32. Ned
NED
Ned’s phone rings as he walks in the house after work, Baxter snuffling at his ankles, his tail wagging.
“Hey, Claire?” he answers as he gives Baxter a quick pet. “Congrats.”
“Thanks,” she says on a laugh. “Yeah. This is happening. A baby.”
“It’s going to be great. I’m so excited.”
“Well, I’m terrified, so there’s that. And congrats to you too.”
“Big weekend. You’re going to do great.”
“I sure hope so. Listen, I got Baxter’s bloodwork back.”
“Oh? Good news?” Ned heads up the stairs, Baxter trailing him. It’s quieter up here, with Dad playing music in the kitchen as he cooks, and Ned shuts the door behind Baxter and quickly checks his watch. He has to leave soon to meet Abbot and Steve for this dinner they’ve apparently set up.
“Good news that we were able to diagnose him, and the better news is that it’s entirely treatable.”
Ned sinks onto the edge of his bed, pulling Baxter’s weight against his knees. That’s a relief. More so than he knew he needed, from the rush of lightness her words bring. Baxter’s going to be okay. It’s not something awful or deadly. “That’s amazing. Hear that, Bax? You’re going to be alright.”
“He’s got Cushing’s disease, and I’m glad we caught it when we did,” Claire goes on. “Once we get him on some medication, he’ll be a lot more comfortable. It’s just a pill he’ll take, and he’ll be back to normal.”
“Just a pill?” Ned scratches behind Baxter’s ears. “That’s not so bad, is it bud?”
“Not bad at all. Just feed it to him at mealtime, and you’ll see his symptoms start to resolve. We may need to adjust his dose periodically, but regular bloodwork will give us the information we need to do that.”
Ned winces. Regular bloodwork. Well, he’ll make it work.
“How much are the pills?”
“Yep, I have it right here. This is what you’ll be looking at for this medication,” she says and reads him a number.
His hand stills on Baxter’s head. “I’m sorry?”
“I know, it’s a bit pricey,” she says, “but it’ll make a world of difference for him, and he’ll be back to the dog you know.”
“That’s—that’s annually, right?”
“Wouldn’t that be great,” she laughs. “No, I’m afraid that’s monthly, but I am giving you my discount for it.”
Monthly.
And already discounted, too.
“Oh,” Ned says softly.
“That’s for the dosage based on his weight,” she says. “And like I said, we can adjust as we need to.”
“Adjust it higher?” Ned can hear how his voice rises, nearly shrill.
“We’ll check in to see how he’s doing, but hopefully not.”
Ned grips his phone. Baxter nudges his hand, clearly not done having his neck scratched. “Is there any alternative?” Ned asks.
“This is actually the generic version of the drug. So you’re lucky it’s a lot cheaper to treat this than it used to be.”
Cheaper. Baxter whines, nudges his nose under Ned’s hand, and pushes upward, like he can flick Ned’s fingers back into place.
Ned closes his eyes. He wishes Baxter wasn’t here for this conversation, horrified by what he’s about to ask, as if the dog can understand the question.
Can he really ask Claire this?
He has to. “And if I can’t treat him?”
There’s a beat of silence. “Without medicine, we expect dogs to survive with Cushing’s for hopefully three years, though in some cases it’s more like two.”
“Two,” Ned echoes.
She keeps going, a professional edge to her voice now. “He’s at a higher risk for issues with high blood pressure, damage to the kidneys, blood clots, and possibly developing diabetes, which is before you even factor in the stress from the physical discomfort of the disease.”
Ned drops his face into his hand. “Right.” His fingers smell like Baxter, which means he needs a bath.
Ned can feel Baxter’s weight on his leg, and how it shakes him and the bed when Baxter lifts a back paw to scratch his neck himself, clearly giving up on Ned doing the job.
“But he’s been so healthy. And he’s only seven. ”
“He’s on the younger end of the spectrum to expect the disease. That’s why we recommend treating it, because he can live a happy and full life on the right dosage of the medication. He’ll die with the disease, not of it, if it’s properly managed.”
He’s not going to die at all, Ned wants to argue. It’s Baxter. He can’t.
“Ned?”
“No, no, it’s fine. It’s just—that’s pretty expensive.”
“Do you need to think about it?”
“I, um…” It’s Baxter. There’s no question involved. “Yeah, let’s do it.”
“Okay,” she says gently. “I’ll fill this for you, and you can pick it up anytime that’s convenient.”
The medication being free would be convenient. Don’t, Ned can’t bring himself to say. Of course he’ll pick up the pills and pay for them. He will. He has to.
But how?
“Thanks,” he mumbles.
He has a job. Until the end of the semester, he’ll get his usual paychecks.
Can he teach at Newbury over the summer?
He’ll have to ask, or look into picking up some courses somewhere other than Adams. Either way, in August, he’ll be fully employed again, so maybe there’s a little hiccup there for a couple weeks—months, he tries not to think—but the yawning maw of unemployment is no longer filling his future.
And still. Those pills are nearly another car payment every month, or what he pays for his student loans. And that’s before trying to pay down his credit card, or even dream of funneling any money toward savings.
But what else is Ned going to do? Make a decision that means Baxter won’t be here? Baxter’s always here. He was here before Peggy, and he’s been here ever since. He was here when Jen left and when Abbot showed up in his life, and he’s supposed to keep being here forever.
It’s treatable. That’s good news. It’s not some horrible tumor that means Ned will say goodbye to him within months, or even weeks like he’s so feared.
He doesn’t have to have the conversation with Peggy he’s been trying to ignore, doesn’t have to face the thought of buying Baxter a steak and taking him to his favorite park one last time, for one last good day.
“Buddy,” he whispers and hauls Baxter up onto the bed next to him. Yeah, he doesn’t smell great, and his coat has been grimy lately no matter how much Ned washes him, but Ned puts his face in his fur all the same.
The money will have to come from somewhere. Teach extra courses online, if Newbury will let him. Scrounge up some grant funding. What, write a damn textbook? With all the free time he doesn’t have, trying to work toward tenure and show up for Peggy on his days with her?
At least he won’t have to drive to Portland all the time. That’s some hours he’ll get back, which he’d much rather spend with Abbot, not buried in his computer.
His phone buzzes and he reaches for it, hoping for a text from Claire that says Just kidding! It’s not, of course, but a text from Steve to him and Abbot both, with an address.
Right. Dinner. With Steve and Abbot and Liesl, and Peggy, who he has to go pick up.
In a hurry too, his watch tells him. “You’ll be okay,” Ned tells Baxter, giving him a good scratch behind his ears, and then turning quickly, as if the dog can see the regret on his face.
He can’t. He’s a dog.
He’s Baxter, and of course Ned will pay whatever it takes.
Except—oh. Oh. Peggy. Summer camp. She wants to go so badly.
And his parents renting their house out, so he apparently has to be gone.
Great fucking timing.
But he’ll worry about that later, because now he has to hurry to his car, drive to Peggy’s school, and then ask his phone for directions to Steve’s.
Which lead him to…his own neighborhood? Back along the path he and Pat used to walk to school, and then past the school itself, the route taking him into the nest of houses on the other side.
They’re not too far from Jen’s when Ned parks, and he glances in the rearview mirror to see if Peggy recognizes the street, but she’s struggling with her seatbelt.
“There’s Liesl,” she says, and the moment Ned lets her out, she scrambles down from her booster seat.
Ned’s been here before. This sidewalk, with roots growing through the concrete, and the trees hanging over the street, the neat row of tidy, compact front lawns with their mailboxes, and houses with cheerful front porches.
Liesl is kneeling on one of them, letting a golden retriever lick her chin, and Peggy wastes no time charging up the steps to join her.
“Woah, woah,” Ned says, jogging after her. “Remember, Pegs, always ask to pet a dog.”
“Liesl already is,” Peggy says with all of her first-grader logic, and sure enough, the worst thing that happens to her is a lick at her cheeks too.
“This is Luna,” Liesl says and looks up at him.
“Luna,” Ned repeats. Is Steve here? And Abbot, surely? In this house, which is so strangely close to his own?
“So?” Liesl asks and Ned steps past her to knock lightly.
“So,” Ned echoes. So. Yeah. This is a house. The very address Abbot sent him to meet Steve for dinner. Nearly in his own neighborhood, which is pretty damn wild.
“You made it,” Steve says, pushing the front door open. “Come in, come in. Luna, girl, you also. Yeah, I know, you now have two admirers, don’t you?”
“Yes, let’s admire her inside,” Ned says, ushering the girls into the warmth of the house.
“Ned?” Liesl asks.
“Yeah?” He closes the door behind her and turns to Steve. “All this time, you lived right down the road? You never said.”
“This is my grandma’s house. The one I told you about.”
“Your grandma’s,” Ned repeats slowly.
“What do you think?” Steve asks. “I told Henry to forgive the wallpaper, unless you two are really into 80s florals.”
He’s selling this place. This is the house Steve had been talking about, and now they’re here to what? Look at it?
Together?
To buy?
Fuck, Ned thinks.
“This summer?” Liesl asks.
Ned glances down at her. “What about it?”
“It’s not too far from Newbury,” Steve goes on.
“It isn’t,” Ned agrees. Actually really close. A couple blocks to the river, and then right across the water is the campus. He runs over that bridge sometimes, when he and Baxter decide to go that way.