THE CAT'S DOWRY
and Other Short Stories
by: Yvonne M Remington
Copyright 2013 Yvonne M Remington
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.
Table of Contents
The Cat's Dowry
Where Rubber Meets The Road
You Can Run...But You Can't Hide
The Last Straw
The House at the End of Flamingo Road
Shame on You
The Statistics of Winning
The Sum of Who I Am
How A Prank Turned Into A Crime
Pirate's Demise
Living Memorial
Lucky Lotto Ticket
Now You've Done It!
Spiraling Secrets
About The Author
The Cat's Dowry
The humidity was agonizing higher than usual for a Saturday afternoon in late September. I was taking advantage of the day off from my job at the Boutique on the Beach with a double martini dripping sweat on the glass tabletop in my duplex furnished by Salvation Army. The screen door stood open to the salty beach breeze streaming in from a block away. The neighbors could hear me shouting at the roller derby marathon on cable TV and yes, I knew it was phony but I was taking out my pent-up hostilities, which was good.
Life had become stagnant with my not so great sales job, my some-time boyfriend Jason and my recently exposed backstabbing girlfriend Mary Lynn, who wanted my boyfriend. It was one of those excruciating, hair pulling days where I was doing my best to remain in the zone. I wasn't doing so well. My cell phone rang and an unidentified phone number appeared on the display. After a short pause while I hesitated over whether I should answer or not - I answered.
"Miss Abalgale Winter?" A professional adult male voice questioned from the other end of the phone. Nobody calls me Abalgale. I only answer to Gabby.
"Speaking". I sensed this was not a joke or scam. It was not an aberration. I turned off the TV and sat at attention.
A soft yet professional tone crept into his voice as he continued: "My name is Cecil Martin. I am the attorney representing the estate of Eula Mae Perkins," he paused and my mind swirled with flashbacks. Wild thoughts ran through the old memory banks. Now there was a name from out of the past. I was paralyzed in the past and couldn't respond; he continued.
He explained that my aunt Eula Mae passed on to her great reward quietly in her sleep at the ripe old age of 95. My aunt listed me as her next of kin. She had never been my favorite aunt, but is my last living relative in Michigan. In my father's memory, I agreed to make an appearance at her funeral.
"I would ask you to stop by my office as soon as you can after you arrive in Michigan. There are some details I would rather discuss in person and I will need you to sign some papers."
"I'll make the necessary arrangements and call you for an appointment as soon as I arrive, which will probably be Monday morning."
My father's family immigrated to Michigan during the depression from Georgia to find work. My father and several of his sisters, including Eula Mae moved to Florida after retirement for a simpler life. After her husband died, she moved back to Michigan. Heaven only knows why. They had no children. She moved to an east coast town on Lake Huron called Portsmouth. I grew up north of Detroit in Royston a rural township where nothing happened and high school graduates leapt from its boundaries as soon as their caps hit the air.
I opened my laptop and searched the internet for specially priced airfares to Detroit. Travel was not in my budget so it was time to bring the credit card out of mothballs. I always was good at finding deals, and after a thorough search, I was content with the one I chose.
I would take bereavement time from my job. I intended to exploit the situation by adding some well-deserved vacation. There wasn't anything or anyone I wanted to see while in Michigan. I left there in my early twenties, over twenty years ago and the few friends I had then were now scattered out of my life.
As Fate would have it, the schedule for the funeral would be the first week in October, which meant Indian summer. That had always been my favorite time of the year. It was probably the best part of this whole trip back in time.
The boutique where I worked was still open. I picked up my cell and called my boss.
"Emily, is Brenda there?" Brenda was also the owner.
"She left for the day."
"How can I reach her? It's important."
"Hold on, I'll get her cell number." Emily was only gone a moment. "What's up?"
"I got a call about a death in the family and I have to fly to Michigan."
"Gees, I'm sorry. Anybody close?" Emily's condolences were sincere. She was that kind of person. Everybody was her friend.
"Not really, an aunt from my father's side. Personally, I thought she was already dead, but I have some family business to take care of because of her death. I've already made my flight plans. I need to let Brenda know." I really didn't care if Brenda liked it or not. My position at the boutique was precarious at best. Brenda only tolerated me because she had a hard time finding someone who would work for the wages she paid. Losing that job would not be a hardship. Maybe then, I would get out of my funk and do something with the rest of my life.
I dialed Brenda's number, she answered immediately. "Brenda, its Gabby."
"What are you doing calling me on your day off?" I was confused over the tone in her voice. Either she was upset that I called or was on the defensive, knowing I wanted something. I decided to be on the offensive and tell her what I wanted.
"I just got off the phone with an attorney in Michigan. It seems that my last remaining aunt has died and left me in charge of her estate; whatever that may be. Anyway I need to make a trip to Michigan," silence. "I will need some time off," silence. "I would like to take at least a week off to settle the affairs up there. Is that all right with you?" It was difficult to keep my tone neutral.
"Go ahead. Until the northerners come back, we will continue to be slow. I guess a week will be okay." That was it. No condolences no questions, just okay. I took it and ran.
There was a lot to do. Laundry, cleaning, packing, and oh yeah, I guess I'd better call Jason the boyfriend and let him know I wouldn't be around for a week. Not that it really mattered. Our relationship was on the downslide. I would like to remain friends with him, but even that was a challenge.
"Would you like me to take you to the airport?" Jason could be sweet when he wanted to.
"Thanks. I'll be going out of Tampa International at 11:55 am tomorrow morning."
"How about breakfast first?" Now I was getting suspicious. Jason didn't like to spend money. His idea of excitement was to plop on my couch, drink my beer and watch my TV.
"Sure. I'll be up and ready. Let's say 9:30am." He agreed and we concluded the call.
I went nonstop until I collapsed on the bed at midnight. My sleep as fitful with all that had happened in the last twelve hours. However, I was up and ready to leave when Jason appeared at my
door the next morning as planned.
There was a diner on the way to the airport that served the best pecan pancakes in the south and I ordered them, whenever I went there, no matter what time of the day it was. There was never a long wait since tourists did not frequent it. Only locals need walk through those doors. Once seated and orders taken we looked each other in the eyes and I knew the confrontation that was brewing was about to erupt. He was decent enough to wait until I could eat my pancakes before he slammed it home.
"Baby" it was strange how predictable some people were. He only called me ‘Baby' when he wanted something or he knew he was in the wrong. "I think it's time for us both to see other people. We both know our relationship is going nowhere."
He paused long enough to expect a reaction. I chose to make him sweat and didn't say a word.
"Are you going to tell me you didn't see this coming?" He looked extremely anxious and fidgety.
I couldn't remain silent any longer. I would let him off the hook, but not entirely. "It's Mary Lynn isn't it?"
"We thought you suspected. We've wanted to make it official for a while but didn't want to hurt you. We were waiting for the right time."
"You two have been as transparent as cellophane tape. It wouldn't take much to put things together. It's all right; I'm not going to go ballistic. I wish you both well."
"Thank you." Jason had stopped sweating and breathed again.
The remainder of the trip to the airport was in silence. When we reached the departure area Jason helped me with my luggage. He turned and gave me a hug.
"Can we remain friends?" He reminded me of a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
"I can't answer that yet. I have a week ahead of me that is totally out of my control. I don't know if I have a job to come back to and now this. I have to have time to think. We'll talk when I come back and I promise to give you an answer at that time. Now Mary Lynn, that's another story. I don't think I'm willing to be so forgiving. She has been doing everything in her power to make my life miserable for quite some time."
"Have a safe trip." another hug and I was off through the terminal.
One must be thankful for small favors. The weather was great and the flight was on time and smooth. I had reserved a rental car at the airport and had a two-hour drive north after I left Detroit. It was still light when I hit the interstate and my eyes weren't big enough to take in all there was to see. Twenty years had certainly taken its toll.
Luckily, my rental car had GPS or I would have been lost on the streets of Detroit for days. After registering and settling in my hotel room, I unpacked, took a shower and ordered room service; a luxury I couldn't afford, but didn't care, at this point. I had no plans to go anywhere until the next day. By now, it was dark, I had no idea where to go, and not feeling adventurous, I wanted some downtime. It was then that I realized that I had no one to call to tell that I had arrived safe. The feeling left a mile wide gash in my stomach and I was no longer hungry. A tear escaped my eye and dropped on the plate where my newly arrived turkey sandwich sat. I pushed the plate aside, buried my face in the pillow, and sobbed myself to sleep.
All the sounds from the streets below magnified and interrupted my sleep off and on throughout the night. By the time dawn came, I figured I might as well get up, eat my stale sandwich (couldn't afford to waste it). I was going to need a ton of makeup to make my puffy eyes look close to normal. After primping with my hair and face, I decided to see what the day looked like. I had an hour before I could call the lawyer's office and didn't want to stay in the room any longer. I realized quickly that I was out of my element in this city, so I decided to stay in my room until it was time to make my call.
At nine o'clock sharp, I called Cecil Martin; the attorney was expecting my call. We arranged to meet at his office at 1l: 00am the next day. Eula Mae wanted a small memorial service and that was planned for Wednesday. There was no rush in finalizing any other plans. Everything else was more of a formality. This of course meant that I had the entire day to myself. When given the option of a convertible, at the car rental agency I said yes and before the end of the week, I praised my intuition. I packed some meager provisions, changed into a comfortable jogging outfit, and sprinted down to the parking lot.
I got behind the wheel of my rented convertible and headed north for a nostalgic ride. It was a gorgeous day: the smell of autumn was in the air and I felt like exploring. I headed for nowhere in particular. I thought I would look for some of my old stomping grounds. I grew up in these hills and thought I knew where I was going.
I took an exit off Interstate I-75 on to M-59. It called to me and I had to follow the signs that announced the state park. Following the winding tree-lined road, a smile crossed my face. Before I realized it, I arrived at the old cider mill. It had changed since I was a kid. The latest machinery brought the mill into the 21st century and decorated with pony rides and a petting zoo. I parked the car and stared, my mind drifting back to my childhood. There were memories of Sunday afternoon family outings and the old bulky family sedan with its rusty floorboards.
Growing up in a rural area and smelling the onset of autumn meant a Sunday afternoon drive and the cider mill. The new interstate put the aging mill within a twenty-minute ride from my home; however, the longer scenic route was much more enjoyable. The mill set on the outskirts of a sloping and wooded state park that was empty of summer picnickers by this time each year.
I remember the sky as blue as a robin's egg and swirls of puffy white clouds painting a perfect backdrop for the turning leaves of nugget gold and crimson red. The honking of the wild geese with their shrill sounds in their migrating "V" formation was heard in the cool, crisp air. The thick layer of fallen leaves from the semi-nude trees presented a delight for the children's play fights. In the midst of the park, children would search for the fallen pinecones like hidden treasures. An occasional shutterbug would capture forever the picturesque setting. Young couples walked hand-in-hand shutting out the rest of the world while back packers would find strength in soaking up the tranquility of the earth's magnetic attraction.
Our family walked the winding and deserted train tracks that pierced the park's beauty and led directly to the cider mill. The trip down the tracks seemed like miles for us children, but finally one could see the mill in the distance. The waiting crowd looked like dots stretching as far as the eye could see. The dots became visible as people the closer the mill became. All the dots were waiting in line for the sweet tasting freshly milled cider and fresh baked donuts that melted in your mouth and put smiles on the children's faces.
The closer to the mill the sweeter the air became. An aging but converted barn, with the ear deafening squeal of motors and the turning of gears inside its walls meant that fresh cider was soon to be our reward. The owners of the mill knew delights like these were impossible for the waiting crowd to pass up, especially for the squirmy children. The children pulled and tugged at their parents until most of the unsuspecting parents bought more than they planned.
Picnic tables around the exterior of the barn provided a place for the consumption of the tasty treats. Parents with bag of donuts stuck under their arms and jugs of cider leaving the barn as they sipped paper cups of cider that was so seasonal that within weeks would be another yearly memory. My mind snapped back to the present and I knew I had to relive the memory one last time and indulge my senses.
I proceeded to the shortest line and waited my turn. A dozen donuts and a quart of cider later I reversed direction and headed back to the hotel. Neither of which made it back in one piece. I gave new meaning to the phrase "pig out" but it was worth it. Can't say it did much for my case of mild depression. I'm not even sure that all those memories I was evoking were beneficial. It certainly was making me take an in-depth look at my life
I took a couple detours to enjoy several rural communities I remembered but time had changed. A
s the sun was setting early, it was time to start back. I stopped at a drive thru and picked up dinner. It was going to be a long night. Once locked in my room, I changed to an oversized holey tee, my favorite that survived several boyfriends. One of which tried unsuccessfully to hide it permanently from me.
The TV did not interest me, but I finally found a movie to pass the evening. I had recently become a classic movie buff and could now add another one to my repertoire.
The hotel I was staying at was closer to the attorney than Portsmouth, so after my meeting the next day I would move closer to Portsmouth to enjoy a more scenic view. I would stay on the coast for a couple of days, at least through the services and then do some tourist driving. I wanted to see the house of my formative years. It was about an hour and a half from where I wanted to stay.
My Florida wardrobe was able to provide me with a lightweight voile dress that was appropriate for business or funeral but the crisp autumn air demanded my tastefully decorated shawl. I felt alive and renewed and I began to feel better.
I arrived at the attorneys' office with five minutes to spare. Good for me. I'd been doing that since I was a child; thank you, mom. The office was decorated modestly but professional. Not like a lawyers offices one would expect with dark wood and heavy furniture. It appeared by the decor that the Martin & Martin partnership had mainly middle class blue-collar clients.
Cecil Martin did not have me wait long. At about 10:35 the receptionist showed me into his office.
"So glad you made it. How was your flight?" He was in his late forties with a thick head of salt and pepper hair and tastefully tailored suit and manicured nails. His glasses blended with his facial features, which gave him a congenial appearance.
"All went well. I do not appreciate air travel but it was a decent flight."
"Would you like some coffee?" He asked.
"I would love some." The receptionist showed me to the cart where the carafe and trimming were, she helped in my choice.
"When you are ready, have a seat and we will begin." His demeanor made me feel like I had known him forever.
Once I was comfortable in an overstuffed leather chair he opened a folder and proceeded
"I have been Mrs. Perkins attorney for the last five years, and my father before me. She was an untrusting soul and insisted on keeping her business with the firm. She believed she had no other relatives except you. I am not sure that is the case, but I had no reason to cause her grief by challenging her belief.
"I would have no way of knowing that. We had not spoken in probably over twenty years even though she lived 50 miles from me in Florida before she moved back north."
"Not to worry. There are no challengers to her will. It isn't that large. However, she had a cat. In addition, her main concern was that the cat always has a good home. She has one long-standing friend who lived in the same senior complex but she cannot keep the cat. She has possession of it at this time, but she will be going into a home soon herself.
Mrs. Perkins has made provisions that if you will take the cat and agree to the terms of the will she will leave you the sum of $10,000 a year for the next five years. This money has no strings, only that you meet the cat and if you will take it and care for it for the rest of its natural life. The money will come to you tax-free. That in itself is a big thing."
I wanted to break out in laughter, it sounded so Hollywood like, but after looking at Mr. Martin's face, I chose not to. He was serious. He had paused and waited for a reaction.
"Mr. Martin, I don't know what to say."
"First, call me Cecil, I don't think I'm much older than you and I would like to be your friend. Can I call you Gabby? I feel as if I've known you much longer."
Was he hitting on me? He did soften his body language and rose to refresh my coffee.
"Yeah sure, I could use all the friends I can get, lately. So what do we do now?" I couldn't think. I had no idea what I was supposed to say. Breathe, Gabby, breathe!
"Mrs. Perkins friend, Irene; the one who has the cat will be at the memorial services tomorrow. I will be there to introduce you. You can arrange to see the cat. Then you can make up your mind if you want to assume the responsibility. If you take the cat, the payments will come to you regularly every year. I have the authority to give you the first check. If the cat does not live five years, you will still get the money. It is a contract of honor. Mrs. Perkins would not have it any other way."
"I'd never thought about cats one way or another. I don't hate them, nor have a desire to have one. I'll play this through and see what happens. Like most things in life, I will make the decision when the time is right."
"Good. Then I will see you tomorrow at 11:00am at Memorial Gardens Funeral Home in Portsmouth. Here is the address." He looked at his watch as he handed me a card. "Tell you what, I am free until 3:00pm, would you like to have lunch with me. I know you don't know the area and I do know a quiet restaurant that serves the best home cooking."
I'll be darn. It certainly sounded more than business to me. However, I could see no harm in lunch with my attorney. I agreed and we exited the office together.
Lunch was pleasant and so was the company. Cecil made it clear that his wife, the other Martin, was a partner to the law firm but not a good marriage partner. This information was more than I expected.