My Sunshine

by Catherine Anderson

  At the reminder, Isaiah’s encouraging grin faded and his eyes went dark. He said nothing, but words weren’t necessary. He had clearly forgotten for a moment that Laura had been put on notice. One more mistake and she’d be gone.

  Chapter Seven

  “What picture should I use?” Etta Parks asked. Peering over her grandmother’s shoulder, Laura squinted to see the small cell phone screen. She’d come knocking on Etta’s door at ten that morning to get the number to the clinic programmed into her phone. “A dog or a cat would be nice.”

  Etta took a drag from her Winston and exhaled smoke, which drifted up into Laura’s face. “You used the dog for Mrs. Kessler and the cat for the Segals. You’ve got a party balloon, a wineglass”—Etta scrolled down through more choices—“a book, a cake, a printer, a car, and a coffee cup. There are no animals left.”

  Because Laura had such difficulty in reading numbers and letters, she had purchased a cell phone with symbols that could be assigned to people she called often. That way she could scroll quickly through the electronic phone book, recognize people’s names by the pictures that accompanied them, and make calls without always having to dial numbers. “Use the cake. That’ll work.”

  “The cake? For a veterinary clinic?”

  Laura nodded. “I’m always taking in food.”

  “A cake it will be, then.” Shoulder-length silver hair held back by a glittery purple headband that matched her brightly decorated sweatshirt, Etta set herself to the task of programming the phone. “What kind of food do you take in?”

  “Lots of stuff. At home I’m always making too much, and my freezer’s getting full. Isaiah forgets to eat unless there’s something handy, so I can get rid of all my extra and feed him while I’m at it.”

  “Taking care of him, are you?” Etta grinned. “Sounds pretty cozy.”

  “We’re just friends,” Laura replied, thinking as she spoke that those words had become her mantra.

  While her grandmother pressed phone buttons and grumbled under her breath about newfangled inventions, Laura went to get a drink. Leaning her hips against the cupboards, she surveyed the familiar kitchen while she took slow sips of water. It was a room dear to her heart. As a child she’d often sat at the oblong table with Grandpa Jim, sharing a predawn breakfast before they went fishing at the lake. She’d also spent many a summer evening in this room with her grandmother, putting up produce from the vegetable garden. It had involved a lot of hard work, but Gram had always managed to make it seem fun. Remembering those days, Laura almost wished she were a child again.

  Over the years, the kitchen had undergone many transformations—new appliances, different color schemes—but it had remained essentially the same. The breakfast-nook window now sported lime-green Priscilla curtains that matched the darker green flecks in the new Formica counters and the swirling pattern in the indoor/outdoor carpet that her grandmother had recently had installed so she would no longer need to mop. A dark brown Mr. Coffee machine sat to the left of the stainless-steel sink, its carafe half-full and emitting the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee. The front of the refrigerator was so crowded with doodads that the white door barely showed. Many of the magnets sported slogans that Laura now struggled to read, but they’d been hanging there for so long that she’d memorized most of them.

  Say the word diet, and you die. God bless this house. I’m not just a good cook; I’m a damn good cook. Laura smiled when her gaze came to rest on her favorite magnet of all, which she’d gotten as a gift for her grandmother years ago. It read, Me and you, and you and me, that’s the way it’ll always be. Oh, how true that was. All these years later, here she was, standing in Gram’s kitchen, one of her favorite places to be.

  “Almost done,” her grandmother said.

  As Laura’s gaze came to rest on her grandmother, she smiled to herself. Even at seventy-six Etta was beautiful, a slender, fine-boned woman with delicate features. A lot of people claimed that Laura looked like her, but Laura had never seen the resemblance. Their coloring was similar, she sup-posed, but that was as far as it went.

  The cell phone in Etta’s arthritic hands suddenly rang. “Dear God!” she cried, giving such a start that she nearly dropped the apparatus. “I detest these things.”

  Laura laughed as she crossed the room. Taking the device, she pressed the little green telephone symbol to answer the call. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Laura,” a deep, masculine voice replied. “This is Isaiah.”

  Her heart thumped just a little faster. “Hi.”

  Long silence. Then he said, “There was a spot of trouble here this morning. I only just now got back from making ranch calls and found out about it. I think we need to talk. Is there any way you can come in to see me today?”

  Laura’s glad smile faded. Isaiah’s voice was taut, almost grim. “Sure. What kind of trouble? Did I get the food mixed up again?” Laura frowned even as she asked the question, for she’d been extra careful last night, checking and double-checking her work at every turn. “I can’t believe I made a mistake.”

  “We’ll talk when you get here.”

  Laura was starting to get a very bad feeling. Isaiah also sounded distant. “All right. What time is good for you?”

  Another silence. “Just come in when you can. I’ll be here the rest of the day.”

  After ending the call, Isaiah rocked back in his desk chair and rubbed his eyes. Tucker, sitting on a corner of the desk, heaved an audible sigh, fiddled with the stapler for a moment, and then said, “We have to let her go, Isaiah. It’s nothing short of a miracle that that dog didn’t die.”

  A brutal fist of emotion squeezed Isaiah’s throat. “She’s so careful, Tucker. I can’t believe she left that kennel gate unlatched.”

  Tucker hissed a vile curse through clenched teeth. “Damn it, Isaiah, don’t go there. She was the only one here last night. Who else could have done it?”

  Isaiah had no reasonable explanation. He knew only that Laura was meticulous in all that she did. “Okay,” he tried. “Just for the sake of discussion, let’s say she did leave the gate open. It could happen to almost anyone. Why can’t I just chew her out and let it go at that? It seems pretty harsh to fire her over a mistake she may never make again.”

  Tucker threw up his hands. His blue eyes sparked with anger. “You didn’t see the condition that dog was in. There was so much blood, the kennel looked like a war zone. He could have died, Isaiah. He’s an expensive animal. The owners might have sued. Leaving a kennel gate unlatched is no small mistake.”

  Isaiah nodded. “I realize the gravity, Tucker. You’re missing my point. Laura is fabulous with the animals. I think we should work with her and give her another chance.”

  “How many chances?” Tucker pushed up from the desk. “We’re financially liable for her screw-ups.” With each word, his voice grew louder. “We can’t just slap her on the wrist and take the risk that she may do it again. That makes no sense.”

  Isaiah rose from his chair. Fists braced on the desk, he leaned forward to look his brother in the eye. “I’m the one who decided to hire her. I think it should be me who decides when to fire her. I’ve worked with the lady. I know her a hell of a lot better than you do.”

  “That’s what worries me. Do you have a thing for her or something?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Then why this reluctance to cover our asses? Use your head, brother, and I’m not referring to the one behind your fly.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “She’s an attractive woman.”

  “We have a number of attractive women working here,” Isaiah pointed out. “I’d argue against firing any one of them if I felt she didn’t deserve it.”

  Tucker took a calming breath, raked a hand through his hair, and stared at the floor. Watching him, Isaiah had to wonder if he looked as intimidating when he grew angry. The muscles that roped Tucker’s shoulders were bunched, his cheek was ticking, and his larg
e hands curled into fists each time he lowered his arms to his sides.

  “All right,” he finally ground out, his tone conveying intense displeasure. “You’ve worked with her and I haven’t. You’re right in saying that you know her better. I’ll let you make the call. But if anything happens again, no matter how insignificant, she’s gone, no discussion. Agreed?”

  Isaiah nodded. “Agreed.”

  Tucker opened the door and started out. Then he swung back around. In a voice pitched low so it wouldn’t carry to the front desk, he said, “Keep your head about you, Isaiah. Laura’s a sweetheart, and there’s no denying she’s pretty, but she’s packing a lot of baggage. Don’t go falling in love with her.”

  Isaiah shook his head. “The warning is completely unnecessary.”

  Muscles locked, Laura gripped the arms of the chair as she waited for Isaiah to stop fiddling with things on his desk and tell her what she’d done wrong. He obviously dreaded this conversation. He seemed unable to look her directly in the eye, and it was totally unlike him to fidget.

  All her life Laura had wondered why people sometimes described silence as being so loud it was deafening. Now she knew. It was so quiet in the office that she could have sworn she heard the sweat oozing from her pores.

  Finally Isaiah settled back and looked at her. Once he made eye contact, his blue gaze was direct and unrelenting. “Last night you left a kennel gate unlatched.”

  Laura’s heart caught. “But that can’t be—”

  “The dog got out,” he went on, cutting her off in midprotest, “a black Lab that underwent abdominal surgery yesterday. He was on an IV drip. When he left the cage the fluid bag was jerked loose from the hook, fell to the floor, and the dog dragged it around behind him. At some point he jumped up on some packing crates under one of the windows, probably in an attempt to get outside, and the fluid bag was at a lower level than the IV, resulting in reverse flow.”

  Laura had no idea what that meant. Evidently he saw the confusion in her expression, for he went on to explain: “That means that instead of infusing fluid into the patient’s vein, the blood is siphoned out. In this case, thank God, the dog must have jumped up on the crates just before Susan arrived. He’d lost a lot of blood, both from the IV insert and the incision, which, at some point, was ripped open, but he wasn’t dead. She called Tucker, he transfused the animal, performed emergency surgery, and, by the grace of God, it looks as if he’ll make it.”

  Laura was so stunned she could only shake her head. “No,” she finally managed to whisper. “No, that can’t be.”

  As if she hadn’t spoken, he went on to say, “I’m sticking my neck out by not firing you on the spot. I have only one reason for taking a chance on you—because you’re so wonderful with the animals. I honestly believe you’re the best kennel person we’ve ever had.”

  “Thank you,” she squeezed out.

  “But we can’t have things like this happening. The dog could have died. Do you understand the ramifications of that? The owners might have sued our pants off.”

  “Yes, I under-understand.” Laura’s mind felt all fuzzy, and her stomach lurched as if she might vomit. “It’s just that I checked all the gates to make sure they were latched,” she said faintly. “That’s the last thing I do right before I leave.”

  He rocked back in his chair. His jaw muscle rippled from his clenching his teeth. “Last night you must have forgotten.” He spread his hands. “How it happened isn’t important. What we have to deal with is that it occurred on your shift and a dog almost died. Tucker and I met to discuss what should be done. On my recommendation he’s agreed to give you another chance, with the understanding that you’ll be terminated if anything at all happens again. Our reputations as vets are on the line.”

  Tears burned at the backs of Laura’s eyes. Pain radiated through her chest. “Maybe I should save every-one a lot of trouble and quit right now.”

  Isaiah put his elbows on the desk, folded his hands, and rested his chin on his knuckles. Once again his eyes offered her no quarter. “Is that what you want?” he asked softly. “To just quit?”

  “No, of course not. I love this job. But I don’t like being blamed for something I didn’t do. I checked those gates. I always do. I know I didn’t leave a cage open.”

  “Someone did, and you were the only someone here.”

  Laura pushed up from her chair. “Are you sure?”

  His face a mask of stunned incredulity, he stared up at her. Laura curled her hands into throbbing fists. Words crowded at the back of her throat. She wanted so badly to defend herself, but he would undoubtedly think she’d lost what was left of her mind.

  “Look,” he said reasonably, “let’s reverse that question. Can you swear to the fact—are you absolutely positive—that you couldn’t have accidentally left that one gate unlatched?”

  Laura almost said yes, but right then she was so upset that the previous night was a blur in her mind. She needed to go back over everything she’d done last night before she could be absolutely sure. “I’m almost posi-tive,” she settled for saying.

  “Almost? That’s not good enough.”

  Laura distinctly remembered walking up and down the center aisle, checking the gates on both sides before she left the clinic. Had something distracted her? Could she have accidentally passed by one gate without trying the latch? She’d worked out a routine while on the day shift, and now she always stuck to it. Routines were vital to someone like her, who tended to be more forgetful than other people.

  “I hope you’ll stay on, Laura,” Isaiah said softly. “I fought hard to give you another chance. It’ll be a shame if you quit.”

  She was too upset right then to discuss it further, so she just nodded her head.

  “Maybe,” he went on, “you can develop a few new habits to prevent something like this from happening again.”

  He went on to offer her several ideas, all safety precautions that she’d already instituted. By the time he stopped talking, she felt numb.

  When she turned to let herself out of his office, all she could think to say was, “I’m sorry about the dog, Isaiah.”

  “We all are.”

  It was almost seven when Isaiah left the clinic that night. A vague ache had taken up residence behind his eyes, and his mind swam with bits and pieces of several phone conversations he’d had with respected colleagues. One of Isaiah’s patients, a neutered Chesapeake, was dying of autoimmune disease, and the usual treatments, heavy doses of antibiotics and prednisone, weren’t working. It was time to go for broke and try something new: hormone replacement therapy.

  It was difficult for Isaiah to believe that injections of testosterone might save the Chesapeake when the more traditional approaches had failed. But, hey, compared to Rodney Porter, head man at Eastern Oregon Veterinary Research Center, Isaiah was still a rookie. If Porter felt that the deprivation of natural hormones could weaken the immune system, Isaiah would try giving the Chesapeake injections of testosterone.

  Why the hell not? Bone-deep weariness and a leaden feeling of defeat tempted Isaiah to try a testosterone cocktail himself.

  As he walked through the crisp night air toward his Hummer, he pressed the switch on the remote to unlock the rear doors so he might stow some research tomes on the backseat. It was going to be another late night, he thought dismally. He wouldn’t be able to sleep until he’d read everything he could get his hands on about autoimmune disease.

  When the Hummer’s door locks disengaged, the clearance and interior dome lights blinked on. The sudden illumination brightened the dark parking area. Isaiah was surprised to see another car on the opposite side of the hulking SUV. Someone from the cleaning company who was working overtime, maybe? As he drew closer, he was even more surprised to see that it was Laura’s red Mazda.

  After tossing the books inside the Hummer, he glanced at his watch, thinking it might be later than he thought. But no, it was only seven. Laura’s shift didn’t begin until nine. What
on earth was she doing here so early?

  Retracing his steps, Isaiah reentered the building and made his way to the kennels. Instinct led him directly to the black Lab’s cage. He found Laura sitting inside the enclosure on the cold cement, the dog’s massive head cradled on her lap. Expression sad, shoulders slumped, she put him in mind of the little lost angel in one of his nephew Garrett’s storybooks. Golden wisps of hair trailed forward over her cheeks. There was a stricken look in her large, hazel eyes.

  At the sound of his footsteps she didn’t even glance up. “You haven’t been here ever since we talked, have you?”

  “Yes,” she said hollowly.

  “Why? You work the late shift tonight, Laura. You’ll be dead on your feet by two in the morning.” And more likely to make another mistake, he thought.

  She trailed a hand lightly over the dog’s shoulder. “Dusty almost died. He’s still feeling pretty bad. Sitting with him is the least I can do.”

  His heart caught at her flat tone of voice, which accentuated the halting way she spoke. When he’d stood there for several seconds and she still hadn’t looked up, he opened the gate and entered the cage. Bracing his back against the cement, Isaiah slid down the wall into a crouch. “Well,” he said softly, “I can see you’re still upset with me.” When she continued to avoid making eye contact, he tried a chuckle to lessen the tension. “Hey, it’s not that bad. You’re still on the payroll. Dusty will recover. Before you know it this whole mess will be nothing but a memory.”

  She finally lifted her gaze to his. Her hazel eyes burned with resentment. “If I had left the gate open, I wouldn’t mind being blamed for it. I wouldn’t even mind being fired. Only it wasn’t me who did it.”

  It wasn’t like Laura to so stubbornly deny responsibility for something that was so obviously her fault. From the very start she’d been uncommonly humble and uncertain of her ability to do this job.

  “This cage was left open,” he said evenly. “You were the only person in the building. Who else could have done it, Laura?”