Page 44 of Cascade

“Hey, Precious, don’t make me leave this cat here and come hug you,” he says. “The important thing is we got him help right away. Babe, Aneke says he’s going to be just fine. Just fine. How much longer will you be there with my family?”

He no sooner gets the words out then the room erupts with the Crawford and Baker family pouring in from the waiting room. Everyone is shouting and hugging and crying and tickling Louie’s toes while Hunter flits around threatening to vaccinate everyone himself if they’re not up to date on their shots.

“Sounds like you have to go,” Archer laughs, though I can barely hear him. “I’ll meet you at home with your fur baby, ok?”

I hang up with him and brush away my tears, not sure anymore if they’re flowing in relief or guilt or fear. But I do know that when Rose and Daniel pull me in for a group hug and thank me for the care I show to their family, a huge, cleansing gush of fresh emotion seeps out of me.

By the time I pull out of the hospital lot toward home, I realize I forgot to tell all of them that Fletcher had arrived and been derailed by community service.

CHAPTER FORTY

Archer

ANEKE SENDS ME on my way with Oscar, some eyedrops and some wheat grass we’re supposed to offer him as a healthy alternative to poisonous flowers. I get to my house with my arms full of cat supplies just as Fletcher slips in the back door in the Santa suit.

“Bull shit you finished the whole route this early,” I tell him, raising one brow at him skeptically. “I’m never done before one.” It’s not even midnight, which means I have a few minutes to rescue Christmas Eve with Opal if I can come up with a tree alternative.

“Not quite done yet, big brother,” he smirks. “But I am clearly more efficient than you at this work.” I make like I’m going to punch him, and he pulls me in for a hug. “Come give the Claus a squeeze,” he says in a fake deep voice. “Ho, ho, ho, Archer Crawford.” He pulls me into a head lock. Did he get this much stronger than me or am I just so exhausted that I can’t push him off? “Have you been a good boy this year?”

“Come on, dickweed.” I’m shouting into his red velvet armpit and even the cat is perking up to see what’s going on.

Fletcher releases me abruptly and I stumble back. He holds up one gloved finger. “I had some helpers along the way,” he says, and then he pulls a two-foot tall tree out of his sack, the kind that comes in its own pot so you can plant it outside if you feel like it. “I heard your feline friend wants a tree to knock over.”

“Fletch.” I have no idea what to say to him, especially when he pulls out a new package of solar-powered twinkle lights. Fletcher uses his teeth to pull off the Claus gloves and winds the lights around the little tree.

“These are from Matthew and Aneke,” he says. “They’re pre-charged. Because of course they are.” He flips a switch and the tiny tree lights up. The two of us just stand there for a few minutes in my kitchen, staring at the glowing tree. The cat slowly climbs out of his cat carrier and makes his way toward his water dish, lapping at the drink and then, just as I suspected, he sits back, grooming himself and gazing at the little fir tree.

The kitchen smells like Christmas. My brother drapes his arm around my shoulders and says, “When did you get a cat?”

I don’t look at him, but I say, “He belongs to my girlfriend, but he likes me better.”

After Fletcher and I review all the Crawford drama from the past year in more detail, he heads off to my parents’ house, hoping they’ll be coming home soon to at least unlock the doors for him. I offer to let him sleep over, but my heart isn’t in the invitation, and he can tell. I’m too excited to get my arms around Opal.

I crouch on the kitchen floor, gently stroking Oscar’s fur as much as he will let me. I brought some towels and a blanket down for him to nestle into so he doesn’t have to venture far from his water. The back door eventually creaks open and she finds me there, cradling the cat and gazing at the tree.

She claps her hands together over her mouth, taking in the sights in the room. “I missed you,” I say, patting the ground beside me. “Did you bring a picture of my nephew?” She rests her head on my shoulder. “I’ll trade you the phone for the cat.” As I ease Oscar into her lap, I feel Opal practically thrumming with joy to see him doing so much better. “Is it wrong that I’m happy to be holding him, even though I know he’s only allowing it because he’s sick?”

“It’s ok to enjoy being needed,” I tell her. I start to run my fingers through her hair, the phone forgotten. “I think I’m better when I know people need me.” We sit that way for awhile longer, and I watch as the clock passes midnight. “Merry Christmas, Precious,” I whisper, and I pull her in for a kiss.

Opal asks if I think it’s nuts if we sleep downstairs with Oscar and I shake my head. “Not nuts,” I tell her. “Let me go get some more blankets.” I rush upstairs and yank everything off my bed, inhaling as I head back down the steps. My pillows smell like roses now, like Opal’s shampoo. I want them to always smell this way, like I want her to always be here with me in my house.

I lay everything out on the floor near the cat and we lie down, still staring at the tiny tree. “This is really nice,” she whispers into my chest.

“Mmhmm,” I say. I’m tired to my core, but I have so much I want to say to her. So much I need her to hear. “Everything is nice when you’re here, Opal Whittaker,” I mumble. She rises up on one elbow and looks at me. “It’s true what I said before. I’m a better person when people depend on me. Work is better now that I have to get my shit together and be organized with Thistle around. This house is better now that there are people—and animals—who need it to be a certain way.”

To punctuate my point, I prop my feet up on Opal’s work bag that she set on the ground near the kitchen table, across from where we’re sprawled out on pillows and the comforter from my bed. “I don’t know what my place is in this town,” I tell her. “I’m not a genius, I’m not an entrepreneur. I feel like I’ve been drifting around sort of aimless until you cascaded into my life, Opal.”

I can see her breathing, see the pulse tick in her neck. She swallows but doesn’t say anything. “I need you, Opal, and I know that’s hard for you. That it’s asking a lot for you, but I want you to stay.”

“Stay?”

“Stay. Here. Not just until the smell is gone and my family’s healthy. I want you to stay withme.”

An eternity passes while she stares into my eyes, licks her lips, considers. “I want that, Archer. But I’m scared.”

“I know you are, Precious.” I kiss her hand, and then I groan as she stretches up to kiss me on the mouth. This time, her kiss is the one that’s demanding, searching for something. She’s asking for something as she explores, and I want to help her find it. We fall asleep that way, kissing, stroking each other, quietly lying down with Oscar as he drifts off to sleep beside us.

It’s the best Christmas I’ve ever had.

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