One Bright Christmas

by Katherine Spencer

  The vet slipped off a heavy tan field coat and draped it on a chair, then rolled up the sleeves of her denim shirt. She gazed down at Wilbur, who was lying on his side, struggling for breath. “There’s my little patient.”

  “Yes. His name is Wilbur.”

  “So I’ve heard. Where can I wash up? . . . I ought to take these boots off first, I suppose.” Her dark green, knee-high rubber boots were caked with mud, but Lauren didn’t want her to go to the trouble.

  “It’s all right. I’ll clean up later.”

  The vet smiled briefly and washed her hands in the sink. Then she set her bag on the table and opened it. She was pulling out a stethoscope when Phoebe ran into the room, a pile of paper and a pink plastic box pressed to her chest.

  “Are you the doctor?”

  “Yes, I am. Are you Wilbur’s owner?”

  “Sort of. He really belongs to Jessica. But I take care of him. And I love him.”

  “I get it.” Dr. Ackroyd nodded. “You’re doing a good job, too. Let’s see how he feels.” She picked Wilbur up by the back of his neck with one hand, set him on the table, and began an examination. Lauren watched as she did everything a doctor would do to a human patient—listened to his heart and his breathing, looked into his mouth, checked his ears. She took his temperature, too. Wilbur squirmed, but Dr. Ackroyd controlled him with an easy touch.

  She gazed at the thermometer and frowned. “He has a fever. We have to get that down.”

  Lauren nodded and felt Phoebe take her hand. Her heart did a little flip-flop, and she looked down at the little girl. “Don’t worry. The doctor will tell us what to do.”

  Dr. Ackroyd glanced at Lauren. She could tell the vet was concerned about Wilbur’s state but had the good sense and sensitivity not to scare Phoebe.

  “Will he need to go the animal hospital? He can’t go,” Phoebe said flatly.

  Dr. Ackroyd glanced at her. “That depends on what happens today and tonight. Wilbur has an infection in his lungs. He’s very young and not very strong,” she added in a frank tone. “The next twelve hours are crucial. I’m going to give him a shot. It won’t hurt him much, just a pinch,” she promised. “And I’m going to remove some of the mucus from his lungs so he can get a good breath. Right now, he feels like he’s underwater. He’s not going to like that part. He’ll put up a fuss,” Dr. Ackroyd predicted. “But he won’t survive otherwise.”

  Phoebe nodded. Lauren could see she understood.

  The doctor quickly gave Wilbur his shot. Then she took a rubber instrument from her bag. It looked like a medicine dropper with a big ball on one end. She held Wilbur very close and tipped his head back. He squirmed and squealed, but she somehow eased the tube down his throat and sucked up the liquid blocking his lungs.

  When the procedure was over, he coughed a bit, and Dr. Ackroyd petted and soothed him. “There, there, my friend. You must feel better after that?”

  The piglet stalked around the table. He shook his head, making his ears flap, then trotted straight to Phoebe and nuzzled her.

  “He must feel a little better. He hardly noticed me today before now,” Phoebe said.

  “I have some medicine here for him. I’ll write down the dosage.” The doctor searched her bag and found a small bottle of liquid. Lauren saw that it was given with a dropper.

  “What can we do for him? Besides the medicine, I mean.”

  “A quick bath might help. Tepid water—not too cold, not too hot. It should bring his temperature down.”

  Phoebe looked happy at that news.

  “Dry him well. Wrap him in a towel or blanket for a few minutes after, if he’ll tolerate that. Don’t let him get chilled. Keep offering water. He needs fluids, and some food if he’ll take it. But water is more important right now. And you need to keep track of his temperature. Take it every hour. I’ll leave the thermometer.”

  Luckily, it was the electronic kind that could be inserted into Wilbur’s ear. The directions for his care sounded simple, but the doctor’s warning about this being such a critical time for him made Lauren nervous.

  Dr. Ackroyd must have read her thoughts. “Don’t worry, I’ll write it all down. And I’ll check in to see how he’s doing. Call anytime with any questions. Or if he takes a turn,” she added, careful again not to sound too dire.

  A few minutes later, the veterinarian was packed up and ready to go. Lauren stood at the door, holding the instructions and the medicine bottle—and wishing the wise, calm woman could stay and see Wilbur through this. Maybe it would be best if the vet took Wilbur with her and cared for him at her animal clinic, even if just overnight? Though Lauren would never say that aloud to Phoebe.

  Once the vet was gone, Lauren turned to Phoebe, who held Wilbur in her arms again. “Well, we have our orders from Dr. Ackroyd. Let’s start with the bath.”

  The notion of a slippery pig was a cliché but she expected Wilbur would be hard to handle, even feeling ill.

  “There’s a sink near the washer on the screened-in porch,” Phoebe said. “I’ll show you.”

  Phoebe carried Wilbur to a small space at the side of the house that had once been an open porch but was now enclosed to provide a small laundry and utility room, and Lauren followed. She ran the water, making sure it was just right. Phoebe left to find towels and returned with enough for a family of four to spend a week at the beach. She set them on the washer, next to Lauren. “He can’t get a chill, remember?”

  “I do. Good job.”

  Phoebe pulled over a chair and climbed up so she could help. Wilbur seemed surprised at first to be submerged up to his shoulders in the water but appeared to like it.

  “Pigs can swim, you know. I read it in a book,” Phoebe said.

  “I didn’t know that,” Lauren replied honestly. “You can give him swimming lessons sometime when he feels better.”

  They weren’t supposed to use soap, but streamed capfuls of water over his back and head, careful not to get it in his ears.

  Lauren did it first, then let Phoebe take charge. “Very good. I think he likes it.”

  “I think so, too. The next time, I’ll give him a bubble bath. He’ll love that.”

  Lauren hoped there was a next time. She so hoped he made it.

  The pig was soon back in the cozy kitchen, swaddled in towels, snug as bug. The bath had tired him a bit, along with his encounter with the formidable Dr. Ackroyd. He lay in Phoebe’s lap again and took a little more water with honey. His eyes closed as he sipped from the bottle.

  “I think he feels better,” Phoebe said quietly.

  “I think so, too.” Lauren wasn’t really sure but didn’t want to worry Phoebe. She pressed her hand to his back and then his belly. “His skin feels a little cooler. Maybe the fever went down. That’s good.”

  She checked the time. It was almost six o’clock. Where had the afternoon gone? Cole’s meeting had started at three. She wondered how much longer it would last. And how long she would wind up nursing Wilbur. She hadn’t even considered that.

  Lauren pulled up a chair next to Phoebe and put her arm around the little girl’s shoulder. The bottle was finished, and Phoebe had put it aside. “Do you want me to hold him now? Are you tired?”

  The little girl leaned against Lauren and sighed.

  “It’s okay. I’m not tired,” she insisted, right before she yawned.

  They sat close together that way for a while. Phoebe’s eyes closed, and Lauren’s did, too.

  A sound in the doorway roused her, and she turned. Cole was watching them. She wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing there. “How’s the patient? Any better?”

  “We think so,” Lauren replied in a tentative tone.

  Phoebe woke up and blinked. “We gave him a bath. To bring his fever down. The doctor said,” she reported.

  “That makes sense. It always helped you when
you were a baby.” Cole met Lauren’s gaze, and she could tell he wanted the doctor’s bottom line on Wilbur’s chances but wouldn’t ask in front of Phoebe.

  The alarm on Lauren’s phone sounded. “Time to take Wilbur’s temperature. We’ll see if the medicine and bath helped.”

  Phoebe laid Wilbur on his bed, and Lauren found the thermometer, then placed it in his ear, as the doctor had taught her. Phoebe and Cole were both on the floor with her, helping in the operation.

  “Can someone hold his head steady until this thing beeps?”

  Cole reached over and held Wilbur, his face so close to hers, she could feel his breath in her hair. She willed herself to stare straight ahead, though it seemed like an hour until the thermometer sounded.

  She leaned back and sighed, struggling to read the temperature. “Still above normal, but it went down almost two degrees. Good news, right?”

  “Very good news.” Cole looked as relieved as she felt.

  Phoebe jumped up and clapped, startling the pig a bit. “He’s almost better,” she declared.

  Lauren sure hoped so. “Definitely on the right track.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Cole stood up and rubbed his hands together. “Who’s hungry? I’m thinking of pancakes.”

  Phoebe’s face lit up. She looked delighted but turned to Lauren. “Do you like pancakes? Because we have to eat something that you like. You’re the guest.”

  Lauren laughed. “I am? I didn’t know that,” she said honestly. She really hadn’t expected to stay this long, and certainly not for dinner, too.

  “I hope you can stay,” Cole added quickly. “Please do. I don’t have to make pancakes. You are the guest. I should have asked you first.”

  “I love breakfast for dinner. Though my pancakes stink. They come out all lumpy and burnt.”

  “My dad makes the best,” Phoebe promised.

  The questions seemed decided, and the treat seemed to distract Phoebe from Wilbur’s troubles, at least for a while. Cole asked Phoebe to help him cook, and even let her crack the eggs.

  Good ploy, Lauren wanted to tell him. While they cooked, Lauren set the table. The kitchen smelled delicious, and Lauren realized that she had skipped lunch and was very hungry.

  Cole was an efficient and able cook. They were soon enjoying a feast of pancakes, with all the trimmings.

  “I like sliced bananas and cinnamon on top,” Phoebe explained as she sprinkled the spice over her dish.

  Lauren stared at her wide-eyed. “You’re kidding, right? I love bananas and cinnamon on my pancakes, too. My sisters always made fun of me for that.”

  Phoebe giggled and handed her the cinnamon shaker. “How many sisters are there? A lot?”

  Cole cast her a curious and playful look. “Yes, Lauren, how many sisters do you have?”

  “Three. Amanda, who’s six months younger. Jillian is two years younger. And Betty is eleven.”

  “So you’re the biggest sister,” Phoebe said.

  She was, in fact, literally and figuratively. “That’s right,” she said. “I’m the totally big sister.”

  Cole had made coffee, the perfect fit with the pancakes. He took a sip. “That explains a lot.”

  She gave him a look, guessing he meant it explained why she was so assertive—“bossy,” some might say.

  Phoebe sighed and stuck her fork in an apple chunk. “I wish I had a sister. Or a brother. I’d like a sister better, though.”

  She slid a glance at her father, who, for once, was at a loss for a clever reply.

  “That’s funny, because when I was your age, I used to wish I was an only child,” Lauren replied. “I love them all to pieces, but there are good things and bad things about having so many siblings.”

  Cole looked grateful to her for picking up the slack. “And you have some very nice friends at school, Phoebe,” he reminded her. “And cousins.”

  Lauren knew that friends and cousins were not quite the same as siblings, but it was a touchy subject. Cole could get married again, to a woman with children, or a new baby could arrive in that new family. He could remarry very easily, she thought, peering at him as she poured a dash of milk in her coffee.

  “How’s Wilbur?” Lauren asked, to change the subject. “Maybe he wants more water?”

  Phoebe was done with her meal and slipped off her chair to check the pig. She sat by his bed and petted his head. “He feels warm again,” she reported.

  Lauren wasn’t happy to hear that. “I think it’s time for his medicine. I’ll give him the dose and you can give him some water. Then we’ll take his temperature.”

  “Good plan.” Cole rose and began to clear the dishes. “After that, I think it’s bedtime. School tomorrow, remember?”

  Phoebe sighed but nodded. Had any kid in the world ever forgotten on a Sunday night that there was school the next morning? Lauren did not think so.

  Wilbur took his medicine easily. Lauren suspected it tasted good to him. She fixed a bottle of water with honey and let Phoebe feed it to him while she helped clean up the kitchen.

  When Phoebe was done with Wilbur’s feeding, Cole said, “Now run up and brush your teeth and get pj’s on. I’ll come and tuck you in.”

  “But I have to say good night to Lauren. You’re not going home yet, are you?”

  Lauren was drying the last pan and hooked it on a rack on the wall. “I’ll be right here, sweetie. No worries.”

  Cole looked relieved to hear that, too. Or was that the interpretation of her hopeful imagination?

  “Go ahead now. Scoot. It’s getting late,” he told his daughter. He listened for her footsteps on the stairs, then said, “What do you think about Wilbur, really?”

  Lauren sighed and looked for the thermometer. “I’m worried. I think his fever is up again. I was waiting for the meds to kick in, but I think we can take his temperature now and see what’s going on.”

  “Sure. I’ll hold him,” he offered.

  They crouched on the floor again with the piglet, and Lauren worked the thermometer while Cole held the patient still.

  Even before it beeped, Lauren could see the numbers rising. “Not good news. It’s jumped again. It’s as high as when the doctor was here.” She sat back on her heels. “Don’t tell Phoebe.”

  He sat back, too, and petted the piglet, who looked listless. “Of course not. What should we do?”

  “Another bath might help. It did before. I’ll check with the vet while you get Phoebe to sleep. I don’t think she should know we need to bathe him again. It might worry her.”

  “Right.” He seemed relieved to let her take the lead. She was surprised at that, all things considered.

  As they both came to their feet, they heard Phoebe’s light step on the stairs. She looked unbelievably adorable in a big white robe over pink pajamas that had a purple unicorn print. Her fluffy slippers had animal faces and scuffed across the kitchen floor.

  “Love those pj’s. Where can I get some?” Lauren asked, making her giggle again.

  “At the store,” Phoebe said, as if anyone would know that. She bent down and very gently kissed the top of Wilbur’s head. “Feel better, Wilbur. Everyone in church said prayers for you.”

  Lauren suddenly remembered that and couldn’t help sending up a quick, silent prayer herself. Please, God, don’t let Phoebe wake up tomorrow and find that this little guy has gone to Pig Heaven. Please?

  That was all she could manage before she was nearly knocked off her feet by Phoebe’s massive hug around her legs. “Good night, Lauren. Thank you for taking care of Wilbur with me. We never got to draw pictures for him.”

  Lauren leaned over and hugged her back, running her hand over the little girl’s soft hair. “You’re right. We’ll do that another day, okay?”

  Phoebe looked up and nodded. “Okay.”

  Cole walked
over and extended his hand. “Come on now, sweetie. Let’s go up.”

  Lauren stepped back and waved. “Good night, Phoebe. Sweet dreams.”

  As Cole led Phoebe upstairs, Lauren dialed the vet. Dr. Ackroyd was concerned but didn’t change her instructions except to add that she wanted a report every hour and that if Wilbur’s temperature went over a certain number, Lauren was to call right away.

  Lauren ran the bath and set up towels again. When Cole returned, they gave Wilbur another bath, and Lauren kept him warm and cozy while Cole refilled the vaporizer.

  “His skin is a little cooler, I hope,” she said. “We need to wait to take his temperature.”

  She sat near the table with the piglet on her lap. Cole took a chair nearby. “You don’t have to stay. I can take it from here. It’s getting late. We’ve imposed on you enough.”

  She looked up and met his eyes, trying to gauge if he wanted to get rid of her or was just being polite. The latter, she decided. “I can stay. It’s not that late . . . unless you need to be well rested for kindergarten.”

  He laughed and sat back. “That’s true. But anytime you want to go, feel free. Tomorrow is Monday for grown-ups, too.”

  Lauren did have an important and early meeting at Joe’s firm on her schedule and still hadn’t prepared for it. But Wilbur’s outcome seemed more important.

  “The vet said the next twelve hours are critical. I feel like I can’t leave, not knowing if he’s going to make it or not,” she admitted. “Not that I don’t trust you to take care of him.”

  “I understand. It’s good of you to care so much. Did you have a lot of pets growing up? You seem comfortable with animals.”

  “We had this zany chocolate Lab mix named Barkley. He was mostly Jillian’s. How about you?”

  “My sister had allergies. So we had gerbils.”

  “Gerbils can be fun.” Lauren grinned.

  “My wife loved animals. We had a cat and were about to get a dog for Phoebe when Amy got sick. After that, our lives were turned upside down.”