Claws For Concern

After dithering over it for over a minute, I decided I had to call. Otherwise I would have to wait until Monday morning, spending the weekend fretting over all this. I had better things to do with my time, not to mention my mental energy. Laura and Frank were bringing my grandson over tomorrow for me to look after while they went out to lunch and a movie. I didn’t want to be distracted while he was in my care. I pulled out my cell phone, found Azalea’s name in my contacts, and called her.

The call went to voice mail, and I left a brief message asking her to return my call at her convenience. I stressed there was no urgency, that I simply had a question I wanted to ask about my aunt’s husband.

That done, I realized I was hungry and ready for my dinner. I found Diesel in the kitchen, waiting by the refrigerator. He knew what time it was, and he was hopeful that there was more chicken lurking inside the big white box. He meowed three times to let me know how near starvation he was, then threw in a few sad chirps to emphasize his dire state.

“You really are a fraud, you know.” I shook my head. “I know if I went into the utility room right now and checked your bowl there will probably be plenty of dry food in it.”

Diesel regarded me with what I would label a solemn expression. He meowed loudly, and I understood that to mean that dry food was not adequate—as it so often wasn’t, because someone had become spoiled by being given too many tidbits from the table.

I had to laugh. The cat knew how to work me, and pretty much everyone else around him, to get what he wanted. I did keep an eye on his weight because I didn’t want to have Diesel’s veterinarian fussing at me for letting him get fat. The problem was that I couldn’t always resist these little performances of his.

According to the note I found on the refrigerator door, Stewart and Haskell were out again this evening. “Looks like it’s just you and me tonight, boy,” I told the cat. I opened the door and took out the pot of meat sauce Azalea had prepared. I set it on the stove to warm up, then found the pot I needed to cook the pasta.

While the pasta cooked, I made myself a small salad. Diesel chirped at frequent intervals to remind me that his situation remained serious since I had yet to provide anything for him. He couldn’t have any of the meat sauce because of the garlic and onions in it, but there was more of the boiled chicken for him.

The pasta was ready before my cat expired from hunger. I enjoyed my meal thoroughly while I doled out bites of chicken to Diesel. All the while, in the back of my mind, I was urging Azalea to return my call. My curiosity was going to get the better of me.

My cell phone rang when I was nearly through cleaning up after my dinner. I put my plate in the dishwasher, shut the door, and then retrieved my phone. I was happy to see that the caller was Azalea.

After a quick exchange of greetings, and my repeated assurance that everything was fine, I told Azalea a little about Bill Delaney and his relationship to Uncle Del. I also mentioned the strong resemblance between the two men.

“Did he have any relatives that you know of?” I asked.

“Not that I can recall,” Azalea said. “Miss Dottie talked about him sometimes, but I can’t say she ever mentioned he had any family. She sure didn’t ever mention he had a son. You say he looks like Mr. Del?”

“Yes, he does. They’re obviously related.”

“Miss Dottie did tell me one thing about Mr. Del,” Azalea said. “She did tell me he had been married before, but he and his first wife couldn’t get along. So they got divorced. Your grandparents weren’t happy about her marrying a divorced man.”

I remembered my grandmother, who died when I was fifteen. She had been old-fashioned about many things, divorce included.

“Your grandmama had conniptions, Miss Dottie said, but she and your granddaddy finally gave in.”

“That fits in with what Bill Delaney told me,” I said. “He said Uncle Del walked out after about six months and never knew his wife was pregnant.”

“Miss Dottie never knew a thing about a son, I can tell you that,” Azalea said. “She would have loved having a child, even a stepchild, to take care of.”

“Yes, I’m sure she would have.” I hesitated a moment, not sure whether I was ready to confide my plan to Azalea. Then I realized that she had the right to know that there could potentially be another person living in the house. “I think she would want me to do what I can for him, don’t you?” I told her about where he lived and my concern that his living conditions weren’t good.

“She would,” Azalea said. “Miss Dottie was a saint walking on this earth, sure enough. I won’t mind a bit having another man in the house, but I reckon Miss Dottie wouldn’t want you to do it if you don’t feel like it would be safe.”