Ch. 54 – Prem
T he three Hayes children skipped out the door of the vet clinic, each clutching a small, squeaking case. Their guinea pigs, Flow, Beau, and Mr. Giggly Pants, were all in fine form, though Mr. Giggly Pants did need to cut back on the food pellets.
The children’s mother turned and waved before ushering her brood into their aging minivan. Kate returned the gesture before locking the front door and turning over the Closed sign.
Prem slumped against the reception desk and glanced incredulously at his watch. Was it noon already? He’d somehow warped from morning to noon in an instant. A chaotic jumble of memories played through his mind — dashing between exam rooms, draping himself over the reception counter to snatch a perpetually ringing phone, and blowing up today’s already packed schedule to fit in an emergency appointment for Ginger, a Golden Retriever puppy who’d cut her paw on a broken piece of glass.
Good thing breathing was an autonomic function of the body; otherwise he would’ve probably forgotten to do it.
Even Kate, normally as stoic and unyielding as an iceberg, seemed a little worse for the wear. Her pale eyes were tired, and several iron strands had come loose from her bun.
“You need to hire a receptionist,” she informed him curtly.
“I know.” Prem glanced at the empty chair behind the reception desk and winced. Layla was everywhere in the space, from the cat and dog faces drawn on the treat jars to the massive picture collage that took up most of the back wall. Our Family, her looping, graceful handwriting announced from the middle of the collage.
“I just haven’t found the right candidate yet,” he tried to explain. That was putting it mildly. He’d performed five interviews this past week. Not a single candidate had exuded pure sunshine, seemed capable of soothing fears with a smile, or had struck him as someone who would send hand-signed birthday cards to every patient without being asked.
Kate snorted. “You’ll never be able to replace Layla. You know that, right?”
Prem sighed. He knew.
“I miss her too,” Kate said. The older woman hesitated, then patted Prem on the shoulder. “Stop being a dumbass and apologize for whatever you did. I was rooting for Team Prayla”
Prem surprised himself by laughing. “It’s more complicated than that.”
Kate looked skeptical. “If you say so, Doc. But, seriously, hire a new receptionist.”
Her pronouncement made, Kate retreated to the back of the clinic. A minute later, Prem heard the back door open and swing shut.
Now alone in the building, Prem dragged himself through his chores. He cleaned each exam room, checked on two dogs staying overnight after surgery, and took Sunny through a bare minimum physical therapy session.
Finally, he walked to his office, his hip aching more than usual, and reviewed his appointment notes. As he stared at his tablet, his mind kept wandering. The text blurred on the screen. When had he gotten a full night’s sleep?
Not since…
“Mrw?”
Prem looked down at two little paws pressed into the side of his leg.
“Hey, buddy.” Prem scooped Sunny and deposited the tabby on his lap. “You’re getting heavy. I kept telling Layla she was feeding you too many treats.”
Well, that wouldn’t be a problem anymore. Layla was gone.
Forever.
Prem rubbed his tired eyes and pulled open his desk drawer. Next to a container of eyedrops sat a thick pile of all the Post-It notes Layla had written him over the past months. He picked up the pile and flipped through the notes, pausing every so often on a particular message.
You are deserving of all good things life has to offer.
You are worthy of success, happiness, and love.
You are surrounded by love and support.
You are confident and capable.
On top of the pile sat the last Post-It she’d given him. Prem stared at the pink heart. His lips twitched into a grim smile and he carefully traced the curves of the shape.
Why hadn’t he thrown all the notes away? It was the same reason those dead roses were still in his mother’s teapot, blackened petals scattered across his kitchen table.
“Because you’re a fool,” he said to himself out loud.
*
An hour later, Prem walked toward Geranium Stables wearing a fresh pair of jeans and a t-shirt for his brother’s band. The hot sun beat on his shoulders, and for the first time all day, he felt like he could breathe.
Brooke emerged from the stables and lifted her arm in greeting. “I’ve got April saddled and ready to go for you,” she said.
“Thanks.” Prem turned toward the corral, his heart lifting as he spotted April among the horses dipping their heads to graze.
“Just a quick heads-up,” Brooke continued. “There’s some sort of race going on to the west. You’ll do better to stick to the eastern paths.”
“I know about the race.” Prem’s voice grew tight.
Brooke popped an eyebrow. “Did runners kill your parents or something?”
Prem ignored the jab. “Western trails. Got it.”
A few minutes later, he clicked his tongue and offered a short wave to Brooke as he and April headed down the trail. As soon as the stable was out of sight, Prem pulled in a long, easy breath. He tapped April’s sides with the heels of his boots, encouraging her into a trot. The horse eagerly complied, her powerful body moving beneath him, just the slightest hitch breaking through the smoothness of her gait.
Prem tried to quiet his mind, seeking a meditative peace in the steady movement of the horse. Around him, birds called from the trees, and a plane hummed dimly in the distance. In spite of his efforts, worries prickled through his brain.
How was Layla handling the heat? How many miles had she completed, or had she already finished? What if she was struggling? Thirty-one miles was a nearly insane distance to run.
She’s been training for months, he tried to assure himself. Prem smiled lightly, remembering how she’d gotten up early almost every morning when they were together to get in a few miles. He’d loved watching her slip into her running clothes, weave her hair into a braid, and march out the door.
She was so disciplined and consistent.
And strong.
Prem frowned. But if Layla was so strong, why had she gone back to Cal? She’d been weak. She couldn’t be trusted. She’d given up on them.
His old friends: anger, betrayal, and heartbreak, came out to play, brass knuckles gleaming on their fists. Prem sucked in a breath, readying himself for the assault. But someone new stepped into the fray. A small, delicate thought that stood between him and his pain.
What if Layla didn’t go back to Cal because she was weak, this soft, tiny thought spoke in his mind, but because she is kind and forgiving?
But what difference does that make? he answered forcefully. She still left.
A soft breeze tugged at his hair.
It makes all the difference, the new feeling said. It’s how she saw through Cal. Why she came back to you.
Prem clutched the reins. No! His heartbreak screamed. She hurt me once. How can I ever trust her again?
Because she’s strong, said the new feeling.
It was such a simple reply, but something shifted inside of Prem. Suddenly the ground beneath the scaffolding of his pain and hurt began to give way. The structure groaned as it swayed.
Layla was strong, Prem realized. It took strength to love as much as she did. To help Buttercup give birth to her breech calf, to say goodbye to Princess in place of Mrs. Moffat, and to walk away from her fiancé.
Hell, as long as Prem had known her, Layla had been showing him her strength. It was in every smile she offered to their customers, the joy and pain she shared so openly with them, and how she believed so fiercely in Sunny that the cat had no choice but to achieve a miraculous recovery.
She apologized, the inner voice told him. She opened her heart to you, and you turned away.
Prem trembled. He felt cold even under the heavy afternoon sun. But what if she hurts me again? his heartbreak whimpered.
Loving someone is always a risk.
Prem stared down. Gradually, his eyes focused on the black silk of April’s mane. He slowly stroked her neck. I took a risk on you, he thought to the horse. April had been a broken thing. Everyone else had given up on her except Prem. He’d taken a chance. Believed the horse wanted to live.
How could he not have offered that same faith to Layla?
Prem froze in the saddle. The world dimmed around him. The light faded. The bird calls hushed.
It wasn’t Layla who was weak, he realized. It was me. I was weak. She was brave and I was afraid. And I let her walk away.
His heart cleaved in two.
How could he have been such a damned fool? He’d had a chance to love an angel.
Was it too late?
Had he lost her forever?
There’s only one way to find out, said his hope.
Right.
Prem tugged the reins, wielding April around. He gave a sharp kick, and the horse took off at a gallop.