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“Breakfast, Gen,” Abby tried again, using a word she’d recognize. “Breakfastand awalk.”
Still the dog lay there, unmoving, her eyes drifting shut again.
Abby nudged Gen’s shoulder.
“I know, girl. I’m...” she gulped back a sob. “I’m sad, too, but you have to get up.”
Gen uncurled, then heaved herself to her feet. Her head hung low, ears pressed flat to her skull, tail tucked behind her.
Abby stood, clicking her tongue as she did so. “Good girl, Gen. Come on. You’ll be better after breakfast.”
Gen creeped to the side of the bed, but instead of leaping to the floor, her front legs collapsed, pitching her nose-first over the edge.
With a startled yelp of pain, the dog lay there, limbs a tangled heap, staring up at Abby with empty eyes. Scrabbling for a moment, she pulled her legs under her body, but as she rose, they gave way again.
Horrified, Abby dropped to her knees and gathered her friend close against her chest. “Gen?”
Staggering to her feet, the full weight of the dog in her arms, Abby careened down the stairs. She hefted her higher and swept a hand over the small table until she found her keys, then lurched out the door. Laying Gen in the back seat, she wrenched the front door open and fell into the driver’s seat, scrabbling to find the right key and shove it into the ignition.
Her eyes blurred as she drove through the morning traffic, weaving between cars, running stops signs, and honking her horn if the cars ahead of her didn’t move fast enough when the light turned green. An eternity later, she parked, gathered Gen back into her arms, and burst into the vet’s office.
The receptionist, starting to gather her paperwork for the day, froze at the sight of Abby, wild eyed and frazzled, barefoot, still dressed in her pink sweatpants with teacups printed along the cuffs.
“Something’s wrong with Gen.”
Abby wouldn’t call until Liam had recovered, but when a second day passed without word from her, the persistent worry became too much for Scott to ignore. The days until Dylan’s Christmas concert had ticked down, and his son would be devastated if Abby missed it. Still...
Hey, how’s Liam doing?He sent a low-key, quick text she could either answer, or not.
He took Dylan to school, went to practice, watched tape, plotted a new play with the offensive coaches, then went home again. No response.
You okay?he texted after dinner.
By the time he’d put Dylan to bed and still hadn’t heard from her, a coil of anxiety knotted itself in his chest. Standing in the kitchen in his old, comfortable sweatpants with a cup of tea, he called Abby’s cell phone.
It rang, then went to voicemail.
He frowned, hung up, then scrolled through his contacts.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Cara. It’s Scott, Abby’s boyfriend?”
“Hi Scott. What can I do for you?” Exhaustion threaded through her voice, muting the drawled words until they flowed almost unintelligibly into each other.
“Sorry to call you so late, but I haven’t been able to get ahold of Abby in about two days and I’m starting to get worried. She hasn’t responded to my texts and she’s not answering her phone. I know Liam needed her, and I don’t want to disturb her if she’s still with him, so I thought I’d call you and make sure everything’s okay.”
The silence stretched out on the line, then Cara said, “She hasn’t told you?”
“Told me what?”
“I... I can’t... HIPAA... I’m not allowed to say anything, but, umm, if she hasn’t called you, you should go over and...” Her voice broke and she had to clear her throat before continuing. “And check on her.”
Scott glanced at the clock, thought of Dylan, asleep in his bed, thought of practice tomorrow. Hated himself for weighing all of that against Cara’s words, against the dread growing in the pit of his stomach.
“I’ll call the nanny.”
It took longer than he would have liked, for Lauren to arrive, and by the time she did, Scott had pulled on some jeans and a t-shirt. “If I’m not back tonight, make sure Dylan gets to school on time. And tell him I’ll see him at his concert.”