Big Swiss(88)

“He seemed like a real person,” Big Swiss announced a minute later. “And good at his job.”

Greta said yes, he did seem very competent, but otherwise completely unreal, and way too attractive to be a vet. He must have been known all over the county for his good looks. What was his name again?

“You’re still in shock,” Big Swiss said. “His name is Tom and he’s completely average looking.”

“Then why did you give him your number?”

“You know, you might be perimenopausal,” Big Swiss said. “You were having a hot flash out there. And a heavy period. It’s common to bleed profusely like that, in spurts. The blood was thin, mostly, and bright pink, but there were a few large clots—so, yes, I’m sorry I suggested it was a miscarriage—it was the first thing that popped into my head, and I wasn’t thinking clearly. But I am now.” She pulled her phone from her pocket and looked at it. “I have to leave in a minute, but maybe you should let me examine you.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I can still hear you screaming,” Big Swiss said. “You know what it sounds like?”

Glenn Close? Greta thought. Meryl Streep?

“Badly played bagpipes,” Big Swiss said. “It’s giving me a migraine.”

“Well, it was my first time screaming. Maybe I’ll practice more after you leave.”

Pi?on whined in his sleep. His brows twitched, and he paddled his front paws. He was distressed. He was reliving his trauma, obviously. If only she could see what he was seeing, she might at least know what Keith looked like. But then what?

She thought about moving him to the antechamber. Better to leave him on the table for now. She switched off the lamp. Now she and Big Swiss were standing in the dark. Both halves of the wide Dutch door were open to the yard, which was full of night noise. They listened without speaking for a minute. It was too early for cricket song, but the peepers called in chorus, and it sounded like sleigh bells, and a toad kept belching loudly.

“Do you think it was him?” Greta asked.

“Who?”

“Keith.”

“No,” Big Swiss said. “You should get that out of your head.”

“So—but—did he ask for your number, or did you just give it to him?”

“Who?”

“Tom.”

“I wrote him a check, Greta,” Big Swiss said. “For twelve hundred dollars.”

Greta groaned. Thankfully, Big Swiss couldn’t see her face, which she could feel reddening, or her stupid, quivering mouth. But when her mouth trembled, her words did, too.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“House calls are expensive, Greta.”

“I would’ve figured it out.”

“How? You don’t have a job.”

“Okay, well, thank you,” Greta said. “And you’re welcome.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I just gave you another opportunity to feel superior.”

“That’s not why I did it,” Big Swiss said. “You think I’m enjoying this?”

“Luke takes very good care of you. So, I know you’re not with me to feel safe and secure. You think you’re slumming, right? I’ve been there—it’s exciting at first. Life-affirming. Feels a little dangerous. So, I’m not sure why you’re acting all outraged, since you already thought of me as someone beneath you. A broken toy. You don’t really care about privacy. Or boundaries. You’re only mad because I had a little power over you, power I didn’t deserve, because you hadn’t given it to me. But you know what? I’d rather live like an animal than in some fantasy where I have control over everything, where people only have power over me if I let them. You millennials and your utopias, honest to god. You’re so attached to your vision, to your virtue, to your supposedly good intentions, to being on the right side of everything—”

“You had personal information about me that allowed you some control over my impression of you, which is the definition of power. Of course I care about privacy. I never discussed my therapy sessions with you because they were private, because I have boundaries.”

“Then why are you traipsing around Hudson with me? Having sex with me in bathrooms? Introducing me to your husband?”

“I’m trying to figure that out,” Big Swiss said. “Believe me. I’m dying to get to the bottom of it.”

Big Swiss raised her arms, laced her fingers, and cradled her head. One of her signature gestures, designed to look casual and innocuous, to make her seem open and unguarded, but Greta knew better. She caught a whiff and felt herself weaken.

“Put those away, please,” Greta said.

“What?”

“Your pits,” Greta said, and waved her hand. “I’m trying to concentrate.”

Big Swiss unlaced her fingers and crossed her arms.

“We can continue arguing about this another time,” Big Swiss said. “I’m scheduled for surgery at six a.m. I’ll call you after and check up on you.”

Silas, who’d been curled up under the desk, loped over to Big Swiss and sat at her feet, ready to be leashed, ready for this nightmare to be over.