“The damn post office makes sure the dead don’t disappear,” Gray mumbled as he dropped the stack of today’s mail on the kitchen table.
“What are you grumbling about,” Ann asked.
“How long has she been dead?”
“Your mother?”
“Six or seven years, now?”
“Seven,” she sighed, joining him in the kitchen as he held a catalogue up to her as evidence.
“Doctor’s Graham and Rose,” he snorted as he paged through it. “Pet paraphernalia addressed to Mom!” He spread it out on the table and recited, “Custom costumes for any pet! Delivered in 24 hours, no less!” Shaking his head at the imbecility of the concept, mimicking a phone in his hand, he cried, “My dog has just received an invitation to the Annual Costume Ball downtown. I need this clown costume on page 2 in your May catalogue post haste!” With a sullen shake of his head, he walked away mumbling, “She hadn’t even had a pet since we were kids. Not since Wimples the cat.”
“Isn’t he the one that never came home?”
“Yes. Went out and never came back.”
“I don’t understand the market for all these types of products,” Anne chuckled as she paged through the catalogue. “Look at all the shapes they have for rawhide chew toys.”
“I don’t understand mailing lists.”
“They sell them. Guess no one worries whether the person is alive. A name, dead or alive, brings bucks.”
“The last known address is added and increases the advertising revenue.”
“Bet the advertisers don’t ask how many on the list are dead.”
“They don’t care–if the address is valid, someone will receive it and look at like we are now. If we had a pet…” She threw the catalogue onto the recycling pile and said no more. She understood the real reason he was anxious and on edge. The pressure was beginning to show on his face, in every expression–the tension, the lack of color and grimace. It wasn’t how he wanted to appear during the interview, but she wasn’t about to bring it up for fear of igniting an explosion. She wished his mother was still around. She would have known how to manage him.
The night was painted with thunderstorms and driving rain. Gray tossed and turned, slipping from one dream to the next. He was a dream solver–any current problem, work related or otherwise, integrated into his dreams, wrapping him with anguish so strong, he couldn’t shrug it, couldn’t decipher the reality of it, until he climbed from bed and faced the darkness with a clearer head. It was then, and only then he could climb back into bed and fall into a deeper, clearer sleep. But since he lost his job, his dreams were haunted with hunger and panic, keeping him from wanting to try and sleep.
Wimples bounded across the dark, hardwood floor, anxious to go out, even though lightning flashed across the cliffs at the edge of Lake Michigan. A mixture of white, gray, and black fur, thick and fluffy with penetrating eyes that laughed at the world, he looked more like a ball than a cat.
“Are you sure you want to go out?” Gray asked as he opened the door onto the driving rain, just as the explosion of thunder cracked the night. He fully expected Wimples to turn up his nose and do an about face and was shocked when he slipped through the thin opening and dashed into the darkness. A flash of lightning lit the sky illuminating Wimples as he disappeared into the forest.
“I can’t believe he wanted to go out on a night like this,” his mother sighed as she joined him at the door.
“Must have had something important to do. Maybe a hot date,” Gray laughed as he shut the door.
“Did he dress properly?”
He nodded. “Now that you mention it, he did look pretty sharp.”
“Wearing his party togs, huh?”
“As a matter of fact…”
“Maybe we should have ordered him a costume from that catalogue. We could have insured his success,” she giggled.
“Dress for success and all that, I suppose.”
“The best dressed man gets the chicks. You ought to know that,” she reminded him, reaching out and pinching his cheek. “In fact, the best dressed man gets everything he wants. Remember that. Gives you an edge.”
The alarm shattered the dream and Gray stumbled to the shower. The remaining clouds from the storm were moving on, and the sun was spilling an orange light over the horizon. His dream hovered hazily as he climbed into the hot shower spray. Since her death she had not appeared in any of his dreams.
“What time is your interview?” Anne asked as she walked into the bathroom, hiked her nightgown, and sat on the toilet.
“I forgot about it for a moment.”
“That’s weird,” she cried over the roar of the shower. “I figured you’d be tossing and turning all night.”
“Were you able to pick up my suit at the cleaners?”
“Yup, and your white shirts.”
“Thanks.”
“So what time is it?”
“Ten.”
“Glad the rain stopped. Wouldn’t want you venturing out into a storm trying to look good,” she remarked as she walked out of the bathroom.
