Page 97

Dr. Singh turned to Gen.
“Beautiful lady,” the doctor greeted the dog, scratching her under the chin. “Shall we give your Mama the good news, darling?”
Abby’s fingers, twined together, spasmed. “Good news?”
Dr. Singh smiled, and Abby’s heart leapt with hope. Surely, he wouldn’t have said those words, wouldn’t have that expression, if Gen were still dying.
Scott moved closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, and Dylan’s hand creeped toward her.
Unwinding her fingers, she took it.
His small voice filled the room. “Do you mean Gen’s going to be okay?”
Dr. Singh nodded. “She is. As you may have already guessed, we included Gen in the T-cell treatment group of our study. We finished her course of treatment, an abbreviated version of chemotherapy combined with the T-cell adaptation injections, rather than chemotherapy alone. Because she presented initially with stage II symptoms and B-cell lymphoma, it was always likely she’d have a high chance of responding positively to the treatment. As of right now, according to her lab work, she is in full remission.”
A choked sob wrenched itself from deep within Abby, and her shoulders shook, but she pressed her lips together.
No more crying.
Scott pulled her into his side and Dylan squeezed her hand.
A moment later, she straightened and turned to Gen. Ruffling her ears, she pressed her forehead to the dog’s.
“You did it, girl.” She whispered the words, and Gen’s tail thumped the table again. “You beat it. You’re going to be okay.”
The dog snuffled Abby’s ear, then gently took her hair in her mouth and tugged, as if to say,Of course I did. I learned how to be a fighter from Liam.
Dylan, too, threw his arms around Gen. “She’s going to be okay? She’s not going to die?”
Scott laid one hand on Dylan’s shoulder. The other stroked Gen’s spine. “She’s going to be okay.”
Tears flooded Abby’s eyes at the words, but she blinked them away. Turning back to Dr. Singh, she threw her arms around him. “Thank you!”
The veterinarian cleared his throat and pushed his glasses back up his nose. “Of course, Ms. Barclay. We’ll want to see Gen again in a month and continue to monitor her over the next year – all things we’ve already discussed. But, between you and I, I believe there’s a good chance she’ll live a full, long life.”
Dylan laid his head against Gen’s stomach, arm encircling her, and Abby smiled.
“The fullest.”
Epilogue
“THIS ONE.” DYLAN sat cross-legged in an eight-sided pen full of wiggling Labrador puppies.
“Are you sure? I thought you wanted a boy.”
Dylan cradled the little yellow female under his chin, crooning to her as she waved paws far too big for her tiny body.
“No, this is the one.” He spoke firmly, confidently.
Scott glanced at Abby, who raised her eyebrows and gave the slightest nod. “Okay, then. That’s the one.”
The puppy licked Dylan’s chin, eliciting a giggle before he caught himself. “No, ma’am. No licking.”
He tugged her tiny, black collar, jingling her new ID, 02 engraved on the back and Abby’s logo stamped on the front. He glanced up at Abby, checking if he’d done it right.
“Good job.” She smiled down at him. “It will take a long time, and a lot of work on your part, but I think she’ll make a great therapy dog, someday.”
Beside her, Gen’s tail thumped the floor as three more puppies tumbled over her.