Somewhere Out There(68)

“Come on, girl,” I said, after Trixie had eaten her breakfast and I’d poured myself a travel mug full of hot coffee. I pulled on my winter jacket and we headed out the door. Trixie followed voice commands well enough that she didn’t need a leash, but since the law required it, I linked it to her collar and looped the other end loosely around my wrist.

Outside, it was still dark, but clear enough to see the sparkle of stars against the black sky. My right cheekbone and my ribs ached, as they always did when winter came. It was a painful reminder of the beating I’d taken. I had a car—a used, 1983 Nissan Stanza I was finally able to buy last year—but unless it was pouring down rain, I enjoyed walking the ten blocks to work, basking in the utter peace and silence of the early day before the rest of the world woke up.

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.