Page 122 of Forfeits

“No. No. No. No.”

She clutched at my arm and gazed into my eyes with such desperation, I felt it to my bones.

I spoke in a whisper, my mouth close to her ear. “I know how it feels. Trust me. You lost a son. I lost a—a husband, and the—father of my daughter.” I took a breath that felt like a razor to my chest. “But it wasn’t anybody’s fault. Nobody could help Daniel. Not you. Not me. Not Lucy. Not Brian.”

As if I’d given her permission, Annie took a deep, shuddering breath and collapsed against me, sobbing and shaking, the withheld grief of the last three years finally taking hold.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, and I meant for Daniel’s untimely death, but also for the hateful feelings I’d had for Annie and Brian, and the way we’d been fighting each other, when we should be standing strong together.

I held her while she let out all of her sadness and pain, and the body of the dead kitten lay, forgotten, on the floor.

After a long time, Annie’s breathing evened out, and I thought she might have fallen asleep. Then I started to worry she’d had a medical incident. And the smell in that room was becoming too difficult to bear.

I shook her gently.

“Annie. Hey, Annie.”

She jerked—maybe she had dozed off. She stared at me with her wet, grief- stricken face. She looked so old.

“Oh, Fletcher,” she said, and I was worried she’d start crying again. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for…everything.” Her voice was a whisper. “You’re a good father. Lucy is better off with you looking after her,” she said, choking on emotion. ’

I nodded, unable to say anything as I pulled her close again. My heart broke for the pain Annie must have been feeling and swelled with relief at having the threat of a court battle for Lucy taken away. I blinked back tears and wondered at the way the world worked.

When Annie was able to get up, I wrapped the kitten’s body in a clean towel then drove us to a nearby veterinary hospital. I explained what had happened, and the person at reception got one of the vets to come and get the kitten, asking us to wait while they did some tests and checked things out.

I was pretty sure it was too late for any chance at reviving the wee thing, but I wasn’t a vet, so I’d let the professionals take over and they could break the news officially to Annie.

We sat side by side. Annie’s hair was in disarray, and she was wearing track pants and a T-shirt under her jacket. I was so used to seeing her all put together and made up that it was sobering to see her this way, raw and unkempt.

We both smelled like cat piss.

I held Annie’s hand. We didn’t speak, but we seemed, for the first time, united in our grief. The vet had come out and asked Annie all the pertinent questions. She’d answered them in faltering sentences:

Yes, the kitten had been eating and drinking…all the time.

No, it hadn’t gotten into anything to Annie’s knowledge.

Yes, it had been sleeping a lot but wasn’t that normal? It had been active, chasing toys and trying to climb the curtains.

Had she noticed any blood in the kitten’s stools? She hadn’t.

Finally, Dr. Ortiz invited us into an examination room. She closed the door and offered Annie a seat in one of the chairs.

“I’m so sorry, but I’m afraid Lilly has passed.”

I tightened my grip on Annie’s hand as she nodded. She seemed more herself now and at least had had some time to adjust to this probability.

The vet glanced at me.

“Are you Mrs. Marin’s son?”

I opened my mouth to explain but before I had a chance, Annie spoke up.

“Yes,” she said, reaching for my hand again. I had to blink a few times to keep control.

“Well,” Dr. Ortiz said, her gaze moving back and forth between us, “we can do an autopsy to determine the exact cause of death, but that’s going to be expensive. I can tell you what we think it was, if you’d like?”

“Yes, please.” Annie’s voice was a whisper.

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