Vilonia Beebe Takes Charge

by Kristin L. Gray

  “Oh.” I frowned, suddenly feeling sick. “Is it, you know, terminal ? Because if he’s on his last fin, you can tell me. My mama writes obits for a living.” I sucked in a sharp breath and threw my shoulders back.

  “Not usually, no.” Dr. Kieklack reached inside a drawer and found a small fishnet.

  “Phew!” I smiled.

  “However.” He held up a hand. “Max’s case seems pretty aggressive and advanced. I’m not aware of his environment or circumstances prior to your adopting him, but I’m afraid I can’t give you much hope . . .”

  “It’s okay, Dr. Kieklack, I can take it.” I swallowed hard, trying to convince myself. “Tell me what to do to keep him comfortable in his last moments.” That’s the least I can do for poor Max and Mr. Reyes.

  Dr. Kieklack brushed his bit of stubble, lost in thought. “Well, there’s a scrub, but his system’s probably too weak for that. I can send you home with a bottle of Fish Remedy that should treat any infection and promote regrowth of damaged tissue. You can add three drops to his water to start with. It’s a long shot, but it may help.”

  “Thanks.” I smiled again, taking the bottle.

  “Miss Sogbottom can give you a care sheet up front. It has tips on changing his water, cleaning his bowl, and signs to look for, so hopefully this doesn’t happen again. Good luck, Vilonia.” Dr. Kieklack pumped my hand. “Be sure to let me know how he does. And best of luck to you, Mr. Max.”

  Dr. Kieklack bent down and put his hand on the side of the glass. His brown eyes shined with kindness. I could feel it, and I knew Max could too.

  I carried Max and his bill to the front to check out, only to realize I’d left in such a rush, I’d forgotten my pet fund. It was a small miracle I happened to have five dollars and eighteen cents in my pocket. But I still owed twenty more dollars. Talk about embarrassing.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll cover the rest,” Miss Sogbottom said.

  “Miss Sogbottom, I may be a kid, but I’m no thief. I’ll pay you back someday, I promise. Would you prefer cash or cake?”

  Miss Sogbottom thought for a second. “Surprise me.”

  “You got it. I do need one more thing, though. Dr. Kieklack said something about a care sheet?”

  “Ah. Here you go.” Miss Sogbottom handed me the page and winked. Only when I tried to tug it away from her, she didn’t let go. “Why don’t you two exit through the back? Sometimes UPS blocks the front drive.”

  When I didn’t move, because I was 100 percent confused, she smacked her bubblegum and rolled her eyes. “Come on, follow me.”

  “Uh, okay,” I answered. Never mind that my bike was parked out front and there was no delivery truck.

  I carried Max and his instructions through the back of the office, down another long sterile hallway. Dogs, waiting to be groomed or picked up, barked in their kennels on the other side of the wall. My heart beat fast.

  Miss Sogbottom stopped outside the last door on the left. The door was open. Dr. Kieklack’s office.

  “Five minutes. You have five minutes, and not a second more.” She pointed to a kennel on the floor. “Look with your eyes, not your hands. Understand?”

  I nodded, too excited to speak.

  The phone up front rang, and she flinched.

  “No touching,” I said, finding my voice. “Got it.”

  She gave me two thumbs up and scurried to answer the phone. I left Max on a wooden chair by the door and crept into the room. It was a tiny office. And dark. Dr. Kieklack’s desk took up most of the space. With the overhead lights switched off and the shade drawn, his desk lamp cast the only soft light about the room. Dr. K probably wanted it that way, all cozy and quiet for the puppy.

  I stepped close enough to peek inside the crate but chickened out, squeezing my eyes shut at the last second. Kibbles ’n Bits, I was turning into a sissy.

  Honest to goodness, though, I’d pumped my puppy expectations so high, I wasn’t sure I could handle the reality of this runt. Or worse, what if I could? What if I looked at his sweet face and fell head-over-heels in real-deal puppy love, only to learn I was completely, hopelessly in way over my head?

  Oh well. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  Chapter Ten

  My eyes flew open, and a giant “Awww” escaped my mouth. Of course no one was in the room to awww with me. It was just impossible to look at this tiny black muzzle and not say it.

  This pup was an explosion of cute. With his sandy fur and teensy black ears, my heart expanded one puppy size.

  Okay, he looked more like an itty-bitty sleeping guinea pig than a pug. A tan guinea pig with silky fur, a wrinkly forehead, and the sweetest pink heart-shaped nose. He yawned. I died of cute.

  “You are the best thing ever. Look at you all snuggled up to your blanket.”

  He grunted, but I knew he couldn’t hear or see me. According to my extensive research, puppies are born deaf, blind, and toothless (talk about a rough start) and stay that way until they reach two weeks old. They rely on their mamas for everything—food, baths, and warmth.

  “But you, little guy, you’re on your own. Thank God for Dr. Kieklack, huh?”

  I noted the tray of feeding syringes and formula on the veterinarian’s desk, as well as the cord running from the kennel to the outlet in the wall. I’d bet a dollar there was a heating pad under the puppy’s bed. A makeshift incubator. Being chilled was the leading cause of death in puppies—one obit I wouldn’t want to write.

  His soft sides moved in and out with each shaky breath. One. Two. Three. Pause. I counted each breath like I had the power to keep him breathing. Nana said they’d done the same when I was in the NICU.

  “You’re a fighter, you know,” I whispered. “Do you have a name? Because if you don’t, I’ll give you one. I’m good with names. I’m Vilonia, by the way.”

  His front paw twitched.

  Footsteps echoed in the hall. My five minutes had vanished. I glanced once more at the puppy that had experienced a lifetime of heartache in his first day of life. And that’s when his name came to me.

  “Good-bye, Ray Charles. I like you already.”

  • • •

  I carried Max through the back door and into the warm sunlight, thanking him for his patience. That was the great thing about fish. They’re excellent waiters.

  “See this sheet, Max?” I asked, holding his care sheet to the glass. “I’m going to follow these tips precisely. We’ll get you better in no time.” I sat Max back inside my handlebar’s basket and could have sworn over Mrs. Tooley’s dead body (may she rest in peace) that Max looked at me and winked.

  That’s fish for “Thanks.”

  Chapter Eleven

  I pedaled as fast as I dared toward home without upsetting the fishbowl. Turning onto my street, I met Ava Claire riding toward me on her bike with handlebar streamers.

  “Whatcha doing?” she asked, screeching her bike to a stop. “Or are you too busy to talk?”

  Ouch. AC still acted hurt, but she couldn’t stay mad at me. Our history proved it. Besides, she could never pass up drama.

  “Something urgent!” I hollered over my shoulder as I bounced into my drive.

  “Like urgent urgent?” she asked, wheeling her bike around after me. I parked mine and hopped off, carefully easing the kickstand into place.

  “Afraid so.” I cradled Max’s bowl in my hands and let her peer in, then dropped my voice to a whisper. “You can’t tell a soul.”

  “Mr. Reyes’s fish! Is he . . . ?” Her face grew pale underneath her glittering purple bike helmet. “Now your mama will never, ever let you get a dog.”

  “Shut your mouth. He’s not dead . . . yet.” I swallowed. “I took him to Dr. Kieklack and got some drops, but it doesn’t look good.”

  Ava Claire unbuckled her helmet, and the two of us stood there for a full minute staring deep into the fishbowl, half struck with grief over Max’s demise and half frozen in terror knowing I might kill the library pet. I looked my best friend si
nce forever in the face and in my most serious voice said, “This stays between us.”

  “Cross my heart.”

  “Hope to, uh, never mind.” I cleared my throat. “Can you get the door?”

  I brushed past Ava Claire in her twirly skirt, sparkling shoes, and brave pageant smile.

  “Now what?” she asked. The door slammed shut behind her.

  “Vilonia?” Mama’s voice floated into the kitchen.

  “Well, now, I’ve got to check on Mama.” I shot Ava Claire a thank-you-very-much look and motioned for her to be quiet.

  “Sorry,” she said with a wince.

  “Coming, Mama!” I yelled. I set Max on the kitchen table and quickly added one, two, three drops of Dr. Kieklack’s Fish Remedy to his water. “That should do it.”

  “Do what?” AC asked.

  “Remedy the fish.”

  “Right.”

  “Here,” I said, going to the fridge. “Have some of my world-famous strawberry-infused iced tea while we wait. Made it myself this morning. I even removed the stems this time.”

  “Gee, thanks.” Ava Claire found a seat at the table and smoothed out her skirt. I poured Mama a glass.

  “Don’t take your eyes off Max. I’ll be right back.”

  Ava Claire was one of the few people in town (other than immediate family) who knew the Truth. And by Truth I mean Mama’s delicate condition.

  I stole down the wooden floorboards to my parents’ bedroom and rap-tap-tapped softly on the door. “Mama?”

  “Come in, sweetie.”

  I pushed the door open and breathed a sigh of relief. Today was a good day. Someone had tied back the curtains, allowing light to stream into the white painted space and chase the shadows away, and Mama, propped up in bed in her paisley pajamas, balanced her computer on a pillow in her lap. She was swimming in newspaper clippings and yellow legal pads with a look of concentration on her face. A pencil was tucked behind her ear.

  “You working today, Mama?” I set her glass of tea on the bedside table.

  “I can’t concentrate.” She patted the edge of her soft white duvet, inviting me to come and sit down. “These obits are killing me.” She closed her laptop, half smiling at her joke. “But I always have time for you.”

  I moved a stack of papers and sat next to her, trying to rein in the hope welling in my chest. When was the last time I’d heard her laugh? Crack a joke? I couldn’t remember.

  “Miss Bettina stopped over.”

  “I don’t blame her.” Mama sighed.

  “That’s so great of her to cover for you until you feel up to working again.” I tried to sound confident when I lied. The truth was Miss Bettina thought Mama was working.

  Mama drew a big breath and bit her lip. “It’s been seven weeks, and I still haven’t written my own mother’s obituary.”

  “You know, I could help. We could write it together.”

  Mama patted my leg. “I’m not feeling very brave today, kiddo. Not feeling much of anything. But soon.”

  She shuffled some of the newspaper clippings into a neat stack.

  “Hey. Brought you my world-famous strawberry tea.”

  She eyed it with suspicion. “Stems?”

  “None.”

  “Hmm.” She smiled, took a sip, and then tucked my bangs—which were taking longer than Christmas to grow out—behind my ear. “Delicious. How’s your fish?”

  “Oh. Max? You saw him?”

  “Your daddy showed me.”

  “He’s . . . good.”

  “That’s nice.” She patted my leg again. “You know what, Vilonia? I’m ready to be out of this slump.” Mama leaned her head back on her headboard and closed her eyes.

  Was it possible that after one week, Max’s presence had helped? That library book did say fish watching could reduce anxiety and stress. In a flash, I imagined how much happier our home could be if we adopted a cuddly puppy. The question burned on the tip of my tongue.

  “That’s great, Mama,” I said, leaning over to plant a kiss on her warm cheek. “I believe in you.”

  She looked up at me with those warm chocolatey eyes of hers and whispered, “And I believe in you. Now, skedaddle. All this talking has made me sleepy.”

  I slipped out of her room and found Ava Claire, nose pressed against the bowl, making fish faces at Max.

  My heart stopped. “How is he?”

  “He’s pretty still.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut. “Poodles!”

  AC fished a strawberry from her tea and kept on, “You do know there’s this school rumor that Max is really the seventh or the eleventh goldfish, but Mr. Reyes keeps naming every fish the same.”

  “Yeah,” I whispered, but it didn’t make any difference to me. I needed this fish to live. This Max was proof that I was responsible, capable of following through. Otherwise, Mr. Reyes had every right to remove my name from the Library Helper board. And worse, my parents would never agree to a dog.

  “Hey, he made a flip turn. Maybe he’s bouncing back.” AC tugged on my arm. I sank into a chair.

  “Maybe Dr. Kieklack’s drops were just what the vet ordered.”

  Ava Claire reached for the pitcher of strawberry tea and poured me a glass.

  “To Max,” I said.

  “To Max. Pinkies out.”

  We clinked our mini Mason jars of crystal-pink liquid together and drank up.

  I did, anyway. Ava Claire politely sipped hers like we were at high tea with the queen of England. Wiping off my tea mustache, I plopped my empty jar on the table with a thud right next to the fishbowl.

  “Maximus Tropicana,” I said. “I believe in you, too.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Ava Claire checked the time on the oven clock. “Oh, shoot. I’ve got to meet Neely.” She clicked her thumbs against her fingernails. “I’m trading in these kittens for glitter.”

  Ava Claire was the only fourth grader I knew who had a standing nail appointment every Friday afternoon.

  “We’ll be okay, AC. If his condition changes, I’ll find you.”

  “A girl can never have enough glitter, Vilonia, especially for a major life event. One of these days, I’ll convince you to come to the Posh Palace with me.”

  “Ha!” I about spewed tea across the room. “Not on your life, Ava Claire Nutter. My boring nails are just fine, thank you very much.”

  “Okay, but if you ever change your mind, you know who to call.” Then she leaned across the table and whispered, “But know this. If a big tip comes in, Neely orders vanilla malts from Guy’s Pies and Shakes next door.”

  A smile inched across my face. Ava Claire knew the way to my heart.

  “Thanks for the lovely tea, darling. Toodles,” she said as she slipped out, careful to guide the door shut. Alone with Max, I picked up the care sheet and studied my naked fingernails for a moment. Short, clean, boring. The perfect length for pitching and typing.

  I skimmed the sheet until my eyes found a bold section called Signs of a Healthy Fish. Based on the signs listed—healthy appetite, clear eyes, active swimming, regular breathing—Max’s health stunk. I kept on reading until I reached Common Health Issues.

  “Here goes nothing, Max,” I read aloud. “Common Health Issues. Fungus.” I glanced over at the bowl. I think Max was ignoring me, but I couldn’t be sure. I kept reading anyway. This information concerned him. He had a right to know. It’s not like he could read it himself. “Symptoms of fungus. White cottonlike patches appear on your fish’s body or fins. Check. Loss of appetite. Check. Labored breathing. Uh . . .”

  Max gave me one fin up.

  “Check. Suggested action.” I looked over the top of the page at Max. “This is where we figure out how to fix you, so listen up.”

  Max stayed quiet. I took that as my cue to keep reading.

  “ ‘Test and improve water quality.’ Hmm. That’s got to be what Dr. Kieklack meant by using these drops to restore the water balance. See? They’re already improving your water qu
ality.” The sheet then explained how to change out Max’s water regularly to keep his habitat (a fancy word for home) clean. Free from disease. Yikes.

  A sick feeling sank in my stomach like a piece of gravel dropping to the bottom of Max’s bowl. What if this—Max’s disease—was my fault? Mr. Reyes said he changed the water before sending Max with me. I skimmed the page some more. Uh-oh. There was a warning about using decorative objects that weren’t aquarium approved. Maybe . . . the conch stressed him out, or he cut himself on its rough edge. Dr. Kieklack said that could happen. Or, what if the shell introduced a harmful parasite?

  I sighed and rested my head on the table for a good view of Max. He’d looked so perfect and happy riding home on the bus days ago. Not a white patch anywhere. Maybe he’d been sick for a while, and it took this long to show. The clock on the wall ticked away the seconds. Our refrigerator hummed. I yawned. I guess the stress of the morning had done me in.

  “No offense, Max,” I said, even though he couldn’t possibly know my thoughts.

  But I need not have even worried. Max couldn’t hear me.

  Max was dead.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Dead. Gone. Finished.

  Max’s little fishy body floated belly-up and still. I hunched over his bowl, tears springing to the corners of my eyes.

  “Oh, Max.” My voice caught. “I’m sorry. I tried. I really, really tried. You’ll have the best fish memorial there ever was. Promise.”

  I opened the cabinet and found a teacup with delicate poppies painted inside its rim. We only used it for holidays or special occasions anyway, say when the preacher and his wife visited (which hasn’t happened in a while because of the skunks). I scooped Max into the cup and set him on the kitchen counter while I tried to figure out what to do with him.

  What do you do with your librarian’s dead pet fish? Oh gosh. Oh gosh. I couldn’t think. I mean I could, but it was only about how dead I’d be on Monday when I showed up to school with an empty fishbowl. What would I tell Mr. Reyes? What would I tell my friends? My dad? How was I ever going to get a dog if I couldn’t take care of a fish? One thing at a time, Vi. Breathe.