by Amy Lane
“Euthanized?” The spike of panic in his voice almost penetrated right through Sandy’s ear.
“Yes, sir. That’s what I said. Now here we’ve got a dog who has someone who can afford to take care of her and who seems to like her, and who doesn’t seem to be a dog abuser or crazy or someone who’s just going to go off and leave her in a crate for a weekend in Reno. You’re the best parent this dog could have—”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“She’s alive and well, so we’re going to call it a win,” Sandy finished gently, making the fist pump of triumph where Melissa could see him. She gave him a patently false smile and a thumbs-up, and he stuck out his tongue.
“Okay.” Carter sounded resolved. “When should I come in and get her?”
“We’re open until eight. When’s good for you?”
“I get off work at six—I can be there at six thirty.”
“That’s a deal,” Sandy told him, letting out the last little bit of tension he’d held in his body when he’d been really afraid Carter would let fear rule him and get rid of the dog. “See you then.”
He hung the phone up and wiped imaginary sweat off his brow. “Whew! That was a close one!”
“Hooray, you talked a guy into keeping his dog?” Melissa asked dubiously.
“Yes, ma’am,” Sandy said. “And I made sure he’ll continue to return to his friendly neighborhood vet’s office for all of his small-dog needs.”
Melissa just shook her head. “You made sure you have someone to flirt with through the holidays so your own lack of a love life isn’t so abysmal.”
“Hey,” Sandy protested. “This guy’s life makes mine sound absolutely splendid and joy filled. I am doing him a favor!”
“Sure you are. Make sure you tell him that the dog walker is your niece!”
“You heard that?”
Melissa just rolled her eyes, and the phone by his elbow started to ring. “Get that—we’ve got customers incoming. The easy part of our day is over, and we’ve now entered DEFCON post-lunch.”
Of course they had.
Cedar and three other vet techs arrived after that—it was the pickup time of the day, and they’d been scheduled pretty deep even before the emergency procedures. But they’d managed to thin out the crowds by six thirty, and Sandy did everything but hip-check poor Cedar as Carter approached the front.
“Freckles?” He tried to keep his charm and enthusiasm down to “not scaring the client” levels.
“Yes, please.” Carter smiled politely and bobbed his head.
“I’ll get the dog, you get the paperwork.” Cedar shot Sandy a long-suffering look before she trotted down the corridor toward the kennels.
“Okay, so Dr. Martin is coming out to explain what we did,” Sandy told him. “And here we have a breakdown of the drugs, the procedure, and how much we charge, and how much the insurance took off.”
Carter scanned the page, and then smiled briefly. “Pet insurance. Who knew?”
“Yeah, people are surprised. Anyway, here’s your total here, and we’re still going to see you right after Thanksgiving, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Carter said, a dry slip of humor showing its lacy little head.
“Are you traveling for Thanksgiving?” That’s right, Sandy, segue into it gently and only pry a teeny bit.
Carter glanced up and shrugged. “My mother lives in Auburn—I usually go up there for the holidays.” A smile—a real one, not a quick courtesy smile—lit his features and Sandy got a glimpse of the guy he’d been hoping would return and claim his dog. “I’ll bring Freckles this time around, and maybe she won’t complain about my love life.”
Sandy bravely refrained from making a fist pump behind the counter. “She complains about your love life?” There we go—there’s subtlety!
“Yeah.” Carter bit his lip. “I thought I was going to have someone to bring home this year, but, you know, at least I have the dog.”
“Yeah—I know what you mean. My mom has sent some sort of holiday card to my ex for the last two years. I keep telling her that he’s not going to suddenly show up with flowers because the bare-assed Santa made him laugh, but she’s all excited because she thinks she’s helping.”
Carter laughed as he ran his card through the pay pad. “Well, he must have been some ex if your mom keeps up hope.”
Sandy shrugged. “Rick? Yeah. He’s hot, mostly—but he’s also an insurance salesman, so he sounded like a grown-up, you know?”
Carter blinked. “There’s something wrong with being a grown-up?”
“No!” Sandy laughed. “Not even a little. It’s just . . . there’s more to being a grown-up than being boring. Once you’re past thirty, you figure your body will chill you out eventually anyway. I mean, it’s already starting with me and onions. I can’t even eat them—it’s like I’ve been betrayed by pizza. But . . . I mean, your heart, you know? You sort of see that you’re not going to be young forever—isn’t it time to take a chance on someone, maybe vote for them to be in it for the long haul? I wasn’t asking for a mortgage and two kids—I was asking for maybe joint health insurance and a shared checking account for bills.”
Okay, it would be a lie to say Sandy never told this much of his personal life to anybody, but usually it was his coworkers, friends, or family. But after Rick, he really had figured out a few things about what he wanted from life. And Carter looked like he might fit that bill—but Sandy had to make sure.
“Could be worse,” Carter said almost absently. Sandy glanced over his shoulder and realized that Cedar was coming out with Freckles. C’mon, Carter—tell me how it could be worse.
“Yeah?”
Carter smiled at him, but this looked like a professional smile, or an absentminded smile, or—even worse—a bitter smile. “You could promise someone the whole world, and then get so caught up working for the whole world that they’ve moved on by the time you get home for dinner.”
Oh, ouch!
“Hello, Mr. Embree!” Cedar sang joyfully. “Here, Freckles—is that your daddy? Is that your daddy? Say hello to your daddy!”
“Freckles!” Carter said, the warmth in his voice hitting Sandy right in the stomach. “Oh, baby—how’re you doing?”
Sandy watched as Doc Marty went over the list of things for Freckles to avoid, and the regimen for giving her prednisone.
“Oh hell,” Carter muttered, looking at the directions. He nodded at Sandy like he was conceding a point. “Do you have that dog walker’s number?” He sounded a little defeated. “And will she give meds if I ask her to?”
Oh, easy! “Yeah! Now, in the interest of fairness, I should tell you she’s my niece, but I swear I don’t get kickbacks. That okay?”
Carter nodded, looking bemused, so Sandy kept going.
“Excellent. When she comes over, just give her the directions. She’s totally responsible that way.” About paying her bills or keeping a boyfriend? No, Alexis was not what he’d term responsible. But as an animal caretaker? Yes. Sandy had taught her from the time she was very small. She never let fear rule her, and she took her oath of pet ownership very seriously.
Sandy would just refrain from telling Carter about how the last boyfriend’s aura had changed from royal blue to sort of a charcoal brown, and it had creeped her out, so she’d bailed in the middle of the night, stealing their cats as she left.
Yeah. Nobody needed to know about that unless Alexis told them. Since she had the same lack of filter that Sandy had, he imagined that would be within ten minutes of acquaintance.
“Okay, so, uh, write down her number for me,” Carter said, and then turned back to Dr. Martin, who looked amused with the byplay. “Yes, I can give her prednisone for the rest of the week.”
“Good. I think that’s all—be sure to call us if you have any questions and we’ll call you tomorrow to check up on you, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said deferentially. Then, shyly, “And thank you, Melissa. I was such
a mess this morning.” Melissa smiled and waved at him, and he went for the grand good-bye. “You all have been very patient with me.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Embree. You have a nice evening.” And damn it! Doc Marty had betrayed Sandy in the worst of ways by doing the social closure thing so he had no choice but to wave weakly. He couldn’t think of a single reason to keep Carter there any longer, but damn if he didn’t want to keep talking.
So when Cedar elbowed Sandy sharply in the ribs, he got brave and blurted, “And don’t forget, you have my number—here, wait.” He pulled one of the Banfield cards from the dish and rashly wrote down his personal number. “And here—feel free to text me anytime.”
He thrust the card into Carter’s hand and grinned manically at his confusion.
“Uh, thank you, Sandy.” And then, oh yes, the real smile that Sandy had been waiting for. “You’ve been a real help today. Thank you.” With a gentle little head bob, he left, while a tired but ecstatic Freckles licked his face.
“Subtle, Corrigan,” Doc Marty said when Carter was out of earshot. “Too bad we didn’t have any condom packages—you could have written your number on one of those too.”
With that, she turned around and made her way efficiently to the back of the office with the animals, while Cedar and Melissa broke into giggles.
Sandy looked at them through narrowed eyes. “You guys laugh, but did you see that? He smiled. That was a real smile. I’m in!”
“You’re delusional,” Tommy said from his register. Sandy was starting to think he took register six just so he could dick with Sandy personally. “He only had eyes for the dog.”
“Very possibly.” Sandy turned his nose in the air in a pose of offended dignity. “But I could be the only person in his life who will love that dog as much as he does.” He nodded seriously. “It’s worth a shot, right?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Whatever, Sandy.”
“Don’t get your hopes up.”
Sandy stuck his tongue out at the traitors and went back to clearing the exited patients from the day’s agenda on the computer.
He was not prepared to hear a very quiet, “It’s okay, you know,” as he was cleaning. Sandy looked up and over the counter. Jonah stood there, all five feet eight inches of average, sandy-haired, gray-eyed college student.
“What’s okay?” Sandy asked curiously.
“If you fall for him first and make him see you. It’s okay. Ignore these guys. I thought he was nice.” Jonah smiled and turned into the store to do whatever it was that the store guys did when they weren’t running around in circles.
Sandy inwardly congratulated himself and returned to his own work. Someone liked his plan of attack. He’d settle for that!
Carter had forgone the “leaving the dog at home” experience the day before. He discovered that it sort of sucked.
He negotiated the walk—a mile and a half this time—and he barely kept Freckles out of turkey shit and dead things. He’d discovered that if he kept the lead held with a little bit of tension in it, she would trot on her own in order to keep up with him, just a little bit ahead. She looked like a guinea pig on a very small hoverboard, but she still kept up her end of the walk, and he was relieved.
When he was done, he left her in front of her food and water bowl and managed to get dressed and everything—but as he was nearing the door, Freckles came running toward him all excited.
“No,” he said firmly. This wasn’t like the bed, where he could cave. He had to work, or he’d lose his job and she’d be out of kibble, wouldn’t she? “I’ll see you at lunch.”
Whine!
“No. Freckles, stay.” He walked out and shut the door, feeling like a heartless bastard. Then he ran through all the things he knew he had to do with the dog in the house. Garbage firmly closed—check! Door to the bathroom closed—check! Door to the bedroom closed—check! Pee pads in the peeing and pooping places—oh hell. Goddamn it, he’d forgotten to put the pee pads down, and he was not only in the car and out of the driveway, but halfway to work.
Well, he had three different kinds of carpet cleaner—he’d gotten some new stuff the night before after looking at Dr. Martin’s lists of no-no’s. If nothing else, Carter was sure he could clean whatever Freckles left behind. He’d called the dog walker too; she’d sounded young and flaky and really enthusiastic about animals. He wondered if that was sort of a requirement of anyone working in the business, but if that was the case, it was working for him. He could take a long lunch today, meet her, clean up whatever Freckles had done, and get back in time to eat whatever he picked up from the fast-food window.
Yeah, the day before he’d pretty much prayed for the first time since his first boyfriend—except instead of Please let this be normal, please let this be normal, it was Please, oh please, let the little gob of fur and poop be okay, please, God, please!
And God had responded.
Freckles was fine.
Carter was going to have to deal with the occasional fast-food sandwich if he wanted to do right by this dog. It was a deal he was willing to make.
“You’re taking a long lunch today?” Brenda asked, surprised.
Carter cast a furtive look at Jacobsen’s door, but Jacobsen was busy sweet-talking the fence guy into keeping his firm on retainer. Ugh.
Brenda saw the direction of his gaze and wrinkled her forehead. “Yeah. He’s a piece of work. I bet Jacobsen’s blowing him just to keep him happy.”
Carter’s mind blanked like an Etch A Sketch. “Jacobsen’s straight.”
Brenda gave him a pitying smile. “Amoral monsters have no sexual orientation.”
“I don’t think that’s in the Bible,” Carter said—but his parents hadn’t ever gone to church, so how would he know?
“My family’s agnostic,” Brenda told him. “Or rather the men are agnostic and the girls are pagan. We maintain an active debate.”
“Pagan?” he repeated, feeling like that Etch A Sketch again. He tried to conjure a picture of Brenda wearing flowing robes with her hair around her shoulders, about to perform an ancient magical rite or something, and drew up only a void of puzzled horror. “Like, witches?”
“Like we believe in your gods too,” she said, condescension dripping from every word. “Do you have a date, Carter, or do we have a reason I’m going to lie to Jacobsen?”
“You’re going to lie to Jacobsen?” That was sweet.
“You got me out of the dog case,” she said, her voice a little wobbly. “I know you didn’t have to, but you got Patty to do the rest of the work, and this is my way of paying back.”
Carter shifted from one foot to the other. Well, he’d been feeling sort of wobbly himself the day before. He’d been thinking about Freckles getting whisked away to the back of the vet’s office, and the way Sandy, that really helpful vet tech, had kept telling him that it wasn’t the dog’s fault.
Carter hadn’t been a very good boyfriend, not really. He’d bought Greg nice stuff, but he hadn’t been all that excited about his company. All Greg had wanted was someone to be home, sort of like what Carter wanted when he crawled into bed and Freckles was there with her chew toy, on her cushion.
The Clayburghs’ dog was not responsible for the fence being crap—or left open. He certainly wasn’t responsible for the neighbor thinking he was a danger to the horses, when there were other animals on all fours who could be a threat. No, the Clayburghs’ dog was not responsible for its own death, and neither were the Clayburghs, who had been trying to do it all right.
Carter had known this before he’d brought Freckles home, but he had even more distaste for it now. Brenda was just too nice a person to drag into that sort of depravity. She had to answer to her children.
And now he sort of had to answer to her. “I, uh, need to meet with the dog walker,” he mumbled. “She’s going to be by at eleven, and we’re going to go over stuff so Freckles isn’t home all day.”
“Wait a minute,” Brenda said, o
bviously stunned. “You have a dog?”
“Sort of. It might grow up to be a dog someday.”
Brenda’s laugh seemed to come from a deep beautiful place inside her. “You have a small dog?”
“She’s more like a really big hamster.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“God, I wish. Don’t you think it would be more manly to take a long lunch for a dog as big as my car?” Of course, a dog as big as his car might not have loved him as much as Freckles did. Perhaps Carter Embree did not rate a dog as big as his car. Perhaps Freckles was God’s way of making sure he was paired up with the kind of dog he could handle as opposed to the kind of dog he always imagined actually being a dog.
Brenda regarded him skeptically. “Pictures or it’s not a dog.”
He was forced to laugh. “You might not think it’s a dog even with a picture.” He didn’t think she’d believe him, but he had a camera phone and a texting function—he’d show her!
“Oh God, Freckles. You sure showed me!”
He’d left the bedroom door closed. Freckles had wanted to open it.
“Did you eat my door?”
Freckles regarded him sorrowfully from the floor and licked what had to be a tender paw. She’d apparently spent the entire time he’d been gone scratching at the hardwood floor and the closed bedroom door. He’d expected poop—and there had been—but he hadn’t expected the splinters and property damage that had greeted him when he walked through the door.
“What do— Why did— How could—”
Freckles just looked at him soberly and wagged her tail slowly, as though she wanted him to see that she was on board with the problem, but she wasn’t sure what she could have changed.
“Why, Freckles? Why?”
Text me if you have any questions.
Sandy the vet tech suddenly popped behind Carter’s vision. He was cute, actually—dark-blond hair, green eyes, a wide, smiling mouth. He was a few inches taller than Carter, but he moved with this sort of gawky vitality. And he didn’t seem to have an awkward moment—or a filter.
