My Sunshine

by Catherine Anderson

  “Hi!” Trish turned from a cat cage. Her welcoming smile faded the instant she saw his face. “Uh-oh. Problems?”

  “Nothing related to here.” Liar. Laura was carving out a place for herself at the clinic, proving to be a valuable asset. He had to get his head screwed on straight where she was concerned. Men who lusted after female subordinates were slimeballs, and he wouldn’t allow himself to go there. “Just feeling out of sorts.”

  “Laura brought in homemade cookies—the big, fat, chewy kind with gobs of milk-chocolate chips. They should cheer you up.”

  Isaiah almost groaned. Laura, Laura, Laura. In almost every conversation, her name seemed to crop up. Determined to focus on his work, Isaiah glanced over his roster for the day. Sure enough, Roger Petty had a one-thirty appointment with Isaiah for his quarter horse gelding, Rusty. Bad limp, right front leg. Isaiah hoped it was nothing serious. The old guy loved that horse as if it were a child.

  Rolling up his shirtsleeves, Isaiah stepped to the sink to wash his hands. When he turned to grab a paper towel, Trish went up on her tiptoes in front of him and shoved a cookie in his face.

  “Come on. Big bite. Chocolate brightens the mood.”

  Just the smell was enough to lift Isaiah’s spirits. Breakfast, a half bag of cheese puffs that he’d eaten while driving, had been six hours ago. He took a huge bite of the cookie.

  As he started to chew, Trish added, “Some studies say that chocolate gives people the same feeling they get when they’re falling in love.” Isaiah froze with his teeth imbedded in yummy chunks of chocolate. The last thing he needed was a hormone enhancer. Unfortunately, the chips were already melting over his tongue, and he was only human. What normal, rational person could resist swallowing?

  The cookie was delicious. Isaiah practically inhaled the rest of it and grabbed two more from a deep orange party tray trimmed with little black witches. As he ate, he decided there was some truth to the old adage that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach.

  After Laura finished decorating the waiting area, she moved on to Tucker’s wing of the clinic in the hope that Isaiah might be busy in the examining rooms by the time she was ready to tackle his. No such luck. He was in the middle of an operation on a gray tabby when she entered the south-wing surgery.

  At the sound of the door closing behind her, he glanced up and gave her a long, contemplative look. Accustomed to a friendlier reception, Laura wondered if she’d done something wrong.

  Trish, looking like a masked elf beside her tall employer, flicked Laura a mischievous look. “There you are. If your ears have been burning, it’s because we’ve been talking about you.”

  Belinda turned from cleaning an observation cage. “Yeah, lady,” she said with a grin, “you’re in big trouble.”

  Laura sent Isaiah a questioning glance. He caught the look and finally winked. “Not in a bad way,” he assured her. “We’re just grateful for the cookies, is all. They’re delicious.”

  “I’ll say. And the trays are totally cute. Puts me more in the mood for Halloween.” Using her forearm, Trish scratched her nose through the surgical mask. “Hurry up and finish here, Isaiah. I’m hungry for another cookie.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Isaiah bent to resume his work. “By the way, Laura, I understand that you and your grandmother are invited to have Thanksgiving dinner at my parents’ house.”

  “Thanksgiving?” Belinda wadded soiled newspaper in her hands. “Puh-lease. Can’t we get Halloween out of the way first?”

  Trish laughed. “Heck, no. We’ll be on the holiday fast track for the next two months.”

  Belinda huffed and rolled her eyes.

  With Laura’s parents living in Florida and her sister in Portland, she had been counting on spending the holiday with her grandmother. “I haven’t talked to Gram,” she settled for saying. “And she’s said nothing about going to your parents’ for Thanks-giving.”

  He didn’t look up. “Well, it’s early on. My mother always plans everything for the holidays well in advance. I was just wondering if you might be there.” He dabbed sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his lab coat. “No big deal if you have other plans.”

  Pleasure radiated through Laura, suffusing her whole body with warmth. He wanted to know if she’d be having Thanksgiving dinner at his parents’ house. She couldn’t help but wonder if that meant he was hoping she might. The thought no sooner came than Laura pushed it from her mind. Dangerous ground. Where this man was concerned, she needed to keep her feet firmly rooted in reality. He thought of her as a friend, nothing more.

  “Gram hasn’t said any-thing. But that’d be fun,” she heard herself say.

  “If you guys decide to be there, you’d better brush up on your checkers game then,” he said with a grin. “I’m the all-time champion.”

  Laura had always enjoyed checkers, and it was one of the few games that she could still play. “I’m not so bad myself.”

  His eyes crinkled at the corners, a sure sign that he was smiling. Then he gave her a thumbs-up and returned his attention to the cat. “Uh-oh. I don’t like the looks of that.”

  Trish followed his gaze. “Does it look malignant?”

  “Shit.” Isaiah sighed wearily. “We’d better do a biopsy.”

  Trish stepped over to a cupboard. “Shania and Trevor love chocolate-chip cookies, Laura. Can I have your recipe?”

  Laura was staring at the unconscious cat and thinking of its owners. If the feline had cancer, they might have to put it down. “What?” She refocused on Trish. “I’m sorry.”

  “Christ,” Isaiah said softly. “This is cancer.”

  Returning to the table with a clear plastic slide, Trish replied to Laura’s question. “I said I’d like your cookie recipe.”

  “Sure.” Laura pushed the word up a tight throat. “I’ll copy it for—”

  “Son of a bitch. There’s more than one tumor. Forehead.” Isaiah angled his head toward Trish so she could wipe the sweat from his brow. Then he bent low again, intent on his work. “What rotten luck. She thinks the world of this cat.”

  Belinda abandoned her task to approach the table. “Oh, no. We can’t lose him, Isaiah. Mrs. Palmer will be heartsick.”

  Trish’s brows knitted in concern. “How bad, do you think?”

  Beneath the mask that covered the lower half of his face, Laura could see Isaiah’s jaw muscle ticking. “I don’t know if I can get it all. But I’m sure as hell going to try. No wonder he’s been off his food. Poor fellow’s eaten up.”

  Trish looked at Laura. “Have you met Mrs. Palmer?”

  Laura shook her head.

  “She’s a sweetheart,” Belinda inserted. “A little old lady. Seymour is all she’s got now. Her husband died about six months ago.”

  Isaiah swore again. Laura’s heart hurt for him. In that moment there was such anguish in his eyes.

  “Jesus.” The whispered word was like a shout. He straightened and closed his eyes. “Hold the fort for me,” he told Trish. “I have to go call her.” He ripped off the mask as he stepped away from the table. “Be right back.”

  Laura’s stomach rolled with nausea as he left the surgery. Trish stood over the cat, her eyes devoid of the mischief that was so characteristic of her. Belinda returned to cleaning cages, her expression glum.

  “This is the downside of veterinary medicine,” Trish said huskily. “That isn’t going to be a fun phone call for him to make.” She stroked the cat’s head. “Poor kitty.” She hauled in a deep breath. “Better this way than how some of them go. He’ll just never wake up. Off he goes to Rainbow Ridge.”

  “Rainbow Ridge?” Laura echoed.

  Belinda interrupted with, “Not that ridge bunk again. Animals don’t have souls, Trish. Therefore they don’t go to heaven.”

  “They do so,” Trish argued, “and Rainbow Ridge is where they wait for their owners—a wonderful place halfway between here and heaven. They romp and play there in animal paradise, waiting for their owners
to join them for the rest of the journey to heaven.”

  Laura hugged her waist. To her horror, she realized that she was about to cry. It didn’t help any to see tears in Trish’s eyes.

  “I hate days like this,” Trish said. “I wish we could save all of them.”

  “Yeah, well, we can’t,” Belinda said brusquely, kneeing the garbage can ahead of her as she advanced on another cage. “If you’re going to last in this field, Trish, you can’t be a bleeding heart. You’ll burn out.”

  Laura thought of her grandpa Jim, who’d left them a little over two years ago. The doctor who’d come out afterward had held her grandmother’s hands and gotten tears in his eyes as he’d given her the news. There was life, and then there was death; it was a sad reality that no one could escape. The doctor who held himself apart was in grave danger of losing his compassion.

  Isaiah reentered the surgery just then. He didn’t speak, didn’t make eye contact with anyone. He went directly to a cupboard, withdrew a vial, and filled a hypodermic needle with clear liquid. When he approached the table without washing his hands or putting on another mask, Laura knew what he was about to do. Moments later a hushed silence fell over the room as he bent to press a stethoscope to the cat’s chest.

  “Does she want him cremated?” Trish asked, her voice still oddly thick.

  “No, she wants to take him home,” Isaiah replied.

  “Does she have kids in town?” Belinda asked. “She can’t bury him by herself. She’s a little old lady. The ground is starting to freeze.”

  “I’ll run over and do it.” Isaiah turned the edges of the surgical sheet over the cat and carried it from the chamber.

  Trish shook her head and gave Laura a sad look. “Like he has time to do that. He’s such a sweetie sometimes.”

  Laura found Isaiah in his office, tipped back in his chair, one arm angled over his eyes, his feet propped on the desk. At the sound of her entrance he bolted upright, his boots slapping the floor with a loud thump. She could tell by his expression that he was embarrassed to have been caught grieving. Why, she didn’t know. His ability to care was one of the things she found most wonderful about him.

  “Laura.” He swiveled to face her and flashed a stiff grin. “What are you still doing here?”

  Laura thought it was more appropriate to ask what he was doing there. He had patients waiting for routine exams and inoculations. All the examining rooms were full, and the waiting area was becoming crowded. It wasn’t like Isaiah to keep people waiting. In fact, she’d never once known him to neglect his duties. The fact that he had chosen to now told her a great deal.

  “I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am about Seymour.”

  He grimaced and forced another smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Ah, well. You win some, you lose some—no big deal.”

  Only it was a big deal. He was feeling sad, and Laura ached for him. She’d seen the look in his eyes when he’d realized the extent of the cancer. She’d also seen the grim resignation on his face as he had administered the lethal injection. Until now she’d never stopped to think of all the sadness that came with this man’s profession. She’d thought only of how talented he was and how that talent opened doors for him that were forever closed to her.

  “They’re all a big deal.” Laura broke off to swallow. “A little old lady lost her only friend. If you didn’t feel awful about that, what kind of vet would you be?”

  “A happier one?” He ran a hand over his hair and propped his elbows on the desk. Passing a hand over his eyes, he softly confessed, “Okay, I feel like shit. I admit it. Feeling like shit goes with the territory.”

  Laura sank onto the chair where she had interviewed for her job. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

  “She’s all alone,” he whispered. “Seymour was all she had left. I learned in college not to let things like this get to me. I guess it didn’t stick. She’s such a sweet old gal. She brought Seymour in because he’d been off his food. When I saw a mass in the X-rays, I hoped it was benign.”

  Laura knew that a lot of people, Belinda included, might remind him that Seymour was only a cat. But she’d been present the morning before last when it had been Humphrey on the table. To this man, all animals were important.

  “You can’t save them all. It’s the same with people. When we get old and our bodies wear out, it’s over.”

  He nodded. “I know.” His mouth twisted. “It’s just hard when I’m the one making the decisions and putting them down. It’s particularly hard when I know a sweet old lady trusted me so implicitly and put her whole world in my hands.”

  Laura could almost feel his pain and couldn’t think of anything comforting to say.

  “She didn’t expect that phone call,” he said hoarsely. “She thought I’d perform a miracle, that Seymour would come home tomorrow feeling better.” He grimaced and slumped his shoulders. “She can’t afford the bill. She’s on Social Security. I think Seymour ate better than she did.”

  “How sad.”

  “Yeah.” He shrugged and rubbed his jaw. “I’ll play around with the charges. She’ll have to pay the fixed costs. Tucker and I jointly purchase the inventory. But I can shave off a lot by not charging for my services.”

  Laura wanted to hug him. “That’s very kind of you, Isaiah.”

  “Kind? I killed her cat.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Damn. I know she’s sobbing her heart out right now. It just makes me sick.”

  When Laura left his office moments later, she did so with a heavy heart.

  About six that evening, Isaiah was about to wrap up for the day when Laura appeared unexpectedly in his surgery. Bundled up against the cold in a pink parka with fake-fur trim on the hood, she looked adorable, her eyes shimmering with excite-ment, her cheeks flushed from the evening chill. Hands crossed over her chest, she appeared to be hiding something under her coat.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, even though he felt absurdly pleased to see her.

  Cheek dimpling in a conspiratorial smile, she said, “I have an emer-gency.”

  His heart caught. “What happened?”

  She stepped closer, parting the front of the jacket. A fluffy gray tabby kitten was curled against her breast, sound asleep. “This poor baby came crying at my door. He’s a stray, and I can’t have pets.”

  “Uh-oh.” Isaiah couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a joke and he had somehow missed the punch line.

  “I have to find a home for him,” she went on in that slow, halting way of hers. “Do you know any-one who might take him, someone special who’ll love him? Maybe a little old lady who just lost her kitty?”

  Isaiah stepped closer. The kitten was the exact same color as Seymour. “Ho,” he said, the utterance more an exclamation of amazement than a word. “My God, he’s perfect! Where in hell did you find him?”

  “On my porch.” She fixed him with an innocent look. “That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.”

  Isaiah didn’t buy it. Coincidences happened, of course, but Laura’s self-satisfied expression told him that wasn’t the case this time. “Seriously, Laura, where’d you find him? He’s a miniature version of Seymour.”

  She cupped a gentle hand over the sleeping kitten. “The shelter was a dead end, so I looked in last night’s paper. He was at the last house I checked. And he’s a male. Lucky, huh?”

  Isaiah felt as if a golf ball had gotten stuck behind his larynx. He stared stupidly at Laura’s sweet face. In that moment she seemed to glow, looking more angel than human. He couldn’t quite believe she’d spent her whole afternoon combing Crystal Falls for a gray tabby kitten that looked exactly like Seymour. It was such a kind thing for her to have done—and way beyond the call of duty. She had never even met Mrs. Palmer.

  Belinda emerged from the cloakroom just then. “What’s up?” she asked when she glimpsed Isaiah’s stunned expression.

  Prying his gaze from Laura’s uplifted countenance, Isaiah replied, “A kitten for Mrs. P
almer. Laura spent her whole afternoon responding to classified ads, trying to find a gray tabby.”

  Belinda came over to see the kitten. “Oh, isn’t he sweet?”

  Laura was the sweet one, Isaiah thought, but he refrained from saying so. The two women cooed and awwed over the sleeping kitten for a moment. Then Laura shifted her gaze back to Isaiah, her expression expectant.

  “Well, what do you think?” she asked. “If we dump him in her lap and tell her he’s homeless, do you think she’ll sucker in?”

  Isaiah burst out laughing, the sadness that had plagued him all afternoon vanishing. “Of course she’ll sucker in. If she hesitates, I’ll give her my famous spay-and-neuter speech about the glut of kittens in our area and how many are destroyed each week because they can’t find homes.”

  Belinda grinned at Laura. “Trust me, he’s got that spiel down pat. Mrs. Palmer won’t be able to say no.”

  “You should have seen her when I was digging the grave this afternoon,” Isaiah said. His heart panged at the memory. “She sat on the back porch, cradling Seymour in her arms and sobbing. There was nothing I could say or do to make her feel better. She looked so alone that I hated to leave her.”

  Laura lifted the kitten to her cheek. “She won’t be alone now.”

  Mrs. Palmer lived in an old double-wide mobile home with a covered front patio chock-full of yard furniture and decorations, many of them plywood cutouts that had been artfully painted. A mobile of bluebirds dangled from an exposed rafter beam. From another hung a little boy and girl perched on swing seats. Near the front porch a bearded old farmer in blue overalls held a WELCOME sign in gnarled hands. There was so much to see that Laura could scarcely take it all in.

  “Her husband was a woodworker,” Isaiah explained. “When he retired, he stayed busy making yard stuff to sell.”

  Laura was admiring a collection of cutout ani-mals crowded around the steps: raccoons, rabbits, squirrels, and countless others that were lost in the throng, all of them darling. “He was very good. Look at that robin. Doesn’t it look real?”