The Same Place (The Lamb and the Lion #2) - Gregory Ashe Page 0,1
bedroom. Waterfalls of lace. Huge, ruffled explosions of lace. Tean wondered if psychologists already had a name for a phobia of lace. They’d have one for sure after they institutionalized him.
At the side of the bed he found the birthing box. He searched the room. Then he approached the box carefully and looked in from a distance. Then he sighed. Moving the box hadn’t been enough for Mrs. Wish. She’d washed the kittens, in spite of Tean’s instructions to leave them alone, and she’d cluttered the nest with tiny toys. She’d even added treats, although she must have known that the kittens weren’t weaned. Senator George H. Moses was crouched between Tean and the kits, and when she saw him, she hissed. Blood stained her whiskers.
Tean checked the food and water in the box and then let himself out of the room. He made his way down the hall. When Mrs. Wish saw his face, she started to cry again.
“Mrs. Wish—”
“Oh, she’s dead, isn’t she?”
“I think so.”
“What happened? I didn’t step on her, did I? Or do something in my sleep?”
“No.”
“Well, what happened? I made absolutely sure that the door was closed. I told Senator Poindexter quite clearly that he couldn’t sleep with me. He was very upset. I suppose I’ll have to get everyone together and hold a funeral.” Tean wasn’t sure if everyone meant Mrs. Wish and the Irreconcilables or Mrs. Wish and her enormous extended family—with her, either one was possible, or both. “Where did you put her poor little body?”
“I don’t think you understand. Sometimes, when a kit is sick or already dead, the mother disposes of it.”
“She couldn’t have buried the poor thing. She hasn’t been outside.”
Tean drew a deep breath. “Many animals will eat their young in extreme conditions.”
It took a moment, and then Mrs. Wish’s cheeks pinkened. “I should think not.”
“It does happen.”
“I don’t believe it. Senator George H. Moses is their mother. She has a mother’s instinct. She never, never would have hurt her own kittens.” With a kind of exalted certainty, Mrs. Wish raised her chin. “I know it in my heart.”
“Well,” Tean said, “right now, my recommendation is to leave the kittens with their mother, but if you see any sort of behavior—”
“Certainly,” Mrs. Wish said, standing, shoving the mug along the table so hard that it skittered. “Certainly. She’s their mother, Dr. Leon. To think I would allow anything else . . . I just honestly can’t believe what I’m hearing from you. I can’t believe this constitutes your professional, medical opinion. Is this what they teach you in schools these days?”
“I think I should go.”
“You said if the kitten was sick, but earlier, you told me they all looked healthy. Did you make some kind of mistake? Is that what this is? You’re trying to cover up your own shoddy work.”
“Good night, Mrs. Wish.”
He reached for the mug, and she slapped his hand. A horrified look flitted across her face, as though she couldn’t quite believe what she’d done, and then it was gone, and her expression hardened.
Tean thought about telling her why it had happened: stress, stress, stress. The stress of the birthing box being moved. The stress of having the kittens taken away one by one, bathed, and handled. The stress—Tean imagined—of Mrs. Wish rising in the middle of the night to check on the kittens again and again.
Instead, though, he kept his mouth shut and headed for the door.
“I can’t believe I thought you’d be an acceptable match for Violet,” Mrs. Wish said to his back. “She might be a bit gimpy, and she’s got a droopy mouth, and she’s older than dirt, but at least she has the milk of human kindness. She’s not a heartless beast like you, imagining the absolute worst, most impossible things. As though one of God’s own creations could do what you’ve just suggested. As though a mother could do such a thing, Dr. Leon. Their own mother.”
From the hallway, with his hand on the doorknob, Tean said, “Mrs. Wish, the best thing you can do right now is keep your bedroom door shut, sleep in the guest bedroom, and only check on Senator George H. Moses to fill her food and water and clean out the litter box.”
“I certainly don’t need any more instructions from you, you . . . you Communist pig.”
“It was a flyer from the socialist party,” Tean muttered as he dragged the door shut. “And someone just put it under my windshield wiper.”