Second to None

by Nancy Herkness

  His groin tightened again, and he forced himself into motion, strolling down the street while his breath came out in visible puffs of vapor. He passed three people walking their dogs, several putting out their garbage, and one smoking a cigarette on the front steps. Everyone nodded or even muttered a greeting as they huddled in their coats.

  He walked down one side of the block, then crossed the street and headed back.

  This street was a far cry from the ranch house at Camp Lejeune, and Emily might have changed as much as her surroundings had. He’d noticed the physical differences in her, but she’d gone through emotional upheaval as well.

  Losing her husband left scars that wouldn’t show on the outside. Had she begun seeing other men already, or was she still mourning Jake’s death?

  Max frowned down at the icy sidewalk. He wasn’t sure why she had invited him to her house for dinner. She might be saying thank you for the donation. She might have done it out of nostalgia for the old days or even in memory of Jake.

  He huffed out a cloud of frozen irritation.

  The limousine cruised around the corner, and Max flagged it down.

  He was a scientist, so he had no idea how to deal with a ghost.

  *

  Her daughter’s small, sweet voice washed over Emily as they snuggled together under the covers with Izzy’s book propped up on her knees. Windy was stretched out across the foot of the bed, her tail occasionally thumping for no apparent reason. The scent of her daughter’s freshly washed hair, the weight and warmth of the dog on her feet, the knowledge that she had accomplished something big, and the bubbling anticipation of seeing Max again all wove together to create a contentment that soaked deep into her bones.

  There was a tug on the sleeve of her nightgown. “Mommy, you’re not listening.”

  “I am listening, but more in the way you listen to music.” Emily smoothed down a curl on Izzy’s head. “Your voice is so pretty.”

  Her daughter lifted eyes that were the same shade of blue as Jake’s. “Do you think I could be a singer?”

  “Do you want to be?”

  “They get to wear really cool outfits. But I think I want to be a baker and make pies with Violet.” Izzy closed the book. “What kind of pie should we make for Mr. Varela? Violet said maybe a chocolate pecan pie. Did he like chocolate when he worked with Daddy?”

  “Let me think.” Emily cast back to the days when she, Jake, and Max would linger over dessert while Izzy sat on Emily’s lap. She’d mostly served cake and ice cream, because those were easy. “Yes, he really liked the chocolate layer cake I used to make.”

  “Good. I’ll tell Violet.”

  Emily thought of the elaborate poached pear and gingerbread dessert Max had ordered at Laurent. He wasn’t the hungry former grad student anymore.

  Then she remembered why Violet’s earlier comment echoed in her mind. Max had made a similar statement after he’d accepted her invitation to dinner. It suddenly struck her as important and disconcerting. He’d said, “Things are different now.”

  Chapter 7

  Emily waltzed into the Carver Center the next morning, ready to gather the staff together to tell them the good news about the K-9 Angelz project. They had already drawn up plans in order to present them to both the bank and the Catalyst Foundation. With Max’s additional funds, they could incorporate items from their wish list. She just needed to keep enough money set aside for the new HVAC system. It felt so good to be able to add things to their list instead of always having to pare down their requirements to the bare minimum.

  Just as she was typing up the e-mail calling the staff meeting, her cell phone rang with a call from Dr. Quillen’s office. Emily felt a shiver of unease as she answered.

  It was the veterinarian herself. “Diego’s little dog has had a setback. He’s developed a fever, due to a penicillin-resistant staph infection from the open fracture. We’ve switched him to oxacillin to combat it. However, he’s malnourished and has some other injuries and health problems from living on the streets, so he doesn’t have a lot of strength to fight the infection. But we’ll keep trying.”

  Emily closed her eyes as her heart twisted. “Does Diego know?”

  “No. I told Tiana to let him know that the dog’s still with us, but nothing more.”

  “Should I keep Diego away today?”

  The vet blew out a breath. “Honestly, the little guy’s in pretty bad shape, and he’s mostly sleeping anyway. It might upset Diego to see him like this.”

  After thanking the doctor, Emily sagged in her office chair. Tiana had been so upbeat yesterday that Emily had stopped worrying about the dog, other than as an unexpected expense.

  “Why does it have to be Diego?” she muttered. But she knew. It was because the boy cared. And caring hurt.

  *

  Emily was in her office when Diego appeared at the door after school. “Doc Quillen texted me that I shouldn’t go in to see Mario. That’s what I named the dog. After Mario Molina, the guy who won the Nobel Prize in chemistry. She said he needed to rest.” His voice quavered. “That don’t sound too good.”

  “Sit down, Diego.” Emily stood and rolled her chair around the desk to be beside him. “You know how the bone was sticking out through his skin? That’s caused an infection, so Mario is running a pretty high fever. Doc is doing everything she can to bring his temperature down, but he’s had a tough life, so he doesn’t have a lot of strength to fight off the germs.”

  Tears streaked silently down Diego’s cheeks. “I can help him fight. He needs to know that someone wants him to live. Ask the doc to let me see him.”

  Emily had to choke back her own tears. Maybe Diego had a point. The little dog knew the boy as his friend. She rested her hand lightly on Diego’s shoulder. “Mario isn’t doing well. It may upset you to see him in this condition.”

  Diego wiped his cheeks with the sleeve of his shirt. “I’ll feel worse if I don’t try to help him.”

  “You’re an amazing person,” Emily said, meaning it with all her heart. “Let me clear it with Dr. Quillen.”

  After a few minutes on hold, the veterinarian came on the phone. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea. The dog is barely holding on. It’s possible he could die while Diego is here.”

  “I know.” Emily looked at the boy, who had his velvet-brown gaze locked on her. “But he understands that, and he still wants to be there.”

  “If you think he can handle it, send him over.”

  Emily took a deep breath. “Thanks, Jessica.” She ended the call and nodded to Diego. “Dr. Quillen says you can see Mario. I’ll go with you.”

  Diego sprang out of his chair. “You don’t have to go. I know where the office is.”

  She knew he didn’t need an escort, but she didn’t want him to face the truth of the dog’s condition alone. “It’s okay. I could use the exercise. Let me tell Nurse that I’m leaving for a while.”

  As Emily grabbed her coat and set off down the stairs with Diego, a single wish repeated itself in her brain. Please don’t let the dog die. Please don’t let the dog die.

  *

  Diego had been silent during their walk to the vet’s office. He’d huddled down into the new winter jacket Violet had given Emily at the board meeting last night. How Violet had learned the boy needed a warm coat, Emily had no idea, but the older woman had handed her a shopping bag, saying, “You’ll know who needs this the most.”

  The reception area was somewhat less crowded than it had been when they brought Mario in. Emily looked at Carla with a question in her eyes, and the woman gave her a quick nod and thumbs-up before she pointed to two empty seats. “I’ll let Tiana know you’re here,” the receptionist said.

  Diego jittered in his chair, running his jacket’s zipper up and down its track. “Do you think he’s already dead and they’re afraid to tell me?”

  “No, Carla would have said something to me. They’re just busy, as usual.”

  A few minutes later, Tiana walke
d into the reception area, wearing blue scrubs with yellow kittens printed on them. “Come on back,” she said, her face soft with sympathy.

  As soon as the door closed behind them, Tiana stopped and turned to Diego. “I’m going to be honest with you, because you deserve the truth. Your little dog is fighting for his life right now. He may not even open his eyes.”

  Diego swallowed and nodded. Emily gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze, and they started down the clinic’s hallway.

  “He’s in Doc’s office. We wanted him to have a quiet place where he could rest without being disturbed too often.”

  Tiana led them to the tiny room into which Dr. Quillen had shoved a cheap wooden desk, rolling ergonomic chair, and oak filing cabinet. Framed photos of patients, inscribed by their grateful owners, hung on the walls. In the far corner behind the desk sat a soft, high-sided dog bed with Mario lying on his side in the middle of it. His front leg had an IV running into it while his back leg was in a cast wrapped in bright green tape. His eyes were closed, and his ribs rose and fell with each shallow, rapid breath.

  Diego dropped to his knees beside the bed. For a long moment he just looked at the dog. Then he said in a low, soothing voice. “Hey, Mario, came to see you, boy. Glad you’re resting up. Gotta get that bone mended.”

  The dog’s eyelid fluttered open.

  “Yeah, it’s me, your buddy Diego.” The boy looked up at Tiana. “Is it okay if I touch him? I’ll be real careful.”

  Emily could see the vet tech scanning Diego’s height and breadth and debating. But Emily had seen how tenderly Diego had cradled the dog when they brought him in. She locked gazes with Tiana. “Diego knows how to be gentle, I promise you.”

  The tech nodded. “You can touch his head and his back. Just stay away from his ribs and his broken leg.”

  “Thanks, ma’am.” Diego reached out with only his index finger and traced the curve of the little dog’s head. He gave the tiniest scratch just behind Mario’s ear. Then he did it again.

  Emily heard a soft thump and caught her breath in concern. Then she saw the dog’s tail move, a little wag of appreciation, and realized that’s what had made the sound.

  Tiana’s worried expression relaxed into a smile. “That’s the most response anyone has gotten from him today.” She leaned down to Diego. “I’m going to get a bowl of broth. Maybe you can get some food into him.”

  Emily rolled the chair away from the dog bed and sat down while Diego continued to murmur and pet the dog with featherlight strokes. Mario closed his eye again, but Emily could swear that his breathing was deeper and more even.

  Tiana padded in on her rubber soles and handed Diego a bowl of brown liquid with small flecks of dog food in it and a medicine dropper, explaining how to tempt the dog to swallow some nourishment. Diego nodded and waited for the vet tech to depart before he dipped his finger in the broth and touched Mario’s nose with it. Emily held her breath until the dog’s pink tongue flicked out to lick his nose. Diego wetted his finger again and held it to the dog’s mouth. Again the pink tongue came out to lap at the broth.

  Emily let out a sigh of amazement and gratitude as a tiny smile curled the corner of Diego’s lips. “He’s gonna pull through, Ms. Emily,” the boy said with a quick glance up at her, his eyes lit with hope. “I can feel it.”

  “With your help, you just might be right,” Emily said.

  Diego used the dropper the next time, squeezing tiny amounts onto Mario’s tongue so the dog could swallow it. The dog’s tail was thumping regularly now.

  The boy looked up again. “I’m going to stay with him. You can go back to the center. I’ll be good here.”

  “I know you will,” Emily said, her voice catching at the sight of Diego’s huge hands moving as delicately as butterflies around the ailing dog. “I’ll let Tiana know you’re getting Mario to take the broth. She’ll be happy to hear it.”

  Tiana was astonished, jamming her hands onto her hips. “Who would have thought that great big boy would be so good with that little dog? You just never know. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

  “I don’t think you’ll need to, but I appreciate it. Let me know if anything changes.”

  On her way out, Emily stopped at the reception desk to speak with Carla. “Would you print out a bill for the charges the dog has incurred so far?” She wanted to get an idea of how much she needed to scrape together for Mario’s care.

  Carla held up her hand. “It’s all taken care of, sugar.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your boyfriend gave me his credit card and told me to just keep adding on to it until that little dog was well.”

  “I don’t have a boy—” Emily stopped. “You mean the man who came in with us when we brought the dog in?”

  “The smokin’ hot one, yeah.” Carla winked at Emily. “If he wasn’t yours, I’d like to get me a piece of him.”

  Emily felt a blush climb her cheeks. “He’s not my boyfriend, so I don’t want him to pay for the dog. Please just bill me. Or I can give you my credit card.” She started to dig into her purse.

  Carla shook her head. “Nuh-uh, hon. He was very clear that he was paying, not you. He told me you might argue, but I told him I was way tougher than you. So put your wallet away, because it ain’t gonna happen.”

  Emily hated the selfish little voice that said Max was a billionaire, so why not let him pay for the dog. But, to paraphrase Carla, it wasn’t going to happen. He’d already done so much for the center. She was not going to let him take on a stray dog’s medical care.

  She pulled out her cell phone and stared at it. Should she text him or discuss it with him face-to-face on Saturday?

  She put her phone away. Texting would make it too easy for him to type back no or something equally unyielding.

  Turning on her heel, she marched out of the clinic. However, all the way back to the Carver Center, she allowed herself to bask in a warm glow that Max wanted to pay for Diego’s little dog.

  Chapter 8

  “Mario’s fever has been normal for twelve hours,” Dr. Quillen said when Emily called her Saturday morning. “Your kid, Diego, has been with that dog every minute that he wasn’t in school or home sleeping. He pulled the dog through. Mario is going to make a full recovery.”

  Emily slumped against the kitchen counter in relief. “Thank God!”

  “I want to talk with you about Diego helping out around the clinic. He has a real gift with animals,” the vet continued. “I could even pay him a little. But that would be between you, me, and him.”

  Emily understood. Diego was too young to be an official employee. “He would love that. We’ll put our heads together and see what we can work out.”

  When Emily hung up, Izzy finished chewing her mouthful of pancakes and asked, “Is Diego’s dog going to be okay?”

  “He’s going to be just fine. He probably won’t even limp.” Emily closed her eyes for a moment as happiness for Diego surged through her. Now he could take pride in befriending the dog instead of blaming himself for Mario’s pain.

  “That’s good. Diego’s nice, and I didn’t want his dog to die.” Izzy put her fork down. “Can we start cooking?”

  “I think we’d better. We have a lot to do before Mr. Varela gets here.” Nerves quivered through her. She and Izzy had done the grocery shopping yesterday evening. Now she had to create a meal for a man who routinely ate at the best restaurants Manhattan could offer, which was saying something. What was he going to think of her carrot-ginger soup and macaroni and cheese? He probably remembered the latter as being much better than it really was. His dining options had been vastly more limited at Camp Lejeune than they were here. At least Violet had agreed to come over to help Izzy with the chocolate pecan pie, so Emily knew the finish would be delicious.

  As Emily arranged ingredients on the counter, Izzy put her plate in the dishwasher. “Mommy, is it okay if I ask Mr. Varela to tell me about Daddy?”

  “I . . . yes, you can.” Emily brea
thed against the tears that threatened. “But if he doesn’t want to talk about Daddy, don’t insist, all right? Some people feel weird talking about someone who’s died.”

  “I’m glad you don’t. I like talking about Daddy. And looking at his pictures.” Izzy opened the package of Tillamook cheddar cheese. “If I’m really careful, can I grate this?”

  Emily pulled the grater out of the drawer. “Remember about stopping when the piece of cheese gets too small?”

  Izzy nodded and watched as Emily cut the chunk of cheddar in half so Izzy could hold it in her small hand.

  Emily peeled open the applewood-smoked bacon and began to lay it on the wire rack to broil. “I like talking about Daddy, too. He was an important part of our lives, so I think it would be strange not to talk about him.” Even if sometimes the knowledge she would never see him again sent a rolling wave of grief through her. It happened much less often now, which she was grateful for.

  When Ruth had been alive, the older woman would hold Emily while she sobbed. Now Emily had only Windy’s soft, furry shoulder to cry on, and she’d done it more often than she wanted to admit.

  “What did Mr. Varela and Daddy do together?” Izzy scraped the cheese down the grater with care.

  “Mr. Varela invented a material that was superstrong but light so soldiers could wear it to protect themselves. It’s called body armor. Daddy helped him test it in real-life situations and make it better.”

  Izzy stopped grating. “I guess Daddy wasn’t wearing it when he died.”

  “I guess not.” Emily didn’t explain that body armor couldn’t save a person from a bomb or a fire or a land mine or the many other dangers that Jake had faced when he was sent out on assignment.

  Izzy started to shred the cheese again. “Was Mr. Varela a soldier, too?”

  “No, he’s a scientist, a chemist.”

  “Like the man Diego named his dog after. Mario something.”

  “Mario Molina. He was a chemist, too, although his work was about the sky.”