Page 3

Chapter 3

Friends on this Side of the Country

A s the boils subside over the following days, I keep my phone beside me, which becomes both a source of hope and a torture device. Every time it buzzes, I fumble for it, the jolt of anticipation followed by a sinking disappointment. By day five, a dreary, rainy Monday, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve called Helping Paws to ask for an update.

“I just want to know if Lucy’s okay,” I tell the annoyed vet tech, pacing my room. “Can I please speak to Doctor Zacharias?”

“I’m sorry, but we can’t give out her number. We’ll call you.”

I hang up without a goodbye and throw my phone on my bed. A hot surge of anger rises in me. Would it kill her to relay a message? I fight the urge to pick up something else and throw it too. This state of not knowing is eating me alive.

My fingers tremble as I weave my hair into its familiar braid over my right shoulder. As I pull on a knit sweater and jeans, with nothing but swishing clothes and pattering rain filling my ears, a lump forms in my throat. Lucy’s absence leaves a void, not to mention a constant reminder of this freaky mystery. To ward off the homesickness, Hazel and I have been video chatting every night—sometimes, we’ll leave our call running in the background while we study in parallel. It helps a smidge.

When I get to the biology lecture hall, amid a hum of conversations and the shuffle of papers and backpacks, I grab a seat along the far left wall. The cavernous room is cold, smelling like damp coats and old books. The tablet-desk seating is designed for right-handed people to write in tiny notebooks, so I carefully balance my phone in the space beside my laptop.

My browser is still open to a page on rare infectious diseases. I close it quickly before anyone can look over my shoulder and see the words full-body skin boils . All this gory research and I still haven’t been able to figure out what Lucy had. Should I be worried about more cats like her popping up? Are there any lasting effects of whatever I contracted?

The prof gets organized at the front, firing up a slide deck. We’re reviewing the unit today before Wednesday’s midterm. I have yet to get the class notes I missed last week—my entire focus has been on trying to determine what Lucy had and who Doctor Zacharias is.

I hesitate with my fingers on the keyboard, then turn down my screen’s brightness and open the browser again. In the search bar, I type,

dr zacharias vancouver veterinarian

The results list many Doctor Zacharias’s, and I pick up where I left off yesterday, clicking through them one by one. A frustrating wave of hope and disappointment rolls through me with each click, each failed attempt to find her annoyingly gorgeous face.

I try another search.

dr zacharias infectious disease s

The results give me more doctors who aren’t her.

After searching all week, I might have to conclude that she doesn’t exist online. But why ? Wouldn’t a doctor be listed somewhere ?

Dark possibilities swirl through my mind. Can she be trusted? Is Lucy really safe with her?

A part of me knows I’m spiraling. I should focus on studying and trust the professionals. But what if I’m missing something crucial? What if I regret not figuring this out and my inaction leads to something terrible—for Lucy, for myself, for anyone else in the world who’s been exposed to whatever this is?

A coat rustles and a plastic chair creaks as someone sits next to me. I close the browser window.

I look over, and our gazes catch. He’s a lanky white guy with a crew cut and soft blue eyes, wearing a zip-up hoodie open over a green polo shirt.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey.”

Silence.

Last night, Hazel asked if I struck up a conversation with anybody yet. I told her defensively that I said hi to my roommate, who showed up for the first time in a week to swap her wardrobe before heading back to her boyfriend’s place.

Ugh, Hazel’s right. I need to make friends who live on the same side of the country as me. I thought a kitten would fix the loneliness of moving to a new city, and look how that played out.

My phone lights up, and I lean over to check, but it’s an email from my calculus professor reminding us of this week’s midterm.

The guy beside me points to my background, an angelic picture of Lucy. “Aww.”

Okay, that’s my cue. It’s time .

“Her name’s Lucy.” My face heats up as the threat of a conversation becomes a reality. “I just got her.”

“I take it you don’t live in a dorm?” He casts me a lopsided smile. “Unless you have a secret about how you smuggled in a pet.”

“I’m renting off-campus.” A decision that was probably not great for making new friends. “You?”

“I’m in Totem.” He leans back, slinging an arm over the back of the empty seat on his other side before bringing it down again. He’s projecting confidence, but it doesn’t quite fit. Maybe he spent his high school years shy and nerdy, and now that he’s in university, he’s trying to start fresh with a Cool Guy persona. “Ever come on campus to party?”

“Sometimes,” I lie. Not once have I partied since being here.

“Well, if you ever want to come out, we’re always doing something. My roommate and I throw good parties.” He says this with the pride of a kid showing you what he drew.

I return his smile. “Thanks.”

Wow, that was easy. I can’t wait to tell Hazel I got invited to a party.

The prof starts talking, and the guy opens his laptop to take notes.

“I’m so behind,” he murmurs. “I was too hungover this weekend to study. Beer pong tourney.”

I humor him with a breath of laughter. His casual brag about being too much of a party guy to study checks out. The folders on his desktop—PHYS, CALC, BIOL, CHEM—tell me he was definitely a brainy kid in high school. He’s probably on a several-week bender now that he’s free from parents and teachers.

“Hey, did you happen to get notes last Wednesday?” I whisper. “I missed class that day.”

He brightens. “Yeah, I can send them to you. What’s your email?”

A party invite and the notes I missed! Look at me go !

As I reach over to type my email address into his laptop, he doesn’t lean back, which means my arm brushes his chest. This feels akin to giving him my number, and I hope he’s not getting the wrong idea.

“Katie.” He tips the screen back toward him. “I’m Clayton.”

I return his smile.

My phone rings, and I reach for it so fast that I nearly send my laptop crashing to the floor.

The name on the display infuses me with hope. It’s Helping Paws. I’m finally going to get answers about Lucy.

After class, when Doctor Zacharias meets me at the front desk of Helping Paws with Lucy’s kennel, my heart skips for two reasons.

First, obviously, Lucy.

Second… Doctor Zacharias is even more striking than I remember. Even in the harsh lighting of the vet’s office, her jawline and cheekbones are so sculpted that she could be at the top of a Google image search for the perfect facial structure. She stands with a cool confidence, and seriously, she should publish her leg-day gym routine for the benefit of humanity. Her commanding presence seems to take up all the space in the waiting room—and all the air.

“I’m glad to see the boils went away,” she says in that low purr of hers.

Though she’s looking at me clinically, not checking me out, the way her gaze travels up and down my body weakens my knees.

“Same,” I stammer, tugging my knit sweater straight. “How is she?”

A little meow comes from inside the kennel, nothing like the angry yowling from a week ago.

Doctor Zacharias tilts her head, a lock of hair fluttering across her eyes. “Restored to health. ”

“Thank you.” My shoulders sag in relief. She’s coming home with me! Before I lose my nerve, I add sternly, “You took a long time to get back to me.”

“It took a long time to cure her,” she says, unfazed by my tone.

I feel a lot of gazes on us. Doctor Zacharias seems to have caught the attention of everyone else in the waiting room, including the vet tech, whose gaze keeps flicking away from the computer.

I do my best to ignore them. “I would have appreciated a call. I tried to find your contact info, but you’re not online anywhere.”

She arches an eyebrow, which makes my indignance turn into a flutter. This woman is infuriating. “I keep my business information private. Sensitive nature of the work.”

“Am I allowed to know which disease she had now?” I ask, dreading the answer.

She shakes her head once. “Classified.”

Irritation swells inside me. “I have a right to know what happened to my cat.”

“And certain organizations have a right to withhold information from the public.”

I roll my eyes. “I didn’t realize I was talking to a Secret Service agent.”

Doctor Zacharias’s lips twitch as if she’s about to smile. “Infectious diseases like this need to remain classified until they’re better understood. We don’t want to cause panic.”

I scowl. Fine, that sort of makes sense.

But I still think she’s full of shit. What kind of infectious disease involves the ability to summon a crow through a window? I know what I saw, and if she expects me to move on without asking questions, she’s mistaken. After all, I’m getting a degree in psychology, and my job one day will be to ask people a lot of questions—to uncover the truth beneath all the lies people tell themselves and others.

If she won’t give me answers, I’ll find them myself .

Lucy meows, a tiny, pitiful sound.

“Don’t worry, you’re going home,” Doctor Zacharias says. She lifts the kennel to let me see inside. The fleece blanket I used to trap Lucy is folded nicely, as cozy as a bird’s nest. She’s sitting at the back, gazing at me with big blue eyes.

Blue, not purple. This is the angelic kitten I adopted—and to top it off, there’s a pink ribbon around her neck.

“Oh, she looks so cute.” My anger melts away, replaced with a wave of relief and gratitude over having her back. “Hi, sweetie.”

She meows again, flashing her little teeth.

“I wanted to make her presentable for her return,” Doctor Zacharias says.

I meet her gaze. “You put the ribbon on?”

She presses her lips together, almost bashful.

Dammit, now I feel bad for getting snippy. “I—well—thank you. I’m glad she’s safe and healthy.”

Something I can’t decipher glints in her brown eyes. “And I’m glad she’s going to a home where she’ll be loved deeply.”

Her voice reverberates in my chest like a subwoofer.

As she passes the kennel to me by the handle, our fingers entwine. A ridiculous giggle escapes me as I try to ignore the heat zapping up my arm. “Oop—got it.”

Oop? What’s wrong with me?

My skin tingles where her warm, soft fingers slid between mine.

Lucy gives a tiny meow, as if asking if we can go now.

“I know, baby, we’ll cuddle as soon as we get back,” I tell her.

Doctor Zacharias turns to fidget with the pens on the front desk. “Is she your first cat?”

The question feels more personal than clinical, catching me off-guard. I nod. “I’m just here for school and wanted a study buddy. ”

“Just for school? You think you won’t like Vancouver enough to stay?” Her tone is teasing, a peek at a different side of her.

I lift a shoulder. “It’s nice here, but… it’s not home.”

She studies me as I try to act like mentioning home didn’t just punch a hole in my heart. Why did I think applying to a university across the country was a good idea?

The door swings open with a soft whoosh , letting in a gust of cool autumn air. A girl my age runs in, holding a squirming golden retriever puppy. “My dog swallowed a bunch of LEGO,” she cries, her eyes watery.

The vet tech grabs a clipboard. “Please fill this out,” she says in the same flat tone she used with me.

I step toward the door with Lucy’s kennel, the handle firm and comforting in my grip. “Thanks again.” I swallow hard. “Can I at least have your first name?”

She pauses for a fraction of a second. “Natalie.”

“Natalie. I’m Katie.”

She must have known that already, but she nods anyway, her dark eyes gleaming.

I wave and turn away. Will this be the last time I see her? On the one hand, that would be a good thing, given her job in infectious diseases. On the other hand… it’s been at least a year since anyone made me feel like fireflies were waking up inside me.

Natalie. Nat. Doctor Natalie Zacharias.

Any way I spin it, it’s hot.

I dip my chin to hide my smile. She might be unwilling to tell me anything, but I’m as determined as ever to unravel who she is and why she’s keeping secrets. And now I have one more piece of information I can use. Natalie.