16. Leo （Now）
Leo (Now)
Leo stared down onto Main Street from Lynne’s apartment window when headlights swept through and paused in the middle of the street.
There was no one else, so it made an illegal U-turn and navigated back to an empty, metered parking spot.
A man with glasses and a thick mop of hair exited the vehicle before dipping into the back seat for a stethoscope and bag.
He pulled his phone from his back pocket.
“I think it’s him,” Leo said when he turned to Lynne.
She’d been sitting with Twig and the heating pad on her lap for the past hour, trying to still her legs each time she grew nervous. She nodded, counted Twig’s breaths, tried not to say too much.
Leo moved for the front door and raced down the stairs. He rounded from the corner of O’Donnell’s just in time to see Dr. Hart’s confused expression. The man tensed, as if he expected Leo to demand his wallet.
“Hey. Nina’s friends.” Leo raised his empty hands in reassurance. “We’re upstairs. This way.”
Dr. Hart immediately relaxed and followed him.
Lynne had moved Twig and the heating pad back to the guest room with the other cats before he got back.
Fred was sitting on the floor, ears perked up.
In the pale overhead light, Leo could see Dr. Hart was a little rumpled from the long drive, his scrubs wrinkled and covered in fur from the knees downward.
On his chest, etched in white, was “Dr. Nolan Hart, DVM.” He walked past Lynne and bent down near the litter, greeting them with gentle words.
Mama’s ears perked, and when he told her he was here to check on Twig, she immediately rose and rubbed against him, as if she understood.
“So I’m guessing this is the little guy?” he said, reaching for Twig where Lynne had set him.
Lynne turned to Leo and covered her mouth, unable to speak. She was already tearing up and twirling her pendant between her fingers. “Yeah, that’s him,” Leo said.
Dr. Hart skipped the small talk and started his hands-on exam, walking them through what he was looking for each step of the way. Gums, hydration, responsiveness, temperature. He didn’t tell them a prognosis, though.
“Nina said his weight’s been down?” Dr. Hart asked.
“Yes,” Leo replied. “Dropping the past 24 hours or so.” He showed Dr. Hart the notepad where they’d been tracking all the weights since bottle-feeding started, admitting they both forgot to weigh the kittens last night.
Dr. Hart didn’t seem too bothered by the admission. “Feeding schedule?”
“It was every 2-3 hours, but Mama started letting them feed again early yesterday.”
“Got it. Any issues at birth—that you know of?”
Leo turned to Lynne, and she shook her head. “No. But we found them downstairs in the utility closet. We don’t exactly know how long they were there or even how they got there. It’s been almost two weeks since, though.”
Dr. Hart nodded and gently placed Twig back on the heating pad.
“No obvious congenital defect. This looks like a combination of falling behind early and the stress of the bottle-feeding period.” He smiled up at Leo and Lynne then glanced back down at the litter.
“I imagine it was stressful for everyone, though, Twig. It’s not that fur Mommy and Daddy did anything wrong,” he said good-naturedly.
“Oh, we’re not—” Lynne stopped herself and briefly met Leo’s eyes. He felt a jolt as she ate the rest of her sentence, deciding not to correct Dr. Hart.
“So I’d like to do some things while I’m here. Sub-qs. There’s a high-calorie gel I can administer orally. It’s good when they’re stressed or sick or just feeling off.”
“Yes,” Lynne said. “Anything.”
They sat on the edge of the guest bed together, Lynne finding and gripping Leo’s hand as Dr. Hart got to work. Leo noticed, as Dr. Hart tented Twig’s skin for fluids, Lynne had to turn away. But the vet moved with ease and quickness even as he chatted them up.
“So how long have you two had this place?”
Leo could feel it in his chest this time. That was twice they’d been mistaken for an us.
“Um, several years,” Lynne replied. “But it’s a rental. I originally moved in to help my dad run the bar downstairs … before he passed away, that is.”
“I’m sorry to hear,” Dr. Hart said. “I lost my dad a few years ago. But I didn’t have someone—like you two have each other—to help me through it.”
Dr. Hart didn’t notice Lynne’s throat tighten. But Leo did. Echoes of the night they lost Dale flickered in the back of his mind. He squeezed her hand.
“I didn’t realize there was so much acreage out here in Autumn Ridge,” Dr. Hart continued. “Nice town. Seems safe. Is it safe?”
“Safe for everyone but the non-tippers,” said Leo, winking at Lynne.
Dr. Hart pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “If I’d seen it in the daylight, I might never leave.”
Then a thought hit Leo. “You do know there’s an opening for a veterinarian here, right? That’s the whole reason Nina had to call you.”
“Really? She didn’t say. I just figured it was because you didn’t have access to an emergency vet out here.”
“No,” Lynne interjected, finding her voice again. “Our only vet left without any warning. The practice is still open and looking for his replacement. You should apply. Autumn Ridge Vet Clinic.”
Dr. Hart’s eyebrows lifted in consideration. “I just might do that.”
He petted Twig, who squeaked out a weak thanks but immediately wound down again. Then he placed the kitten near, but not too close, to Mama again.
He stood and rubbed his hands together. “I don’t want to downplay the seriousness of this with you two.
The next twenty-four hours are critical.
Once a runt falls this far behind, it can be very hard to catch them up.
” His expression softened as he turned to Lynne.
“Hard doesn’t mean impossible, though. He’s still got some fight in him. He just needs you two to keep trying.”
He walked them through a care plan for the night then requested they text him in the morning. He didn’t say, “If Twig doesn’t make it.” He told them he wanted Twig’s weight, temperature if they could get it, and behavior.
“I may need to come back tomorrow,” he told them at the door. “Tonight tells us a lot. Tomorrow we’ll know more.” Then he offered a quick, “You’re doing a good job,” especially to Lynne, just before he turned for the stairs.
When Dr. Hart left, a strange silence overtook the apartment. Lynne turned to Leo, the same shallow breath, the same stuck words he’d witnessed on the night her father died.
“You okay?” he asked.
“We just have to follow his instructions, right?” But her voice was thin.
“We’ve got this,” he said, grabbing her hand. “We’re not losing him without a fight.”
“I didn’t want anything to depend on me like this again,” she blurted softly. “Not after Mazzy. Not after…”
Her words stopped there. But he knew. He remembered it all. Her dad, Andrew, her own sense of helplessness. Trying to keep her chin held high through all of it—and now again with one tiny life she’d decided was hers to protect.
“We’re in this together,” he reminded her. “Whatever happens tonight, you’re not alone.”
Something in Lynne cracked at that. Her blue eyes caught his, and for a moment, he noticed her lashes, the way her mouth parted, before the tears started to well at the corners.
“I’m afraid,” she whispered. Leo’s hand tightened around hers.
“For Twig?” he asked gently.
“Of all of it,” she confessed. “I miss him. I miss my dad, Leo. I miss him so much it feels like, if I stop moving for too long, I might stop breathing. I hated the idea of falling apart after Dad died, the idea of people watching me shatter. So I just … didn’t.
At least not around anyone but you. But I keep that smelly jacket of his by the door and his pills in the cabinet and that old jukebox with the songs he loved because those are the only pieces of him left, you know?
” The first tear finally slipped free. “I’m so tired of having to be strong. ”
“Lynne…” Leo stepped in and pulled her fully into his arms, her forehead to his chest. She melted into him, and they stood there for a moment, her crying, breath in sync, surrounded by the small sounds of the clock, Fred’s snoring, and scratches against the sides of the litter box in the guest room.
“You don’t have to be strong with me,” he murmured into her hair. “Not about him. Not about any of it.”
She paused to wipe away her tears. “Thanks for being here. Again, Leo. I don’t think I’d want to go through this hell with anyone else.”
They moved quietly back to the guest room and started the care plan—preparing tiny supplement smears, checking the temp, and readying the bottle in case Twig was interested.
The dark, early morning found them half-dozing, half-watching Twig as they propped their backs against the guest bed.
Shoulders and elbows and hands touching until their next alarm went off.