Somewhere Out There(69)

“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.





Brooke


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.