Page 18 of A Love Like Pumpkin Spice (Wayward Hollow #1)
Henry
“Mom, I’ll call you back, okay? Now’s not a good time.”
I take a deep breath and sink deeper into one of the chairs in my waiting room, my head pounding with a threatening migraine. Good thing I listened to my gut and added comfortable chairs in here, even if they cost me twice as much.
“Are you okay, honey?” Mom sounds worried, but the question almost makes me burst into laughter.
It’s the exact same question I asked Nic after Chaos had passed.
Well, minus the “honey.” Right now, I think I understand exactly why she reacted the way she did.
Understand that sinking feeling of helplessness, a stern reminder that your own existence is temporary.
As if all joy has been sucked out of the world.
“I will be,” I assure her, my hand subconsciously finding Jensen’s head, running my fingers through his fur. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll see you on Friday.”
Slowly, I lower the phone, my entire body slumping into the chair, the dull pain relentlessly throbbing behind my temples with the force of a sledgehammer.
Putting an animal to sleep is never easy. There are others that revel in the power of taking a life. I’ve met a psychopath or two in college who said it gave them a sense of control, with a smile that never quite reached their eyes.
But for me? It’s the worst thing about my job.
Even if I know it’s the kind thing to do, the necessary evil to relieve them of their suffering and pain.
Some days, it’s hard to make peace with it.
What if there was something I could have done after all?
What if this animal actually had the zero-point-zero-one chance to get better?
Jensen jumps into the chair next to mine, licking my face and whining the song of his people, nudging his nose against my cheek.
“Are you trying to cheer me up?” I ask him, the corner of my mouth twitching, but not quite making it to a smile. “Thank you, Deanie-Beanie.”
“Deanie-Beanie?” My eyes jump to the door when I hear Nic’s amused voice. And there she is. Dressed in an oversized beige sweater and a light brown skirt, like an angel sent to rescue me from my foul mood. “I thought his name is Jensen.”
Calmness washes over me, akin to a sudden warm burst of rain that washes away the exhaustion and sadness.
“It is,” I answer softly, a smile coming to me easily all of a sudden. And while the self-doubt and sadness haven’t suddenly disappeared, they have scooched into the background of my consciousness. “Deanie-Beanie is one of his many nicknames.”
“I love it,” she says with a soft grin, and that’s when I notice the box in her hands. Suddenly, a flicker of worry crosses her face. “Why does he need to cheer you up, though? Did something happen?”
“It’s…one of those days,” I tell her and shake my head, sitting up straighter. “What’s that?” I nod at the box she’s holding. “Another cat?” She nods sheepishly, and I can’t help but chuc kle. “Nic, we have to stop meeting like this.”
“Tell that to Chaos.” She carefully sets the box on the counter.
“But she can wait. I found her scratching at my door. She was super eager to get inside I got worried she’d scratch her way through the wood.
I’m pretty sure nothing is wrong with her, but figured I’d get you to make sure anyway. What’s wrong?”
“I had to put down a dog today,” I whisper as she takes a seat on my other side, her worried eyes darting over my face. “You’d think I’d get used to it someday, but sometimes …”
“I’m sorry, Henry.” She reaches for my hand and pulls it into hers for a reassuring squeeze. I gulp down the emotions forming in my throat. “Tell me about it.”
“It was Mrs. Thomson’s Chihuahua. Rose.” I let out a quiet, humorless laugh.
“An annoying little creature. She barked at everything that moved, but she was Mrs. Thomson’s soul animal.
Her husband got her Rose as a present for their thirtieth wedding anniversary, so she’d have company when he was on business trips.
That was almost twenty years ago.” When I notice her crestfallen expression, I quickly add, “Mr. Thomson is fine. Alive and kicking. But watching the two of them say goodbye was just …” I let the words hang in the air and she nods.
“I can imagine,” she whispers and squeezes my hand. “I admire you, you know?”
“You do?”
She hums and offers a slight nod. “It’s a form of strength to go through that again and again, knowing it’s best for the animal, even if it tears you apart on the inside. I couldn’t do it. The fact you became a vet despite knowing this would happen? That’s brave.”
I let the words sink in, forming a shield around my heart that keeps the pieces together. All I ever wanted to do was help animals, keep them healthy and pain free to live a long and happy life.
I’m not sure I’d call it brave to become a vet despite knowing a pet’s ultimate fate can be out of my hands. Sometimes I’m more inclined to call it dumb. Those times I keep reminding myself of all the lives I’ve saved, starting with Jensen, yet that doesn’t mean I don’t carry their deaths with me.
“Anyway.” I clear my throat and get up after giving Jensen one more pet. “It’s time for something positive. Come on, show me your ghost cat’s newest find.”
“Are you sure?” she asks with worried eyes, and only now do I realize that she never let go of my hand. It’s still there, fingers laced with mine, her warmth seeping into my cold palm.
Reluctantly, she loosens her grip, a cute blush painting her cheeks an adorable crimson. “I mean, our quota is fifty-fifty on survival. I can take her somewhere else if you need more time.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I roll my shoulders and take a deep breath. “The next vet is a two-hour drive away. I got this.”
“Okay, if you’re sure.” She opens the box and reveals a cat with the most beautiful brown fur I’ve ever seen.
“Oh, aren’t you a beauty,” I mumble and gently take her out of the box. “And you’re not scratching me, which is great.” I walk to the exam room, hearing the patter of four dog paws and two human feet following me. “Your ghost cat is finding you the nicest friends.”
“I gave her a flea bath like you showed me.” She smiles proudly.
“I knew Chaos would strike again, so I got a bottle of flea shampoo. She was a much harder challenge than Pumpkin, though. She didn’t appreciate water at all.
Only she tried to scratch me, instead of screaming.
I had to bribe her with treats. And even so, I got myself some souvenirs.
” She grimaces and lifts her sleeve, revealing a few superficial scratches.
“Great, you’re getting the hang of it.” I flash her a quick grin. “Did you name her yet?”
“Cinnamon,” she says with a happy nod, her eyes shining with adoration. “Because of the little lighter freckles in her fur.” I turn the cat in my hold as I inspect her for any injuries, noting the specks of brown around her chest and face. The name is fitting.
“ Let’s see what else Chaos has in store for me. If she keeps going at this rate, I could name a full pumpkin spice latte by the end of October.” She tilts her head and taps her lips as she thinks. “Come to think of it, she would also be a great ‘Coffee.’ I could also call her ‘Beanie’ then.”
“Now, don’t go and steal my nicknames,” I tease her and turn the cat in my hands. I gently check to see if anything is wrong, or if she is in pain. Then, I inspect her eyes, mouth, and ears. When everything appears normal, I scan for a chip. But I come up empty.
“You’re right, Nic. She’s as healthy as can be. I’m still going to draw some blood for testing, and then you’re good to go.” I set the cat on the table, and she immediately darts around to inspect everything.
“Great.” I didn’t realize she’d been tense until her shoulders noticeably slump in relief. “Good. That’s good. Thank God. I wasn’t keen on another emotional rollercoaster.”
Suddenly, her phone rings and her shoulders are almost up to her ears again. “What did I just say?” she grumbles and declines the call.
“Who’s trying to speak with you so urgently?” The words come through my lips before I can stop them. She lowers her head, biting her lip as though she’s fighting with herself whether to answer or not.
“Probably my ex,” she finally whispers, and I hold my breath. Her ex? My heart pounds in my ears. What could he want?
“He and my sister keep calling me from new numbers and leaving voicemails begging for forgiveness and money. It’s pathetic, but I’m trying to see the upside and enjoy a little schadenfreude.
” She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms in front of her chest. “And my parents keep sending messages asking me to ‘forgive them and move on.’ Probably for similar reasons.”
“No offense, Nic, but your family sounds horrible.”
“ Why, thank you. They are. Please feel free to be offensive all you want.” She shakes her head, a cold chuckle falling from her lips.
“It’s okay. I’ve had years to make peace with that knowledge.
It still stings, but being here”—she makes a vague gesture—“it helps. Wayward Hollow feels like home, and I’m determined to make it that. I won’t let my past mess with that.”
The last sentence hangs in the air, heavy with meaning, but I’ve pried enough for today.
“That’s brave too, you know,” I say softly, letting go of the cat to walk over to her. “Knowing what your boundaries are and following through. Starting anew here can’t have been easy.”
“It’s not.” When she glances up at me, I see tears brimming in her eyes that she quickly tries to blink away. “Sometimes I wake up and wonder if by coming here I ran away and took a coward’s way out. That doesn’t feel too brave.” I’m about to object when she softly shakes her head.
“I know, Henry. I know it’s not my fault. The same way you having to put a dog down is not your fault. But that doesn’t change the fact that it hurts . Still, pain doesn't mean you did the wrong thing.”
“It doesn’t,” I agree and step closer to swipe a strand of her hair that’s falling into her face behind her ear.
“It’s their loss. You’re a good person, Nic.
You easily make the top five of best people I know.
” I run my fingertips through her soft hair, laying my palm on her cheek, and she nudges against it like a cat.
“If you ever want to … talk,” I start, cringing at how cliché it sounds, “I’m here.
And I’m a good listener. Or shit-talker. Whatever you need.”
“Thank you, Henry. And likewise.” Her face softens, when a howled awoo-woo suddenly destroys the moment. “Aw, look at them. Cinnamon and Deanie-Beanie are friends.” She nods to our right, where both are cuddled up on the floor. Apparently, Nic is not the only one finding a new home here.