An afternoon turned into an evening, turned into Andy’s mother bringing Billie back half asleep and drowsing in Kenny’s arms as the driver carried her upstairs somewhere near midnight.
“Mom,” Andy sighed as Scooter led Kenny to Billie’s room. “She’s seven, you can’t do this.”
“She’s fine, Andrew,” Eleanor said. “She’s a child, children are ever so adaptable you know. We had a lovely day. Be a darling and go fetch the parcels.” Eleanor had a purple canvas bag in one hand, flat-bottomed and domed. “Oh, I should bring Muffin to her, I nearly forgot.”
The bag gave a startled “mew.”
Andy stared. “Mom, you didn’t.”
His mother ignored him, placing the bag on the kitchen table and unzipping the front. She drew out a fat, fluffy, cream-colored kitten with eyes that were almost the same color a
