Page 86 of The Troll’s Summer Flame

“What? He offered. I admire that. I like a man who is upfront.”

“Thank you. It’s twenty at this point. I’ve been making extra payments. Also, this is where Andrea’s piano will go.” Gordon begins a tour, and my parents follow like sheep.

“Welp. I’m going to give my blessing.” Dad stops looking at the papers Gordon has presented. “Anyone who comes prepared like that and puts in a cat tree and piano for my baby girl?” Dad beams at me. “I approve.”

“He approves!” Hugo gushes. “Mama Flores, give me the shopping bags. Are we going to make the arroz caldo today?”

“Yes, sweetie.” Mom all but pinches his cheek. She smiles, too. “What do you think, darling? Danica?”

I shake my head frantically. Hugo does not need a man-eater like my bestie, even if he might like it. He needs someone calm and steady. High energy, yet patient. Very, very patient.

Mom shrugs, unconvinced.

You know what? That’s a problem for later. Right now, after a week of struggles, grief, and adjustment, I’m going to celebrate the victories.

Right after I find Chopin. “Chopin? Chopin? Mom, Dad, did he sneak out past you?”

“Are you kidding? After the cruise incident, we were extra careful.”

“Shriiiimp!” Mom shouts, and like magic, my cat comes prancing in from the guest bedroom. As soon as Mom gives him a piece, he’s off, back to the bedroom.

“Chopin honors me with his presence by sitting on my bed and catching small animals for me,” Hugo announces. “Cats do that. It is a sign of friendship.” He nods to my mother, the picture of sage wisdom.

“What?” Gordon demands sharply. “Chopin is an indoor cat. I told you not to let the cat outside.”

“I don’t. He lets himself out, catches small creatures like chipmunks, and brings them to me. I let them go before he can hurt them. I give him treats for his efforts, so he knows that I appreciate them, but that I can hunt for myself.”

“You are training my cat to catch woodland creatures, Hugo! No! Give him treats when he catches a toy instead, okay?” I cry, slapping a hand to my head.

“What do you mean, he lets himself out?” Gordon asks.

Chopin doesn’t seem to care that Andrea and I are watching from the doorway of the guest bedroom, just peeking through a space wide enough for him to slide into Hugo’s room.

As I watch, Chopin bats, bats, and bats again, his little paw tirelessly swatting the lock on the window until it unlatches.

Andrea gasps, but the cat is undeterred. He pushes the window now, working the slender white grip meant for fingers with his forehead. It slides open a fraction of an inch, and the paw goes to work. Tap, tap, tap, a centimeter at a time until it opens. Then, he headbutts the screen in the same fashion, sliding it open only a few inches before wiggling through, sliding through a gap that I would have said was far too small for him to utilize for his escape.

“Chopin! Chopin, stop!” Andrea hisses, rushing in.

Chopin doesn’t stop. He gives a graceful leap and ascends the red maple tree outside Hugo’s window.

“You little devil,” Andrea groans. “Come back. Shrimp!”

Chopin looks at her. Looks at me. Climbs higher.

Clearly only Mama Flores can wield the power of shellfish.

“I have an idea,” I say, and I grab her hand and lead her outside.

Outside, under the red maple tree, which is not that tall, I look at Chopin. “I see your game.”

“Oh, God, he doesn’t have a squirrel, does he?” Andrea whimpers, hands over her eyes. “I’m so going to give Hugo a lecture...”

I can easily reach Chopin if I want to. Instead, we lock eyes. “You don’t have to do this anymore,” I address the cat as my esteemed furry friend and practice child. “I love Andrea. I will keep coming back. She will stay with me. Come down.” I stick out my hand.

Chopin ignores it and licks a paw.

“You think he’s trying to... Do what? Make sure we keep seeing each other?” Andrea whispers, joining me in staring at the stubborn feline.