“She responds surprisingly well to Susan.”
“Greg.”
He sighed.
“I found the litter behind the shed yesterday. I called the rescue immediately. They told me to wait and watch from a distance in case the mother came back.”
“And she didn’t?”
He shook his head.
“When the temperature started dropping and the kittens wouldn’t stop crying, the rescue told me to bring them inside. I managed to reach Susan, but Steve crawled farther underneath the garden border.”
I frowned.
“Steve?”
He nodded toward the second kitten.
“Susan’s sibling.”
“So you volunteered our house?”
“Temporarily.”
“Our guest room too?”
“Also temporarily.”
“And apparently our bed.”
Greg glanced toward the ceiling.
“Technically, I volunteered myself out of that.”
I crossed my arms.
“So your back never hurt?”
He looked embarrassed.
“It actually does now.”
“Because you’ve spent three weeks sleeping in this room?”
“Possibly.”
I covered my face with my hands.
Then another thought returned.
“The blanket.”
Greg looked toward Susan.
She was curled against my chest inside the faded blue knitting.
“Why this blanket?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’ve protected that thing through three house moves.”
“I know.”
“You wouldn’t even let me throw away Michael’s kindergarten lunchbox because you said it had historical importance.”
“It had dinosaur stickers.”
“It smelled like twenty-year-old peanut butter.”
“History isn’t always pleasant, darling.”
“Greg.”
His expression changed.
He reached out and touched the edge of the blanket.
“When I first picked her up, she was freezing.”
“So?”
“I needed something soft and warm.”
“There are twelve towels in this house.”
“I know.”
“Then why Michael’s blanket? And why was it already missing before tonight?”
Greg lowered himself into the old rocking chair.
Susan stirred against me.
Without thinking, Greg held out his arms.
I passed her back.
He wrapped the blanket around her with practiced hands, tested the temperature of the bottle against his wrist, then settled her into the crook of his elbow.
