Epilogue
PALMER
Normally, Bridgette doesn’t stay late, but on vaccine clinic days, she’s the only one willing to help me close up. I’ve come to really like her, in a defeated kind of way. She’s a helpful employee in a very unhelpful way, and most of the time, I wish I had someone to assist me in assisting her.
But I’m grateful she is willing to be here. I really am.
I’m just a grump. A frazzled, overworked grump.
I’m already exhausted from the sheer number of people in town who wait to get their pets inoculated—especially because my clinic is both open on weekends and does vaccines for the same cost every day of the week.
Maybe they enjoy standing in lines. Maybe they enjoy the thrill of watching me slowly unravel each time I look outside and see the sheer number of people and pets waiting.
It’s fine. It’s totally fine.
But also, it’s not really fine because of the absurdly attractive and oddly terrifying set of brothers who showed up with a literal truck bed full of cats that need shots. I could hear the yowling from inside the clinic.
I managed to stagger out and speak with the one named Milo, who was absolutely unmoved by my plea of not having enough time to get his cats and everyone else’s done.
He was at least willing to accept my offer to come by the café tomorrow to do all the cats rather than take up space from the rest of the residents, but as I spoke to him, the look he gave me kind of made me weak in the knees with fear.
And maybe with something else, though I’m not sure I want to address that.
I’ve been thinking about his eyes all day, and the way his hands twitched when I said that tomorrow would work better, and how I’m pretty sure I saw a roll of duct tape peek out of his pocket when he shifted.
It’s probably nothing.
It’s probably for catching strays. Or fixing weird, broken things.
I think.
I hope?
“Dr. Bel?”
I turn my head to see Bridgette hanging in the doorway, looking a little confused. “If you’re not coming in here to tell me we’ve won a lifetime supply of fresh chips and guac from Guads…”
She grimaces, and my stomach sinks right into my butt. “Uh, no, but I have this, uh…relay or something on the phone. They’re, like, translating for some hearing-impaired guy.”
I grimace. Having gone to PUMPT for the last year, I know for a fact that’s the wrong terminology. But I bite my tongue. Right now isn’t the time for education. “Okay?”
“He’s also blind. Or whatever,” she says with a scrunch of her nose.
“Alright?” I press. I would very much like her to get to the point so I can take off my coat, which smells like things I would rather not mention, and make my way home to soak in at least three Lush bath bombs. I want the water to be the color of the rainbow while I bask in it.
“His guide dog got into a bag of old Easter chocolate.”
Oh, fuck me. It’s moments like these when I really feel like I need to move to a bigger city where there’s more than one emergency vet. Or send out a smoke signal to the four corners of the Earth to find assistance.
“How soon can he be here?” I ask.
She pulls a face and then points aggressively to her eyeballs. “Can you have a client who can’t see or hear you? How would that even work?”
“Bridgette, please don’t do this tonight. It’s been a long day.”
“But I have questions…”
“I don’t want to hear them right now.”
“Yeah, but…” She hesitates and then blurts, “How can he, you know, do anything? How can we talk to him? How can he even get here? Can he drive? Oh my god! How the fuck does he drive?”
I stare at her, sure that my eye is twitching. “I’m sure he’ll get here and communicate the same way he gets around and communicates with everyone else,” I tell her. “And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t drive himself.”
“But—”
“Bridgette. Listen to me carefully. Deafblind people exist. They move about society just fine. You must have heard about Helen Keller—”
She bobs her head, her ponytail swinging back and forth. “Yeah, I saw a whole thing online a few months ago proving she faked—”
“Nope,” I tell her, holding up a hand. “Nopity. Nope. Just…get back on the line and ask if he can be here in twenty minutes. I do want to go home eventually. And please stop believing all the weird shit you watch on the internet. I swear to god, social media has ruined critical thinking, and I can’t take it anymore. I’m starting to lose my hair.”
Her cheeks darken. “I’m not trying to be mean. I was just…curious.”
“Well, to be honest, you are coming off a little rude.” She purses her lips in thought on that one. “Listen, just please stick around and check him and the dog in, and that’ll be the last thing I need from you today.”
I feel like a centenarian trapped in the body of a thirty-five-year-old man sometimes. My mother always said I had to grow into my old-man personality, and I’m starting to think she was right.
Turning away, I peel off my stinky coat and slip into a hoodie, hoping the new client won’t mind. I just cannot smell like the unmentionables for a second longer.
Sitting back in my seat, I close my eyes and take in a deep breath as I wait.
And wait.
And…
“Dr. Bel?”
I jolt and realize that I fell asleep for a split second. Shit. Blinking the fog out of my eyes, I look up to see Bridgette standing in my office doorway again. She looks slightly flustered but is managing to hold it together.
“He’s here. The one who can’t…” She points to her eyes and then her ears.
I roll my eyes, but she carries on. “His name is Otto, and he’s with a guy who’s signing and talking for him.
So that’s totally how he got here and how he is going to communicate with you.
” I stare at her long and hard, but it’s lost on her.
“Oh, and his dog is Cupcake. He’s a black Lab, about three years old, and his vitals are strong. ”
I breathe out a sigh of relief. “Great. Take them to room one, and I’ll be right there.”
She bobs her head and shuts the door behind her, and a few moments later, I hear three sets of human feet and four little dog paws crossing the tile in front of my office. Bridgette’s voice is low, so I can’t make out what she’s saying, but eventually, it goes quiet.
Standing up, I stretch my back and prepare myself for the little knock she drops on my door to let me know the patient is ready.
Treating guide dogs isn’t new for me, though usually they have a specific vet they go to, so I don’t deal with them often. But I’ve had blind clients before.
And Deaf clients, especially since moving here. It’s the reason I’ve kept up on my ASL. Seeing the thriving community that’s well settled and very friendly has really kept me motivated.
But a Deafblind client is new, and I admit I’m a little nervous as I make my way across the hall and knock.
A moment later, a voice calls, “Come in!”
The first thing I see when I enter is the dog—huge for his breed, shaggy soft hair, lying with his chin on his paws. His breathing isn’t labored, and he gives me a little tongue-hanging puppy smile when he notices me. His tail wags across the floor as I approach.
On the left, holding the leash that is attached to his harness, is a very attractive man with ginger curls that look a bit windswept, freckles, and bright blue eyes that point slightly inward before drifting outward. He’s wearing a shirt that says The Deaf Chef with a food truck logo on the front.
Beside him is an equally—and more importantly, annoyingly—attractive man with a farmer’s tan, very dark hair, tied up in a bun, and equally dark eyes. He meets my gaze and smiles, then lifts his hand, and I see the redhead’s hand is over his.
“Hello. I’m Dr. Bel,” I say and wait as the dark-haired man begins to interpret. “I hear this big guy ate some chocolate.”
The redhead makes an irritated grunt and takes his hand away, beginning to sign at Deaf speed so I can’t quite follow, but I’ve been in classes long enough to get the gist.
“I’m Otto,” the other man speaks for him. “This is my friend Salem. He’s interpreting for me. Also, if you haven’t noticed, I’m Deafblind, so this appointment might be slower than you’re used to.”
“That’s fine,” I say. My hands feel the itch to sign, but I realize that’s pointless since he couldn’t see me anyway. “We can take as long as you need.”
Otto and Salem both relax a fraction. Otto removes his hand from Salem’s and now looks distressed as he relays what happened.
‘I didn’t realize I’d left the chocolates on the counter.
My brother brought them home, and I think some of them were open.
Cupcake ate a bunch of it, but I’m not sure how much. ’
I drop down to a crouch and lift Cupcake’s chin up. “Can you release him from the harness?”
Salem interprets, and Otto immediately takes Cupcake out of his harness and drops it to the left of his leg.
As soon as I’m eye level, Cupcake stands up immediately, but when I say, “Come,” he does nothing.
“Oh, shit,” Salem says, then signs for Otto, “Cupcake’s trained with ASL. If you want me to—”
I shake my head. ‘Come.’ Cupcake immediately obeys my hands, and I look over to see Salem telling Otto that I can sign. ‘Sit.’
Cupcake obeys.
Dropping to my knees, I grab my stethoscope from the exam table and listen to his heart. It’s steady, and there’s not much of a rumble in his stomach either.
“Do you know if it was milk or dark chocolate?” I ask.
Salem’s hands move, and then Otto answers, and I can read the sign perfectly. ‘Milk.’
“That’s great,” I say. Otto and Salem both frown.
“Milk chocolate is a lot less dangerous than dark chocolate. What we worry about most is theobromine and caffeine.” I pause to let Salem catch up since he has to fingerspell most of that.
“Milk chocolate doesn’t have a lot of that.
In fact, cheap American chocolate sometimes has little to none.
I’m not advocating for you to give your pup a Hershey’s or anything, but at most, he’s going to have the nasty shits and might need extra hydration. ”
Otto lets out a noise somewhere between a sob and a laugh. ‘You sure?’