“I admit it might have been a bad idea to come over here tonight. How about we meet tomorrow?”
Soot’s curiosity apparently had replaced his fear. He crept back into the store, his tail fat and his walk low. He approached the front door and stood on his hind legs with his paws on the glass. Tak reappeared and dropped down to a squat. He held his hand up to the door and Soot ran his head against the glass like he wanted Tak to pet him.
My cat was a lot of things, but he wasn’t known for being particularly friendly. His behavior was downright odd. “What did you do to my cat?” I asked.
“What could I possibly do to your cat? I’m on the other side of your door.”
“He’s never this friendly unless somebody has food for him.”
“He probably smells the fish.”
“What fish?”
He stood up and looked at the bags. “The fish in your garbage. That’s what all these bags are, right?”
“Our garbage goes out back. Somebody drove up and dumped those bags in front of the store.”
“I don’t want to tell you how to run your business, but if you don’t do something with these bags soon you’re going to have a whole lot more cats by morning.”
All of a sudden it struck me as very, very silly that Tak and I were talking on the phone to each other when we stood less than ten feet apart. I got the giggles.
“What’s so funny?”
“You. Us. We’re acting like I’m in a containment unit.”
He cracked a smile. “There’s one way to change that,” he said. “You could unlock the door and invite me in.”
It wasn’t until I caught my reflection in the glass of the door—alien pajamas and fluffy green slippers—that I realized just how silly the situation was. I grabbed a men’s topcoat from a rack and shrugged into it. The itchy wool scratched my neck and the sleeves fell far past my hands.
I unlocked the dead bolt and held the door open. Tak grabbed the knot of two of the black garbage bags and carried them in. I scooted to the sidewalk and grabbed the other two. They bulged with soft contents. Tak was right; they smelled of fish.
Soot eagerly followed the bags into the store. He chewed on the bottom corner of the first one Tak had set down. I nudged him away with one of my alien-slippered feet. He jumped when he saw the fluffy green head and ran in the other direction. I looked at Tak. He tried to hide a smile. I secured the topcoat around my body.
“I’m going to run upstairs and change,” I said.
“Don’t do it on my account,” he said. “I hear the alien look is big on the Paris runways.”
I pulled a slipper off and threw it at him. He caught it and tucked it under his arm.
“Be right back,” I said. I scooped up Soot and ran upstairs, my bare foot cold against the floor. My Indian outfit was still on the bed where I’d left it, but gasoline-scented beige linen probably wasn’t the best thing to wear when going through garbage bags that smelled of fish. I pulled on a navy blue polyester tracksuit with white stripes down the arms and legs and knotted on a pair of sneakers. Within seconds, I was back in the shop.
“Okay, I’m ready,” I said.
Tak stood by one of the bags with a white envelope in his hand. “This was taped to the outside of one of the bags and it has your name on it.” He held the envelope out. I recognized the handwriting before the envelope was in my hand, and suddenly everything made sense.
Chapter 10
A SMILE BROKE across my face and I eagerly tore into the envelope.
Margo,
These came in during our last clothing drive, but I thought maybe you or Jerry could do something with them. If yes, I’ll accept a donation in exchange. Just like old times!
—Bobbie K.
P.S. Sorry about the smell.
The letterhead read: MONEY CHANGES EVERYTHING.
“I’m guessing you know the donor,” Tak said. Absorbed in Bobbie’s letter as I was, I’d forgotten that he was standing there.
“My high school best friend. She runs a nonprofit.” I said. “She must have heard I was back in town.” I set the letter on the counter and unknotted the first bag. The scent of fish grew stronger. I waved my hand back and forth in front of my nose.
Tak located a fan in the corner of the store and turned it on, and then propped the front door open and positioned the fan to blow the scent outside. I reached into the bag and pulled out a white sailor top. Underneath it was another. And another. And another. What the heck?
“Open that one,” I instructed Tak. His bag held a stack of black sailor pants. The rest of the bags held more of the same: sailor tops and pants. Either the smell faded or I was becoming immune to the scent of fish, because by the time we had all four bags unpacked, I barely noticed it.