Laura looked down at Prudence’s still, silent form, and thought of her mother, of the way Prudence had nestled in Sarah’s arms and given her the love Laura herself had always felt, even after she’d lost the words to tell her mother so. She had wanted to get past the wall of words Sarah had put up between the two of them, had desperately wanted to say something real. But everything she tried to say to her mother ended up coming out wrong. Why was it that, with a cat, issues of love and trust could be so straightforward? Was it because a cat could love you for your better self, the self you wanted to be and knew you could be, if not for the endless complications of human relationships?
Their moms, the vet had said. Was she a “mom”—could she be a mom to the baby she was carrying? For she realized now that she wanted this child, even if she was pregnant only because of the two or three morning pills she now realized she had forgotten to take a few months back. She wanted her child and she wanted Josh, even if he never worked another day in his life. And she wanted Prudence. She’d lost the Mandelbaums, and Honey, and her mother. Laura couldn’t bear to lose one more thing that she loved.
It was Sarah who’d been a mother to both her and Prudence, who would have been a grandmother to this unborn child. It was Sarah who should be here right now, for all their sakes. It wasn’t fair … it wasn’t fair at all …
For all of Laura’s young life, before all the things that had gone wrong between her and her mother, the most comforting thing in her small world had been the sound of her mother singing. She reached down to stroke Prudence’s head, and suddenly she heard a voice that sounded like her mother’s issuing from her own throat. “Dear Prudence,” she sang. “Open up your eyes …” Then she stopped, the threat of more tears choking her throat shut. She imagined her mother standing next to her, holding her hand and adding her voice to Laura’s, the way they’d sung together in that music studio when Laura was a child. Laura sang now, and could have sworn that she heard her mother’s voice singing with her here in this room. “The wind is low, the birds will sing … that you are part of everything …” Then Laura bent to kiss Prudence’s forehead at the spot where her tiger stripes formed a little “M” above her eyes. “Dear, dear Prudence,” she whispered. “Won’t you open up your eyes?” Laura’s voice was her own again. Desperate now, she pressed her lips to Prudence’s ear and murmured, “Come on, little girl. My little love. Open your eyes for me.”
And Prudence did.
15
Prudence
THERE’S A TALL GREEN PLANT THAT LIVES NEXT TO THE LIVING ROOM window leading to the fire escape. The sunlight through the window today is brighter than usual, so bright I have to squint my eyes. That doesn’t make the game any less fun, though. This is Sarah’s and my favorite game.
Sarah is walking from the bedroom to the kitchen. She passes my hiding place inside the plant, and the rustling sound of leaves as I crouch lower makes her head start to turn. The movement is so small only a cat would notice it. I know she knows I’m here, but she keeps walking.
Just as she passes the plant, I leap out and pounce on her ankles. Sarah pretends to be very surprised by this. She thinks I don’t know that she knew I was about to pounce, but pretending is what makes this game fun for both of us. Now my paws are wrapped around her right ankle, my teeth on the skin of her heel (although I don’t press down in a real bite). “Oh no!” she cries. “It’s the deadly attack kitty!” I switch and wrap my paws around her left ankle. But Sarah knew I was going to do this, because she’s already bending to her left to scoop me up in her arms. “Who’s the vicious kitty?” she says, in the voice she only uses when she’s talking to me. “Who’s my brave little hunter?” She brings my face closer to hers, and I press my forehead against hers. She knows I don’t like being held in the air for very long, though, so she puts me back down on my own legs. She shakes off some of my fur that got onto her hands and says, “I think somebody could use a good brushing. What do you think?” From a drawer in the kitchen, she takes out the special brush that’s only used for brushing my fur, and the two of us settle on the couch with me in her lap.
The brush-bristles against my skin feel nice, and Sarah’s hand following the movement of the brush down my back feels nicer. Sarah’s smell is even more wonderful in my nose than it usually is. I knew you weren’t really dead! I think. I knew you’d come back to me! I don’t know why I think that, though. Whoever said anything about Sarah being dead?
