by Lyn Cote
The waiting room filled up with the vet clinic’s small-animal clients. Kittens, puppies, canaries, hamsters. The assorted sounds and antics distracted Amy. She found herself smiling and focusing on the lively waiting room. Thank You, Lord, for this great job.
Sandy came to the front, lifted the first file from the counter, and called the patient’s name—Sir Squiggly, the hamster. Amy chuckled and answered the phone.
The morning progressed till the final appointment before lunch. A well-dressed brunette who looked familiar came in and approached the counter. She carried a prissy white miniature French poodle. “I’m Brooke Hyde.”
The woman then introduced her pet, but Amy couldn’t understand what the woman had said. “Could you spell that for me, please?”
Brooke Hyde gave her a disdainful glance. “It’s French.” The woman’s tone added “You’re obviously too ignorant to know that.” “D-o-u-x C-h-a-r-m-e-u-r P-e-u,” she spelled each word out letter by letter.
“What does it mean?” Amy asked, bending to get the patient file. She grinned to herself because the final word sounded like “Poo.”
“It means ‘sweet little charmer,’ and that’s what you are, aren’t you, Charmeur?” she crooned to the poodle.
Amy thought, Gag me with a spoon. Poor embarrassed dog.
Jake appeared at the counter.
“Jake, hello,” Brooke said in a flirtatious tone.
Amy couldn’t believe it. The woman actually batted her eyelashes at him, just like in a vintage Daisy Duck cartoon. Amy clamped her quivering lips shut so she wouldn’t start laughing.
“Oh, hi,” he said. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”
Brooke pouted and turned to take a seat—far away from the remaining pet owners and pets. Obviously she thought she and “Poo” were too good for the hoi polloi, the common herd. As Amy reached to answer yet another call, she reflected that Jake’s dad would probably approve of little “Poo’s” owner for his son. Suddenly Amy didn’t feel like laughing. She concentrated on the phone call.
The final hour before lunch passed quickly. The vet clinic always buzzed and Amy liked that. She focused her mind on filing and phone calls, not Dan McClure’s low opinion of her. Or the woman with the poodle who looked like she wanted to gobble up Jake with a soup spoon.
After the poodle had been examined, Brooke, with “Poo” in her arms, walked with Jake back to the counter. As she wrote the check, Jake turned to go.
“Oh, Jake,” Brooke purred, “I have some leftover lasagna at my place. Why don’t you follow me home and I’ll give you lunch?”
In the nearly empty waiting room, there came one of those awkward, embarrassing silences.
The phone rang. Amy picked it up, trying to ignore the uncomfortable atmosphere expanding around her. “Hello, McClure Vet Clinic—”
“I need someone to come and pick up some kittens.” The woman’s agitated voice instantly caught Amy’s attention. Something was wrong.
“What kittens? Is this an emergency?” Amy asked, eyeing Brooke, whose face had turned pink, no doubt from embarrassment over Jake’s lack of response. Amy almost felt sorry for her.
“Yes,” the woman said. “I’d intended to drive the kittens to the shelter, but my car won’t start. I need to get the kittens out of the house. And the shelter isn’t answering its phone. Will Dr. McClure come get the kittens? Please.”
“Are the kittens ill?” Amy asked.
“No,” the woman on the phone replied, “but my husband says if they’re still here when he gets home, he’ll drown them. Please. The children would be so upset.”
The words chilled Amy’s blood. “Doctor,” she said, “we have an emergency.”
Within minutes, Brooke and her poodle left without a backward glance.
After taking down the woman’s address, Amy told Jake about the kittens’ plight. “I’ll drive over and get them,” she said, rising. “Then I’ll take them to the shelter.”
“No, the shelter’s closed today. That’s why they’re not answering. Besides, it’s full, remember? I’ll have to get hold of Annie so she can call a foster home. Let’s go. I’ll take you. The kittens may need medical attention. At the very least, they’ll need distemper shots.”
Amy tried to deter him from accompanying her, tried to keep her distance. However, before she knew it, they were in his pickup, rolling out into the county. Watching for the road signs, Amy sat as far as she could from Jake. A “snow sky,” a thick white blanket, hovered over them. Snow flurries swirled around the windshield.
Amy’s thoughts and emotions imitated the snowflakes. Swirling in her mind were the woman who’d called and sounded so distressed, the scene with Brooke Hyde and the poodle and Dan’s warnings to Jake about keeping his distance. She shook these upsetting thoughts off. “Is it legal to drown kittens?”
“No, but that doesn’t mean people don’t still do it,” Jake said, sounding aggravated. “Farmers need cats to keep the vermin down. Most are fond of barn cats and would never hurt them. But in every population there are a few…total jerks.”
Amy sighed, giving sound to her sorrow at this truth. But this situation prompted her to try her idea again. “Have you asked,” she started cautiously, “about trying to connect with the local TV station to do a spot about the need for adoptions at the shelter?”
“I’m not good with that sort of thing. I mentioned it to Annie, but she hasn’t let me know how she’s doing with it.”
Heartened to hear that he hadn’t just dismissed her idea, she went on, “You need to call her about this litter, don’t you?”
He nodded.
“Do you have her cell number? Why don’t we call her about these now and then ask her?”
He lifted his cell from his pocket, pressed a few buttons, and handed it to her. “It’s ringing.”
Voicemail picked up, so Amy left a message and handed the phone back to Jake. She glanced at her scribbled directions. “Here’s the road. We turn right.”
They drove up to a battered, peeling house with an assortment of half-dismantled cars and machine parts protruding from the mounds of snow. A woman came to the door and waved them toward an ancient barn, which listed to the south on its original stone foundation.
Jake and Amy hurried through the cold into the relative shelter of the old barn, obviously being used just as storage or a dump for castoffs. The woman, who wore torn jeans and an old hoodie sweatshirt under a man’s tattered jacket, led them to a cardboard box covered with a threadbare blanket. The pitiful sound of mewing kittens came from it.
Standing close to Jake, Amy looked down in the dim light. The little black-and-white kittens were so young they still had their eyes closed.
“Here they are,” the woman said with a gentle voice. “Their mom was my best mouser, but she got hit on the road yesterday.” The woman paused as if swallowing tears.
The woman’s sadness caught Amy. She looked into her red-rimmed eyes and the separation between the two was swept away. With her heart, Amy glimpsed the woman’s lonely, work-filled hours and a black-and-white cat rubbing against her leg and purring. She’s weeping over losing her mama cat, her friend. Warm sympathy rushed through Amy. She blinked back tears, coming back to the woman’s voice.
“So I started feeding them with a baby bottle last night. My husband said they aren’t worth all that work.” The woman bit her lower lip. “I don’t think he would really drown them. But I didn’t want him to upset the kids.”
Jerk. Amy patted the woman’s shoulder.
Jake knelt down and raised one of the little kittens. “Did you feed them cow’s milk?”
“No, I had some powdered soy formula left from my last baby. I mixed that up and warmed it for them.”
Amy observed the woman, who was loving the kittens with her tender gaze.
Jake rose. “You did fine. We’ll take the litter to my clinic. I’ll look them over and then get them to the shelter. Or a foster home.”
“Thank
s. That’s such a relief,” the woman said, wiping her moist eyes with the back her hand. “I’ve got something for you.” She pulled a jar from each of her two pockets. “Here’s some of my homemade strawberry jam.” She offered it to Amy but kept her face lowered. “For your trouble. I really appreciate you both coming out like this.” Her voice trembled. “I was just at my wit’s end.”
The woman’s stark tone pierced Amy. How many times had her own voice trembled with the same anguish in her heart?
Jake rose, lifting the blanketed box of kittens. “Thanks, ma’am. That’s very nice of you.”
“Yes, thank you,” Amy said, taking the woman’s offering. “It wasn’t necessary, but thanks.”
Her face twisted as if in pain, the woman reached a finger under the blanket and stroked one of the kitten’s heads. “You kittens, be good now.” The woman’s voice sounded thick. A trace of a sob welled up from deep inside her. She nodded and then ran from the barn, her shoulders shaking.
Amy thought about her two little kittens and two little girls at home. Suddenly her throat thickened and tears stung her eyes. All the poor orphans in this world, furry ones and little children like hers. Like her.
Heading back to the pickup, Jake forged a path for them through the debris. Amy trudged after him, buffeted by the harsh wind as well as a current of sorrow. He opened the door and waited for her to get in. When she sat on the high seat, Jake handed her the box. Soon they were on the road again.
Amy crooned to the kittens, stroked them, and held in her tears. Poor woman. Poor mama cat. Poor orphaned kittens. The old, never-healed wound from losing Carrie opened. Its deep shaft of pain forced her to take a sharp breath.
When they arrived at the clinic, the parking lot had cleared of cars. No clinic patients had been scheduled this afternoon and Sandy must still be gone for lunch. Relief sighed through Amy—no one to face.
Inside, she stood across from Jake, with the high examining table between them. One by one, he gently lifted out the kittens. Murmuring to them, he examined their teeth, ears, prodded their abdomens and gave them distemper shots. All the while Amy pressed her lips tightly together to hold it all in—all her sadness, her loss and her loneliness. She and Carrie had been orphaned, too, and left defenseless in this harsh world.
When Amy had placed the last kitten back into the box, she turned away, trying to hide the tears that could no longer be held back. Trying to stop them.
“Amy, oh, Amy,” Jake said and within two steps, she found herself in his arms. “Don’t cry.”
Chapter 5
Jake folded Amy into his arms and against him. Amy—soft and warm and fragrant, with the subtle scent of lilacs.
“I’m sorry. I’ll stop—” But then a sob erupted, ripping the peace of the quiet clinic.
“This is about more than just these poor kittens.” His observation slipped out unexpectedly, but he judged it to be true. “What’s wrong, Amy?” I can’t bear to see you cry. Let me make it right.
“It’s just all the orphans in this sad world. I know how that feels—I was one,” she whispered.
Me, too. He’d never put this into words. But he had been orphaned, too. At least, that was how he’d always felt. A lump in his chest, he tugged Amy even closer. “I’m here,” he said simply.
She rubbed her face against his shirt, her tears moistening the cotton. “My mom…she couldn’t take care of us. So Carrie and I ended up in foster care.”
“Carrie?” He pressed her closer still. The urge to protect her surged within.
“My little sister.” Amy chuckled but in a sad minor key. “She’s five years younger than I am.” She muffled another sob against his shirt. “I ended up losing her, too.”
“You lost her?” He lifted her chin with his forefinger. Her dark eyelashes sparkled with tears. Sorrow wrenched him, a sharp, unseen spasm.
She slumped against him. He knew how strong emotions from a crisis could suck out all a person’s strength. Concern for her flowing, he guided her toward the two chairs by the door. He urged her into one. Sitting down beside her, he kept one of her hands, so small, in his. “Amy, that night at the potluck, your pastor told me that your girls are really your nieces. Is Carrie their mom?”
“That’s right.” Errant tears still dripped from her eyes. She didn’t bother to wipe them away. “Right after high school Carrie moved to Chicago.” Amy gazed into his eyes, her expression melancholy. “I thought she knew better than to get mixed up in the drug world.”
She shook her head, new tears overflowing. “After not contacting me for over a year, she finally appeared at my door in Milwaukee very pregnant. Just a few days later, I went to the hospital with her. She gave birth to the twins.”
In the moment of quiet, a dog recovering in the kennel moaned. This mournful sound blended with their low mood. Jake gave Amy’s shoulders a gentle squeeze to reassure her.
She wiped her face with her free hand. “Carrie had told me she wasn’t using, but…I was so relieved when…there was no trace of drugs in the girls’ systems.” She shuddered as if rocked by an aftershock.
Jake tucked her closer and laid an arm around her shoulders. “Thank God.”
She looked up at him, but her eyes were far away, probably remembering. And suddenly Tommy’s face drifted into Jake’s mind. If he’d lived, how old would Tommy be now? Sorrow latched on to Jake, an old and painful wrenching of his spirit. He tried to draw breath, but his tight chest pained him.
“Carrie and I brought the girls home to my tiny apartment and we started to make plans. But when the twins were only a few weeks old, Carrie insisted on going back to Chicago to get her things and end it with the man…the man she’d been living with. I begged her not to go.” Another sob forced its way from deep within Amy. She covered her mouth with a hand.
He coaxed her closer under his arm, rubbing her long, slender back softly. “She didn’t come back, did she?”
Amy shook her head against him. She trembled, unable to hide her battle against tears. Dragging in air, she straightened up, as if reviving. “I reported her disappearance, but the police never found her.”
“She’s still missing?”
Amy shrugged, a curious little shake that somehow prepared him for what came next. “I’d given up hope. Then over a year later, I got a postcard from her. It said: I know you’ll take care of my girls. Don’t worry, I’m fine. But how can she be fine?”
Jake felt his face twist into a deep grimace. “What did the police say?”
“They couldn’t trace who sent the postcard. No return address, just a postmark from a town in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. They said that it probably meant that she was alive but involved in something illegal. Or in a dangerous relationship she wanted to shield her daughters from.”
He voiced that little sound of sympathy that had no name. Why did such a sweet woman have to suffer so?
“If I’d had any money, I’d have tried to hire a private investigator. The police suggested that. But about that time, Milwaukee social services got wind of my taking care of the girls. A social worker came by.”
Amy gazed at him, eye to serious eye. “Fortunately before leaving Milwaukee, my sister mailed me a notarized letter, giving me legal guardianship of the girls. About that time, I decided to get out of Milwaukee. I wanted a better life for us.” Amy sighed and then withdrew completely from under his arm.
He missed the contact with her. “I’m glad you did.”
“I’m sorry I fell apart like that.” She glanced away, wiping her tears. “It was just…in that barn, looking into that woman’s eyes. I saw in them what I’ve felt a few times…like life just brings too much sorrow. I know it’s silly to cry about losing a cat—”
“No, it’s not,” Jake interrupted. You weren’t crying about orphaned kittens. “I lost a brother, too,” he whispered.
Amy looked up as if to ask a question. The opening of the rear employees’ entrance interrupted them. The pets in the kennels let
it be known—loud and strong—they’d heard it, too. “I’m back from lunch!” Sandy called out over the pet chorus.
Turning toward him, Amy leaned forward and kissed his chin. “Thanks.”
Had she heard him? Startled, he barely had time to respond before she covered the few feet to the box of kittens. “I hope we can find these little ones good homes,” she said, setting the box between them. “Should we call Annie back?”
Sandy called out again, “I brought you two subs from the café. Figured you didn’t get lunch anywhere. Or lasagna.” On the last two words, Sandy’s tone turned wry.
It zapped Jake’s mind back to the poodle woman and her offer of lunch at her place. He frowned at the memory. How did a gentleman handle such obvious and unwelcome ploys?
Sandy leaned in at the doorway, waving a white paper bag with the aroma of garlic and onion. “Hungry?”
“Yes,” Amy said. “Let me put these little ones in the kennel and I’ll be all over mine.”
Sandy led her down the hall toward the rear. Just as Jake entered the hallway, Amy turned and mouthed, Thanks again.
Thanks? For what? I didn’t do anything for you, Amy. I just wish I could. And he sure wished Sandy hadn’t come back so soon.
For the first time in a very long time, Jake had wanted to talk about Tommy. Amy would have understood his lingering sorrow over the loss of an only brother. But she must not have heard his whispered words. Or had she? His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out.
“Hey, Jake, I’ve got a foster home for those kittens. And I got news for you from the TV station in Rhinelander. They say they’ll do an interview with you about our overcrowded situation—”
“Me?” Dismay arched through him. “No way.”
“I thought you’d say that.” Annie had the nerve to chuckle. “So I offered them Amy, her twins and adopted kittens…and you. Will they do it?”
“I’ll ask her.” And I’ll stay in the background.