"Pretty good," Garrison said with a stiff smile. "How about you?"

"I'm great. Thanks." David, wearing a black fedora and walking coat, resembled an ad for a fas.h.i.+on magazine. In his gloved hands was a cardboard tray with three hot drinks balanced in it. But he was gazing intently at Garrison as if he was in the way somehow.

Garrison got it. Barely nodding, he stepped away from Cara's side. Like clockwork, David slid right into the same spot-like he belonged there. And maybe he did. Clearly the three of them had come together to watch the parade. In fact, they actually looked like a family. Even though he was obviously odd man out, Garrison stubbornly remained in place. Sure, he could admit it-at least to himself: he was as socially challenged as young Jackson.

David's blue eyes twinkled as he handed a cup to Cara. "Here you go, my lady. Your mocha-just how you like it-dash of cinnamon, splash of vanilla."

"Thanks," she murmured with downcast eyes. Was she playing the coquette or was she simply embarra.s.sed by David's patronizing and somewhat territorial attention? And really, why was Garrison remaining stubbornly in place? It was clear that his presence wasn't welcome.

"And here's your cocoa, bud." David handed his son a cup, giving Garrison an apologetic look. "If I'd known you were here, old man, I'd have got you a coffee too."

"No problem." Garrison forced a smile. "I was just about to head over to the coffee shop myself."

David held out the cardboard tray to him. "Hey, then maybe you can take this back for me. Recycling-good for the earth you know." He grinned victoriously.

Garrison took the tray and, feeling dismissed, said a quick goodbye and continued on his way. He wanted to throw the tray to the ground and smash it beneath his boot, but he knew that would make him look like a jealous fool. Already he felt stupid enough. What difference should it make to him if Cara wanted to watch the parade with her neighbors? Why shouldn't she?

Garrison picked up a newspaper, then got in line for coffee, telling himself that the mature thing was to grab his beverage then go back and enjoy the Christmas festivities with the three of them. After all, they were neighbors-right?

But as he ordered his coffee he heard the firehouse whistle blow and by the time his coffee was ready, the parade was well on its way. Instead of going out to the street to watch it, he sat down at a small table by the window and watched the parade-by himself. He felt like the kid with his nose pressed against the toy store window-longing for something he could never have-hoping for Santa to do the impossible, yet knowing that Santa wasn't real.

Garrison knew he looked pathetic sitting there by himself, moping over his coffee while pretending to peruse the local paper, but it was the best he could manage. Why had he let Cara get under his skin like this? Hadn't he learned his lesson with Leah in Uganda? Would he ever learn?

The best thing to do is get on with your life, he chided himself. Quit moping around and wrap up Gram's business and get himself back to Seattle where a job-and who knew what else-awaited him. He pulled out his phone and, for the first time in days, turned it on. To his surprise there were thirty-three messages-and all from strange local numbers. That silly ad had really done the trick. Garrison had no doubt what these people wanted. He listened to a few of them just to confirm his suspicions. All of them were eager to adopt a cat-unexplainably eager. Yet the more pleas he listened to, the more he wanted to keep Harry for himself.

But he knew that was crazy and selfish. Harry would not be happy in Randall's apartment-left alone all day while Garrison was at work and stuck in a small apartment with no access to the outdoors. That wasn't fair or kind. And Gram would never have approved. Besides that, what about his allergies? Did he want to continue taking allergy meds nonstop around the clock? Did he want to be forced to wear particle masks?

He knew it wasn't just selfish to keep Harry for himself, it was plain wrong. Harry was a good cat. He deserved better. But if he had to part with Harry, he was determined to find him a really good home. As he walked back to Gram's house, he began responding to the messages, sifting through and eliminating the callers. For the first time he was really thankful for Gram's list.

12.

By the time Garrison got home from the parade, he knew what had to be done. Even if it wasn't easy, it was the right thing to do. He solemnly dialed the Maxwells' number, inwardly hoping no one would answer.

"I'm so glad you called," Mr. Maxwell said after Garrison went over the usual preliminaries. "We lost a beloved family dog a few months ago. My children were completely devastated. I'm still getting over it myself. I never knew that an animal could steal my heart like Barnie did. So much so that I told myself I'd never get another pet." He made a loud sigh. "But my children don't agree. So I thought . . . why not get a cat?"

"Well, this is a very special cat," Garrison told him. "Almost like a dog."

"That sounds like my kind of cat."

"So . . ." Garrison stroked Harry's thick coat as they sat together on the sofa. "The only thing left is the home visit."

"Yeah, sure," the man said eagerly. "Anytime you want. My wife and kids are out right now. Christmas shopping. But I'm here . . . just watching the Steelers game."

Garrison looked out the window where, despite the cold temperature, the sun was s.h.i.+ning. Gently sliding Harry off his lap, he slowly stood. "I'll be there in about ten minutes." Grabbing up his coat, he hurried out the door, hoping that the short walk to the address he'd just been given would help clear his head and remind him, once again, why Harry needed to be placed in a "real" home. It wasn't fair for him to try to hold on to Harry. In fact, it was just plain selfish. And he knew it.

The Maxwells' home was a well-maintained but modest ranch-style house. Mr. Maxwell, wearing jeans and a Steelers sweats.h.i.+rt, answered the door with a big grin and introduced himself as Tom. He tipped his head into the house. "Come on in. Feel free to look around. Make yourself at home."

It didn't take long for Garrison to see that there was nothing wrong with what was obviously a family home. Personality seemed to ooze from every s.p.a.ce. In some ways it seemed like the American dream-mom and dad and three kids. All they needed was a dog-or a cat. Garrison told Mr. Maxwell that he'd pa.s.sed the home visit.

"But you'd probably like to meet Harry first," he said. "I mean, cats do have personalities and temperaments, and although Harry is the sweetest cat I've ever known, you can never tell whether it will work. You guys might not be compatible." Garrison felt silly for talking about a cat like it was a human. But in some ways Harry felt human. And lately he'd been Garrison's best friend.

"Okay. Let me record this game and I'll drive you home. Then if Harry and I hit it off, maybe I can bring him back with me. It'd be a great surprise for the wife and kids when they get home."

Garrison agreed and it wasn't long until he was enticing Harry into the last cat crate. But the look in Harry's eyes nearly broke Garrison's heart. It was as if Harry knew, as if he were saying, "How could you? I thought you loved me. I thought we were buddies. Don't you want me anymore? What did I do wrong?"

"See you around, pal," Garrison said with a husky voice, closing the door of the crate and latching it with a finality that broke his heart. Suppressing the stinging tears that were building in the back of his eyes, he handed the crate over to Tom. "Take good care of him. I'll be by to visit in two weeks. And then another week after that."

Tom's brow furrowed. "Your grandmother must've really liked her cats, huh?"

"You got that right." Garrison literally herded Tom and Harry toward the front door, practically pus.h.i.+ng them out. "Take care," he called out as he firmly shut the door. He leaned against it, trying to catch his breath and calm himself. But it was too late. Tears were pouring down his face and his chest ached from the pain of trying to contain them.

"What is wrong with me?" he shouted as he went to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. "I'm a grown man-bawling over a stupid cat!" He looked up at his pitiful image in the bathroom mirror. "Okay," he said in an attempt to get control. "This is obviously not just about the cat. This is about loss and heartache and heartbreak . . . This is about Uganda and Leah and Gram and Cara . . . and-and-" A guttural sob escaped his throat. "This is about Harry too!"

Despite its improved appearance, the house felt sad and empty and lonely. And with the landline phone unplugged and Garrison's cell phone off-to avoid the barrage of cat inquiries still coming even though he'd canceled the ad-it was as quiet as a tomb. To distract himself, Garrison focused his attention on the real estate section of the local paper. One real estate company seemed to run more ads than any other, using big colored photos and great house descriptions. Garrison turned on his phone and, selecting the photo of an agent who looked to be around sixty, dialed the number.

"This is Barb Foster," a friendly female voice answered. "What can I do for you?"

Liking her tone, Garrison quickly explained his interest in listing his house. "Maybe I shouldn't have called you on the weekend," he said apologetically. "But I just saw your ad and I thought-"

"Haven't you heard that real estate agents work seven days a week?" she said cheerfully. "In fact, we expect to work even harder on the weekends. Now, tell me more about your house, Garrison."

He explained the recent improvements he'd made. "I'm not saying the place is perfect by any means. But it's a lot better. I'd try to sell it myself, but I really don't know a thing about real estate. I did some looking in the cla.s.sifieds, but I have no idea where to begin. Plus I need to get back to Seattle for my job."

"Well, darling, you've called the right person. I've been working in real estate for more than thirty-five years. There's not much I don't know about this business." She asked him some preliminary questions and eventually inquired about the address. "That's an interesting neighborhood," she told him. "It went downhill in the late nineties, but it's been making a nice little comeback lately. I'll do some comps and come up with a number for you."

"Comps?"

"Comparing house prices. I also look at tax records and some other things. We want to price the house just right. Not too high, not too low. Right on the money." She chuckled. "And that brings you the money. Do you want me to start working on it for you?"

Garrison felt drawn to the warmth in her voice. She had an almost maternal sound. "Yes," he declared. "I want to move forward." He glanced around the lonely house. "As soon as possible."

"Well, you're in luck because I'm doing an open house today and it's been pretty slow on this side of town. I've got my iPad with me, and I'll start looking into your property right now. Then if you don't mind, I'll stop by around four and take a look at your property."

"That's fine. Great!"

By the time Barb showed up, Garrison felt so unbearably lonely that he rushed to open the door and invited her in with enthusiasm. Chattering at her nonstop-similar to what Muzzy used to do-Garrison showed Barb everything.

"The place looks good," she told him. "Like you said, it's not perfect. But it's clean and cleared out." She glanced around. "Almost too cleared out."

"Really?"

"But don't worry about that."

"So do you want to list it?" he asked hopefully. "I mean, I realize the holidays are coming. Maybe that's not a good time to-"

"Oh, you'd be surprised at the people who enjoy house shopping during the holidays. Folks are visiting relatives or just driving around to look at Christmas decorations." Her eyes lit up. "Say, we should put some nice, tasteful lights outside-really show the place off. And we should put a tree up and add a few Christmas touches." She pointed to the mantel. "Maybe some greens and candles and such."

He gave her a blank look. "I-uh-to be honest, I'm not really good at that sort of thing."

She laughed. "No, of course not." She pointed to the zebra rug. "Clearly this is a bachelor pad. But that's not what buyers want to see. Let me take care of that for you. You've done a great job already, darling, but we need to warm it up. My daughter-in-law is a magician at staging."

"Staging?"

Barb explained how houses sold more easily when the furnis.h.i.+ngs were arranged in a certain way. "Felicia will bring some things over-just on loan until your house sells. She'll get the place looking like something right out of a magazine."

"Really?"

"You bet. Like I said, this girl is a whiz. My guess is we'll have this place sold before the new year. How does that work for you?"

He forced a smile, realizing this was really it-the end of an era. It felt like a large stone had lodged itself in the bottom of his stomach. "Uh-yeah, sure. That sounds great."

She patted his hand. "I understand, son. This was your grandmother's house, your childhood home. It's only natural you should feel some sadness."

He nodded. "Yeah, it's hard to give it up. But at the same time, I know it would be harder to stay." He looked around. "It's pretty lonely here."

As soon as Barb left, Garrison called Randall in Seattle, quickly explaining his job and a need to return. "Hopefully you won't be stuck with me too long," he said. "My plan is to get a place of my own as soon as possible." He told him about listing Gram's house.

"No problem," Randall said easily. "Mi casa es su casa."

"Thanks." Garrison let out a relieved sigh. "Can't wait to see you, bud."

After he hung up, Garrison decided to take a walk. Partly because he was restless, partly because he needed to get out of the house. It felt like the loneliness was eating him alive. The air was crisp and cold and since it was late in the day, the streets were vacant of foot traffic. Many of his neighbors' houses were lit up with strings of Christmas lights and cheerful decorations. But even the ones that weren't had the warm amber glow of lights flowing from windows, suggesting that the people inside were happily enjoying each other's company, maybe fixing meals together, sharing a laugh, watching a football game. For the second time today, he felt like the kid with his nose pressed against the window. He felt left out . . . lost, lonely, longing . . .

As the daylight faded he decided to venture over to Cara's street. Yes, he knew he might look like a stalker, but it wasn't like he was planning anything sinister. He just wanted one last look. Feeling somewhat concealed by the dusky light, he slowly strolled past Cara's house. She had put up Christmas lights too, making her sweet little home resemble a gingerbread house even more. David and Jackson's house had similar lights on it. Perhaps they had all worked together to put them up. Garrison could imagine the three of them with ladders and tangled strings of lights, laughing and drinking hot cocoa together, maybe even singing Christmas songs as they "decked their halls."

Feeling chilled to the bone, he turned the next corner and jogged back home, where the starkness of his bachelor pad greeted him like a gla.s.s of cold water tossed into his face. As he went to the kitchen to fix himself some dinner, he looked around, expecting one of his furry feline friends to appear-for Harry to rub up against his legs. Of course, that was not happening. "I've got to get out of here," he said as he opened the freezer, removing a microwavable meal. "The sooner the better."

13.

Why'd you give him away?" Elliott demanded on Sunday. "I thought you liked him-I thought you were gonna keep him?"

"I can't keep him," Garrison said for the second time. Elliott had popped in to say a friendly h.e.l.lo, but had grown increasingly irate after discovering that Harry had found a new home.

"Why not?"

"Because I have to get back to Seattle. My job starts-"

"You're leaving?"

"Well, yeah . . . I have to-"

"What about the halfway house? My grandmother said you might make this place into a halfway house for guys?"

"That was just a dream, Elliott. A dream that takes money."

"What about faith, man?" Elliott glared at him with dark eyes. "You been talking to me about being a man of faith? Where's your faith now?"

Garrison frowned, not wanting to admit that he hadn't even attended church this morning . . . that he'd barely been able to drag himself out of bed . . . where was the faith in that? "I still have faith," he muttered.

"Not enough faith to make this place work. You let Harry go. You just give up and leave. You're just like everyone else, man." Elliott pounded his fist onto the kitchen counter. "Well, I can leave too!"

"Wait!" Garrison called. "You don't understand."

But it was too late, Elliott was already storming out. And before the back door slammed shut, Garrison observed the real estate agent's car pulling into the driveway. Wearing a stylish navy pantsuit, Barb got out of her car and went around to the trunk. He watched as she removed something bulky. Of course, it was a For Sale sign. She leaned it against her car, then, carrying a packet of papers, walked up to the front door. This is it, he realized as he went to answer it. Now everyone in the neighborhood would know that he was leaving. Well, maybe that was just as well. The sooner they figured it out the better.

Garrison signed the agreement. Just as he finished helping Barb plant the sign in his front yard, he noticed a hefty figure wearing a purple woolen coat and a matching hat marching toward him. "That's my neighbor," he said quietly to Barb. "And she looks like she's on the warpath."

"What?" Barb looked up in alarm.

"I didn't tell her I was selling the place."

"Oh, well, I'll make myself scarce." She gave him a little finger wave then hurried back to her car.

"What in tarnation do you think you're doing?" Ruby demanded.

"Listen, Ruby, I wanted to tell-"

"What are you doing?"

"I have to go back to Seattle. I have a job there and-"

"What about your halfway house? What about Elliott?"

"It's a dream, Ruby. And sometimes dreams take time and-"

"Yes!" She shook her finger beneath his nose. "And you have to give them time, Garrison. You are not giving this enough time! You're running off like a scaredy-cat, boy. Your grandmother would be ashamed of you."

"How do you know that?" he demanded.

"Because I am ashamed of you."

"Just because I'm going to take a job in Seattle? Because I'm selling this house? Why should that make you ashamed?"

"Because it looks to me like you're giving up." She peered at him with misty-looking brown eyes. "In my heart, I feel that you just gave up. Like you let something whip you, and now you're running off with your tail tucked between your legs." She shook her head grimly. "I can't even explain it, but I just feel it inside here." She tapped her chest. "In my heart, I am sure that you are making a big mistake."

He didn't know what to say.