“Thank you, buddy,” Godfrey said, his voice soft as he touched Diesel’s paw lightly with his hand.

Diesel muttered, withdrew his paw, and went back to his window.

Godfrey shook his head. “I’ve got to put him in a book. That was freaky.”

“Diesel is a special cat.” I smiled and reached for a piece of scrap paper. Picking up a pen, I jotted down my telephone number. “Call me and let me know when you’ll be coming by the house, okay?”

Godfrey accepted the paper. “Thanks, Charlie. I’ve got another appointment before I meet Julia for lunch.” He stood.

I stood too and accepted the hand he proffered. “Good luck. I hope things work out for you with Justin.”

Godfrey thanked me again, and I watched as he strode out of the room.

“What a mess,” I said.

I didn’t realize I had spoken the words until I felt Diesel’s paw on my shoulder. When I turned to face him, Diesel gazed at me, his head cocked a bit to the right. It was uncanny, the things this cat seemed to understand. “Yes, it’s a messy situation. Poor Justin.” I shook my head. “Poor Godfrey, poor Julia, and even poor Ezra.”

Diesel trilled a couple of times.

“Somehow I think we’ll be in the middle of it, too. With Justin in our house, there’s no way to avoid it.”

Diesel chirped.

“We’ll support Justin any way we can.” I spoke with more assurance than I felt. “If he wants our help, that is.” I couldn’t believe I was saying such things. What had happened to my resolve to steer away from emotional complications?

I stared at my cat as if he could answer that for me. Diesel blinked slowly before settling back down to nap.

For a few minutes, I thought about what had just occurred in my office. Godfrey started out as I remembered him—cocksure, swaggering, self-involved. His manner changed, though, his self-assurance seemingly gone when he told me about Justin. Perhaps having a son humbled him.

But there was more to it. The way he squirmed when talking about Julia. He lied to me about that. He had been lying to himself for years. He knew all along Julia was pregnant, but for whatever reason he hadn’t been willing to acknowledge it. Until now. Why? I wondered. Maybe hitting fifty had done it.

I turned to my computer. All this speculation gave me a headache. I needed to focus on work and forget about distractions.

I managed to keep myself busy until lunchtime, continuing with my cataloging. Around eleven-thirty I put down my pencil, set my computer to standby, and stood.

“Come on, boy.” I rubbed Diesel’s head. “Let’s go home for lunch.”