Somewhere Out There (27 page)

Once inside the clinic, I locked the door behind me and made my rounds, turning on lights and greeting our patients who had stayed overnight. I issued their meds, loving them up as I did, inquiring as to their well-being. As usual, Trixie went straight to her spot on the dog bed in Randy’s office, where she curled up and settled in for a nap. An hour later, at seven o’clock, Randy arrived. We’d grown to be even better friends since I left prison, and I’d gotten to know his wife, Lisa, too. They had me over to their house for holiday dinners, and celebrated my birthday by taking me out to my favorite Italian restaurant.

I’d asked Randy once, about a year after he spoke to the parole board and helped me get released, what it was that made him do this. Why he was so patient and generous to a woman who had clearly screwed up her life.

I’ll never forget how he looked at me in that moment; I’ll never forget what he said. “Why do you spend time working with rescue dogs? Why are you so patient and generous and kind to these mistreated animals, animals who made mistakes and were written off as worthless and broken?” He paused then, and smiled. “Sometimes, all we need is for someone to believe in us.”

I’d hugged him then, for the first time since the day we met, and with as much gratitude as I could convey. After that, we never spoke of it again. I became just another one of his employees. A member of his family. It was more than I ever thought I’d have.

“We’ve got an emergency coming in,” Randy told me now, as he shrugged off his thick parka and hung it on the hook by the front door. “Got the call about fifteen minutes ago.”

“Anyone we know?” I asked. We had a host of frequent flier clients, owners who panicked the minute their pets showed any sign of unusual behavior. They’d call, freaking out that their dog or cat might have swallowed some kind of poison or sharp object, insisting they needed an emergency appointment. Most of the time, the animals were fine, and it was the owners whom we treated with soothing words and reassurances that their pets would be okay.

“No,” Randy said. “Apparently, this guy just moved here and he saw our after-hours number in the yellow pages, so he called. His dog is lethargic and hot. Sounds like an infection.”

I nodded. “I’ll get the exam room ready.”

“Thanks” he said. “Chandi should be in any minute, right?”

I glanced at the clock. Chandi was still our office manager and the person who opened the clinic each weekday at seven thirty. “If she’s not here to let him in, I’ll watch the door.”

Randy nodded and headed into his office, where I knew he would try to catch up on a few emails or patient notes before meeting with this new client. I prepped the exam room, making sure there was a blood sample kit for Randy to use. Once I was finished, I returned to the front office, where through the glass door, I saw a tall man in a red ski jacket standing with one arm raised, about to knock.

I smiled and rushed to unlock the door, ushering him inside with his dog, a medium-size, black-haired mutt with white paws and a white patch on his chest. “Hi,” I said. “I’m Jennifer. Come on back.”

“Thank you,” the man said, and I could hear the worried tension in his voice.

When we got to the room, I took the leash he held and shut the door behind us so the animal couldn’t escape. The man shook off his coat, dropping it onto the orange, vinyl-covered bench next to the exam table, and looked at me with hazel eyes. His hair was dark blond and his skin was tan; I wondered if he’d come to Washington from some sunny locale, because Mt. Vernon hadn’t seen blue skies or a temperature over fifty degrees since October.

“The doctor will be right in,” I said, poising my fingers over the keyboard to the computer in the room. “Can I get your name and this little guy’s so I can get a file started?”

“Evan Richmond,” he said. “And this is Scout. He’s never been sick like this before.”

“You’ve brought him to the right place.” I typed in their names, then got his address and phone number. “Dr. Stewart said you’ve just moved here. Where from?” I grabbed my thermometer and crouched down behind Scout, who had tucked his tail between his legs, making it difficult for me to take his temperature.

“Phoenix,” he said. “My dad passed away last year. He was a mechanic, and left me his business. I came up here to sell it, but I grew up here, so I decided to move back and take it over instead. I’m a mechanic, too.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your dad.” I shifted on my tiptoes and looked up at him. “Can you help me, please? I need to get his temp.” I nodded in the general direction of Scout’s rump, and Evan dropped down on his knees, holding his dog’s head while he lifted Scout’s tail.

“It’s okay, boy,” he said. “She isn’t going to hurt you.”

“Thanks,” I said, quickly taking care of one of my least glamorous responsibilities.
One hundred five,
I thought, cringing a bit. Evan was right. His dog was definitely ill.

Just then, Randy pushed open the door and entered the exam room. “Evan?” he said, holding out his hand. Evan shook it. “I’m Dr. Stewart.” He looked down at the dog, who had curled up on the floor, lying on top of his master’s black work boots. “And this must be Scout.”

“Temp’s one-oh-five,” I murmured, and I felt Evan’s eyes land back on me.

“That’s high, right?” he asked.

Randy squatted on the floor and put his stethoscope against Scout’s chest. The dog was panting, quietly but rapidly, clearly in distress. “We normally like to see it between one-oh-one and one-oh-three.”

“Shit,” Evan said, and I did something I never had with a client before. I reached out and put one of my hands on his arm. His tendons were pulled as tight as guitar strings.

“It’ll be okay,” I said. “You brought him in right away. We’ll take good care of him.” I thought back to Winston, the dog who had presented with the same symptoms all those years before. He hadn’t responded to multiple rounds of antibiotics. If Scout indeed had an infection, I could only hope that what I’d just said to Evan would be true.

Evan bobbed his head, once, and then crossed his arms over his chest while Randy took a quick blood sample from Scout’s back, right between his shoulder blades. He handed it to me, and I left the room and walked to the small lab down the hall, where I ran a few tests, waiting for Randy to join me and interpret the results. When he arrived a few minutes later, he checked the sample under the microscope and frowned. “High white blood cell count,” he said. “Might be a systemic infection.”

“I’ll get a boarding kennel ready for him,” I said, knowing Randy’s next order without him having to ask. He would want Scout to stay at least for a few days on an IV so we could monitor the fever and figure out what was going on with him.

“Thanks,” Randy said. “I’ll go talk with Evan and then head back to my office.”

A few minutes later, I returned to the exam room. Randy wasn’t there, but Evan was sitting on the small orange bench. His head was in his hands, and the heels of his palms were pressed into his eyes. Scout was still curled up on his feet, panting.

I coughed, and Evan looked up. His cheeks were wet. “Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“That’s okay,” he said. He sniffed, seemingly unashamed of the fact that he was crying. He had to be at least in his early forties, ten years or so older than me. He was graying at the temples and had open fans of wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.

“Dr. Stewart told you Scout will need to stay with us a few days?”

“He did, thanks.” Evan leaned down to scratch his dog’s head. “Everything’s going to be good, buddy. Jennifer’s going to take care of you now.”

At the sound of my name in his mouth, there was a small, rolling sensation in my belly. I hadn’t felt anything like it since I’d met Michael our sophomore year of high school. I tried to shake the feeling off as I stepped across the room to pick up Scout’s leash. Once I had, I straightened and looked at Evan, who stood up as well. “Chandi should be at the front desk by now,” I said. “Or one of our receptionists. They’ll go over the treatment protocol and let you know when you can visit.”

“Okay,” he said. “Is there a number I can call, just to check on him? See how he’s doing?”

I hesitated only a moment before speaking again. “Sure. In fact, let me give you my home number,” I told him, feeling my face flush. “Just in case you want to call after hours.”

He stared at me for a couple of seconds, and then he smiled, revealing a deep, single dimple in his right cheek. “I appreciate that,” he said. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” I replied. I wrote down my number, and Evan stuck it back in his pocket. He squatted down next to his dog and scratched the animal’s chest, whispering something I couldn’t hear into Scout’s furry ear.

“Come on, Scout,” I said, giving the dog’s leash a light tug. I felt Evan’s eyes on my back, and I turned around to smile at him, too. “Try not to worry too much. It’ll be okay,” I said, and then I headed out the door.

On the Tuesday morning following the brunch she’d had with her sister, Brooke waited at a table inside Crumble & Flake, the bakery at which she and Natalie had decided to meet. A large, golden-brown croissant sat on a plate before her, but she had a knot in her stomach, and even though she’d been hungry when she ordered it, she felt too nervous to eat. It was a little before ten o’clock, and the air was redolent with the scent of brewing coffee and warm, sugary treats.

Brooke wished she could have a cup of coffee instead of the herbal tea she’d ordered, but she’d read online that pregnant women should avoid caffeine. Which, considering how exhausted she was, felt like an unusually cruel punishment. Along with fatigue, her breasts were tender and her lower back was sore; she couldn’t wait to be further into her second trimester, when most of these issues were supposed to subside. An online check for the size of her baby at thirteen-and-a-half weeks told her that it was approximately three inches long and now had the whorls of prints developing on its tiny fingertips. She still could hardly fathom that all of this was taking place inside her; she wondered when it would begin to feel real.

She realized that if she wanted, she could talk with Natalie about what it was like when her younger sister had been pregnant with Hailey and Henry. She could ask any question and Natalie would surely answer it. But it had been overwhelming enough, seeing Natalie on Saturday, knowing the woman who handed her that well-worn lavender blanket was the baby she’d said good-bye to all those years before. She was terrified of letting Natalie into her world, letting her sister see just how empty it was. She worried that Natalie would get to know her and hate her; that she’d ask about Brooke’s friends and Brooke would have to tell her she didn’t really have any. What if Brooke told her about the baby and Natalie thought she’d be a terrible mother?

Brooke glanced around the shop, trying to distract herself from her negative thoughts. The tables surrounding her were mostly filled with young mothers and their children, along with a few suit-and-tie businessmen typing away on their laptops. One of the latter, an older, dark-haired gentleman wearing horn-rimmed glasses, caught Brooke staring at him, and he raised one of his eyebrows as he smiled back. She immediately dropped her eyes to the floor, not wanting him to think that her look was an invitation to join her.

Fortunately, at that moment the bell on the bakery door sounded, and Natalie entered. She wore snug-fitting dark blue jeans, a double-breasted black wool swing coat, and knee-high black leather boots. Her blond hair was tucked behind her ear on one side, and her cheeks were pink from the cold October air. She waved at Brooke, then came over to join her.

“Hi,” she said as she sat down at the table. “Am I late? I had a hard time finding parking.”

“Not at all,” Brooke said, watching her younger sister remove her coat, revealing the black, fitted turtleneck sweater she wore beneath. “You look nice.”

“Really?” Natalie glanced down at her outfit. “Thanks. Pretty much everything I own is black, so I don’t have to worry whether or not things match.” She smiled again, then reached into the large bag she’d carried in, setting a small lavender box on the table between them. “I brought you a little something.”

Brooke instantly recognized that the shade of purple matched the blanket Natalie had returned to her, loving that her sister had chosen it. She carefully opened up the box. Inside were nine pastel-hued, perfectly round macarons. She looked at Natalie. “Wow. You made them?”

Natalie nodded.

Brooke reached in and took one out, holding the delicate cookie between her thumb and index finger as she took a bite. “Oh my god,” she said. The sweet meringue melted inside her mouth, filling it with the intense flavor combination of raspberry and lime. “It’s amazing.”

“Thanks,” Natalie said again, looking pleased. She glanced toward the counter. “I should probably go buy something. I’m sure the owners wouldn’t appreciate me bringing in my own dessert.” She stood up and grabbed her purse. “Be right back.”

Brooke waited for Natalie to return, sipping at the peppermint tea she had ordered, making sure she didn’t make eye contact with the older gentleman with glasses, whose gaze she could still feel upon her.
You’re the last thing I need, buddy,
she thought. Now that she was pregnant, she wouldn’t be dating anyone for quite some time. So far, Ryan had respected her request to leave her alone, but it had been less than a week, and there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t try to contact her again. She told herself that no matter how scared or needy she might feel as her pregnancy progressed, she would not be the one contacting him.

Natalie came back to their table, holding a large white mug and a plate with a croissant on it, just like the still-untouched one Brooke had in front of her. “So,” Natalie said. “How’re you doing?” She lowered herself into her seat and took a sip of what Brooke assumed was a latte from the white foam that stuck to Natalie’s upper lip before she licked it clean.

“With us, you mean?” Brooke said.

“Yeah. It’s a lot to take in, right? I’m trying to get used to hearing the word ‘sister’ rolling around inside my head. It’s a little strange.” She paused. “Wonderful, but strange.”