by Lisa Sorbe
“Mitzi’s just fine today. I’m calling about Rodolfo.”
I tap the mouse and, within seconds, Rodolfo’s history pops up on the screen. Eleven-year-old golden retriever, male/neutered, gold. His collar is a simple leather cord and, judging by looks alone, he seems to be the most sensible of the Klingensmith bunch.
“Lenny,” Doris says, her usually steady voice trembling, “Rodolfo isn’t eating. He wasn’t interested in his dinner last night and wouldn’t touch his breakfast. Even though I put an egg in it, which he usually loves.”
“How’s his energy level?” I ask, referring to the cheat sheet that Rita, the clinic’s only other receptionist, drew up for me last week before practically running out the door for a two-week vacation. (Apparently, it’s been awhile since she’s had one.) Not eating one meal isn’t necessarily under the category labeled GET BEN NOW, but it is under POSSIBLY SCHEDULE APPOINTMENT with an attached note to check energy level and poop schedule.
“He’s tired. I tried to get him to play with his Squishy this morning but he refused. And Lenny, he loves his Squishy. Just adores it. I’m so worried…”
My eyes drift to the end of the paper, where Rita scrawled: If in doubt, tell them to come in!
“Doris, Dr. Sloane is in surgery right now. But his eleven o’clock is available. Would you be able to bring Rodolfo in then? If he’s not eating, he should probably be seen.” I squint down at the paper, reading another note. “Dr. Sloane may want to do bloodwork or X-rays, depending on what he thinks is necessary.”
Doris sounds frazzled, but assured. “Yes, yes. I can make it down there by eleven. Oh, mind you, I’m such a mess right now. I haven’t had a chance to get over to the parlor all week, what with the weather. I don’t like driving in snow, you see. Murphy, my husband, used to drive me. But now that he’s gone…” She sucks in a breath. “Never mind all that, my mouth is running away with me. I’ll put my face on and Rodolfo and I will be there at eleven sharp. Thank you, Lenny. It’ll sure be nice to finally meet you, dear.”
“You too, Doris. And oh,” I say, remembering, “Is he going to the bathroom okay? Doing all his business and everything?”
“What? Oh, yes, yes. His peeps and pops are quite normal, thank goodness.”
Peeps and pops.
And Lord, help me, I actually know what she’s talking about.
This gig is anything but dull.
I type the appointment into Ben’s schedule and then grab the file from the closet-sized room behind the reception counter, making sure to document the call in Rodolfo’s chart. Scanning the rest of the day, I give a small sigh of relief when I see that his is the last appointment of the morning. After that, it’s just two annual exams for the rest of the day. This is only a part time job, but with each shift lasting ten hours, the days are long. And by the time I crawl into Ben’s truck at night, I’m exhausted.
I would chalk it all up to the fact that I’m in the midst of learning a new job and that’s why the days are so taxing. But I have a feeling that this is just how life is in a veterinary clinic. The day’s schedule is merely an outline, and by the end of it, doesn’t even come close to reflecting the amount of work the staff has put in. But it’s something to work around as the phone calls come, one right after another, with cases that need to be addressed either that day or, at the very latest, the next. Ben inhales his lunch at his desk, head bent over patient charts, while the rest of the staff pick at their food as they rush by the break room—which, from what I can tell, is the least used room in the small building.
The fact that Ben’s clinic is also the only one within a fifty-mile radius doesn’t help matters any.
But even with as busy as it is, everyone seems happy. Tired, sure. But happy.
And I’m jealous. Jealous of these people who have the biggest hearts of anyone I’ve ever met. Who know their purpose and are doing what they love so fully, so completely, that when they fall into bed at night, I can only imagine they do so in a state of exhausted satisfaction.
And speaking of exhausted satisfaction, it’s the exact look Ben has when he plops down in the chair next to mine. His surgical mask is hanging loose around his neck and his green scrub cap has ridden up his brow, but he’s wearing a smile, which means surgery went well.
“Please tell me the rest of the morning is free.” When I go to open my mouth, he holds up a hand. “And if it isn’t, lie and tell me it is.” He rolls his chair back from the counter, slouches, and kicks his legs out. Lacing his fingers over his stomach, he rests his head on the back of his seat and closes his eyes. “I want to live in blissful ignorance for as long as I can.”
“Doris is bringing Rodolfo in at eleven.”
Ben opens his eyes, screwing his features into a scowl.
I roll my eyes. “Oh, please. Don’t give me that face. It doesn’t work on me anymore.”
“Really?” Ben’s brows narrow even more, making me laugh.
“Yep.” I roll my own chair back, dumping a pile of charts into a tray marked TO BE FILED. “In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve got you all figured out, Ben Sloane.”
Ben cracks a smile, but the intensity doesn’t leave his eyes. “We’ll see about that.” He nods to Rodolfo’s chart, which is sitting next to my elbow. “So what’s going on with him?”
I pass him the folder, and Ben flips it open, scanning the notes I took after getting off the phone with Doris. “He’s been off food since last night, pretty lethargic. Doris seems really worried.”
He nods, his brow furrowing more and more. “Remind me…peeps mean poop, right?”
I shake my head. “No. Peeps mean pee. Pops are poop.”
“That’s right. I always forget.” He closes the folder, his sigh heavy. “What about the rest of the day?”
“Two annuals and that’s it. For now, that is.”
Ben perks up. “Really?” He considers me for a moment, as if weighing the pros and cons of what he’s about to say. “You feel like getting lunch today? My treat.”
“Lunch?” I fiddle with some pens on the counter, bunching them in my hand and dropping them into a plastic cup that says I’m a vet tech. What’s your superpower? I wonder if he knows how broke I am. How every day I’ve been gorging on the big breakfasts that he makes so I can make it through the day and devour a peanut butter and jelly sandwich when I get home. I fully intend to go to the store and buy groceries when I get my first paycheck, though how much I’ll have left after paying my share of the rent back in L.A. is up for debate. This job is only part time, which leaves my only other income whatever profits I pull in from my YouTube channel (which, to be quite honest, isn’t much). Most of the benefits of my channel consist of free hair care and make up products from companies hoping for a shout out.
“It’s Friday, so that means Jerry’s cooking down at Jasper’s. Which means…” Ben pauses for effect. “Onion dip.”
I raise a brow. What is it with the onion dip fetish around here? First Mimi and now Ben? The things people in small towns get amped up about, I swear.
“You haven’t lived until you’ve had Jerry Hackett’s onion dip.” Ben nudges my thigh with his foot. “So you in?”
I sigh, like I’m doing him a favor by going rather than what’s really happening—me getting a free meal.
My stomach growls, and Ben smirks.
“Sure. Why not? It’s about time I find out what this onion dip is all about. Plus I need to stop by there, anyway. Mimi is loaning me her copy of Heart-Shaped Box.”
“Ah,” Ben says, pushing himself up from the chair with a soft groan. He stretches. “By Joe Hill.”
“I guess. She says it’s a horror novel, which isn’t really my thing. So, you know, fully expect me to be sleeping with most of the lights on in the house while I’m reading it.” I shake my head, remembering the bet I lost to Ben two weeks ago. Turns out Natalie was the one who picked the angsty romance-slash-erotica read. “Who’d have thought that Mimi of all people likes horror?”
> Ben chuckles. “You’ll be fine. And if you get too freaked out, I’ll loan you Asha for the next few nights.” He swats me gently on the shoulder with Rodolfo’s file as he heads out of reception and toward his office. “And it’s a good book,” he calls over his shoulder. “You’ll like it.”
The phone remains blissfully quiet the next thirty minutes, and at ten minutes to eleven, Doris arrives with a sullen looking Rodolfo, who wags his tail wearily when I bend down to scratch behind his ears. I check his weight before showing them into a room, and then let Doug, the technician on duty, know they’re ready. I pop my head into Ben’s office on my way back to the front counter. “Doris is here. Rodolfo doesn’t look so good. Doug’s heading in there now, but I wanted to give you a head’s up.”
Ben gives me a sharp nod and immediately rises from his desk, flinging his stethoscope around his neck as he does. He’s all focus—brows drawn, jaw tight—as he heads in to meet his patient. But he’s only in the exam room a few minutes when he pops his head out. “Lenny, do you mind coming in here for a minute?”
“Not at all,” I say, though the reluctance in my chest is heavy. I have absolutely no experience in veterinary work, something Ben is well aware of, and whatever use I could be is beyond me.
I switch the phones over to voice mail and scurry into the room, where I find a tearful Doris and a somber Doug. Ben, who is on the floor with Rodolfo’s head resting in his lap, is the only one keeping a brave face.
“We’re going to take Rodolfo back for some x-rays,” he says, while slowly stroking the dog’s golden head. “Would you mind getting Doris some water while she waits?”
I nod, my stomach twisting because the whole scene just looks so sad, so forlorn, that I can already feel my own tears climbing to the surface. Blinking hard, I turn away and head for the breakroom, where I pull a bottled water from the fridge. Closing the door, I stand still for a moment, taking one deep breath after another, trying to hold my emotions at bay.
I haven’t been in this field long, but I know a staple of being a good employee means being able to keep it together under even the most heartbreaking circumstances. Because how would it look to the client if the damn veterinary staff break down in tears right in front of them?
And we don’t even know for sure what’s wrong with Rodolfo. It might not be serious. It might be some random stomach bug or…or…
As always, I feel him before I see him. This time, his presence at my back is strong, comforting, like phantom arms wrapping around me, holding me up, keeping me from falling apart.
“Lenny,” he says, and even his voice is an embrace, soothing the tightness in my chest, my stomach.
I plaster a smile on my face and turn around.
“Would you please call the other two appointments today and ask them if they could reschedule? Apologize and fit them in whenever they need. I have a feeling we might be doing emergency surgery this afternoon.”
“Yeah, sure. Not a problem.” I pull my lip between my teeth, bite hard. “What’s… I mean… What do you think it is?”
“I’m not sure yet. Doris is meticulous about her house and doesn’t usually leave things around that the dogs could get into, but even the best of us slip up and forget. It could be an obstruction, though my gut tells me it’s something else. If I have to hazard a guess…” He swallows hard. “A tumor.”
My eyes widen. “Like, cancer?”
“Possibly.” He tilts his head, assessing me. “You doing okay?” His voice is low, soft, and full of concern. The type of concern that, when we first met, I could never imagine coming from someone like him.
“Of course. I’m fine.” I hold up the bottled water. “I’ll just bring this to Doris and then reschedule those appointments.” My lips wobble on the last word and my voice catches in my throat.
Why am I so upset? We don’t even know what the problem is yet. Rodolfo could be fine, just fine. Not to mention, I don’t really even know him, or Doris, or…
Ben’s hand reaches out to cup my shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. It’s a warm gesture, assuring, and the calming energy pulsing from his touch passes through my skin, my muscles and bone and cells. It’s a heat that fills me up, burns right to my very core. The tightness in my throat melts, freeing the breath that was struggling to break through.
“I have to get back there.” Ben pulls his hand away, and I’m cold again, though not as much as before.
I nod.
His eyes slide over me one more time before he turns to leave, and within seconds I hear him taking charge of the situation, his voice strong and brisk, before the door to the X-ray room closes and I hear nothing at all.
“Hungry?”
I hold up a grease-stained bag and give it a little jiggle. My smile wobbles a bit with it, though I don’t think Ben notices.
He’s too tired.
Bent over his desk, scribbling madly into a chart, he pauses, looks up. The warm glow of the lamp only serves to accentuate his exhaustion, casting shadows under his eyes, his cheeks, just below his bottom lip. His brows are drawn in that severe way I’ve come to know, though I no longer think he’s giving the world the stink eye.
No, Ben isn’t shunning the world.
He’s taking responsibility for the whole damn thing.
“Starving.” He folds shut the chart and tosses it in the outgoing box sitting on the left corner of his desk. To the right of his elbow, he has a stack of patient charts that easily sits a foot high.
Asha, lying on the floor next to his feet, lifts her head and sniffs.
I make my way across the room and drop into one of the two chairs sitting across from his desk. “Thought you might be.”
He lifts his chin and inhales. “That smells like…onion chips. And dip.”
“You’ve got a nose on you like Asha,” I joke, peeling open the bag and distributing its contents between us. Ben moves some charts and papers out of the way before closing an old, chunky laptop and pushing it aside. The smell of fried food wafts through the office as I unwrap two loose meat sandwiches. “And, for the grand finale…” I pause dramatically, plucking a lid off a cardboard box, “…onion chips and dip!”
I blink my eyes and widen my smile like a game show host before waving my hand over the meal, making Ben laugh. “I thought you were going to catch a ride home with Doug when he left,” he says, grabbing his sandwich.
It’s a little after seven, and with Ben staying late to keep an eye on Rodolfo, it was either leave with Doug or wait here for who knows how long.
“I was, but figured I’d stay and make sure you ate dinner instead.” I narrow my eyes. “You look exhausted.”
Ben ignores my assessment. “You sound like Nora,” is all he says, reaching for an onion chip. He scoops some dip and pops the fried glob into his mouth.
“Well, she was brilliant,” I remind him, pulling a bottled water from one of the deep pockets in my oversized cardigan and rolling it his way. After spending the first week in Lost Bay either constantly cold or bundled up in Ben’s coat, I broke and began dipping into Lenora’s closet, confiscating almost every sweater she owned. It was either that or wear what I brought from California and risk hypothermia.
I may smell like a lavender musk bomb exploded, but at least I’m warm.
“Jasper’s doesn’t deliver.” Ben unscrews the lid from his water bottle. “And you,” he raises his brows, “don’t drive in the snow. So?”
I take a bite of my loose meat sandwich and swallow. “Sooo?”
“How’d you manage to pull this off?”
“I told Chevy I’d blow him later tonight.”
Ben’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead and he about chokes on his water. “You what?”
His expression is so raw, so shocked, that I burst out laughing. “Kidding! I’m kidding!”
He doesn’t look convinced.
“Oh, come on. Like I’d really do something like that. Please.” When Ben doesn’t reach for his food, I sigh. “I prom
ised Mimi she could be in my next video if she brought this over.” Along with holding the bill until after I get paid. Though I don’t let that part of the deal slip.
Ben shoots me a scowl, annoyed at my lame joke, and I shoot him one right back, annoyed at him for being such a stiff.
We resume our meal, and while we eat Ben fills me in on Rodolfo’s surgery. It turns out he had a mass in his spleen but, thanks to Doris being so observant, Ben was able to remove it before it erupted and caused further damage, like an abdominal hemorrhage. Ben explains that we’ll know more when the results come back from the lab, but as far as he could tell from the X-rays, there didn’t appear to be tumors anywhere else, which hopefully indicates that the mass was benign. Samples have been sent to the lab, and now it’s just a waiting game.
I finish my sandwich and ball up the wrapper, tossing it into the empty bag. “All right,” I say, plucking my first onion chip from the container, “here goes nothing.”
Ben lifts his chin, reaching out to push one of the two plastic dip cups my way. “Make sure you get some dip—”
I swat his hand away. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know, I know. The infamous goddamn dip.” Scooping up a generous amount, I shove the entire thing into my mouth. The minute the stuff touches my tongue, I moan. “Owe-ma-gawd,” I mumble, being completely gross and talking with my mouth full, but who the eff cares because this damn dip is freaking out of this world amazing.
Ben smirks as I reach for another, and another, and another.
Okay, so maybe everyone is right. This stuff really is the bomb.
In the midst of my feeding frenzy, some dip drips down my finger. Like the animal these pieces of fried heaven have turned me into, I lick it off, close my eyes, and moan.
Then look up to see Ben staring at me.
“Sorry for being such a pig,” I say, wiping my hands and blushing. “I swear I’m usually not so barbaric when I eat.” There was a time, one time, when I was at a party with Daniel where I happened to go slightly overboard on these delectable mini cream puffs stuffed with shrimp that were, at the risk of sounding dramatic, out-of-this-world delicious. I may or may not have cleaned out a waiter’s entire tray of the appetizers in one fell swoop, eliciting a raised brow from Daniel along with a ripe look of embarrassment. And while he never actually came right out and said anything, I knew what he was thinking. I’ve made sure to keep myself in check around him ever since.
