Tin Lily by Joann Swanson Read Free Book Online Page B

sign. I know right off I’m going to like this place. The front picture window holds a big display of books and a tabby cat, orange-and-white striped, stretched out on a cushy bed, watching the world go by. A bell jingles over the door when we open it. The cat raises his head, but doesn’t get up. He’s watching me with yellow eyes and I can’t help but ignore the stacks of books and head right to his perch.
    Pretty soon I’m leaning into the display window, giving the tabby’s head a stroke.
    “His name’s Cheetah.”
    I glance over to see a woman with long white-gray hair and a worn face. Happiness and intelligence dance in her eyes and her smile is easy.
    “He’s sweet,” I say. By now Cheetah’s getting up off his bed so he can have a more thorough pet. He looks ready to jump into my arms.
    “Careful, he’ll decide to go home with you.”
    “That’d be okay, huh, boy?” I give his silky ears a good rub and turn back to Margie.
    Her eyes are full, her mouth turned up. “I think he likes you,” she says, pointing over my shoulder.
    I look and Cheetah’s stretched as far toward me as he can get, his paw just brushing Mom’s sweater. I crouch down and he climbs onto my bent legs. The lady with the worn face lets out a big laugh. “Well, I guess you’ve been claimed.” She steps behind the front counter and I see now she’s the owner of the shop.
    I sit down on the floor and let Cheetah cuddle in. “You go ahead, Aunt Margie. I’ll stay here a little while.”
    Margie smiles and nods. “Okay, kiddo. I’ll check on you in a few.” She wanders into the shop while I stroke Cheetah, accept his kisses on my cheek. With this orange fur ball on my lap, I feel a little something inside. It’s not a big something, not anything earth-shattering. A quiet something that made Margie smile. Cheetah feels like a tether. He makes me want to ignore the buzzing, to keep out of the quiet place, to stay here for a little while.
    “Never seen him do that with someone so soon. You’ve got the touch,” the store owner says from her spot behind the counter.
    “Okay.”
    Her laugh, loud and good-natured, bounces off the books around me. It’s not like Mom’s soft tinkling laugh, but still nice. She disappears into a room I haven’t noticed until now—her office, I think.
    Cheetah’s busy purring and kneading my leg with sharp claws when I hear the bell over the door jingle. Paint-splattered work boots stop in front of me. Hank. I keep my eyes on Cheetah, remembering not-Hank at the airport, at the dog food house. This will be a not-Hank too, I tell myself.
    “That’s a cute kitty you’ve got there, Beans.”
    I look up slowly. My eyes are his eyes. He’s not wearing flannel, but a black button-down shirt instead, different jeans, no stains, same crazy smile.
    “Leave me alone,” I say. I don’t expect the tremble in my voice or my words. I want him to disappear like the others, disappear because he’s not really here.
    He laughs his soft, mad laugh and slowly lowers himself to the floor. He sits cross-legged like me, our knees almost touching. Today he doesn't smell like anything and I wonder where his whiskey’s gone, where he's stashed the mints he’s always chewing to cover up his boozy breath. “Sorry, kiddo. We’ve got some talking to do.”
    I look around the shop. We’re alone. It doesn't matter. I can’t tell Aunt Margie Hank’s here. If he’s in Seattle, he’ll hurt Margie. If he isn't and I’m crazy, it’s Mack and Darcy’s for me. Or the loony bin.
    “Could we talk later maybe?”
    “Where’s my sister?” He says the word like it tastes bad in his mouth, like Margie being his sister makes him feel sick.
    My neck cracks when I shake my head side-to-side. “Leave Aunt Margie alone.” I plead with my voice, with my eyes.
    Hank laughs again and reaches across to stroke Cheetah’s head. His laugh reminds me of when he would call at night to say bad things about Mom, make fun of us