Frank and Michelle

Over the next couple weeks Michelle and I settled into a routine: we would wake up at about the same time, have breakfast, feed Conroy, and then leave the house together; while she went to work, I spent my days walking and taking the bus around town, CV in hand, trying to find a job. Then in the evening whoever got home first would feed the cat – she’d given me my own key to the front door, so I could get in on my own – and then we’d cooperate on making dinner (while Michelle was by far the best cook, I could hold my own and make something simple but tasty). And then, usually, we’d watch a movie.

A few days after our first outing Michelle had come home later than usual, lugging along a large bag; she’d borrowed all the Marvel Cinematic Universe movies on Blu-ray from a friend, and she had her mind set on making me catch up before the release of Avengers Endgame, the Grand Finale. She’d also borrowed all the various MCU-related TV series, but apparently those could wait because according to her they were only tangentially related to the movies, and we didn’t really have enough time to watch them all before the end of April.

I have to admit, spending my evenings sitting side-by-side with Michelle on the couch, watching a movie, with Conroy sleeping in either her lap or mine, was really nice. It was the highlight of my day, and something I could definitely get used to.

My job search, on the other hand, wasn’t going so smoothly. I had no real experience that could land me an office job, and while I didn’t expect to work retail for the rest of my life, I had to start somewhere; even a small job with limited hours would do, anything, as long as I could start paying Michelle back for the help she had given me. While there were plenty of stores that were looking for employees, and I dropped a CV at each and every one of them, the farthest I’d gotten were a few interviews; all of them, invariably, were failures: as soon as the conversation turned to the three-year-plus gap in my job experience – even though I’d held only temp jobs before that those were not a big deal – and I, not wanting to lie (and they would have found out about it eventually) replied “I was in jail,” the mood cooled instantly. Oh, they were perfectly polite, no one shouted me out of the room or anything like that, but in the end I was always sent off with a “We’ll be in touch”. I had still to hear back from any of them; my cellphone never rang or beeped, apart from the few texts I exchanged with Michelle over the course of the day. (Bizarrely, she always signed them: “-M.” I’d taken to calling her “Em” because of that, as a nickname, which she didn’t mind at all.)

After three weeks of this, I was starting to get discouraged. I knew finding a job wouldn’t be easy, but I didn’t expect to be stonewalled at every turn. As I was walking home one surprisingly warm early-April afternoon after another fruitless day, I spotted an old bookshop along the street; I’d passed in front of the window maybe a dozen times, but that day I noticed the “HELP WANTED – inquire inside” sign, written in red marker, hanging in it. Had that always been there? Maybe? I don’t know, to be honest.

I gave the shop an appraising look. From what I could see from the window it was dark, cramped, and probably dusty; most likely a holdout who didn’t sell to Waterstones and hadn’t been driven out of business by Amazon yet. Not my first choice for a job, but beggars can’t be choosers. Besides, I would probably be told, once again, “We’ll be in touch”. I pushed the door open; a bell above it – an actual bell, not an electronic substitute – gave a sharp ding as I entered.

“Hol’ on a sec!” came a gruff, somewhat familiar voice from somewhere among the shelves. I waited in front of a big, ancient-looking wooden counter for a couple minutes, then the owner came walking slowly from the back of the shop to greet me.

It was Ralph.

“Welcome ta Stevens Books,” said Ralph. “How can I...” he drifted off, as he got a better look at me in the dim light of the shop. He paused for a while, his eyes narrowing, as if he was trying to recall something. “Yer… Frank, was it?”

The something was my name, apparently. I nodded. “Ralph.”

I hadn’t talked to Ralph since the incident three weeks before. I’d seen him a few times, when by coincidence we were both out in the street, and we’d exchanged nods of acknowledgement. That was all, however; I couldn’t say I knew the man. We were silent for a while, looking at each other, and then he spoke first. “Welcome ta my shop, Frank. What can I help ya with?”

He was polite, at least, but the gruffness was still a significant undertone in his voice. He would probably be the first person to shout me out of their shop when I asked him about the sign. Still, I decided to try.

“It’s about the help wanted sign,” I said. “I’ve been looking for a job...”

He didn’t say anything, he just stood there, looking me up and down, down and up. An appraising stare, like the one I’d been subjected to during our first meeting. Up and down, down and up. Then, without saying a word, or even making a gesture, he turned on his heel, walked around the huge counter, reached below it, and slapped a stack of staple-bound papers and a pen on the wooden top.

“Here,” he said.

I read the top sheet. CONTRACT FOR EMPLOYMENT, it said in big bold letters. This agreement made effective on the day of, it continued, followed by a blank space in which to write down the date.

I looked up at Ralph. “What’s this?”

“Yer hired. Fill out yer name and information, I’ll bring it ta me solicitor tonight,” he said brusquely. “Ya start tomorrow, seven thirty AM sharp. Don’t be late.”

“Hold– Hold on a second!” I said, completely bewildered.

“What?”

“Don’t you want to see my CV? Hear about references? Ask me some questions?” After the weeks I’d spent looking for a job, getting to know your potential employee before even thinking about hiring them seemed a natural thing.

“Na need to,” he waved his hand dismissively. “Chell thinks yer good enough, so yer good enough.”

“Oh,” I said, dumbfounded.

I was still thinking about my new job as I returned home about a half-hour later. Conroy meowed happily upon seeing me, and rubbed himself on my leg. I crouched down and pet him, and then filled his bowl; I sat on the couch, deep in thought, while he munched down on his kibble.

Michelle had helped me once again, even if it was involuntary.

What a girl. She was so funny and charming, and from what she’d told me about her day during the chats we had over dinner, it seemed like she had plenty of friends too. She was really special, and I had realised some days before that I’d come to care deeply about her. I still couldn’t put a finger on what that feeling meant to me, however.

I looked up when I heard some noise. Conroy had jumped on the windowsill, and was staring out at something. I got up from the couch, opened the window a crack, and let him out. Then, still thinking about my room-mate, I got dinner started.

About half an hour later Michelle came home from work; I greeted her from the kitchen, and told her dinner would be ready soon.

“Brilliant,” she replied. “I’m famished.” She looked around. “Have you seen Conroy? Usually he’s bugging me for attention the second I step foot in the house. Hope he hasn’t locked himself in a wardrobe or something.”

“Saw him some time ago,” I answered. “He was looking out of the window, so I let him out.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Michelle freeze as she was taking off her jacket. She looked up at me.

“You what?”

“I… Let him out?” I repeated, startled by the sudden shift in her voice. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Wh– What’s wrong? What’s wrong!” she all but shouted, taking me by surprise. “Conroy is a house cat, Frank! He’s never been outside before! He doesn’t know how to handle the outside!”

I was taken aback; Michelle had never mentioned that, but maybe she hadn’t thought about it because it was a given to her? “I’m sorry, I didn’t think...” I said.

“Yeah, ya didn’t think!” Michelle shot back, then quickly pulled her jacket back on. “Swear to God, Frank, if something happens to him… Shut down the stove, we’re going out to look for him.”

We spent the best part of an hour running up and down our street, checking every nook and cranny we could think of and calling Conroy’s name, before widening our search to the rest of the neighbourhood, but he was nowhere to be found. After a while Michelle started lagging behind me, and when I turned around I saw her sitting on the kerb, face in her hands, sobbing. I sat down next to her and put my arm around her. “Hey. Hey,” I said. “Come on, Michelle. Everything will be fine.”

“It’s not fine!” she protested, shaking her head.

“Don’t worry, Em. He’s probably just hiding somewhere,” I reassured her.

“Ya… Ya don’t understand,” she replied, and sniffed. “He was the only one who stuck with me. Through… Everything. He was the only one who didn’t care.” Those last words were barely a whisper.

And then I understood. I realised what Conroy really meant to her.

“If I lose him, I don’t know...” she said, still sobbing.

I paused to consider what I should do, what I should say, then stood back up and offered Michelle my hand. “We’ll find him, Em. I promise.”

Though admittedly, I had no idea how I would fulfil that promise.

She looked up at me for a few seconds, then wiped her tears with her jacket sleeve (smearing her eye makeup in the process, but I doubt she cared), took my hand, and I lifted her to her feet.

“Let’s split up,” I said. “We’ll cover more ground that way.”

She nodded, and then started in a seemingly-random direction, and I went off in the other.

And then my phone rang; an unknown number, but then again I had no one in my contacts besides Michelle and the local pizza delivery place. Walking at a brisk pace and still looking around for any trace of Conroy, I answered. “Hello?”

“Where are ya, Frank?” came Ralph’s voice from the other end; I realised he must have gotten my number from the work contract. “Tried ringing the doorbell, but no one answered.”

“I’m kinda busy right now, Ralph, sorry. I don’t really have time to–”

“Don’t care ‘bout that,” he cut me off, “Just please come get yer demon cat right now.”

Under his voice I could hear a distant, forlorn yowling.

I stopped dead in my tracks. “Wait, he’s there?”

“Yeah, he is,” Ralph replied, but after the first word I’d already lowered my phone and started jumping and waving at Michelle, who was already a ways down the street.

“Michelle!” I called.

“What?” she shouted, turning back to me.

“Ralph just called! Conroy’s at his place!”

I saw Michelle pause, then turn around and sprint down the street. I took off after her but I barely managed to keep up, she was surprisingly fast: I turned the corner onto Marshall Drive just as Michelle was disappearing into Ralph’s front door, which was wide open when I reached it; Ralph was standing just inside.

“Left me window ajar, found that bugger munching on my steak when I went to cook it,” he said, as I bent over, wheezing and panting – I was definitely out of shape. “Locked ‘im in the kitchen and came looking for ya. By the way, ya owe me a steak.”

Having caught my breath, I walked to Ralph’s kitchen, and I saw them.

And finally, I got it.

I saw Michelle kneeling on the floor, face flushed from the run, hair unkempt, her eyes moist with tears of relief, hugging Conroy, holding onto him as if her life depended on it, and smiling. Her smile lit up the world, and it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen in my life. And as I watched them, watched her, I finally understood why I’d been thinking so much about her. Why I cared so much about her.

I was deeply, hopelessly in love with Michelle.