Ch. 3 – Layla
T oday is going to be a beautiful day because…
Layla’s mind stalled as she stared at herself in the mirror of her vanity. It’d been three days since Dr. Goldman’s celebration of life ceremony. She’d been hoping for closure, but sorrow and loss still wrapped around her soul like rusted chains.
Come on, you can do it, she gently encouraged herself. In the bedroom behind her, she heard the faint rumble of Cal’s snores. Picking up a thick-bristled brush, Layla pulled it through her hair in long, slow strokes. Brushing hair, she’d come to learn at an early age, could be its own form of mediation.
In the mirror, Layla watched the bristles cut through the waves of her golden hair as she silently counted each stroke. When the count reached 100, she set down the brush and began to plait her hair into a thick French braid.
She’d learned to braid her own hair at age six, a skill acquired not from boredom or playdates with friends but out of necessity. Her home at the time had been an old silver Saturn that her mother often snuck into the small lot at the back of Yucca Hills Park at night.
There’d been no bathrooms. No showers. Layla’s hair had grown lank and greasy, so her mother had braided it each day, showing Layla how to repeat the weaving pattern with her own small fingers. Alanna had taken a different approach, digging scissors out of her school backpack one morning and slicing her hair into a ragged pixie cut.
Layla’s fingers moved automatically now, the braiding pattern so instinctual it was almost like breathing. Staring at her reflection, she tried again.
Today is going to be a beautiful day because I am healthy and loved. Cal is healthy. My mother is healthy. Alanna is healthy. I have amazing friends. And no matter what happens to the clinic, Cal will take care of me.
Layla nodded to herself in the mirror as she brought her braid over her shoulder and twisted an elastic band around the end. That would have to do.
“Have a great run, Layla,” she told her reflection.
After dressing in gray, diamond-patterned running shorts and a pink sports tank, Layla quietly left the bedroom, walked through the living room, and paused in the foyer. She unlocked her phone and tapped on a flower-shaped app.
Your Daily Affirmation, the screen read. An animation of a little seed hopped around in the middle of the screen. Layla tapped the seed, and it grew into a russet marigold. Over the flowers, words formed.
I will seek to discover the best in others.
Layla sighed. What a wonderful affirmation for the day! Swinging open the front door, she stepped outside and pulled in a deep, peaceful breath. Birds sang from the trees lining the sidewalk of their upscale neighborhood and the rising fingers of sunlight sent blushes of deep pink and purple across the horizon. Even this early, the June heat was quickly chasing away the coolness of the night.
After a few dynamic stretches, Layla started her run down the sidewalk. Her legs felt heavy at first, her muscles resisting the call to movement. Within a few blocks, however, she fell into a comfortable stride. Layla loved the quiet of the early morning, the rhythm of her steps on the pavement, and the rush of blood through her veins. Moving her body felt like a prayer. A practice in gratitude.
Instead of listening to music, she pondered her affirmation.
I will seek to discover the best in others.
Why not start now?
Layla crossed a street and pumped her arms as she tackled a small hill.
Alanna . Layla smiled to herself. Finding the best in Alanna? Easy-peasy, mac-and-cheesy. Her older sister was one of the strongest, hardest-working people she knew. At age 14, Alanna had somehow finagled a job of picking grapes in the vineyards of The Rose and Thorn. That money had helped their mother keep up on rent and pay the utilities. It was thanks to brave, bold Alanna that their small family had finally gained a small semblance of financial security.
And as if that weren’t enough, Alanna had put herself through college, then started her own PR firm… twice! Layla still felt overjoyed that Alanna had decided to return to Yucca Hills and start her new agency right here.
Layla had always admired her sister’s strength. Alanna spoke her mind, usually with a healthy dose of f-bombs, and didn’t care what the world thought of her. When Alanna Sandoval set her sights on a goal, she went for it, heart and soul.
In contrast, Layla knew she was a bit of a pushover. Okay, make that a lot of a pushover. It’s just that she hated disappointing anyone. And, to be fair, wouldn’t the world be a better place if everyone made more of an effort to get along?
Layla breezed downhill, her stride lengthening and her speed increasing.
Mom, she thought. Double easy-peasy. Dede Sandoval possessed the biggest heart of anyone Layla had ever met. Her mother was kind to all, cheerful every day, and stoic even in the face of all the hardships she’d faced raising two children on her own. Their early life had been a struggle for sure, but Dede had always given her children something far more important than designer clothes or fancy vacations – Love.
Layla turned a corner and nodded to Ms. Lebowitz and Ruffles the Yorkipoo. The older woman waved, and Ruffles yipped in excitement, tugging on his harness.
Tess.
Layla adored the leader of the Crazy Cat Ladies. Tess could be sharp and funny but was also incredibly kind. In Layla’s opinion, God had created Tess to help others. The petite woman seemed to have an ingrained gift for shouldering the burdens of others. People gravitated toward Tess like they knew she was a sanctuary for their hurt.
As her shoes ate up distance, Layla easily found the best in the other Crazy Cat Ladies.
Everly was a fierce guardian who loved with her entire heart. Jax was smart and sarcastic, her acerbic wit a shield for her pain. She’d courageously opened up to the group last month, offering a glimpse of the truly beautiful young woman she was.
What about Willow?
Layla almost stopped in her tracks. The sun sat fuller on the horizon and more cars were beginning to roll through the streets as people headed to work.
Layla frowned. What was best about the girl who barely spoke above a whisper? Layla honestly didn’t know. Tess had been hosting Crazy Cat Lady Club meetings for nearly six months now, and Layla barely knew anything about Willow.
Okay, not exactly true. Willow had joined The Crazy Cat Lady Club because she hoped to someday adopt a cat. She’d also mentioned something once about enjoying a fantasy game with dwarves and elves. Willow had recently moved out of her parents’ house and now shared an apartment with Jax. It’d been a big step for the shy girl.
Anything else? Layla came up empty. Shame bubbled in her chest. What kind of friend was she?
That had to change. Layla pumped her arms harder and picked up speed as a new resolve formed within her. She would make a stronger effort to get to know the quietest Crazy Cat Lady, to support and love her.
I’ll do better, Willow, Layla vowed.
She rounded a corner. Her lungs ached. Her legs burned. Almost done. Even without glancing at her watch, she knew she was closing in on three miles. She’d run this route several times a week ever since they’d moved to this neighborhood two years ago. Her house was only a few more blocks away.
Holy Guacamole! I forgot Cal!
Layla stumbled. Stopped. She clapped a hand over her mouth. How could she have overlooked her fiancé? The man she’s known she wanted to marry from the first day she set eyes on him?
Layla, you silly goose! She chided herself as she picked up her feet and began to run again. Okay, what is the best in Cal?
Easy-peasy times three. Cal was incredibly driven, pushing himself and his sales team hard at the dealership. And he took amazing care of her. A current of gratitude washed through Layla’s soul. Cal was always giving her surprise, expensive gifts. He upgraded her car nearly every year without her ever asking. He swept her off to amazing vacations, paid for all their meals, and insisted she have the latest phone, the best appliances, and all the subscriptions she wanted. He also gave generously at the yearly Yucca Hills Animal Rescue charity event, always bidding on auction items in her name.
Cal made Layla feel cherished. He was never shy about telling her how good she looked in the clothes he bought her… or how often he wanted to tear those same clothes off her body.
Layla spotted their large, blocky house just up the street, proudly dominating its postage-stamp of a lawn. She sprinted the last block, gulping deep breaths and dropping into a walk as soon as she passed the house.
But is he kind? The question nagged in her mind.
Of course, he is! Layla argued with herself. Cal could be coarse sometimes, even rude on occasion. But that was only because his job was stressful. His team depended on him. Didn’t he constantly shower her with gifts? Didn’t he always make her feel beautiful and wanted?
Cal was kind in his own way. Layla turned at the corner and walked back toward the house, exhausted and satisfied. It was simply up to her to recognize Cal’s form of kindness and cherish him for it.
Easy peasy, Layla thought as she reached the front door.
*
An hour and a well-deserved shower later, Layla piloted her silver Q5 hybrid down Chaparral Drive. Earlier risers packed the Buzz + Brew Cafe. Down the street, Donuts Delight was also doing a brisk business. Layla loved driving the main drag of western Yucca Hills. Cal might call this side of town “run-down” and quip about its “need for serious re-development,” but Layla adored the line of small, colorful shops that crowded each side of the street.
Sure, it was easy to notice chipped exterior paint, sun-bleached signs, and creaky front doors. But look a little closer, and one would see Madam Hargrove greeting customers by name at Purls of Wisdom , the local knitting shop. They’d watch customers disappear for hours inside Behind the Times , an antique store built out of a literal boat. They’d appreciate the constant neon signage war waged by the two pizza shops, Deep Dish Delish and Pie in the Sky , located directly across the street from each other.
Chaparral Dr. didn’t have the same glamor as the newer, wealthier northern side of town, but it did have character. To Layla, character counted for everything.
She turned the wheel, taking her SUV down a narrow alleyway where she parked in a tiny employee lot at the back of a pale pink building with a teal wooden roof. Unlocking the back door of the All Paws and Claws vet clinic, she entered into an eerie quiet. The lack of noise felt unnatural. The clinic was meant to be filled with chirps, barks, indignant feline yowls, and—most of all— eye-rolling puns from Dr. Goldman.
Layla flicked on the lights and strolled through the back area of the clinic. Her heart squeezed painfully as she passed the closed door of Dr. Goldman’s office next to the cozy alcove they used as a breakroom. She walked through the small surgery suite and lab and into the back exam area where she’d sometimes soothed animals as the vet techs took blood draws or performed more thorough examinations of a patient.
As she approached the rows of empty kennels and cat condos in the back corner of the building, Layla heard soft scuffling.
“Mrw?” a soft voice asked.
“Yes, it’s me,” Layla said. “Good morning!”
Soooo, actually, not all the cat condos were empty.
Green, luminous eyes peered at Layla from a small enclosure in the center of the row.
“How are you doing today, darling boy?” Layla asked.
In response, the orange tabby used his front legs to drag himself to the door of the condo and rubbed at the bars with his cheek. Swinging open the door, Layla picked up the skinny cat and gently carried him to a polished steel table in the exam area.
“You know the drill,” she told him. “I’ll clean up your digs, and then we’ll get to work on your PT for the day.”
“Mrw,” the cat agreed as he gazed around from his new vantage point.
The feline and his current “digs” were Layla’s little secret.
A little over two weeks ago, on that terrible, dark day that would be Dr. Goldman’s last, a woman had rushed into the clinic and plopped a nearly dead orange tabby onto the reception desk. She’d struck the skinny stray with her car and hadn’t wanted to leave him in the road.
Any other vet would have looked at the cat’s broken spine, shattered tail, and lack of deep-pocketed owner and euthanized the animal. Not Dr. Goldman. His last act in this mortal world had been a multi-hour, unpaid surgery to fuse the cat’s spine and amputate the broken tail.
Dr. Goldman had believed the cat, which he’d named Sunny, was worth saving. Just like that small brown bird and the teenage girl who had brought the broken creature into his clinic 10 years ago.
After Dr. Goldman’s death, Layla had asked Cal if she could bring the stray home, at least on a temporary basis. He’d considered it…right up until Layla had guiltily admitted that Sunny wasn’t yet able to use a litter box.
Next, she’d asked Val Turner, Director of YHAR, the Yucca Hills Animal Rescue, if the shelter could take in the orange tabby. Layla knew Sunny couldn’t go into the shelter’s “gen pop.” With his injuries, he’d require the attention and care of a dedicated and highly experienced foster. Unfortunately, the few fosters with that pedigree, including Everly, were all at capacity.
With nowhere else to turn, Layla had resorted to something wholly uncharacteristic. Subterfuge.
Though honestly, it wasn’t as if the clinic was currently being used. What was the harm? And she knew in her heart of hearts that Dr. Goldman would bless her efforts. After Sunny’s accident, Dr. Goldman had refused to give up on the stray.
“And neither will I,” Layla whispered as she stroked the cat’s head.
After cleaning out the dirty pee pads in Sunny’s enclosure, Layla approached her patient.
“How are we feeling today?” she asked as she slipped a sling beneath the cat’s belly. “Ready to do some walking for me?”
Pulling up the ends of the sling with both arms, Layla lifted the back end of Sunny’s body, holding all his weight aloft. The cat pushed forward with his front paws, dragging his back legs behind him.
“No, Sunny. No cheating,” Layla chided him. “Come on, use your back legs.” She put a hand in front of his face to stop him. Switching the sling to one hand, she grasped one of his back legs and gently guided it forward.
“You can do it, Sunny,” she encouraged the cat. “Dr. Goldman believed you would be able to walk again, and so do I.”
Okay, so that wasn’t exactly what Dr. Goldman had said. The vet had given Sunny a 50/50 chance of walking again after the surgery.
“We’ll know more in the morning,” he’d said that night after checking on the cat. “But I have a good feeling, Sunny.”
Dr. Goldman hadn’t gotten that next morning, so it was up to Layla and Sunny to prove him right.
Gradually, if a bit uncertainly, Sunny pressed one back paw onto the table, then another. With slow, shaky steps, he moved down the length of the table.
“There you go, Sunny!” Layla cheered. Up and down the table they went three times. With each lap, the small cat’s confidence grew, his steps increasing in speed.
“One more lap,” Layla told him. “What do you think, Sunny? Can you take a little weight?” She lowered her arm just a bit, giving him just the barest amount of weight. Sunny took one shaky step forward. Another one.
“There you–”
Sunny’s back legs buckled and his back half sprawled onto the table.
“That’s okay,” Layla assured him quickly as disappointment iced through her heart. It’d been nearly three weeks since his surgery, and Sunny still couldn’t take almost any weight on his back legs. He’d barely improved at all since the first week.
Layla pulled up the sling to take all of Sunny’s weight again and forced a smile on her face. She had to stay positive for Sunny. Animals could sense the emotions of the humans around them.
“We’ll just try that again tomorrow,” she told him brightly. “And maybe you’ll be a little stronger.”
They finished their fourth and final lap down and back on the table.
“Good job, my sunshine!” Layla cooed to the cat. She scratched his cheek. Gradually, a soft purr bubbled from Sunny’s throat. His whiskers twitched with satisfaction. This is what made all the work worth it. Shy at first, Sunny had slowly warmed up to Layla and now trusted her implicitly. In spite of his tough start in life, Sunny was resilient, gentle, and warm. If anyone deserved a happy ending, it was him.
“Let’s get you some time in the chair,” Layla told him now. She went to the therapy cabinet, returned the sling, and brought down an odd-looking, wheeled implement.
The cat wheelchair wasn’t exactly a wheelchair in the typical human sense. Carefully, Layla slipped the front harness over Sunny’s chest, then cinched a nylon strap around his waist. She lifted his back legs and placed them in holder straps that kept them elevated just above the table.
Two wheels perched on either side of the cat’s back legs, connected to sturdy metal poles that ran along the sides of his body and attached to the chest harness.
Layla picked up the cat and gently placed him on the floor. “When you get stronger, I won’t need to tie your legs up,” she explained to him. “The cart will help you walk. Now, go slowly at first.”
Sunny didn’t pay her any attention. As soon as his wheels hit the ground, he was off, using his front paws to pull the cart. His stubby half-tail stood at attention, signifying his excitement as he explored the room.
“I wish I could let you out for longer,” Layla told him with a sigh as she pulled clean pee pads from the supply cabinet. Since Dr. Goldman’s death, she’d been spending most of her days volunteering at YHAR, and tonight she had a Crazy Cat Lady Club meeting to attend.
“As soon as a special needs foster is available, we’ll get you right on over,” Layla assured him.
Ignoring her, Sunny continued exploring the room, his cart bumping against the cabinets as he leaned down to sniff beneath them.
Humming You Are My Sunshine, Layla picked up Sunny’s water bowl. She’d taken two steps toward the sink when she heard the soft chime of the bell from the clinic’s front door.
The front door that should have been locked.
Was most definitely locked.
Layla froze. Her mind scrabbled for an explanation.
Had Kate or Deja stopped by? But, no, neither of Dr. Goldman’s veterinary technicians had a key to the place.
Then it must be Hannah.
Footsteps sounded in the front room. Big, heavy footsteps.
Male footsteps.
Fear crawled up Layla’s spine. Only she and Hannah had keys to the clinic.
The footsteps grew louder as the stranger moved into one of the exam rooms.
Layla dropped the bowl in the sink and scurried to her purse. She dug through the huge bag, hurriedly tossing out items until she grasped the two things she’d been searching for.
And just in time.
The door to the back area swung open.
In the blindingly bright terror that speckled her vision, Layla wasn’t sure which hand gripped her phone and which the pepper spray. So, she thrust them both out toward the stranger.
“Don’t come any closer!” she hollered. “I know kung-fu!”
Layla didn’t know kung-fu.
Just the idea of hitting someone made her queasy. She hadn’t even been able to mime slamming her knee into the groin of the instructor at the “Take Back the Night” class Everly had dragged her to last year.
“What’s going on?” the stranger demanded.
Layla cracked one eyelid open. Then the other. She hadn’t even remembered squeezing her eyes shut. “I know tai-chi, too,” she insisted.
The burglar popped a dark eyebrow. “Isn’t that what old people practice in the parks?”
Layla wasn’t sure what she expected a thief to look like. Maybe someone wearing a black eye mask and a black-and-white striped shirt.
You’re thinking of the Hamburglar, a strangely calm voice whispered in her mind. Either way, the man standing in front of her did not look like the Hamburglar or any other burglar she could imagine.
He was tall, his skin the color of pressed bronze. He possessed a strong, regal nose and a sharp jaw with just the hint of a cleft in his chin. His eyes were liquid gold and skeptical, his midnight hair shaved closed on the sides, but thick and wavy on top. The crisp, white button-up he wore paired with green khakis hinted at a strong, taunt body beneath.
Her burglar was handsome, Layla realized. Really handsome.
“Um, not sure I should point this out,” he said now. “But I think you’re holding your pepper spray upside down.”
“Oh.” Layla checked. So she was. She tried to flip the pepper spray in her hand.
Annnnnd dropped it.
They both watched the neon pink canister bounce on the floor and roll away. Sunny chased after it, his cart bumping along behind him.
“Well, I’ve called the police,” Layla squeaked. The man looked at the blank phone screen pointed in his direction.
“And I know, um, jujitsu,” she added.
He lifted his other eyebrow in clear disbelief.
“Who are you anyway?” Layla asked in a trembling voice.
The burglar almost seemed offended by the question. “I own this clinic. Who the hell are you?”