Dreamspinner Press Year Eight Greatest Hits

by Brandon Witt

  Some that weren’t spoken.

  I can’t do this. I won’t. The kids can’t go through this again. It isn’t fair. I can’t do it again.

  TRAVIS HAD barely pulled into the parking lot before slamming the truck into park, hopping out, and rushing to the passenger side. He refused to look at his dog’s face as he swept the forty-five-pound ball of fuzz into his arms. “We’re here. The vet’s gonna make you all better.”

  He only made it a few feet from the truck before the dog began to thrash. “Goddammit, Dunk, you’re gonna make me drop you.” Still the dog squirmed, looking like a seal caught in a net. Travis knelt on one knee and placed the dog on the ground. He shook, as if attempting to dust away the indignity of being carried, causing his mass of fur to puff out to an even greater degree.

  Despite the pain the swelling had to be causing, the dog trotted beside Travis, tiny legs hidden under his hair. If it weren’t for his waddle, he could have almost pulled off the illusion he was floating. Even his floppy ears shuffled back and forth as they closed the last few feet to the vet.

  The scent of cleaner and medicine stung Travis’s nose as he opened the door for his dog to walk through. He hated it. Though different, it was too similar to the sanitized stench of a hospital.

  “Cheryl!” Travis tried to ignore the tinge of panic his yell betrayed as he crossed the small veterinary office. Leaning over the glass counter, he tried to see down the narrow hallway. “Thanks for coming in so early on a Sunday morning. I sure appreciate it.”

  A door closed somewhere in the back, and the clip of shoes sounded on tile. Travis glanced down at his feet, trying to force his heart to slow. The dog gazed up at him, his tailless butt wagging in his typical adoration of Travis. When Travis looked back up, he flinched at the man standing across the counter. “You’re not Cheryl.”

  The man let out an easy laugh. “No. Not Cheryl.” He stuck out his hand. “Dr. Ryan. You must be Mr. Bennett. Nice to meet you.”

  Travis paused before extending his own hand to return the greeting. He didn’t have time to waste meeting people. “Cheryl’s not here yet?”

  “No. She’s not coming in. She called and let me know you were on your way. I was already here trying to get stuff ready for an appointment tomorrow. She’s not used to having me around yet. She said she’d try to call you back and let you know I’d be the one to meet you.”

  Travis patted the front pocket of his jeans. “I guess I left my cell at home. I was kinda in a hurry.” For the first time he really looked at the man in front of him. Tall—taller than him, at any rate. Lean, with dirty-blond hair, and probably in his thirties. “You’re an… assistant or something?”

  “No. I’m a real veterinarian.” He motioned back down the hallway, pointing at something Travis couldn’t see. “Got the degree on the wall for proof if you need to see it.”

  Travis just narrowed his eyes in response. New doctors were never good; they messed up. Didn’t care about patients other doctors had taken care of.

  “Mr. Bennett, if you want to go get your dog, I can take a look at him. Cheryl said there was some facial swelling….”

  Travis looked at the vet as if he was an imbecile and motioned toward his feet. “He’s right here.”

  The vet peered over the counter, meeting the dog’s eyes as he turned to look up at him. “A corgi. A fluffy corgi at that! I haven’t seen one of those in a long time.” He glanced back up at Travis, then back toward the dog.

  Travis knew the expression. People always gave him that questioning look when they first realized the short compact dog belonged with the tank of a man.

  “Sorry, Mr. Bennett. I didn’t have a chance to look him up in the system before you got here. I’ll do that real quick before we take him back, just get a glimpse at his history. But before that, let me take a look at the little guy.”

  Travis bristled at the comment. He hated when people made comments about his dog’s size or how he looked like a redheaded mop as his long fur dragged on the ground. Though short, the dog was nearly fifty pounds and spent several hours a week herding buffalo just for the fun of it. He wasn’t a damned Chihuahua or toy poodle or anything.

  The vet was already around the counter and kneeling beside the dog, allowing Dunk to sniff the back of his hand before gently scratching the top of his head. “Ouch, that looks painful, little guy.”

  “Dunkyn. His name’s Dunkyn.”

  The vet didn’t even look up, directing all his attention toward the dog. “Good Scottish name, or Irish maybe. Corgis always have the best names.”

  Dunkyn’s butt began to wiggle twice as fast at the attention.

  “So can we take him back and do some tests or whatever to find out what’s going on with him?” There was that damned strain in his voice.

  The vet must have noticed it too. He stood and quickly returned behind the counter to the computer. After a few short keystrokes, he looked up at Travis with a cocked brow. “Two T’s in Bennett?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Ah, there. There’s a couple of you Bennetts in town. You don’t look like a Wendy. You must be Travis or Caleb.”

  “Travis. Caleb is my son. He’s got his own dog, Dolan. He’s a corgi as well.”

  “See? Corgi’s have the best names.” A few more keystrokes, then another cocked eyebrow. “Dunkyn, spelled with a Y. That’s unusual.”

  Travis felt his face flush. “Yeah. My wife’s idea.”

  The vet glanced back at the screen. “Wendy, I take it.”

  “Nope. That’s my sister.”

  The vet waited for more explanation, but when none came, he returned his attention once more to the computer, making a few clicking noises with his tongue, brown eyes flitting back and forth as he read across the screen. “Looks like Dunkyn’s all up to date on everything. He’s about ten years old. Ten is up there, but not too concerning for a corgi.” He motioned for Travis and Dunkyn to follow. “Let’s head on back to the examination room.”

  In all, it was less than fifty feet around the counter and back down the hallway, but Travis’s feet were made of lead, each step more laden than the next. Each step closer to bad news, to death. Heart monitors beeped in his ears. The tang of anesthetics wrinkled his nose. Empty platitudes echoed in his mind.

  “Mr. Bennett?”

  He could see the indent of a head on the pillow, strands of long red hair caught in the folds of the fabric.

  “Mr. Bennett?”

  Dr. Cahill’s voice sounded in a whispered shout, I’m sorry, Mr. Bennett, there’s nothing else—

  “Travis?”

  “Huh?” The veterinary office snapped back into focus. The vet stood in the doorway of the exam room, a hand outstretched, suspended between them, nearly close enough to touch him. “Sorry, Dr…. Um….”

  “Dr. Ryan. You can just call me Wesley if you want. Everyone does.”

  Travis nodded absentmindedly and looked past the vet to where Dunkyn was sniffing around a metal chair in the room, continuing his never-ending hunt for forgotten food, as if nothing were wrong.

  “Are you okay, Mr. Bennett?”

  This time Travis met the man’s eyes, straightening his spine to his full five foot ten. Still a couple of inches shorter than the vet. “Yeah. Can you take a look at Dunkyn now?”

  Dr. Ryan opened his mouth as if to inquire some more, then, to his credit, reconsidered. He turned, walked over to Dunkyn, and knelt on the floor, closer to the dog’s level. He ran his hands over the dog’s long body, nimble fingers moving with graceful confidence.

  “Dunkyn is in great shape, Mr. Bennett. A little chunky maybe, but he’s got excellent muscle tone and is as strong as a dog four times his height. You must walk him a lot.”

  Travis gave a vindicated grunt. Not such a little guy after all. “He goes everywhere with me. Dunk’s favorite thing, besides eating, is heading out to the ranch and chasing the buffalo.”

  The vet glanced up, his brow seemingly caught in a quizzical position.
“Buffalo?”

  Travis couldn’t suppress a pride-filled grin. “Yeah. He loves it. Caleb’s dog, Dolan, is too crazy to do any good, but they all know Dunkyn’s the boss as soon as he shows up.”

  “I’ve heard of corgis herding sheep and cows, but that’s a first. Buffalo.” He turned back to the dog, then looked up at Travis again. “Are those the buffalo out by Carman Road? I can’t imagine there are more buffalo than that in a town the size of El Dorado.”

  “That’s them.”

  Dr. Ryan nodded appreciatively. “They’re beautiful animals. Your house is fairly impressive as well.”

  “Oh, no. They’re not my buffalo. I’m just a hired hand for Mr. Walker. I don’t live there. I live out on….” He let his voice trail off, suddenly unsure why he was giving any details to this stranger. He motioned toward the aluminum examination table on the other side of the room. “Want me to lift Dunk up there for ya?”

  The vet shook his head. “No, I don’t like doing that unless we absolutely have to. Most dogs don’t like being on something so far off the ground. If you just want to join us down here, that would be great. Maybe hold him while I try to look in his mouth and see if we can figure out what’s causing the swelling. You told Cheryl, um, Dr. Fisher, that you first noticed it this morning, correct?”

  “Yep.” Travis sat down on the floor, his back against the wall. Dunkyn waddled over to him, plopped down between his legs, and rested his head on Travis’s lap with a satisfied grunt. Travis scratched the red fur on top of Dunkyn’s head, then put both hands on either side of the corgi’s body and turned him around to face the vet. With his long hair splayed out around him as he was spun over the floor, he really did look like a mop.

  Dr. Ryan knelt on both knees in front of Dunk and Travis. The room stayed silent as he inspected Dunkyn’s ears, eyes, heartbeat, and temperature. Dunkyn groaned uncomfortably at the insertion of the thermometer into his rectum, offering the doctor a condemning glare, but otherwise putting up no resistance.

  The dog whimpered when Dr. Ryan inspected his teeth. He tried to flinch away, but Travis had his head cradled between his hands. The vet remained focused on Dunkyn as he continued his inspection. “Any chance Dunkyn had some sort of impact to his face? Herding buffalo could be a pretty dangerous game. Of course, I would assume if there were any injury from one of them, there’d be a lot more trauma than a swollen face.”

  It took a moment for Travis to answer. Longer than it should have. When he did speak, he had to stop, clear his throat, and start over. “No. He’s always with me. Nothing’s happened, not so much as a yelp of pain. It’s not an injury.” The vet’s gaze flicked up, the concern in his brown eyes sending a shot of irritation through Travis. “Can we just do some tests and find out what’s going on with my dog?”

  A soothing hand stroked over the smooth side of Dunkyn’s face as Dr. Ryan inspected Travis. “Is there something specific you’re worried might be wrong, Mr. Bennett?”

  “His face swelled overnight. There’s gotta be a growth or tumor or something.” Travis preferred the anger he heard in his words now. Much better than the quavering weakness. The answering smile that appeared made him want to smash a fist into the vet’s face.

  “Actually I’m not concerned about that at all. Growths don’t normally appear that quickly. If you’re certain you haven’t noticed a gradual swelling, I’d say the chance of it being cancer is one of the last things I’m worried about.”

  The anger swept out of Travis, leaving in its place the kernel of hope. He would rather have the anger. Again his throat constricted. “Yeah?”

  Another fucking smile. “Yeah. There’s some sort of infection, which should be easy enough to take care of. When I was inspecting Dunkyn’s gums, I could smell it. You’d be able to as well, if you got your nose down here. My guess is there’s a dental issue. Maybe a cracked root or abscess. I’ll have to do X-rays to be sure, but that’s almost always what these signs indicate. I’m not concerned about cancer at all.”

  Travis’s eyes burned. He knew there were no tears, but it felt like there were. He pulled Dunkyn closer to him. The dog grunted, and Travis released his grip some.

  “It’s just a simple operation, and the little guy will be as good as new in no time.” The vet smiled.

  Travis pulled the dog tighter, this time ignoring Dunkyn’s protest. “No. No surgery. What else can we do?”

  Confusion crossed the vet’s expression. Clearly he’d thought this had been good news. He looked at the dog held tightly in Travis’s arms. “Well, we can try antibiotics to kill the infection. If that’s all it is, then that will take care of it. However, if a root is cracked or something is wrong with Dunkyn’s teeth, the infection will keep coming back and be more detrimental if nothing is done. If it comes back, he really needs the surgery. Again, I’d need to do X-rays, but I’ve seen this enough that I’m nearly 100 percent certain what’s going on, and I think he requires surgery.”

  Travis shook his head emphatically. “No. Absolutely not. No surgery.”

  “Mr. Bennett. There’s no real concern with an operation such as this. It’s very routine, and Dr. Fisher will be there with me. Dunkyn will be in the very best of hands. He’ll feel much better after.”

  “While choriocarcinoma is fairly rare, with chemotherapy, the cure rate is nearly 95 percent. And you’ve opted to do the hysterectomy, which may be overkill, but I don’t blame you for wanting to be certain. There’s nothing to be concerned about. I assure you, I know what I’m doing. She’ll be back to normal within a year. As young and healthy as she is, maybe less than that.”

  Her grip tightened as their fingers intertwined. Their gazes met and held. Though scared, hope shone through.

  He raised a questioning brow at her.

  She knew him so well she rarely required him to use words. “Of course we do the chemo. I’ll do whatever it takes. The kids need their mother, and Lord knows what you’d get up to without a wife to keep you in line.” The forced humor left her voice and a tear slipped down one of her cheeks. “Will you still love me if I lose my hair?”

  “No surgery. Dunkyn’s not having surgery. We’ll do the antibiotics.” Travis stood before the vet could say anything else. Not that the man would dare, if he knew what was good for him.

  DESPITE DUNKYN’S protests, Travis carried him from the vet’s office and deposited him gently into the truck from the passenger side. He tossed the white paper bag containing the antibiotics and pain pills onto the floorboard.

  Making his way around the front of the truck toward his door, he paused when he noticed the lemon yellow Mazda Miata. It was the only other car in the parking lot. How had he missed it on the way in? The thing stood out like a pink flamingo in a flock of mallards. A car like that shouldn’t have the nerve to drive through El Dorado Springs, let alone hang out in the veterinary parking lot. And what was that sticker by the rear license plate? He took a few steps closer, narrowing his eyes.

  A rainbow decal, shaped like a dog. A fucking rainbow sticker. Here!

  It was proof of the morning’s stress that it took the few seconds required for him to walk back to his truck and open the door before two plus two added up to its correct sum.

  He looked from the vet’s office to the Miata, then back again. What had Cheryl Fisher brought into town?

  Chapter Two

  WESLEY RYAN tugged on his sage green cashmere scarf, loosening the knot. It had been colder when he’d gotten dressed that morning, but the day had warmed up to the midfifties, and between the leather jacket and scarf, he was starting to feel a bit claustrophobic. He’d parked by the hardware store at the south end of downtown on Main Street; he wished he’d taken the time to shed some of his layers before walking through the park.

  This was exactly what he remembered from when he was a kid and would spend the occasional weekend with his grandparents. He’d loved Mom and Pop Mitchell. It hadn’t hurt that he’d been their favorite grandchild. It wasn’t his fault, o
r theirs. His older brothers had loved their mom’s parents, but they both preferred staying with Grandma and Grandpa Ryan in Kansas City.

  By the time Wesley had been in high school, he would come down at least one weekend a month to stay with Mom and Pop. Those weekends were memories he held on to with every fiber of his being, especially lately. However, those memories weren’t the ones that made him love El Dorado Springs.

  His most loved memories were from much further back, when Mom and Pop would bring him to the park and watch as he played on the rickety play set and gigantic slide. The fiery orange of the oaks and brilliant yellows of the black walnut trees would blend together in a watercolor smear as he zoomed down the dipping slide.

  Wesley’s disappointment over the playground’s updating had surprised him, as had his relief when he’d discovered the rejuvenation had only fixed the massive slide instead of replacing it. He hadn’t realized what comfort and happiness he’d associated with the spot until it was nearly gone. Now, with the trees turning their reds, oranges, and golds, he felt ten again. He could feel Mom and Pop watching over him, just out of sight, maybe unpacking the basket on the old picnic tables under the wooden shelter. He could almost hear Mom’s voice as she called him from his playing, announcing the chicken salad and grape sandwiches were ready.

  The sensation offered only a momentary melancholy, which quickly gave way to peaceful relaxation. This had been the right decision. Maybe not forever. Actually he was quite certain it wasn’t forever. He was a city boy, just like his brothers. Just like his mother, who couldn’t believe her youngest son wanted to live in the childhood home she’d been so desperate to leave.

  But for now? It was perfect. He had no bad memories here. He looked around at the small-town beauty, just able to see the top of the bandstand from where he stood at the apex of the hill. How could there be bad memories in such a place? He was smack dab in the middle of a Norman Rockwell painting. Able to see them or not, he was certain Mom and Pop really were watching over him.