He turned quickly and saw the hamster's empty cage. The screen, which should have covered the glass tank, was propped against its side. "Patricia?"
he called softly.
Emily was going to have my head.
I remembered seeing Patrick replace the weighted screen after feeding his pet. Sometime after that, there had been five minutes, maybe less, when I had left him alone. "Were you playing with her after she ate?" I asked.
"No."
"You're certain of that? I'm not angry. I want to know because it makes sense to look wherever you last saw her."
I last saw her in her cage."
A hamster could hide in a million places in the playroom and schoolroom, not to mention the rest of the third floor-my room and the two large storage rooms.
"Maybe Ashley let her out," Patrick suggested.
"Don't blame her," I said shortly.
"I'm not blaming her. If Ashley did it, it was an accident. She probably just wanted to play and I wasn't here."
I bit my lip. He wasn't using his imaginary playmate as an excuse-he really believed it.
We searched the playroom, schoolroom, and my bedroom. When I opened the door to one of the storage rooms, I saw that the task was overwhelming.
Clothing, furniture, old athletic equipment, books-there was no way we could find a three-inch bit of fur unless she willingly came out. I hated lying to Patrick; still, I wondered how hard it would be to buy an identical hamster and pretend that a hungry "Patricia" had come home while he was in school Monday.
We searched the storage room for a while, and I saw Patrick's eyes fill up several times.
"Let's go outside," I suggested. "Since Patricia ate all of her food this morning, she won't be hungry enough to come back yet."
"But she may come back because she misses me."
"Of course. Of course, she misses you, but she's having a little adventure right now. We'll check for her later."
I had hoped we could make it outside without seeing anyone-l needed time to decide how to handle this-but when we reached the kitchen, Brook was there. Patrick's concern for his pet made him desperate for help.
"Patricia is gone," he confided. "She's not in her cage. Have you seen her?"
"Patricia," Brook replied, popping open a can of Coke. "Is she a hamster? Kind of brown?"
"Yeah! Real brown!" Patrick looked hopeful.
"Brook," I warned.
I did see her. She was carrying a little backpack, heading to the orangerie."
"Cut it out, Brook."
He shrugged at me. "I'm just telling you what I saw," he said.
Patrick rushed toward the kitchen door.
"Brook was teasing," I called, then hurried outside after Patrick. He rounded the corner of the house and ran toward the orangerie.
The orangerie, tennis courts, outdoor pool, and docks were laid out in a line along the northern edge of the estate, which bordered the river mouth. The orangerie was a long building with a row of tall Palladian windows, more glass than brick. Citrus trees and other tropical plants grew inside.
"Do you think she went in?" Patrick asked me.
"Not unless she can reach the door handle," I replied. I knew that hamsters could burrow and slip through cracks in foundations, but I assumed Patricia was holed up in some warm, snug spot on the third floor of the house. "Brook was joking. He made up that story."
"But she might really be here," Patrick insisted.
"All right. Walk around the building and see."
He did, calling Patricia's name softly, woefully. Then he hollered suddenly from the other side, "Hey, Kate. C'mere!"
Rounding the comer, I found him standing five feet from the orange cat that had perched in the window last night. The cat dismissed my appearance with the briefest of looks, then ventured toward Patrick, rubbing against his leg.
"He likes me," Patrick announced happily, momentarily forgetting about his hamster. "I told Daddy he liked me."
The cat flicked his tail, then broke into a quick trot in the direction of the tennis courts.
"I think he knows where Patricia is," Patrick said.
I hoped not, given that this wild tabby was used to catching his own dinner. Patrick followed the cat past the screen of evergreens that shielded the house from the courts, and I hurried after him. He and I caught up with the tabby near the in-ground swimming pool. The cat crossed the concrete deck and began to pace along the pool's edge, as if he had quarried something. As we walked toward him, the cat stopped and peered into the deep end.
Curious, we did the same.
The water had been removed from the pool, but leaves clotted the drains and rain had formed a half-frozen crust beneath the diving board. I thought I was seeing just another brown leaf, then Patrick started screaming, "Patricia! Patricia!"
I grabbed him by the collar as he took off for a set of metal steps. "I'll get her."
I descended the steps at the shallow end of the pool. Patrick kept wailing his pet's name.
Perhaps if she hasn't been outside too long… I thought, hoping against the odds. The first seven meters of the pool were dry, but there was a steep drop down to the diving section, and there the footing became treacherous. My feet slid out from under me. I flew down the concrete slope on my back, my feet crashing through the layer of ice and water covering the bottom of the deep end. The freezing mix sloshed over my shoes. I walked as quickly as possible toward Patricia, then scooped her up in my gloved hand.
"Is she okay?" Patrick called.
"I'll know better when I get out of the pool."
The hamster was dead, but I wanted to be close to Patrick when I told him. I had to scramble to get up the pool's slope with only one free hand. Patrick was waiting for me by the steps at the shallow end, anxiously beating his mittens together. The cat lurked a short distance behind, interested in what I was doing, staring the way cats do, as if they can see so much more than people.
I knelt down in front of Patrick, opening the hand that cradled the hamster. "I'm sorry."
He gazed down at her. "Her eyes are open," he said. "She's alive!"
"She's not. I'm really sorry."
"But her eyes are open, Kate. Look!"
I shook my head. "Animals die with their eyes open. See, she isn't moving. She isn't breathing."
"Maybe she's just frozen," Patrick said. "Let me hold her, I'll warm her up."
I laid the hamster in his cupped hands. Tears brimmed in his eyes.
"Come on, Patricia. Come on," he pleaded. "Wake up. We'll take you inside. We'll get you warm enough. We'll make you okay."
"Patrick, listen to me," I said softly. "She's frozen, and when a hamster freezes, its heart stops. Patricia is dead. There is nothing we can do."
"You're wrong!" he shouted, then lowered his eyes.
His dark lashes were wet against his cheek. He buried his chin in his chest. Tears rolled silently down his face, then he started to sob.
I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him close. "I'm so sorry. If I could make her be alive for you, I would."
He cried hard. The cat watched us for a moment, then slipped away, as if he had fulfilled his mission.
At last the sobs grew quieter. Patrick rested his head against me, his hands still cradling his pet between my chest and his. I reached for some tissues in my pocket. Patrick sneaked a peak at the hamster, probably hoping that she had warmed up and come back to life.
"Would you like to bury her?" I asked, handing him the tissue.
He nodded mutely, more tears rolling down.
"There's probably a shovel in the orangerie," I said.
Patrick wanted to bury Patricia in the family cemetery. I could have called Adrian on my cell phone and asked permission to dig there, but the hole for Patricia would be small and I counted on him to understand how fragile his son was at that moment. We fetched a shovel from the orangerie, then cut across the formal gardens to the main drive, and passed through the keyhole in the tall hedge.