Chapter 1 #2
I ease Kona down the ramp, and she wobbles on one leg.
Sweet girl. So trusting, so happy, so totally unsuspecting of what’s going to come.
Each step closer to the entrance, my heartbeat thumps harder, and a deep sickliness settles in my stomach.
The sharp cool breeze springs tears to my eyes, layering on the fear-laced tears already present.
I pull in air, singeing my nostrils, try to wave off the nausea, and march through the doors.
Inside, I do a perimeter sweep like I’m a special agent and Kona is my principal client.
The place smells clean, like the last time we were here, a faint scent of lemon antiseptic and floor cleaner.
It’s bright and airy, with a small waiting area with hard black benches.
A dog is in the corner, some black lab mix, and I pause.
Are they friendly? Properly leashed? A man sits on the bench with a cat in a carrier on the floor, and a woman at the counter has something rattling in a shoebox.
I exhale. So far, so good.
“Hey there, beautiful!”
A cheery voice cuts across the room, and I peek at the woman who it belongs to. Soft pink hair, less cotton-candy and more pink-kissed; rose sleeve tattoos poking out from under her scrubs; a hoop nose ring; and lovely, warm, chocolate brown eyes.
“I’m talking to the dog, not you,” she says, then pulls her pink-glossed lips into a smile. “And that sounded a thousand times worse than what I intended. Apologies. I’m only on coffee number four and it’s normally twelve by now, so I can’t be fully held responsible for my words or actions.”
For the first time today, I crack a small grin.
The woman doesn’t remember me, and that’s okay.
But I remember her. Josie. A year or so ago, I briefly met her on the sidewalk as she walked with Zoey, the owner of Zoey’s Bakery.
Her hair was a little different, brown back then, more of a shag and less of the messy bun length it is now.
But even with new hair, someone like her is pretty memorable.
Sure, I don’t talk to hardly anyone, so it’s not that out of the ordinary that I’d remember one interaction from a year ago.
But even if I was crowned the town’s resident social butterfly, I’m pretty sure I would’ve remembered her.
Besides the high apple cheekbones and wide smile, she had a sort of…
sparkle. One that seemed to sprinkle around her and floated to me and somehow captured me in that moment.
And despite the fact that we only chatted for a few minutes, I very much went home and thought of her one too many times over those next few weeks.
With Kona panting at my side, I clear the slight nerves from my throat. “I’m here to check in Kona for her appointment.”
Josie’s short, bright, hot pink nails dash across the keyboard as her eyes scan the monitor. “Looks like we have a routine CCL scheduled for today.”
My chest pinches tight. Routine. That’s what they said for Amelia.
Only, nothing about that day was routine.
Flashes of the hospital lights flicker at the edge of my vision.
In a snap, I can smell the antiseptic, hear the shuffling of the nursing staff’s hurried footsteps among the beeping of heart monitors.
And then… I see the doctor sitting me down to deliver the news.
The way his face dropped, the way he put out a hand when he asked me to sit down, the way his gaze flicked to the floor.
“Excuse me? Colby?” Josie says, a small crease forming between her brows.
The vet clinic narrows back into my vision. “I’m sorry, what?”
Josie stands, and the stiff fabric of the pink scrubs with miniature rainbow unicorns scrapes against itself. Safe to say she obviously has a signature color. “If you could sign here and here,” she says, circling two spots on the paperwork.
I’m frozen. I hear her, I feel Kona next to me, I’m rubbing the back of her ears like they’re a stress ball, and still, I’m motionless. Once I sign this, they’ll take Kona away. My signature is the last and final article of defense. I don’t know if I can do it.
My eyes search Josie’s face, begging her to say a scientist discovered a last-minute pill that will heal dog ligaments without surgery. Or that the doctor made a discovery during the third consultation and the only thing Kona needs is a brace. My pulse is racing in my chest, my mouth turns dry.
A small dimple pops in the corner of Josie’s cheek. Her smile is kind, really kind, and any other day I would maybe take comfort in it. But today, I can’t. “Signature?” she says again.
The pen trembles in my hands. I hold my breath and scribble across the paper.
“Awesome.” Josie tucks the papers back in a file, types a few more things, and clicks, like I didn’t just sign for my dog to be put under, cut open, and potentially leave me for life.
She moves from behind the counter, squats in front of Kona, and holds out her hand for Kona to sniff. “I’ll take the leash.”
My grip tightens around the final lifeline to my dog. “I want to go back there with her.”
Josie frowns sympathetically. “I know, but we can’t.” She strokes Kona’s fur, and behind her ear, like she knows exactly her favorite spots. “The handoff is here. But I promise she’ll be given such good care.”
Breathe. This vet clinic is probably doing five of these surgeries this week, did five last week, and will do five next week. I keep repeating this to myself, but my brain is fighting away the logic.
It was a freak occurrence, they said. We are so sorry, they said.
My shoulders stiffen and Kona looks at me, surely smelling my energy.
A tremble starts in my chin. When I lower myself to kneel in front of her and scratch under her chin, I can barely look into those deep, unsuspecting, trusting eyes.
“You be a good girl, okay?” My voice cracks and I clear my throat to cover it.
“You’re going to take a quick little nap, and everything will be better. I’ll be right here waiting for you.”
When I hand over the leash, the hot sting of tears rushes behind my eyes.
“We got it from here,” Josie says with a reassuring grin, palming the leash. “We’ll call you when it’s time to pick her up.”
Absolutely not. “I’m going to stay right here.”
Josie squints, confused, and I can see why. This vet hospital is not like a doctor’s office. There are no cushy chairs, no vending machines, no TV in the corner silently playing the news. “Really, it’s probably best if you leave,” she says. “This will be at least a five-hour—”
“I’m not leaving.” My voice is firm, leaving no room for negotiation.
I don’t know their policy, but I won’t back down.
With Amelia, they told me to leave, and I did.
I walked my ass down to Starbucks, drank a mocha, and brought my work laptop to catch up on some meaningless quarterly financial report, not knowing that my wife was across the street, fighting for her life.
I refuse to do that with Kona.
Josie’s smile fades, but she nods. “Okay. Well, make yourself as comfortable as you can and let me know if you need anything.” When I don’t move, don’t blink, probably don’t even breathe, Josie places a warm hand on my forearm and gives it a little squeeze.
“We’re going to take really good care of her. ”
And an immediate assault of conflicting emotions barrel through me.
Besides my family, my doctor, and my dentist, that touch was the first physical contact I’ve had since Amelia passed.
The moment was so quick, a whisper really, but my arm is still tingling.
But then, as I watch Kona hobble back with Josie, so trusting, so peaceful, my body sinks.
Kona probably thinks she’s going to play or maybe get a treat. Sure, she’s a little agitated being in this place with all the animal smells and new people, but an outsider would hardly be able to tell. I bring her with me almost everywhere, and she’s acclimated to most places.
Routine surgery.
So I wait. One hour turns into two. My butt gets sore on the hard wooden bench.
I read the back of every single product label on their shelf, I pace, I sit.
For ten, maybe twenty minutes, I stare out the window at the soft dusting of snow, and feel the minutes click by like someone is strangling a noose on me, notch by notch.
Everything in me is screaming when I step outside to pull in some cold, fresh air before coming back to start my pacing and sitting routine again.
Two and a half hours in, the anxiety has set in to the deepest part of my bones, it’s in my core, and I’m going to puke. Something is very, very wrong. My heartbeat is pounding so hard that I can’t hear the animals or any voices over it.
When a clinic staff comes from the back room and whispers to Josie, taking a hard glance at me, the world stops moving. I leap from my seat and bolt to the counter. I know exactly what they are going to say, and God help me, I don’t think I can handle it.