Forgiving Bessie

2. Ravenspond

The wind on her face feels bone-chilling on this October afternoon, slapping Bessie’s hair into her eyes. She cradles her precious bundle in her arms while she rushes from the veterinarian’s office. It’s the afternoon of her hospital visit with Sophie and Gianni and their new baby. A faint, muffled “meow” emerges from the blanket. A smile lights up Bessie’s features when she glances down.

“Bess, wait up,” a younger girl calls from outside the entrance. “Dad’s got to pay the bill.” Her sister Leila catches up with her, peeking into the tiny kitten’s face. “He’s so little.”

“Just a day old,” Bessie confirms. “But Dr. Woodlands says he’s going to be fine if I take good care of him, which I will.”

“The mother cat just disappeared into the night?” Leila says. “And abandoned him? Poor little guy.”

“He was meant for me; the mama cat was just delivering him. And he is Packer reincarnated,” Bessie tells her. “Jason sent him back to me.”

Leila, used to her sister’s wild statements, like this one—that Bessie’s deceased boyfriend somehow sent her the same cat that was killed by a car last spring—decides not to comment. Lee is well aware of the horrific events her sister had endured, and the ongoing pain she still suffers. The entire family is just so grateful that Bessie came back to them.

“Well, he’s awfully cute,” Leila says instead. “C’mon, let’s get him in the car where it’s nice and warm.”

A messy, balding man flies across the vet clinic driveway, carrying a bag of supplies, and climbs in the driver’s seat of the old Honda Civic. Grinning, he pats Bessie’s hand in the seat beside him. “Tom says remember to rub his bottom with a wet facecloth to get him to pee and poo; otherwise, he won’t. That’s what the mother cat would do with her rough tongue.” He reverses the car into the side street. “Brrr, it’s cold for so early in October. We might be in for a harsh winter this time around. Oh well, that’s life. Right, girls?”

“We’ve got to stop at the d**g store to pick up the cat stuff,” Leila reminds him.

“I know,” Art protests before inexplicably jamming on his breaks.

All three of them glance out the window at a squirrel dashing across the road in the nick of time, right in front of their vehicle. The fragile line between life and death is ever present.

Leila says, “So, how’s the new baby? Does she look like Ashley?”

Bessie doesn’t reply, lost in memories of the dazzling ray of sunshine that was the Morenos’ fifteen-year-old daughter, who had died when Jason lost control of a stolen truck that fateful day in July of 1972.

If only I hadn’t grabbed the wheel when that buck appeared out of nowhere, wandering into the road at dusk. A tear runs down Bessie’s cheek. If only I hadn’t made that crazy plan to hitchhike to Vancouver to see Chris Lisacker in concert. If only I hadn’t broken up with Jason over—

If only I hadn’t grabbed the wheel when that buck appeared out of nowhere, wandering into the road at dusk.If only I hadn’t made that crazy plan to hitchhike to Vancouver to see Chris Lisacker in concert. If only I hadn’t broken up with Jason over—“Okay, Pine Oaks Mall’s coming up. You gals run into the drugstore, and I’ll keep kitty nice and cozy.” Art parks, leaving the heat on. Gently, he takes the bundle from Bessie. Watching his daughters run inside, their jackets flying out behind them, he smiles. He holds the kitten up to peer into his furry gray face. Art sees his eyes are still closed but his mouth is wide open as he lets out a little “meow-meow”.

.“Welcome to my crazy family,” Art tells him. “Or as Bessie insists, welcome home.”

homeSomehow, they’re managing to slowly heal from this nightmare. Two steps forward, one step back.