Iain

by Dale Mayer

  “You may not be happy with your physical condition yet, but Hathaway House? That’s a good change. I can feel it.”

  As Bruce pushed him up the ramp toward the front door, Iain could only hope his friend was right and that this wasn’t Iain’s biggest mistake of all.

  Robin Carruthers just happened to be outside, taking a breather. She worked at the veterinarian floor of the Hathaway House building. She was a vet tech who had only been here a couple weeks and had already found it almost like home, but she was one of the few staff members here who had a residence at the center as well. She couldn’t quite believe what Dani had built up here over these few short years, both on the physical property as well as the personnel.

  Stan, the one and only veterinarian in this place, at least for now, was a little in love with Dani but appeared more as her father figure, although he wasn’t all that old. Those two had a great relationship, and, when it came to helping animals, Dani bent over backward to do anything that needed to be done.

  Robin herself had considered going into veterinary school but just couldn’t swing the money. She was doing so much more here than at a normal vet tech position. Primarily because they were short on hands. She shook her head. She figured she’d be doing more here anyway. It was the usual attitude at Hathaway House. Here, the people went above and beyond. Not just the staff but the patients were pleased to be here, so thankful to have such a wonderful workplace atmosphere.

  She had been at other positions elsewhere, and this place topped them all. She couldn’t ask for a better crew of folks to work with. Dani had employee benefits that entailed educational assistance and also allowed for educational leave for her employees too, where she would take those employees back upon completion of their studies. Not many bosses would do that for their employees. Robin sometimes wondered if she should go back to school. But, for her, she wanted more to have a husband and a family and to eventually work part-time. She wasn’t as career-driven as so many other people she’d met in life. And Dani was just fine with that as well.

  Robin stood here, stretching her neck and shoulders, watching as a big black double-cab truck, heavy with chrome, but looking a little worse for wear after what could have been a long road trip, pulled into the parking lot. It was barely in her line of vision as she watched a man hop out of the driver’s side and go around to the back, while the passenger, ever-so-carefully, slid his way out from the front seat. He stood shakily but on his own two feet. Then she realized that was a lie. He was standing on one foot. She was close enough to see that it hurt him to do so.

  And when he closed his eyes and leaned forward to rest his head against the door, her heart went out to him. These poor guys. They were taught to man up, to not cry. Yet sometimes a good cry washed away the hurt. And, to make matters worse, these were military men. So she guessed they were too trained to hold all that pain inside, regardless. She had seen all that and more in her brother, Keith. And, with her ringside seat, she had witnessed all the pain he had to deal with from others’ lack of empathy. She shook her head. Sometimes family and friends, those closest to us, hurt us the most.

  As a vet tech, she wanted to bring some joy in the animals’ lives she watched over as well as these hurting soldiers’ lives. But, more than that, there was something almost spiritual about how just the presence of an animal could brighten a patient’s day. She figured it was because these animals accepted us, without question. They didn’t judge us, ever. They greeted people like it was the first time they had ever met, day after day. These animals, even the hurt ones down in the vet clinic, had boundless love for others.

  Too bad humans weren’t always like that to other humans.

  Then what some humans did to animals? She shook her head. Granted the abused animals were tough to see, and her heart went out to them each and every time, but even they rebounded and learned to love and to trust again. It was truly miraculous to watch that transformation. It gave Robin hope to deal with her own problems. Eventually.

  She’d seen a lot of the patients upstairs and had some interactions with them. Not a ton, because she was so busy downstairs, but the staff brought a lot of the men and women from upstairs down to see some of the animals, and she had taken some of the animals upstairs to visit the patients.

  This guy obviously was a new arrival, and not a moment too soon from the shape of him. He straightened as if he were living on guts alone.

  She noted him taking what must be his last energy to put his sunglasses over his eyes. He’s hiding his pain. Tears came to her eyes immediately.

  When his buddy brought around a wheelchair and helped him into it, and when they slowly made their way to the main entrance ramp, she slid slightly out of view, so he wouldn’t think that she’d been watching him at his most vulnerable moments. But this close and personal insight into the agony and the torture that these people who came here were living with? Well, that was something she generally didn’t see.

  She saw them at various stages of their day, sometimes with smiles on their faces and sometimes with tears drying on their cheeks. She herself was one of those people who couldn’t leave anyone in pain, and it hurt her to know that so many people one floor above where she worked were suffering. But then she was working with suffering animals down below too, and it was hard. It was always hard.

  Some were good stories of healing, and some were successes, but also many cases just wouldn’t have a happy ending.

  And she realized, not for the first time, as she watched this man slowly being wheeled up the long ramp to the front entrance reception area, that it was the same thing up above for the human patients too. She’d been so busy since her arrival here that she hadn’t had time to even think about those hurting people above. She saw them almost as an auxiliary part of her job, but that human insight just now connected her in a way she hadn’t expected.

  She wondered who this guy was and what his story was. She could only hope that maybe Dani would make his life so much better. Of course, not just Dani but also Dani’s team. And the man was in so much pain himself that Robin felt waves of it pummeling her, taking her breath away.

  Yet everything that Dani had put together here was miraculous and would give this new guy hope, just like it did for the others before him. Dani and her team had replicated success after success for these military men and women. And that success had spawned the downstairs clinic.

  “Robin?”

  She heard Stan calling her. She peered around to see him through the window, his arms full of a gigantic rabbit. She smiled as she walked back inside to him and said, “You want me to take him?”

  “Why don’t you take him outside with you?” he said. “He really would like the sunshine and the green grass.”

  She took the massive furry bunny back out to where she’d been standing. They used a specially fenced-off yard for these rabbits because she was trying to keep the grass clean enough for the bunnies to eat it, and so she didn’t want the dogs urinating here.

  They had any number of different animals here that just wanted a safe place to get outside. The horses—and the llama—had the biggest fields of course, but some dogs could be allowed to roam free because they would come back with a whistle or a call. Some of the resident dogs here were housebound though, like Chickie and various other therapy animals, especially the three-legged versions. It surprised even Robin when new animals arrived who quickly became a permanent fixture here at Hathaway House.

  This was a place where strays were welcomed. Robin smiled at that.

  Moving into the small yard, Robin put down the big hopper. Immediately his great rounded nose twitched and trembled as he made several big hops, exploring his territory. She retraced her steps to close the four-foot gate behind her, so she could be inside with him and not have to worry about him hopping away if she turned around for a second or two. She grinned. “You look like you’re doing just fine now after your surgery.”

  “Well, he should,” Stan said. “He’s h
ealed now, so hopefully that back leg should work properly again.”

  She studied the bandage. “He’s keeping it pretty clean. I thought he would have chewed off the bandage by now.”

  “I put some stuff on it to stop him from doing that.”

  “I’ve still seen them chew through that before,” she said with a laugh.

  Stan grinned at her. “Isn’t that the truth. Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” he said, chuckling.

  She glanced back around where the ramp was to the front entrance.

  “Looking for somebody?” Stan asked.

  She turned and smiled up at him. “A young man just arrived,” she said. “Something about the way he stood and the way he got out of the vehicle that hit close to home.”

  “That’s right. Your brother is up here, isn’t he?”

  “Not yet,” she said. “He’s coming in about six months hopefully. He has to stabilize somewhat before he travels. Plus I don’t think his bed is available until then. Even so, his arrival could be sooner or later, Dani tells me. Some of these patients leave sooner than expected, but some leave later.”

  “And that acceptance here, I think, is huge for his healing,” he said. “Keith should do really well here.”

  “Well, that’s one of the reasons I recommended it,” she said. “In the meantime, it’ll be nice to spend some time with him on a daily basis.”

  Stan hesitated and then said, “You know that sometimes these guys aren’t the easiest to be around when they’re recovering, right?”

  Her smile softened. “I know,” she said. “I’m not expecting miracles. But any progress would be wonderful.”

  Stan raised his pointer finger. “You haven’t been here long enough or haven’t been exposed to the human patients enough to see that miracles truly happen here.” Stan nodded. “Dealing so much with the hurt animals, we don’t always see what happens with their human counterparts above us. These animals are wondrous creatures. They don’t realize they are missing a leg or have a cast or that half of their stomach was taken out due to cancer or a bullet wound. But our wounded warriors one floor up? Those guys and gals are dealing with some horrific hand that was dealt to them. And they have to show up every day for rehab, which is another word for torture in my book.” Stan laughed.

  “I admire each and every one of them,” Robin said. “Not sure I’d last a day. Then I catch a glimpse of someone as I get lunch two days in a row and am just amazed to see how much they have improved over the past twenty-four hours.”

  Stan agreed. “On the flip side, I see some backtracking, not making forward progress. Those are most likely dealing with some extra baggage on top of just their physical healing.”

  “Their mind-set.”

  “You got that right,” Stan noted. “Attitude plays a big part in regaining health. Those heavy thoughts and hurtful words and just plain negative thinking can set a body back. Sometimes we humans are our own worst enemies, working against ourselves. So don’t let your brother dwell on the negatives. You either,” he said, wagging a finger at her, his face blooming into a full smile.

  Chapter 2

  “Granted, I moved here almost a month ago, so I am not able to see my brother as often as I would like to. Regardless Keith and I are close, but he has never been easy to be around,” Robin said. “He’s always had dark moods and a temper. But after his accident …” She shook her head. “Nothing’s been easy about it.”

  “And you visit him? Where he is currently?”

  “At another rehab center. I saw him just before starting here,” she said. “He looked like he was really struggling, suffocating in the four walls they had given him. And his progress had completely stalled.”

  “In that case, change is often the best answer,” Stan said. He tapped her gently and pointed down at Hoppers. “What do you think?” Hoppers had made it to the far corner and was busy nibbling away on some clover in the grass.

  “Seems like he’ll be happy here for a while,” she said. She stepped out of the fenced section with Stan, closed the gate behind them, and said, “As long as we don’t leave him out too long.”

  “He’ll be fine,” Stan said. He gave the fence a shake and said, “He’s not going under or over.”

  “He could go under, given enough time,” she said, “but I presume this section was fenced with that in mind?”

  “Yep, sure was,” he said. “Chicken wire down two feet.”

  She groaned. “That’s enough to make me cringe.”

  “And hopefully Hoppers too,” Stan said with a chuckle. They walked back inside the vet clinic.

  It was four o’clock, and they had no more scheduled patients, were down to a skeleton staff, and thus expected no more public traffic. “Are we done for the day?” she asked, reaching up a hand and rubbing her temple. “Seems like it was an extra-long day today.”

  “We had half the patients,” he said, “but the people who came with their pets weren’t necessarily the easiest.”

  She nodded and smiled. “The trouble is, people get just as emotionally worked up over their furry families as they do over their human families,” she said. “And sometimes we just don’t have answers for them.”

  “Sometimes I think we never have answers,” Stan said soberly. “At least not the answers we want for them or that they want to hear. I’ve got to face a bunch of paperwork now. You want to check to make sure everybody’s good for the night?”

  “We’re keeping three overnight, I believe?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I’ll come in at midnight and check on them.”

  She nodded. “And I’ll do the four o’clock check then. What about staying overnight at the clinic? Do you ever do that?”

  “Way too often,” he said. “But, as long as everybody handles their checks throughout the evening and night, then we can leave our patients for a few hours.”

  “Good.” She walked into the back. A cat had had its tail run over, but the tail itself wasn’t the problem. It had been pulled away from the body to a certain extent. They’d performed surgery to remove some of the remaining tailbone so the skin could close. But an injury like that often resulted in major damage internally and could affect his ability to defecate. So they were keeping a close eye on him at the moment, and he was out cold still. She checked his vitals, smiled, and moved on.

  The next one was a dog who’d had a steel plate put in his back leg. He was a little bit more awake than the cat but not by much. He was also today’s surgery. She bent down gently, stroked his face, and checked his vitals. She adjusted his medication and moved on to the third one, another dog who had been left intact to reproduce. He was now fixed, only he hadn’t handled it well, and they were keeping him overnight because of the heavier-than-normal bleeding post-op. He appeared to be doing fine now.

  That done, Robin cleaned up the back room, organizing some of the supplies that had come in.

  Annette came in from the front desk and said, “I’m off, unless you need anything.”

  “No,” Robin said with a smile. “Go have a good evening.”

  “Will do. See you in the morning.” Annette waved, locking the main door behind her. That was the door to the public. The staff still had access to all the rest of Hathaway’s yards and pool facilities—one of the huge perks of being here. Not to mention the food. She’d gained at least two pounds since she’d arrived. A pound a week didn’t bode well for the end of the year. With that thought uppermost in her mind, she frowned, walked back toward Stan, and said, “Everything’s cleaned up, and our three patients are doing fine for the moment. If you don’t need me, I think I’ll get changed and have a swim before dinner.”

  “Oh, that’s a good idea.” Stan looked up, arrested at the thought. “I need to get back to swimming too.”

  “Come with me,” she said. “The PT guys and gals should be done with their therapy sessions by now, shouldn’t they?”

  Stan checked his watch. “It’s four-forty,” he said. “I n
ormally wait until five before I go in, just to make sure.”

  “Five would work,” she said. “It’ll take me a bit to walk home and get changed anyway.” She stifled a yawn. “And I am tired for some reason.”

  “Some days are like that,” he said. “I’ll meet you at the pool at five then?”

  She nodded, smiled, and said, “That’s a deal.” She headed out the back door, stopped for a moment, and realized that she’d left Hoppers outside too. She came back in and called out, “Stan, we forgot Hoppers.”

  He chuckled. “I was going to bring him in,” he said, “but if you want to grab him …”

  She went back out to the front. There was Hoppers, stretched out on one side and enjoying the sunshine, his legs fully out in front of him. She opened the door and called him. He looked over at her, completely calm and relaxed, not otherwise responding to her call. She walked over, bent down, and picked up the big lug, cuddled him close, and then walked him back in.

  Hoppers was a semipermanent resident in the place. They were trying to find a special space for him, so he could be left to roam the grounds, but his area needed to be safe. They weren’t exactly sure how the new dogs would handle such a big rabbit. Would the dogs feel threatened? Would the dogs treat it as prey or food? She shuddered. She was already attached to him and surely didn’t want him hurt again. While he was big enough to hold his own, the rabbit obviously had no defenses against an attack, like maybe another pet would.

  She put him back into his large glassed-in space, with plenty of air holes for ventilation and a strong wire gate atop, where they kept him overnight inside the vet clinic. He immediately headed off to his sawdust and curled up, as if to go to sleep. She closed the door to Hoppers’ cage and said to Stan, “He’s back in his space. I sure hope we can get him an outdoor yard, where we can leave him outdoors a little more often.”