He twitched his nose.
“There’s cat food and bowls in the backpack and a bottle of water in the cooler.”
“Mrr,” he said.
“Yes, I have thought of everything, how nice of you to say so.” I picked him up and put him on the top of the bench seat, then had to wait while he yawned and stretched. There’s no hurrying a cat. “Okay, you ready to listen?”
He rubbed the top of his head against the seat.
“Ground rules. No yowling. You have a great big voice and the bookmobile is small. I don’t want you scaring the little kids.” Or the adults. “And no scratching. If you scratch anybody or anything, it’s off to the vet for declawing. No ifs, ands, or buts on that one, pal.” He started purring. “No pulling books off the shelves. No hair balls. And if you could cut down on the shedding, I’d appreciate it.”
It was a stupid lecture to bother giving. If he understood any of the words, it was “no,” a word he knew but had never paid any attention to.
I blew out a small breath and looked at the wall clock. “Ready, Eddie? It’s time to go for a ride on the bookmobile.”
He leapt to his feet. “Mrr!”
• • •
I made the introductions. “Thessie, Eddie. Eddie, Thessie.”
My teenage volunteer held out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Eddie.”
Eddie put a paw on her palm. “Mrr.”
“He said hello!” she exclaimed. “He really did, did you hear him? What a sweetie of a kitty cat. Can I hold him? Aww, you’re just adorable,” she said in baby talk as I handed him over. “Just the sweetest little Eddiekins ever, aren’t you?”
Appearances could be so very deceiving.
“How could Mr. Rangel not like you?” Thessie held Eddie up in the air, dancing him around. “You should be on the bookmobile every single time.”
“Eddie is here to make Brynn happy,” I said.
“He’s like another volunteer, then, right?” Thessie snuggled Eddie close. “A really cuddly purry one.”
“We need to get going.” I pointed at Eddie’s cabinet. “There’s a cat bed in there.”
Thessie’s eyes flew wide open. “Not in that tiny dark place. That’s kind of almost like cruelty, isn’t it? What if he’s claustrophobic? What if he’s scared of the dark? What if—”
“If we don’t get going, we’re going to be late to the first stop.” I took Eddie from her and closed him into the cabinet. “Sleep tight, pal.”
My young companion frowned, but sat in the passenger seat and buckled up. “Are you sure he’s going to be okay in there?”
I clicked my seat belt and paused before turning on the engine. “Hear that?”
She tipped her head sideways, listening. “The only thing I hear is a funny rumbling sound. Is that some kind of fan? It doesn’t sound right.”
“It’s Eddie. He’s snoring.”
Thessie blinked, I laughed, and we set out for another day in the bookmobile.
• • •
My grin was a mile wide. Thessie’s, too. Michelle had tears streaming down her cheeks. Brynn paid no attention to the adults around her as she and Eddie rolled around together on the bookmobile’s floor.
“This was so nice of you,” Michelle said. “I can’t believe you’d go to all this trouble. My husband is really allergic and the pills aren’t covered by his insurance, so the kids could never have a cat. I wanted so much to . . . but . . .” She shook her head and let it go in favor of concentrating on her daughter’s joy.
“Not that much trouble,” I said, ignoring the startled glance Thessie sent my way. “And if it makes Brynn happy, it’s worth it.”
“Look!” the little girl said. “I have Eddie hair on me!” Beaming, she held out the hem of her dark blue shirt, which was now coated with short black-and-white former bits of Eddie.
“Um, sorry about that,” I murmured to her mother.
Brynn rubbed at Eddie’s thick fur with both hands to gather up more hair, then smeared it across the front of her shirt. “Now I’ll have Eddie with me all the time!”
“Oh!”
The gasp came from behind. I turned and saw last week’s surfer girl. “Hi,” I said. “Hope you’re not allergic. This is Eddie. He’s with us for the day.”
“Every day,” Brynn said firmly. “Every bookmobile day.”
“Now, Brynn,” her mother said, “Miss Minnie can’t bring Eddie with her every time.”
“Why not?” The small lower lip trembled. “I love Eddie. He loves me. See?” She grabbed him around his middle and hugged hard.
I made a quick move forward. The one time I’d done that to him, I’d ended up with howls in my ear and a hint of back-claw marks on my stomach. If he did that to Brynn, I’d never forgive myself. I’d never—
Eddie closed his eyes and purred.
I stopped and stared. That rotten, horrible, completely wonderful cat. How had he known to be kind to her? And why wasn’t he ever that nice to me?
Thessie was asking surfer girl if she was looking for anything in particular.
“No, not really. Just . . . something to read. It’s okay if I look around?” After being assured that, yes, she was free to browse, she started her routine from last week all over again, running a finger over every book with a quiet thup-thup-thup, reading each title, but not pulling out a single volume.
Thessie looked at me with raised eyebrows. I shrugged. Brynn tugged at the hem of my crop pants. “Miss Minnie? Will Eddie be on the bookmobile again?”
I crouched down. “As soon as he can. He’ll miss you.”
“I know.” She patted his head. He flattened his ears, but let her whack away. “He’s my best friend. He told me so.”
“That’s great.” I put on a smile. So much for my hopes of a single dose of Eddie lasting a lifetime. Thanks to his atypical tolerance, we now had an Eddie addiction on our hands. Outstanding.
“When is he coming back?”
I pictured the bookmobile schedule in my head. “I’ll call your mom tomorrow and we’ll figure it out.” Unless Michelle was willing to drive halfway across the county, Brynn wouldn’t see Eddie again until we were back in the area in two weeks.
“So I’ll see Eddie tomorrow?”
“No, honey.” Michelle scooped up her daughter. “Soon, though.” She looked at me with happiness on her face, hope in her eyes, and sorrow everywhere else.
“Soon,” I agreed.
The pair went down the steps, Brynn waving to Eddie over her mother’s shoulder and chattering about the dress she wanted to bring for Eddie to wear next time.
“Pretty cat,” Surfer Girl said.
“Pretty much a pain in the butt,” I muttered.
“Sorry?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said, turning, “he is a good-looking cat. My name’s Minnie, by the way.” I held out my hand. She shook it briefly, but didn’t give her name, and didn’t stop looking at the Edster.
“Where did you get him?” she asked.
A sudden and paralyzing fear struck at me. What if Surfette here was Eddie’s real owner? What if he’d done the running thing on her, run for miles and miles, and ended up in the cemetery? What if she’d been looking high and low for months? No wonder she was acting so weird.
“I, um.” I couldn’t lie, not on the bookmobile. “I got him from a friend.” Alonzo Tillotson, if I remembered the name from the headstone correctly, born 1847, died 1926.
“Oh,” Surfette said, still staring at Eddie, who had settled himself on the carpeted step that ran underneath the shelves.
The fear continued to pick at my stomach. “We only have a few more minutes at this stop,” I said. “If you’ve found a book you’d like to check out, please take it to the front checkout. If you’d like to order a book for us to bring next time, we can do that. All we need is your name and—”
“Oh, no, I’m good. Thanks.”