Hideaway (The Women of Vino and Veritas)

by Rachel Lacey

  I came first, shuddering beneath her as release rushed through me. Taylor watched out of heavy-lidded eyes as she ground herself against my thigh, and then she was coming too. She threw her head back with a cry before lowering herself beside me on the bed. We lay together, panting and grinning like fools.

  “So, welcome to my apartment,” she said once she’d caught her breath. With one hand, she toyed with my hair, something she’d always done. I hadn’t liked it when other girlfriends played with my hair, but something about Taylor’s soft, soothing touch made me melt. Or maybe I hadn’t liked it when other girlfriends played with my hair because it reminded me of Taylor, of our summer together.

  “You have a great bed,” I teased. “Not sure I can offer an opinion on anything else yet.”

  “We’d better fix that, then.” She stood and took my hand, tugging me out of her bed.

  We rinsed off together in a quick shower before we got dressed, and then I took the opportunity to explore her apartment while she popped a pizza in the oven for us. Her bedroom was a nice size, with a full-sized bed and a dresser against the back wall, which was made of white-painted cinder bricks beneath the windows overhead, making the room feel light and bright despite being mostly underground. The other three walls were wood paneled and covered in photos. I saw Taylor’s parents, siblings, and grandparents, plus Minnie and numerous other dogs.

  “How is your family?” I asked. I’d spent many afternoons with the Donovans as a girl, but I hadn’t heard much about them over the years other than what my grandma had told me.

  “Chaotic as ever,” Taylor said, glancing affectionately at the wall of family photos. When I was younger, I’d been so jealous of Taylor’s big, loving family. My parents were always fighting, always pitting me against each other, always making me feel guilty for escaping to Vermont during the summers. “Kelly is married now, with two kids,” Taylor told me, pointing to a photo of her sister with her husband. “Both boys, and they’re a handful, let me tell you.”

  “I bet.” I sat on the edge of the bed as she walked from photo to photo, updating me on her family.

  “Minnie adores them. She’s so good with kids. Just look.” Taylor picked up a photo that sat on the dresser, handing it to me. I saw two little boys with hair the same bright, cinnamon brown as their aunt. Minnie sat between them, tongue out and looking absolutely thrilled to have them hanging all over her.

  “And Luke?” I asked, remembering Taylor’s younger brother as a slightly geeky kid with braces who’d once put mud in our shoes while we were wading in the stream behind my grandma’s house.

  “He got married last summer,” Taylor told me, pointing to another photo that showed a tall, handsome man I would never have recognized as that gawky kid, posing next to a beautiful blonde.

  “Stop,” I said with a giggle. “Little Luke is married?”

  “He’s twenty-seven now,” she told me. “He doesn’t give wedgies anymore or anything.”

  “Oh geez.” I pressed a hand against my forehead. “Life goes on, doesn’t it?”

  “It sure does,” she agreed. “My parents are pretty much the same, just older.”

  “Aw, I miss them,” I said as she handed me another photo, showing an older couple I’d once known so well. They’d been almost like a second set of parents to me, a much warmer, happier version of my own. “Tell them hi for me, will you?”

  She nodded. “I will.”

  We ate pizza together and then got in her SUV to drive into Burlington. V and V was bustling by the time we got there, nearly every bar stool taken and a man with a guitar on the stage in back, singing an acoustic version of Aerosmith’s “Walk this Way.” As much as I enjoyed performing, tonight I couldn’t wait to sit back and enjoy someone else’s music.

  “Oh look, there are Brendan and Elsie,” Taylor said, gesturing toward one of the tables in the middle of the room.

  “Friends of yours?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Mind if we say hello?”

  “I’m the social butterfly between us, remember?” I said, nudging her forward. “I’d love to meet your friends.”

  We crossed the room, and Taylor introduced me to Brendan and Elsie, who seemed thrilled that she’d brought a date to the bar tonight. We dragged over two chairs to join them and spent the next several hours drinking cider and sharing lively conversation. It was one of the best nights I’d had since arriving in Vermont. There were few things I loved more than a night out on the town with friends, and to do it with Taylor made it that much more special.

  As we left later that evening, I hooked my arm through Taylor’s. “I had so much fun tonight.”

  “Me too,” she said, giving me an easy smile.

  “We should do it again.” This was the first time we’d ever hung out together as a couple in a social setting, and I liked it so much.

  “Actually,” she said as she clicked the lock on her SUV. Its lights flashed, and we each climbed into our respective seats. “My cousin Steven is getting married in a few weeks, and I still need a date. My whole family will be there, and I know they’d love to see you. Want to come with me?”

  “As your date?” My breath caught in my throat.

  “Or as my friend,” she said as she started the car. “It’s just a casual wedding at one of the county parks. We’ll have a barbeque and dancing in the picnic shelter.”

  “This feels like a big deal.” I pressed a hand against my chest. Sure, Taylor’s family had always liked me, but they knew me as her friend, not her lover. To attend her cousin’s wedding as her date made our relationship feel real in a way it hadn’t before.

  “It’s just a casual thing,” she said, lips pinched as if she was already regretting her invitation. “A chance for you to catch up with my family.”

  But whether she realized it yet or not, this would be a turning point in our relationship. She could pretend this was just a summer fling, but if I went to the wedding, I would be giving our relationship permanence by letting her family know it existed. I couldn’t go back to Boston this time and pretend it never happened, nor did I want to. Her family would want updates. They’d want to know what happened if I left town.

  I took her hand. “I would love to go as your wedding date.”

  24

  Taylor

  Looking back, I should have seen a bump coming, because our first two weeks together had just been too easy. When my phone rang in the dark hours of the night, fear gripped my stomach before I’d even opened my eyes. No good news ever came at this hour. I fumbled for my phone, dislodging Minnie from where she lay pressed against me. Phoebe’s name gleamed on my screen.

  “Phoebe?” I mumbled as I connected the call, my voice rough and scratchy from sleep. “Everything okay?”

  “No,” she said, and her voice sounded too loud in my ear, almost like she was shouting. “Something’s wrong with Cherry. She’s listless and cold. I already called Dr. Thompson and left a message, but I don’t know what to do.”

  I blew out a breath. This was bad, but it was nothing I hadn’t dealt with before. Foster pets had medical emergencies all the time, especially since they often came into the shelter from less-than-ideal situations. We did everything we could for every single one of them, and I grieved when one passed away, but I tried to keep an emotional distance, since they weren’t mine. If I got my heart broken every time one died, eventually it would drain my spirit.

  “I’ve got Dr. Thompson’s home number,” I told Phoebe. “I’ll give her a call, and she’ll probably be able to meet us at her office, but if not, she’ll give me the number of the local vet who’s covering for her tonight. There are a few. In the meantime, I need you to get dressed and get that portable heating pad I gave you, the one that heats up in the microwave. Warm it up for Cherry, and then you can put her in a box with the heating pad for the ride to the vet. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Okay,” she whispered, but I heard her voice tremble. She’d had a soft spot for Cherry ever
since her dramatic entrance into the world, and this might be the first time Phoebe had dealt with a pet’s medical emergency. It could be terrifying. I knew that well. “Thanks for coming with me,” she said.

  “Of course.” I told her. I could have just given her the vet’s info and asked her to call me with an update. That’s what I would have done for any of my other foster homes, but this was Phoebe, and she was important to me. Not to mention, she was an inexperienced first-time foster parent who I’d pushed into taking on a challenging case. “I’m going to hang up now so I can make those calls. You start getting ready, and I’ll call you right back.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “Bye.”

  I ended the call and dialed Dr. Thompson at home. It rang long enough that I thought it was going to go to voicemail, and then she picked up, sounding sleepy but alert. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Dr. Thompson. It’s Taylor Donovan. Sorry to wake you, but I have an emergency with one of Violet’s puppies.”

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, now sounding wide awake.

  “Phoebe says she’s listless and cold. It’s Cherry, the littlest puppy, the one who wasn’t breathing when she was born.”

  “Right.” I could hear her jotting something down. “Her heart and lungs sounded good at her exam, but there may be something going on internally that I wasn’t aware of. Can you have Phoebe meet me at the clinic in thirty minutes?”

  “Yes. Thank you so much. I’ll be there too.”

  “I’ll see you then.” With a click, she was gone.

  I scrambled out of bed, and Minnie moved in to take my spot, resting her fluffy face on my pillow while she watched me get dressed. In the corner, Blue watched from inside his crate. I threw on jeans and a T-shirt while I called Phoebe to update her, and then I went into the bathroom. Five minutes later, I was in my car, headed for the clinic.

  My headlights sliced through the night as I finally thought to glance at the clock. It was almost three in the morning. I navigated the winding roads easily in the dark, having lived here my whole life, but a little part of me was worried about Phoebe doing the same. Maybe I should have offered to pick her up.

  I caught movement out of the corner of my eye a moment before a deer leaped in front of my car. Instinctively, my foot was on the brake almost before I’d realized what was happening. The seat belt caught, keeping me upright as the tires squealed and the car swung. My stomach swooped while shock prickled through my system.

  The car screeched to a stop, headlights blazing into the dense trees in front of me. I gripped the steering wheel, gasping for breath while I gathered my wits. I was okay. I hadn’t hit the deer. There had been no impact. I was sure about that part. I’d spun the car ninety degrees and was now sitting broadside across the road.

  I backed up and straightened out the car before someone came along and hit me, pulling to the side of the road for a minute to recover. I forced myself to take slow, deep breaths until my heart rate slowed and my hands stopped shaking so badly. Then I pulled back onto the road, because Phoebe was waiting for me at the clinic.

  I drove more slowly this time as my eyes darted from one side of the road to the other, wary of every shadow. Fifteen minutes later, I pulled into the vet’s parking lot. A single streetlamp illuminated the small lot in its yellowish glow, revealing Phoebe’s purple Nissan.

  I shut off the engine and climbed out of my SUV, crossing quickly to her car. I slid into the passenger seat, lifting the small box there into my lap. Cherry was inside, snuggled in a blanket and not moving.

  “Thanks for coming,” Phoebe said in a hushed voice.

  “Of course.” I reached over to rest my hand on hers as I looked down at the puppy. “She really doesn’t look good, does she?”

  “It happened so fast,” Phoebe said. “I mean, her growth has always been the slowest, but she’s been on a steady curve.”

  “She may have had something going on inside her since she was born that we didn’t know about, and it’s just manifested to the point that it’s causing outward symptoms. That happens a lot in young puppies, when their bodies are growing so fast.”

  “Will she be okay?” Phoebe asked.

  “I have no idea,” I told her honestly. “But if she’s not, please don’t blame yourself. You’ve done everything for her that you possibly could.”

  Phoebe blew out a breath. “That’s not very reassuring.”

  “She might be perfectly fine,” I told her. “But when things go wrong in tiny puppies, sometimes there’s nothing we can do. Hopefully we’ll know more in a few minutes.”

  Headlights illuminated the parking lot behind us, and Dr. Thompson’s SUV turned into the lot. Seconds later, she was motioning us toward the front door as she unlocked it for us.

  Phoebe stood from the car and leaned over to take the box from my lap. “Thank you so much for coming out in the middle of the night,” she said to the vet.

  “It’s part of the job,” Dr. Thompson said. “And I’m happy to do it.”

  We followed her into the clinic and directly into the exam room. She flipped on lights as she walked, and we all blinked against the sudden fluorescent glow.

  “This is the runt, correct?” she asked as she took the box from Phoebe’s hands.

  She nodded. “Cherry Parfait.”

  “Right.” Dr. Thompson’s lips twitched with a smile as she lifted the puppy out of the box. “Our littlest rose.”

  Phoebe and I watched as she examined the puppy, who let out a high-pitched squeal as she was removed from her cozy nest. Cherry’s little feet waved in the air as Dr. Thompson listened to her heart and lungs. She looked at Cherry’s eyes and ears, listened to her heart and lungs, and then gently prodded her abdomen, prompting another squeal.

  “Well,” she said as she tucked Cherry back into her box, nestled against the heating pad. “I’m feeling some enlargement in her liver.”

  “Oh no,” Phoebe gasped, gripping the edge of the exam room table.

  “I’d like to run some bloodwork, and depending on the results, I’m probably going to refer you to the veterinary hospital in Burlington.”

  Phoebe nodded, her eyes wide. “Is that bad? Enlargement in her liver? It sounds bad.”

  “Anything is potentially serious when we’re talking about a puppy this young,” the vet told her. “But it could be benign and treatable. We’ll know more once we’ve run some tests. I’m going to take her in back for a minute to draw some blood.” She lifted the box and left through the door at the other side of the exam room.

  Phoebe turned toward me, and I wrapped her in my arms. She pressed her face against my shoulder, and I rubbed a hand up and down her back.

  “It’s going to be okay,” I told her.

  “She’s so little. Fostering is hard,” she murmured against my shirt. “I didn’t expect to get this emotionally attached.”

  “Occupational hazard of the foster mom,” I said.

  Dr. Thompson returned a few minutes later with Cherry in her box. “I’ll send her bloodwork to be processed as soon as the lab opens. In the meantime, I gave her some extra fluids. The hospital in Burlington will be expecting your call once they open at eight.”

  “So I just take her home for now?” Phoebe asked.

  The vet nodded. “She’s best off resting at home with Violet and her siblings until her appointment at the hospital.”

  We thanked her for her help and walked outside into the dimly lit parking lot. Around us, the woods were dark and quiet. I tucked Cherry’s box into Phoebe’s car and turned to her. “If you need anything, I’m only a phone call away.”

  25

  Phoebe

  I sat alone in the exam room of the ironically named Cherry Street Veterinary Clinic in Burlington later that morning, waiting for Cherry and wishing Taylor were here with me. She was at work, although she’d told me she could probably leave early if I needed her.

  I needed her, all right, and not just because Cherry was sick. Lately, I couldn’t
seem to get enough of Taylor. The cabin was almost ready to rent, but I wasn’t ready to leave. I wanted to see things through for Violet and the puppies if I could. I’d done several financial consultations for local businesses over the last few weeks, and it had given me enough spending money to stay…for now.

  Cherry’s bloodwork had indeed shown elevated liver enzymes, and now she was somewhere in back, undergoing an ultrasound to see what was going on with her liver. This was all so much more than I’d signed up for when I came to Vermont. I’d only wanted a place to hide for a little while, and here I was a month later, completely smitten with Taylor and awaiting medical news on a tiny foster puppy whose wellbeing had become unexpectedly important to me.

  The door to the exam room opened, and the vet entered. He was a few years older than me, with blond hair and a friendly smile.

  “Emmett Moore,” he said, extending a hand.

  I stood and took it. “Phoebe Shaw.”

  “Your foster puppy has had quite a rough day.” His expression was empathetic, which I appreciated, but the fact that Cherry wasn’t with him seemed like bad news.

  “Is she all right?” I asked.

  “The ultrasound showed a large mass on her liver,” he told me, and my stomach dipped. “I’d like to get her in for emergency surgery to remove it.”

  “Oh, wow.” I swallowed. “Is it cancer?”

  “We won’t know that until we biopsy the mass after it’s removed, but in a puppy her age, it’s probably benign. We see these types of tumors develop sometimes. It may have been growing undetected since birth, given the difficulties she’s had.”

  “So you can do surgery on a puppy that little?” I asked, hoping it wasn’t a stupid question.

  “Yes, we can. I know it’s hard to think about, but she’s in good hands, I promise.”