Love Saves the Day

“You could have taken all the time off you needed,” Perry remonstrated gently. “We would have given it to you. I would have given it to you. All you had to do was ask.”

“I know.” Laura took a shaky breath. “I do know that. I’m not blaming anybody. But I came back here anyway. And I was back here after my husband lost his job, even knowing that every single one of you knew it was about to happen and didn’t tell me. I thought I knew where my loyalties were supposed to be. I made a choice.” She remembered the day Sarah’s and her apartment had been torn down. You can’t make me! she’d cried when Sarah had tried to get her to leave. She thought of Josh, who only this morning had yelled at her about how they never went out, never had enough time together, because of her job. She had been outraged, unable to believe that Josh could be so unreasonable as to act as if she had any choice in the matter, any control over the number of hours she spent at the office.

Except that she did have a choice. She always had.

“I made a choice,” she repeated. “And I’m making one now.” She walked to the door.

“Don’t assume you’ll be welcome here if you decide to come in tomorrow,” Clay said to her back. “I’ve got résumés for at least a hundred people as good as you are who’d kill to take your place.”

“Clay,” Perry said quietly. Always the voice of reason. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

Laura paused in the doorway but didn’t turn around. What had she expected to find in this place, anyway? Had she thought Perry was her father? Perry had his own family, his own children. If she lost Josh, if they couldn’t get past the things they said to each other that morning, and if she lost this pregnancy like she’d lost the last one … If this office was truly all she had left, then what was it, really, that she would have? Some money. A bit of tenuous security, so long as she said yes and no at all the right times and was properly obedient. Late nights of stumbling home, bleary-eyed, to an empty apartment and a phone that didn’t ring once all weekend.

She remembered the day she’d gotten the official offer from Neuman Daines. How proud she’d been! She had called Sarah to let her know, but not in the way a daughter calls her mother to share in the glow of her accomplishments. Just matter-of-fact. Here’s where I’ll be working. Here’s where you can reach me if you need me. Except that Sarah had needed her. And she had needed Sarah. It wasn’t confusion over phone numbers that had kept them apart.

“She was my mother’s cat, Clay.” Laura’s voice was no longer argumentative. “She’s all I have left of my mother.”

She didn’t wait to hear if Clay or Perry responded. She walked out.

In the back of the cab that sped down a rain-slick Park Avenue, Laura pressed her right foot impatiently against the floor as if there were an imaginary accelerator beneath it, willing the car to go faster. When it slowed down behind another cab making a turn, Laura leaned forward and said desperately to the driver, “Go around him, go around.” She knew, somehow, that this was her fault. She’d yelled at Prudence only this morning. Why can’t you just leave me alone? Laura’s stomach lurched in agony, and she pressed her hand, cool from the rain outside, against her forehead. If this was her fault, if she had done this to Prudence somehow, then surely she could undo whatever it was, if only she got there quickly enough.

When had it happened—how long had it been since Prudence, nearly unnoticed, had crept into that place in her heart once held by Honey, a place she had kept resolutely closed for so many years? Prudence with her black tiger stripes and dainty white paws. Prudence waiting patiently outside her bathroom when she was sick in the mornings, then following at her heels, turning in eager circles as Laura prepared her morning meal. Prudence sitting up with her night after night, purring melodically next to her on the couch, her only comfort—the only reason she was finally able to fall asleep—on so many nights during these past few months. Laura thought about Prudence’s peremptory, guttural meows as she demanded some treat of tuna or cheese. Why hadn’t she given those things to Prudence from the first day she’d arrived in their home? Why had she needed to be asked? She had known the things cats liked, that made them happy. And she had known how it felt to lose Sarah.