At First Sight - Nicholas Sparks [35]
“Why don’t you tell me what happened,” he said, trying his best to sound soothing.
It seemed to be exactly what she’d needed to hear, thank goodness, and her sobs began to subside. Again, she blew her nose.
“I was doing laundry and emptied the dryer to add the next load,” she said. “I knew he liked warm places, but I never bothered to check inside before I closed the door. I killed Boots.”
Boots, he thought. Got it. The cat was named Boots. Still, it didn’t make the rest of the story any clearer.
“When did this happen?” he tried again.
“Over the summer.” She sighed. “While I was packing for Chapel Hill.”
“Oh, we’re talking about when you went to college,” he said, feeling triumphant.
She looked over at him, obviously confused and irritated. “Of course I am. What did you think I was talking about?”
Jeremy knew it was probably best not to answer. “I’m sorry for interrupting. Go on,” he said, doing his best to sound sympathetic.
“Boots was my baby,” she said, her voice soft. “He was abandoned, and I found him when he was just a kitten. All through high school, he slept with me in bed. He was so cute—reddish brown fur and white paws—and I knew that God had given him to me to protect him. And I did . . . until I locked him in the dryer.”
She reached for another tissue. “I guess that he crawled into the dryer when I wasn’t paying attention. He’d done that before, so I usually checked, but for whatever reason, I didn’t do it that day. I just loaded the wet clothes from the washer into the dryer, closed the door, and hit the button.” The tears started again as Lexie went on, her words broken. “I was downstairs . . . half an hour later . . . when I heard the . . . the . . . thunking . . . and when I went to check . . . I found him—”
She broke down completely then, leaning against Jeremy. Instinctively, he pulled her closer, murmuring words of support.
“You didn’t kill your cat,” he reassured her. “It was an accident.”
She sobbed even harder. “But . . . don’t you . . . see?”
“See what?”
“That . . . I’ll be a . . . terrible mother. I . . . I . . . locked my poor cat . . . in the dryer. . . .”
“I just held her and she kept on crying,” Jeremy said at lunch the next day. “No matter how much I assured her that she’d be a wonderful mother, she wouldn’t believe me. She cried for hours. There was nothing I could say or do to console her, but she finally nodded off to sleep. And when she woke up, she seemed fine.”
“That’s pregnancy,” Doris said. “It’s like a great big amplifier. Everything gets bigger—your body, your tummy, your arms. Emotions and memories, too. You just go crazy every now and then, and sometimes you do the strangest things. Things you’d never do in other circumstances.”
Doris’s comment conjured up the image of Lexie and Rodney holding hands, and for an instant he wondered whether to mention it. As quickly as the thought came, he tried to dismiss it.
Doris seemed to read his expression. “Jeremy? Are you okay?”
He shook his head. “Yeah,” he said. “Just a lot on my mind these days.”
“About the baby?”
“About everything,” he said. “The wedding, the house. All of it. There’s so much to do. We’re closing on the house at the end of the month, and the only permit Gherkin could get was for the first weekend in May. There’s just a lot of stress these days.” He looked across the table at her. “Thanks for helping Lexie with the wedding plans, by the way.”
“No need to thank me. After our last conversation, I thought it was the least I could do. And there’s not that much to do, really. I’ll be making the cake and bringing some finger food for the outdoor reception, but other than that, there wasn’t much left once you got the permit. I’ll cover the picnic tables that morning, the florist will put some flowers out, and the photographer is good to go.”
“She told me she finally picked a dress.”
“She did. For Rachel, too, since she’s the maid of honor.”
“Does it hide Lexie’s tummy?”
Doris laughed. “That was her only stipulation. But don’t you worry, she’ll look beautiful—you can