Page 30 of Sustain

“Do you ever take a day off from being a hero?” I ask and take in his snow-dampened hair and flexing biceps as he tries to warm himself. Part of me wants nothing more than to help him, but I choose to keep the cat as my only charge.

A wry smile lifts his expression as he rubs at his feet. “I suppose it’s getting to be time for me to reveal my secret superhero identity, isn’t it?”

“I knew it. I knew there was something special about you.” As soon as I say it, I clamp my lips shut and can feel the embarrassment show on my face. I know that what I said can be taken many ways, and to be honest I probably meant them in all the ways it could be taken. And, as I glance up at him and his soft green eyes that seem to see into my soul, I don’t want to take it back.

Heisspecial.

His immediate conviction to save this cat, this poor little frozen being, only proves that point.

The question is, what do I do about that?

eighteen

. . .

Dead Talk

Ian

When Mackenzie gets up to make us both coffees to warm up, I carefully cradle the bundled feline, willing my own warmth deeper into its tiny frozen body. Its tremors slowly subside as I rub its legs through the blanket, its coat drying in silky black tufts against my arms. When she returns, I glance up to catch Mackenzie watching me, cheeks still endearingly flushed from my superhero quip and our close proximity sharing space by the firelight.

“Any sign of consciousness yet in our new friend?” she asks, shifting closer, a tentative smile playing at her lips.

I gently part the blanket near the cat’s face. Its breaths seem less labored now, easing out in a reassuring rhythm, but their eyes remain closed. “Doesn’t seem ready to wake just yet. But getting stronger, I hope.”

Mackenzie lifts a hand, hesitating. “May I?” My heartbeat quickens as her fingers brush mine, contact warming me more than any fire could. I loosen my hold, guiding the cat to settle across both our laps now.

I drink in the care softening Mackenzie’s features as she strokes behind its ears. That foreign swell behind my ribsreturns. A feeling that’s both at once so familiar and brand new in her presence.

Untangling the cloth, I take a brief glance under the blanket and wrap it tightly again. “It looks like our friend here is of the female persuasion.”

“Aww, we should give her a name.”

Why women feel the need to claim and name every creature is a mystery to me. My daughters do the same thing with their dolls and stuffed animals. They all have names, and even backstories, though I often confuse them. To be fair, they have a lot of dolls and stuffed animals. Their mother tends to spoil them.

And me. I spoil them too.

“I’ll let you do the honors,” I say, smiling to myself at the thought of Mackenzie ever doing the same when she was little. Far be it from me to get in the way of a naming ceremony.

“Well, she’s a black cat, found in white snow…” she starts, brow creasing as she considers internal options. “She’s by herself, but she doesn’t look like a stray necessarily.”

“What makes you say that?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. I just imagine strays to be more unkempt, or scrawny. She’s either taken care of herself, or someone else has. Either way, she’s blatantly independent. What about ‘Rebel?’”

I scrunch my nose, not keen on that one. “What about ‘Mittens?’”

“I thought I was doing the honors,” Mackenzie argues, bumping her shoulder playfully into mine.

“Yeah, but look,” I say, reaching carefully into the blanket and pulling out a single paw to wave at her. It’s white fur pristine. My voice playfully shifts into a higher register, “She’s got whittle mittens.”

Mackenzie’s shoulders drop as she pulls an emotional face. “Aww, look how sweet those little toe beans are.” She tickles between the foot pads, and the cat instinctively jerks its paw in response, but still doesn’t wake. “I’ve got it,” she announces proudly, sitting up straight. “Stormy.”

“Perfect,” I say, meeting her violet eyes, and somehow meaning it about more than the cat’s new name.

I mean it about her.

Her gaze drops back down to Stormy self-consciously and I have to catch myself. I’m letting Mackenzie get to me. Deep down I’m wondering if this is all because of our close proximity to each other. I’m allowing my imagination to run recklessly wild here finding meaning behind every single glance from her.

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