Hart & Stocker

by Max Ellendale

  "Do I?"

  She nodded, leaning her glass on her knee. "What's up?"

  "Had an argument with my sister and haven't been talking to her."

  "About what?"

  I wrestled with the idea of telling her the truth. Would it fracture our fragile friendship as it was, or would she roll with it? I had a go at something in the middle. "Sometimes my family treats me like I'm unable to make my own decisions. That everything I do is impulsive or unimportant. I know they love me, but that doesn't mean they accept all of me. The part about being gay is the easiest. Everything else?" I shook my head. "They suck at sometimes."

  "All family's suck sometimes," she said. "Like when my mother tore me out of school and the place that I loved to drag me to Seattle with her."

  "That must've been really hard…"

  "It was. But it was easier to be bi in Seattle."

  "That's true. It was easier to be gay there as well. We have that in common." My mouth twitched with a sad smile. "And we both lost our dads in our thirties."

  "We did. How did your dad die?"

  "Heart attack. I know your Dad's death was kind of sudden as well."

  "It was, but he was almost eighty and died in his sleep. Expectedly unexpected," she said, reaching for the bottle then refilling both our glasses. "I visited him the weekend before. So I carry a sense of closure about it. I got to be with him, you know?"

  "Yeah. I understand that. Thanks." I pulled the glass to my lips and drew deeply that time. "How's your mom doing?"

  "She's living her Seattle ex-wives club privileged class life. I don't see her much. Like your family, she thinks I'm incapable of making sound decisions after what happened," she said, downing her entire glass in one go after that.

  "Easy there, killer." I placed my hand on top of her glass when she lowered it. "Or I'm cutting you off."

  "I didn't mean to get that drunk the night you took me home," she confessed as I pulled my hand back.

  "I know. What happened that day?"

  "It was just a bad day and I didn't pay attention. I just wanted everything to stop." Dax's conversation tonight, the full and complete disclosures, surprised me.

  "You're dancing around something, Dax. I'd like for you to tell me what happened, but I also want you to be ready to do that."

  She set her glass on the end table, and her attention wandered to something over my shoulder. I let her fade for the moment, though it wasn't as long of a quiet as usual.

  "Maybe I shouldn't right now," she said, gazing at the bookshelf in the corner.

  "I'll honor that. Any reason why?"

  "Because I can tell you have no bra on and your tits are fucking pretty." She pointed to the books. "Have you read them all?"

  I nearly choked on my drink, and coughed a few drops out of my lungs. "My what—read?" Nothing I said made sense and Dax laughed at me.

  "Have you read all the books on your shelf?"

  "Yes." I pulled a pillow into my lap, and hugged it against my chest. My cheeks burned, and my mind spiraled as I tried to process what she said.

  "Aw, don't do that." She rolled forward and grabbed the corner of the pillow, yanking it away. "I was enjoying it."

  "Dax, you can't say things like that to me. It makes me feel confused," I admitted while fussing with where to put my arms.

  "Why does it confuse you?" She didn't move back to her seat. Instead, she sat in front of me, not touching but the heat of her radiated against my leg.

  "Because friends don't reference each other's body parts like that…"

  "I already told you I don't want a friend." Her edge returned, and her lips pursed to a thin line as if she were about to rage. She ran her fingers through her hair a bit roughly, and when her hand fell back to her lap, she brushed her fingers over my bracelet that remained on her wrist.

  As I'd learned, I drew a slow breath to calm myself, forcing my energy to quell. Dax leaned her elbow on the back of the sofa. She avoided my gaze, and all the exuberance she came over with dissipated. Her energy folded in on itself, and when I shifted my position, she started faintly, and recoiled by pulling her knees closer to her chest.

  "You know what I would do right now if I hadn't made you a promise a few weeks ago?" I asked, keeping my voice soft.

  Her attention fell on something in the kitchen and she shook her head.

  "I promised you that I wouldn't touch you. And I haven't. But if I hadn't made that promise, I would give your hand a squeeze. Or touch your hair while you put your head on that pillow there. Because I want so very badly to soothe you, or make you feel better," I told her, leaning a bit closer to her to rest my elbow on the back of the sofa a few inches from hers. "For the record though, you're allowed to touch me. I'm okay with you touching me."

  My words seemed to catch her, and I imagined them wrapping around her ankle before she floated too far up into the atmosphere. She met my gaze again, her eyes surveying me as if analyzing me for truth.

  "The last time I touched you, I nearly killed you." She smirked after she said it and I laughed.

  "And you enjoyed every minute of it. Admit it."

  "I did." The flat expression on her face cracked when her lips curved into a smile. "It was hilarious."

  "Asshole." I grinned, both at her joke and in celebration of waking her from the glaze of, what I was beginning to identify as pain.

  "I'm really good at being an asshole."

  "You probably catch a lot of bad guys because of it though. Yeah?"

  "Truth," she said, and finally looked at me again.

  Luscious greens looked in on me, as if reading deeper than they should. I found myself starting at the delicate femaleness of her features hidden beneath the rough exterior, and the splattering of freckles over her nose.

  Daringly, I held out my pinky finger, the way my friends and I always did in middle school when making clandestine promises. "Can you handle this?"

  She hesitated only briefly, before linking her pinky with mine.

  ***

  "Willa?" Nellie called while I reviewed blood work for a few patients.

  Vet techs scuttled around me, while Doctor Harmon reached over my shoulder to grab a chart. On Saturday morning, the busy office burst to life. Dogs barked, cats hissed, puppies whined, and an incapacitated squirrel slept in a small carrier perched on Nellie's desk.

  "What's up, Nell?" I set the paperwork in the filing box and headed out front.

  "We've got a call out by Bell Creek. A new foal is having some trouble," she said, handing me the note with the address. "Do you want it or Doctor H?"

  "I'll take it. He has patients in the office today. I'm pretty much done."

  "Do you need one of the techs out with you?"

  "I'm good." I tucked the address in my pocket, snatched my phone, and headed out.

  Farmland stretched for miles, cradled between waterways and hills. Mobile homes and RVs interspersed among the small houses led the way toward the more rural parts of the rural area, so to speak. While alone in the truck, without the chaos of the work week, I thought about my Thursday night with Dax. Part of me still rocked with confusion at her declaration for not wanting to be friends. It hurt because I wanted to be her friend. I liked talking to her and spending time with her. In between our random meetings, we had no contact. I didn't have her number, though I knew she had the number to my office. Maybe it was for the best that we kept things without the attachment of easy communication.

  I drove up the extensive driveway, my tires on the loose dirt announcing my arrival. In front of an old barn, a few folks waited for me. The woman, who I knew as Mrs. Tully, approached as soon as I parked.

  "Doc Hart, we got ourselves quite a problem." She waved for me to follow her after I grabbed my bag. "This little one's got 'imself a right round belly and he ain't got much interest in nursin', you'll see." In her soiled overalls, worn-in boots, and dirt-covered hands, the fifty-something woman appeared ready to till the soil of an entire farm, right down t
o her straw hat.

  "How was he right after birth?" I asked, following her through the line of waiting people each clad in a similar getup.

  Mrs. Tully entered before me, moving to the mare and taking hold of her lead. Her horse welcomed her presence, while Mrs. Tully soothed her.

  The mare gave me some side-eye when I approached her baby. I steadied my breathing, before taking to my knees in front of the foal. He lay there, alert but with obvious discomfort. He wasn't standing and I could see the distention in his belly.

  "He was doin' his job for the first hour or two, then ya see what we got goin' on here." Mrs. Tully gestured to the foal. A few family members looked on, though said nothing.

  "Hey, little guy," I said, stroking the foal while examining him. "Looks like you got a belly ache. And I'm in for a messy afternoon, yeah?" I smiled while poking at him here and there, then had a look at his rear. "He probably has meconium impactions, Mrs. Tully. Has he defecated at all?"

  "No, ma'am." She shook her head.

  "I'll get him set up with an enema to start, and we might be able to clear that right up," I said, stroking the foal's forehead before checking his mouth. "Some fluids and pain relievers."

  "A'right, Doc. You do what you gotta do."

  And that was how I spent Saturday afternoon.

  It took a few hours for the foal to make several messes, but by the time the mid-afternoon rolled around, he was nursing again and on his feet. With promises to return in the morning, I left the happier foal and his doting family for the time being. On the way home, my phone rang and Sage's name popped up. I thought about ignoring it, and gave in anyway.

  "Hey," I said, with less enthusiasm than usual. My old timey truck didn't have any dashboard Bluetooth so I relied on speakerphone.

  "Hi."

  Crickets.

  "Sage, look—"

  "I'm sorry, Will. For being judgy."

  "It's okay." Even though it wasn't, I knew she was looking out for me. Sage meant well, she always did. Sometimes having my sister as my best friend brought us to tumultuous territory.

  "Come to Rooney's?" she asked, her voice hopeful.

  "I'm covered in shit."

  "C'mon. Make Doctor Harmon take over."

  "I'm literally covered in horse shit, Sage." I laughed and the tension in our conversation faded.

  She joined my laughter, and I imagined her bright smile lighting up the sullen features that she carried when upset. "You sound like Dad."

  "He did say that a lot, didn't he?"

  "All the time." She quieted for a moment. "You remind me of him…"

  "I remind myself of him." I smiled at the memory of my ornery, silly father who I missed very much. "I'm going to go hose myself off. Maybe I'll come by after."

  "Okay. Love you, sissy."

  "Love you, too, Sage."

  I pulled up to the office, which still had patients coming and going, and parked in my usual spot. Instead of going up to the apartment, I headed to the backyard to hose myself off. From torso to toe, in cold hose water, I rinsed myself as always.

  To my right, Joanna appeared around the corner, walking one of the dogs we were boarding for the day. The pretty blue pitbull wagged his tail when he saw me, then bolted over to the water as it pattered the ground. Joanna laughed at the playful pup as she held fast to the end of his leash. He pulled her tiny frame along, though she dug her heels in when needed.

  "Hey, Brando. Looking good." I gave him a firm pat while letting him lap at the water.

  "Messy day, Doc?"

  "Extremely. How are things here?" I asked, peeling off my boots and socks, then setting them in the sun to dry.

  "Pretty good. Doctor Harmon is cool. Not as cool as you, but cool. And the patients like him. He saved a hamster today. Did you know?" she said, taking the hose from me and making the water bounce around Brando's feet so he could keep playing and jumping at it.

  "I did not. That sounds heroic." I grinned at the notice. "What happened?"

  "The hamster ate a LEGO. He has been de-LEGOed." She chuckled, then turned off the hose when Brando lost interest. "He has to have a poo. I better take him."

  "Have fun, Jo." I broke away from her and trotted up the steps to my apartment.

  On the covered balcony, I ditched my pants and shirt, then carried them in to the house to toss in the washer. Everything else followed, and I ended my journey with a shower.

  When I emerged from my bedroom, I found my mother wandering about the kitchen. I quickly buttoned my shirt, and pulled the comb from between my teeth.

  "Ma? What are you doing here?" I zipped my jeans, and double-checked to make sure the rest of me was covered.

  "Your father and I used to have raging parties up here when you girls were little." She grinned as she slid up to sit on the bar stool by the island. "We'd leave you home with Grandma, and come here to party."

  "Mom." I laughed as I joined her in the kitchen, setting the comb on the counter after smoothing out my hair. "Are you telling me that I'm living in your orgy den?"

  "Slightly." She snickered, reaching across the space between us to squeeze my arm. "I'm kidding. Don't vom."

  I nearly choked, laughing at her and the slang. "Did you just say vom?"

  She lifted her shoulders in a dramatic shrug. "My best friend is six."

  "Aw, Ma. That's cute."

  "It is." She sighed, leaning against the counter while smiling at me. "Willa, have you spoken to Sage? She's been very sad this week."

  "We talked on my way home. She's okay now."

  "Willa, we just worry about you. I hope you know that." She gave my hand a pat. "It's not meant to make you feel bad."

  I nodded, holding my hands between my knees while I listened to her. Immediately, I was sixteen-years-old again with all the insecurities that belonged to it. Mom grew quiet along with me then stroked her finger down my cheek.

  "I love you, little girl. Yeah?" She smiled and I nodded.

  "I know, Mom. I love you, too. I'm grateful to have you in my life."

  "My gratitude for you, Willa, is steadfast. Your father would be very proud of what you've made of yourself and the practice," she said, gesturing around us. "It was his passion."

  "I know. I think he'd be happy knowing the legacy continued."

  "Is it your passion, Will? Sometimes it seems like it, others not so."

  "It is, for the most part. Being the only vet in town was difficult. I was used to a nine-to-five life in Seattle. Other vets took evening and night shifts. It's improved with Harmon's addition, plus a few more techs."

  "I'm glad. I want you to be happy. In all ways. Okay?"

  "Okay." I smiled and she pulled me into a hug. "Sage is going to Rooney's. I might meet her later."

  "Good. Nothing makes me happier than seeing my girls as best friends." She smooched my cheek as she stood, and headed toward the door. "See you Sunday for dinner."

  "See you then."

  I watched her go, and my thoughts settled to the achy buzz of torment that I kept at bay. Why did everyone always have to tell me that they did things because they loved me? I already believed they did, but what was so innately wrong with me that they felt the need to constantly repeat it? Half the time, it didn't feel particularly genuine, and more like something to placate my worry.

  I pulled on my boots, a different pair of boots since Dax ruined the other ones, over my socked feet, and buttoned my jeans. Tonight, I didn't feel like making my family feel better about what had happened. Rather, I would drop in on Dax, the same way she'd done to me.

  It took me about twenty minutes to get to her house, following the path of the low-hanging sun, and pulled into her driveway. As expected, her SUV sat in its usual spot.

  When I opened the gate, pitter-patters on gravel drew my attention and three medium-sized goats barreled toward me.

  "Well hey there, fruit basket." I crouched down to pet them while they bleated and jumped all over me. It made me laugh while I loved on them. "Gues
s she decided to keep you, huh?"

  Despite their farm animal nature, each of them smelled sweet and clean like they'd had a bath or spent a few hours napping in freshly laundered blankets. I spent a few minutes with them, allowing them their bouncing time, until they found me less interesting. They wandered in tiny formation back toward the barn as I made my way around it. I didn't see Dax anywhere yet, but if the goats were wandering lose, she mustn't have been far.

  In the light of the evening sun, shadows of the trees stretched long and dark across the fields and grass. I made my way toward the small orchard of cherry trees. Most of it was neatly manicured, but I could tell by the way the trees grew that they hadn't been harvested in a long time. I didn't know what urged me to go that way rather than toward the lake. Perhaps the chillier temperatures were to blame.

  While walking through the paths of rocky grass between the trees, a bang rang out and I nearly hit the ground. My heart leapt in my chest until I heard the second shotgun blast. A few more shots followed and I kept myself close to the trees as I moved toward it. It sounded like my dad's old rifle that he would exercise every so often.

  As I drew closer, the sounds changed from bangs to pops and I imagined Dax switched to a handgun. I approached with caution to find her in a gated off area, standing with her service weapon drawn and aimed at a stack of hay bales where targets swayed in the wind. Dax reloaded a clip, aimed, and fired at least a dozen rapid shots.

  I covered my ears, watching her as she stood in perfect stance. Her jeans hung low, her legs stood strong, and the way her sleeves tightened against her biceps had me swallowing down the attraction that rose in my chest. With her hair, down long and fluttering in the breeze, the sight of her stole my breath. Her strength, tangled with underlying femininity wrapped up in her fit exterior, nearly melted me to the core. I leaned against the tree, enjoying the vision of her while avoiding spooking her and ending up with a bullet hole in my body.

  Another clip followed, and she emptied half of it dead center in the human-shaped target. She shifted slightly, and knocked off a line of cans from a wooden horse on one side of the hay. After loading another clip, she holstered her gun, then bent down to pick up something from the ground. I expected a hunting rifle, like my dad's old Winchester. Instead, she lifted a much deadlier weapon, with accompanying scope. To me, it appeared like a sniper rifle. I covered my ears and awaited the sound.