by Nick Trout
“It’s not rocket science. The truth is I haven’t seen Marco for years. It didn’t work out with his boyfriend. He moved to California, we tried to keep in touch, but it wasn’t long before he vanished off the face of the earth. When you and I went out for that date, it was the first I’d heard from him since forever. He called me because he met someone, Charles, and they want to get married because it’s legal in Vermont, but first he needed a divorce from me.”
The muscles contorting my lips into a smile are way ahead of the pleasure swirling in my brain. Where’s that bottle of Vermentino?
“So the faxing back and forth tonight is all the paperwork and… and… why the hell—”
I’m shouting, and the raccoons are suddenly more like meerkats—alert, erect, and attentive to my outburst.
I lean in and lower my voice. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”
“Because it was going away in a couple of days. What I did was stupid, but more importantly, totally illegal. I’m talking five years in federal prison and a quarter of a million in fines. I couldn’t implicate you or anyone else, including my grandfather, in an illegal transaction to keep a foreign national in the country. I knew you were in the middle of this fight with Dorkin, and Dorkin’s exactly the kind of person who might sniff around, find out what I did, and use me as leverage against Bedside Manor. Marco swore it would be quick and you and I would be able to pick up where we left off. And I didn’t want you to think less of me. It was embarrassing. I hadn’t reckoned on Sherlock Holmes not being able to let this go, nosing around, even hiring a hacker to investigate my computer records.”
The air gets sucked from my lungs as I rock back in my seat, reach for another drink, catch myself, get to my feet, and scream across the room, “Can someone please get me a glass of water?”
Finally George scampers over with two glasses of ice water. I wait until he leaves to ask, “How could you be so sure you wouldn’t lose me?”
Amy interrupts her eating, smiles, and says, “I wasn’t. But I wanted to protect you. I figured I’d rather lose you by keeping you out than lose you by letting you in. Besides,” she says, devilry dancing across her features, “I had to pay you back for snooping in my life. It was disturbing, though apparently, given the intensity of your feelings toward me, quite understandable.”
“Hold on, that information was obtained under duress.”
“Please, it was given of your own free will.”
I drain my water, and this time George is there with a refill. As he pours, he slides a padded leather envelope in my direction as though I’m about to get the bill. Maybe he wants to let me know how much I’ve already spent.
I open the binder to find two items. Instead of a receipt there’s a handwritten note.
Dr. Mills,
Just wanted to let you know this dinner has been entirely paid for by Mr. Tellucci. He’s insisted I put this on his bill. Also, in appreciation of your expert care of my cat Henry, I would like to offer you my finest suite, should you not wish to drive home this evening.
P.S. I recommend you take me up on this complimentary night’s stay. Chief Devito loves to catch drunk drivers!
Warmest regards,
George
The other object is a key attached to a small plastic fob bearing the number nine.
“What was that about?”
“Um… just business,” I mumble, as an extraordinary—no, outrageous—idea begins to form inside my unchecked brain. In a dreamlike trance, I let it fly.
“Amy, this has been an evening of revelations, and in keeping with this theme, I have a proposal. It’s totally out of character. It may be totally inappropriate, but I’m going to put it out there.”
I push the padded envelope across the table, my chin inviting Amy to take a look inside. She takes it and opens it up on her lap in the manner of a book.
I clear my throat and ask, “How do you feel about a little adultery?”
The question hangs in the air between us like an echo, and for the longest moment nothing happens, Amy unable or unwilling to take her stunned heterochromic eyes off of George’s note.
Suddenly she explodes, snapping the envelope shut, throwing her napkin down on the table, and getting to her feet as she takes my full glass of ice water and tosses it into my face. She storms off before I can mumble an apology.
Unbelievable. I will never understand this woman—no, make that women in general. I pick up Amy’s napkin and wipe it down my face. That’s when I feel the buzz in my pants and pull out my cell phone.
It’s a text.
I look over my shoulder. I read the text again, then I notice the envelope, open it up, and begin to laugh.
George’s note is still there, but the key to room nine has disappeared.
I place my knife and fork on my plate, push it away from me, get to my feet, and read the text one more time.
What R U waiting 4!
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Trying to write about a general practice veterinarian certainly proves that real animal doctors know a whole lot more than a specialist like me. Any mistakes or erroneous remarks regarding disease, diagnosis, and treatment are mine alone, fallibility my relentless impetus to learn.
I must thank Jennifer Fisher for her insightful suggestions on the early drafts and the wonderful team at Hyperion including Martha Levin, Betsy Hulsebosch, Tareth Mitch, Cassie Mandel, and Jill Amack. After five books together, you’d think I might have run out of superlatives for my editor, Christine Pride. Not so. Sharp, savvy, and spot-on, Christine’s edits always manage to make me look far better than I deserve.
Jeff Kleinman, my agent, is the coach who knows how to get the most out of his players, inspiring you to try to deliver your best. Cheers, Jeff, I’m blessed to have you in my corner.
Now that my daughters, Whitney and Emily, have flown the coop, my wife, Kathy, bears the brunt of my desire to write, putting up with a husband prone to vapid looks, lost in thought, searching for the right way to tell a story. Her tolerance, patience, and unwavering support make these books possible.
Finally a big thank-you to Cathy Zemaitis and the folks at National Education for Assistance Dog Services (NEADS). What these incredible animals can do for those they serve is nothing short of amazing and I am thrilled to have adopted one of their so-called “Furloughed Favorites.” Our labradoodle, Thai, has stolen my heart, making me a besotted, doting father all over again.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Nick Trout graduated from veterinary school at the University of Cambridge in 1989. He is a staff surgeon at the prestigious Angell Animal Medical Center in Boston; the author of five books, including the New York Times bestseller Tell Me Where It Hurts, Love Is the Best Medicine, Ever By My Side, and The Patron Saint of Lost Dogs; and he is a contributing columnist for The Bark magazine. He lives in Massachusetts with his wife, Kathy, and their adopted labradoodle, Thai.
Also by Nick Trout
Tell Me Where It Hurts
Love Is the Best Medicine
Ever By My Side
The Patron Saint of Lost Dogs
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 by Nick Trout
Cover design by Rebecca Lown
Cover copyright © 2014 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
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First ebook edition: April 2014
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ISBN 978-1-4013-0598-7
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