know, sweetheart,” her dad said now, as the light changed
and they started across the street, “your sister thinks she might be allergic to this cat.”

“I'll be very careful he stays on my side of the room and I'll vacuum every day,” she said.

“Okay,” her dad said, doubtfully. “What about what the vet said, though? About how he could leave again one day?”

“Don't worry. He won't,” Poppy said, confidently.

And he didn't. He never left. Not once in all those years. Oh,
he wandered
. He wandered
a lot
. But he always came back. He always came home. And it was because of this that she always had a home for him to come back to, even when that “home” was never anything much to brag about. She'd wanted to take good care of him. And she had, hadn't she? His life had been as comfortable, as safe, and as pleasant as she'd known how to make it. Of all the responsibilities she'd shirked, she hadn't shirked this one. And of all the relationships she'd failed at, she hadn't failed at this one.

She'd wondered, often, what would have happened to her if she hadn't adopted him. As it was, there hadn't been much stability in her life, but what little there had been, she could credit him for, and Win, too, of course. They'd been the two constants in her life, the twin lights by which she'd navigated the years.

She leaned down and kissed the top of his head. She'd done her best by him, and it went without saying that he'd done his best by her. “Thank you, Sasquatch,” she whispered, wishing that she were more eloquent, and that she could provide him with the tribute she knew he deserved before tomorrow morning. But words failed her. In the end, all she said to him, sitting in one of the back booths at Pearl's, was, “You were a good cat.” As inadequate as those words were, they would have to be enough.

W
hen Poppy returned to the cabin, Win was waiting for her on the front porch. “Dr. Swanson called after you left his office,” she said, coming down the steps as Poppy was taking Sasquatch's pet carrier out of the backseat. “He was worried about you.”

“I'm fine,” Poppy said, not meeting her eyes.

“Poppy, I'm sorry. I'm
really
sorry
. And about Sasquatch . . . I had
no
idea he was so sick. Here, let me take that,” she said, reaching for the pet carrier, but Poppy shrugged off her help.

“I've got it,” she said, heading up the steps. By the time she reached the top step, though, she felt suddenly light-headed. She sat down, and put Sasquatch's pet carrier beside her. “I'm just going to rest here for a second,” she said.

Win sat down beside her, and watched as she took Sasquatch out. “
Oh,
poor guy,” she said.

“You hate him,” Poppy pointed out, still not looking at her.

“I don't
hate
him,” Win said. “I just can't look at him without sneezing. Can I . . . ?” she asked, reaching for him. And Poppy,
stony-faced, let her take him. In all the years she'd had him, Win had never voluntarily held him, but now, Poppy realized, she did it with surprising naturalness.

“Hey, big guy,” Win said, softly, and she rubbed him under his chin, just the way he liked it. “Everything's going to be all right,” she murmured, eliciting a faint purr from him.

“He seems to be feeling better,” she said to Poppy, looking over at her. “What about you. Are you doing okay?”

Poppy shrugged, trying to maintain her aloofness. “I'm fine,” she said.

Win looked at her and shook her head, wordlessly. Her expression said,
You're
not
fine. You're a wreck. Do you think I've known you my whole life without learning
anything
about you?

“Oh, Win,” Poppy said, her stoicism crumbling. “I'm so scared. What am I going to do? I'm supposed to go back there with him tomorrow, but I can't. I just can't.”

“Yes, you can,” Win said calmly, still rubbing Sasquatch underneath his chin. “Because you don't have to go there alone. I'm going to go with you. And I'm going to stay with you, both of you, the whole time.”

“You are?” Poppy said. She felt her fear recede a little.

“Of course,” Win said, and she put an arm around Poppy. Poppy edged closer to her, and put her head on Win's shoulder.

“I don't know what I'd do without you,” Poppy said, closing her eyes. “I'm sorry I said those things. I didn't mean to hurt you. You're the
last
person I would ever want to hurt. You're my family. You and Sasquatch.” But as she said Sasquatch's name it caught in her throat.

Win pulled Poppy closer. “I love you, Pops. You know that, don't you?”

“I know. I love you, too,” she murmured. It was quiet on the porch for a little while, until Poppy, lifting her head, asked, “Where's Everett?”

Win groaned. “You weren't the only one I got into an argument with today.”

“Really? You and Everett?”

Win nodded glumly. “I'll tell you about it later. Right now, I think we should focus on our friend here. You take him,” she said, handing Sasquatch over to Poppy. “I think he misses you.”

Poppy held him. He was still low energy, but he seemed better somehow since he'd gotten the IV fluids and the pain medication. She nuzzled his neck.

“It looks like a storm's coming,” Win said, pointing to the darkening sky. And it was. Poppy could feel it. It had been maddeningly still and airless all week but now a breeze was shaking the leaves on the trees, and from nearby came a rumble of thunder.

“Should we go inside?” Win asked, reaching for the pet carrier. Poppy nodded. And just as they were closing the front door there was a flash of lightning. This was soon followed by a violent thunderstorm, the kind that no summer at Butternut Lake was ever complete without. Sasquatch, fortunately, appeared not to care. He was drugged into a state of contentment no amount of thunder seemed capable of penetrating. Poppy sat with him on the couch while Win made chicken salad sandwiches for dinner and later, they tried, without success, to interest Sasquatch in his dinner.

Then Poppy and Win talked late into the night—about Sasquatch, about their parents, and about what Poppy would do now that she once again had no job—and when they fell asleep, on top of the covers of Win's bed, with a throw blanket pulled over them, the rain was coming down steadily outside, and Sasquatch was nestled comfortably between them.