Left Behind (4 page)

A
fter a good cry in the bathroom, I splash water on my face and go back into Dr. Mac's house. Dr. Mac is in the kitchen sipping a cup of tea. She gives me a hug and tells me that Maggie and Brenna have gone upstairs to shower and get changed. “Go on up and join them,” she adds.

By the time we come back downstairs, Dr. Mac has a selection of cereal and fruit out on the counter for us. In a soft voice, she tells us that Lucy is gone.

Poor, sweet Lucy. Dr. Mac was right when she said it wouldn't be long. Lucy was gone within fifteen minutes of our leaving the room. Mrs. Clark's son came to pick her up. We were all glad that
she chose not to drive home. Her car will be fine parked out front until they can come back to get it.

The rest of the morning passes quickly. We treat a puppy that decided to try to eat a sock and admit a dog—a golden retriever–poodle mix known as a golden doodle—with a broken hind leg. She was one of the fireworks freak-outs from last night. But her owners didn't realize she was really injured until this morning when she wouldn't put any weight on one of her legs. And I am able to tackle some of the filing while it's still raining.

After a while, I look out the window at Mrs. Clark's car. The rain splashes on the hood in big, slow drops. Brenna comes into the reception area and stands beside me.

“It's quiet in here right now,” she says. It's true. Not another car in the lot and no one waiting to be seen. Of course, when you're the designated weekend emergency clinic, all that can change in an instant. Still, it's nice to have a little calm.

Brenna opens the window blinds wider. “Looks like it's letting up,” she says. “That's good for all the people with cookouts planned for today.”

“Is your family having a cookout?” I ask.

Brenna leans on the windowsill. “Next weekend,” she says. “My grandparents are coming into town
then, and we'll eat potato salad and pretend it's still the Fourth. Looks like it's turned out to be a good thing I was free, what with all the other Vet Volunteers away.”

“We are a small group,” I say.

“But mighty,” Brenna adds, raising her hand for me to high-five. I stretch and smack her palm with mine.

“What are we high-fiving?” Maggie asks, coming up behind us.

“The mightiness of our tiny band of Vet Volunteers,” Brenna says.

“Is that what we are? Good to know,” Maggie says, laughing. She glances out the window. “Rain's about done. We didn't get that run in, but how about shooting hoops until Gran needs us again?”

I don't really want to play basketball. I've never been any good at it. Besides, there's still a stack of paperwork that I ought to get to. Should I tell them, or just go along?

Before I can decide what to say, Brenna says, “Sure thing! Let's play Lightning. It's what Sage and Dad and I play. You need three players. While we battle it out, I can continue trying to talk you both into running cross-country with me this fall.”

I guess my decision is made. They need three
people, and I don't want to spoil it for them, so now I have to play. I wish I'd spoken up before they decided on it.

“Let me tell Gran what we're going to do, and I'll meet you out there. We need two balls for Lightning, right?” Maggie asks Brenna.

“Right. Are they in the garage? 'Cause I can get them,” Brenna says, moving toward the door and holding it open for me.

But before I can walk out, the young woman from yesterday—the one without the animal—walks in.

“Oh. Hi,” I say. I can't remember her name.

But she remembers mine. “Hi, Sunita. Nice to see you again.”

“You, too,” I say. What was her name?

And then she helps me out, “I'm Melissa. Is Dr. Mac here?”

I'm trying to figure out what she's doing here. She still doesn't have an animal with her, so I don't think she's a client. Maybe she's a tutor for Maggie? Or a housecleaner?

I'm about to call for Dr. Mac when she joins Maggie in the reception area, “Hello, Melissa,” she says, cocking her head. “What brings you here today?”

“I know you weren't expecting me until next week. But I knew you were open today, so I thought I'd stop by to fill out the employment paperwork.” Melissa holds up a sheet of paper. “And drop off a copy of my tech license. That way, I can hit the ground running on Tuesday. Is that okay?”

Dr. Mac waves her over to the reception desk just as Brenna comes back in through the door. “Certainly,” Dr. Mac says to Melissa. “I like your initiative. We'll set you up here to fill out the forms.” Then Dr. Mac looks at us. Our faces must look pretty confused because she says, “Girls, I'll explain all this in just a minute. Why don't you check on the dogs in the kennel, and I'll be right back there to talk?”

We go to the kennels without speaking. But as soon as we've closed the door behind us, Maggie slams her hand on the bulletin board and yells, “I can't believe this!”

A dozen paper notes sail off the board toward the floor, and push pins rain down and roll along the linoleum. Brenna and I try to grab the flying notes and stop the pins from rolling. Maggie just stands there with her arms crossed and a scowl on her face.

When we've gathered everything and tacked it
all up again, Brenna says, “So why are you mad? Do you know this Melissa?”

Maggie looks up and says, “No, but she said something about her tech license. She's here to take our jobs away. Gran won't need any Vet Volunteers now that she has Melissa.”

T
he dogs are barking in their kennels as Maggie slams a few more things. TipTop is yapping up a storm, and so is Gretel. Baron, the giant German shepherd, lets out one low woof and settles down to watch. Even though he seems like the scariest dog back here, he's actually quite calm. He seems to be trying to puzzle out the situation. I am, too. What will having a vet tech really mean for the Vet Volunteers?

“She's talked about it before,” Maggie says, slapping the utility cart and sending it rolling. “They both have. But they always decided against it.”

I catch the cart before it bangs into the far wall. I don't understand why Maggie is so upset, but
the worry has already made my stomach hurt. I'm always uncomfortable when someone—especially a friend—is angry. They don't even have to be angry with me for my heart to race a little.

Brenna tries to calm Maggie down. “Okay, well . . . I'm sure your grandmother will explain everything,” she says. “Let's sit down and chill a minute.”

“They're phasing us out! Gran and Dr. Gabe. Don't you see?” Maggie snaps at Brenna.

“No, I don't see,” Brenna says. “Why don't you tell me what you think is going on?”

But before she can do that, Dr. Mac walks in and shuts the door firmly behind her.

“Maggie. Girls. I'm sorry that Melissa's arrival came as such a surprise. But this, you'll see, is a very good thing.”

Maggie looks up and scowls. This is the worst. It's so awkward to be around someone who is being disrespectful. Maggie is my good friend, but I wish I was anywhere but here right now. It's embarrassing. But as that thought clears my head, a new one pushes in and takes its place. Our jobs at Dr. Mac's Place might be over.

Dr. Mac says, “Maggie, I would appreciate some respect and some patience while I explain the decision that Dr. Gabe and I have come to.”

“Are you shutting down the Vet Volunteer program?” I ask, over the loud barking of Gretel.

“Of course not,” Dr. Mac answers.

“Psh,” Maggie snorts. I step back, lean against the door, and grip the doorknob. It's cold in my hand.

“Maggie, when haven't I told you the truth?” Dr. Mac asks, walking over and shushing Gretel. Maggie just shrugs, arms still crossed over her chest.

I'm sure the dogs are barking because they can tell how tense we all are.

Dr. Mac says, “This may not be the best place to have this discussion. Give me a few minutes to finish up with Melissa, and we can have a calm conversation. I assure you—”

The door I'm leaning against is suddenly pushed open.

“Um, sorry to interrupt,” Melissa says, poking her head through the doorway, “but you have a bit of an emergency out here.”

We all rush out. In the clinic there are two little girls and two adults; each of the adults is carrying a large dog that looks like a husky. Both dogs, as well as one of the adults, are bleeding. The dogs are also snarling.

“Tell me what happened,” Dr. Mac says quickly,
leading the way toward the Dolittle Room. We all follow. My heart races.

Just as the woman holding a husky is about to respond, another woman comes into the clinic with a pet carrier.

Dr. Mac says, “Brenna, why don't you get the intake started here?” She points to the woman with the pet carrier, who nods and smiles at Brenna. Her problem must not be as bad as whatever this is with the dogs.

The lady with the dog says, “Our dogs got into a fight, and when we tried to break it up, Elsa bit Jerry.”

This is one of my worst fears: large, fighting, snarling, biting dogs.

“Which dog is Jerry and which is Elsa?” Dr. Mac asks.

“Jerry is my husband,” the lady says. “I'm Junie.”

“Hello,” Jerry says, attempting to raise one hand while still holding one of the dogs.

“Okay, we'll get this straightened out. But first, we're going to need separate exam rooms. Jerry, take your dog in there,” Dr. Mac says, pointing to the Herriot Room. “And Junie, take your dog in here. Let's get them up on the tables.”

Everyone does what they're told. Because the exam rooms are right across from each other, Dr. Mac
stands in the hall between them giving orders.

“All right, Melissa, I know you're not exactly on the payroll yet, but can you give us a hand?”

Melissa quickly nods and walks into the Herriot Room when Dr. Mac points to it. Maggie looks like she's ready for a fight. I grab a clipboard to start taking patient info.

“First, we need to muzzle these dogs,” Dr. Mac says.

“Oh no,” Junie says, “that won't be necessary. This is the first time they've ever bitten one of us. They fight with each other, but they're really good dogs. They won't give you any trouble. They've never given our regular vet a lick of trouble.”

“I'm sorry,” Dr. Mac says, “but it isn't up for debate. It isn't safe for any of us until we are able to control these injured dogs. Maggie, show Melissa where we keep the muzzles. Sir, are you comfortable holding on to your dog while we do this?”

Jerry nods, and even from the hallway I can tell Maggie is being less than enthusiastic as she opens the drawer where we keep the muzzles in the Herriot Room. Melissa either doesn't notice this or chooses to ignore it as she takes a muzzle from Maggie and slips it on quickly and efficiently. She seems to have good control of the situation already.

The husky in the Dolittle Room growls and now has my complete attention. Dr. Mac pulls a muzzle
out of the metal drawer in that room, all the while talking in a low, calm voice. I'm sure she's trying to relax the husky, but I bet she's trying to calm the owner, too. The husky continues to growl and is rigid on the table. Her owner holds her and repeats over and over again, “Elsa, baby, you're a good girl, Elsa, baby, such a good girl.”

“Sunita,” Dr. Mac says to me. “I could use an extra pair of hands. Do you think you can help?”

“Um, sure,” I say, trying to sound as confident as I can.

I guess I'm not too convincing, though, because before I have a chance to step in, Dr. Mac changes her mind. “Actually, why don't you go check on things in the waiting area, and send Brenna back here? Be sure the girls are all right. Okay?”

I'm shaking a little as I leave the room. I know Dr. Mac only wanted to avoid putting me in an uncomfortable situation, but I wish she hadn't. It's like she didn't trust me to help. Though, I suppose, I didn't really want to. I've dreamed of becoming a vet, but what if I can't ever get past my fears?

The clinic phone rings as I exit the exam room, and I pick it up without thinking. Then I realize I should have let the machine answer it and later returned the call. There's so much going on right now. Oh well.

“Dr. Mac's Place, please hold a moment,” I say. I put my hand over the receiver and tell Brenna that Dr. Mac wants her in the exam room. Once she heads into the Dolittle Room, I continue with the call. “Sunita speaking, how may I help you?”

“Oh, Sunita. This is Connie Van Hoven calling, remember me? How are you, dear?”

“Hi, Mrs. Van Hoven. I'm fine. Things are a little wild here today.”

“Well, I won't keep you, then. Listen, I was looking for Dr. Gabe. Wondering if he called anyone about finding a friend for Sylvester? Now that we have a plan in mind, I want to get right on it.”

“I haven't seen Dr. Gabe yet today. I think he was going on some calls out near Lansdale. Do you want me to have him call you when he gets in?”

“That would be great, dear, thank you. Of course, this isn't urgent. Let him know that.”

“I will. Good-bye.” I hang up and continue down the hall to the waiting area.

The two little girls—maybe five and six years old—are sitting beside the lady with the pet carrier. I go over and introduce myself to them.

“How is my daddy?” the older of the girls asks.

“Your daddy?” I reply. “Oh, I think he's okay. We're checking on your dogs first. I think they're going to be okay, too.”

“But our daddy was bleeding more than Elsa and Ariel,” the littler one says.

I crouch down beside them. These girls are right around Jasmine and Harshil's age. “Well, I'm sure we'll look at your daddy, too. Just as soon as we get Elsa and Ariel calmed down. I think it's just your daddy's hand that's bleeding. Sometimes it looks worse than it really is.”

The lady with the pet carrier nods and says, “Heads and hands, heads and hands. Those wounds always look bad, but I bet this young lady is absolutely right.” She puts the clipboard with the forms that we give all new patients on her lap, then pats the knee of the little one, who looks kind of comforted by all that.

“Who named your dogs?” I ask the girls, pretty sure I know the answer.

“We did!” the bigger one shouts. “Elsa's my dog. I named her all by myself. And my sister, Tasha, named her dog Ariel. They're the very best names ever. We named them after our favorite Disney princesses.” The little one nods in agreement. They're both smiling.

“And who do we have here?” I ask as I peek into the carrier. “I'll fill Dr. Mac in.”

The woman smiles at me and says, “This is Katie. She's a three-year-old Persian-Himalayan cat.” She
runs her finger beneath a line on her form. “Poor dear managed to get a sewing needle stuck in her face. She doesn't seem too terribly bothered by it, but it's a little oozy.”

I look closely at the beautiful, fuzzy-gray, Persian-mix. She blinks her blue eyes at me, but otherwise remains still. I don't blame her. The needle pokes out of her cheek near her mouth, and any movement might bump it.

“She certainly doesn't seem distressed,” I say to her owner. “Keep her quiet, and I'm sure Dr. Mac will be able to help her out soon.”

“Katie-cat and I are just fine sitting beside these two little ladies,” the woman says. The little girls smile and move in closer to the nice woman.

“I'll let Dr. Mac know,” I say.

Just then, I hear the door to the clinic open again. I'm thinking that I'm not sure if we can handle any more drama right now when I turn and see that it's Dr. Gabe. I breathe a sigh of relief.

“We can sure use you,” I say to him.