Page 93 of Into These Eyes

As I pass the ‘Welcome to Cascade’ placard, the fog thins just enough to let the sun’s white orb shine through, but the town beyond the white barrier remains hidden.

The first sign of civilisation stands on the corner of Tucker Road and Main Street; the only petrol station in town, which charges outrageous prices due to a lack of competition.

As I take a left, I soon pass the two-hundred-year-old church, which has been used in several Australian TV series over the years.

Then I slow for the school zone. Even though school started half an hour ago, a few groups of mothers huddle together, chatting.

Some glance my way, but when they recognise the Landcruiser, they quickly avert their eyes.

Good.

Further along the road, the street opens up to allow for parking in front of the quaint collection of shops.

Majestic old oak trees flank the street, their limbs bare now, but in summer their canopy reaches high overhead, providing abundant shade from a magnificent archway all the way to the end of town.

She’d been right.

I quickly push down the surge of thoughts that want to race through my brain every time I think of her.

Slowing for the raised pedestrian crossing at the town’s centre, I continue on to the very last building on the right. I pull into my parking space, climb out and hold the door open for Sam.

Eager to get inside before anyone comes along, I push on the glass door’s handle. Locked. I shake my head.

Emily’s late. Again.

Finding the key, I let myself and Sam inside, pull on the blind over the door and let it fly up with a rattle. Behind the glass stencilled with ‘Cascade Vet Clinic’, I turn the ‘closed’ sign around.

Sam trots behind the reception desk and snuggles into her bed in the corner. I turn on the ducted air, shrug off my parka and flick on the lights as I walk towards the rear of the clinic. When I reach the examination room, I hear the bell over the front door tinkle.

Ready to reprimand my mother for her tardiness—which is becoming quite a habit lately—I hurry up the hallway and stop short.

Mrs Winston, the well-to-do sixty-something busybody, and wife of Cascade’s mayor, stands at the reception desk with a confused expression. In her arms, she holds Poppet, her white Chihuahua.

She spots me. ‘Dr Clark. Am I too early?’

‘No.’ The familiar tension created by having to deal with someone like Mrs Winston enters my body. Most of the locals have long ago received the message that I prefer to be left alone, but Mrs Winston seems oblivious.

She stares at me, shifting Poppet from her left arm to her right. I know she’s waiting for me to say more. I suppose I could be polite and explain why no one’s here to greet clients, but I refuse to indulge her with small talk.

‘Well,’ she says, ‘Poppet’s here for her yearly shots.’

By way of invitation, I simply tilt my head towards the hallway and head to the examination room.

As I remove my leather gloves and replace them with the latex variety, Mrs Winston appears in the doorway. Without a word, I indicate for her to place Poppet on the exam table. She obliges, but refuses to let go of the trembling dog.

I sigh on the inside. Becoming a vet had been my dream since I was ten years old. I love animals, and they seem to love me. It’s that simple.

Unfortunately, there’s one problem. Animals come with owners. And owners are a pain in the arse I can do without. I have no problem giving them a diagnosis or explaining the treatment or what an operation might involve. That’s easy, part of my job. It’s the chitchat that I loathe.

‘Let her go,’ I say.

Mrs Winston hesitates a fraction of a second before she releases the little dog and clutches her purse, instead.

As soon as I place my hands on Poppet, she stops shaking and licks at my latex gloves. Her bulging eyes lock with mine as her tail begins a rapid sweep against the stainless-steel table.

‘You know,’ Mrs Winston says, ‘I saw Nora Dawson yesterday.’

I ignore her and concentrate on easing Poppet’s lips back so I can get a good look at her teeth. Next, I check her ears, then listen to her heartbeat.

‘She’s just broken up with Ray McKnight.’

Mrs Winston seems determined to ruin my examination.

Without giving her even a grunt of encouragement, I open the small bar fridge, which contains an array of vaccinations, antibiotics and anti-inflammatory vials.

I hear her release a small scoff, an obvious sign that I’ve offended her, but my deliberate rudeness does nothing to discourage her.

‘She’d be perfect for you, Dr Clark.’

Why was it she felt she had to play matchmaker for me? I hate being reminded of just how lonely I am, have always been and always will be. Yes, I’d love to share my life with someone special, but I can’t, and that’s that.

After preparing the two injections, I return to the exam table, avoiding Mrs Winston’s curious stare. I can feel her eyes on me as I give Poppet her shots. Why Mrs Winston thinks any woman would be interested in me is so ridiculous I actually struggle to keep a straight face.

‘Well, maybe that new woman who’s moving into the old Edwards’ farm might be more to your liking. Unless you’re one of those …’

Avoiding any eye contact, I move Poppet closer to Mrs Winston, turn away from her once again and pretend to tidy the bench.

‘All done,’ I say.

She releases a huff before her footsteps retreat down the hallway. I grin to myself. Let her think I’m gay. It doesn’t bother me. In fact, it’ give the town gossips something new to add to the list of things they already believe. Plus, Mrs Winston might finally give up on her matchmaking crusade.

When I hear her voice in reception, I let out a breath of relief. Emily’s finally arrived. Curious about what Mrs Winston has to say, I inch towards the doorway.

‘Well, it was a good morning until I had to deal with that son of yours. If you ask me, he’s in desperate need of psychological help.’

I grin.

‘For his germaphobia?’ my mother asks.

‘Among other things. Manners being one of them.’

‘I’ve talked to him,’ Emily says. ‘I really have. But you know how men are about shrinks. And since we don’t have one in town, there’s not much I can do about him, I’m afraid. Anyway, how’s Poppet?’

‘As always, for some strange reason, she just seems to adore Dr Clark.’

‘He’s never had any complaints from his patients, that’s for sure.’

I wait for Mrs Winston to leave before wandering out to reception. My mother watches me enter, an amused glint in her eyes.

‘What did you say to her this time?’

‘Not much. Hopefully, she finally got the message to leave me the hell alone. Seems she’s the only one around here who forgets.’ I lean on the desk’s high counter as my mother files away a copy of Poppet’s vaccination record. ‘You were late again.’

She gives me an innocent look. ‘I was?’

‘You know damn well you were. I really should fire you.’

She laughs. ‘Then who’d deal with people like Mrs Winston for you?’

I like to see her happy. Growing up, she’d been so tense, always on edge, always because of me.

When I’d first discovered the clinic, it’d been run by a husband-and-wife team who were ready to retire to the coast. The timing couldn’t have been better, the set-up perfect for me to step right in.

When I’d told Emily, she’d quickly jumped in with an offer to help me run the place.

At first I’d objected, but her arguments eventually persuaded me.

With her help, my dealings with people had been limited.

Usually, she’d greet the patient’s owner and find out exactly what they thought was wrong.

Before showing the patient in, she’d bring me up to speed, saving me a lot of unnecessary talk.

She also handled all the administration and purchasing duties.

But most importantly of all, it meant I didn’t have to hire a stranger who would expect conversation from me.

It had also been an opportunity to forgive her without having to say the words.

For a long time there, I’d resented her for keeping me so isolated I was almost socially inept.

When I’d gone to university on a full scholarship at the age of seventeen, I’d realised she’d been right on so many levels.

My disorder handicapped me when it came to social interactions, but thankfully it hadn’t prevented me from following my chosen path in life.

By the time I’d realised how right my mother had been, I’d believed I’d damaged our relationship so profoundly that I just couldn’t admit I’d been wrong to resent her.

Not when all she’d been trying to do was be a good mother.

The circumstances she found herself in when she discovered my disorder were anything but normal.

Giving her this job was my apology for the coldness I’d shown her during that turbulent time in our lives.

The phone rings and Emily snatches it up. ‘Cascade Vet Clinic … Oh, Jess, glad you called … Of course I can talk.’

I stare at her as she scribbles something on a post-it note and passes it to me, never missing a beat in her personal conversation.

The note simply says, Coffee! Which means she expects me to go and get it.

I try to make eye contact with her, to show my annoyance, but she knows better and keeps her head down.

I remove my latex gloves and flick them at her, but her only response is to swivel around in her chair and turn her back on me.

Shrugging into my parka, I grab my leather gloves and shove my hands inside them.

Outside, the sun’s almost broken through the thinning fog, but the air still has plenty of bite.

I hurry past the small hardware store next to my clinic, past the goodwill shop and the newsagency.

As I walk past the only supermarket in town, I see Ned Jamison heading my way.

It’s almost imperceptible, but I notice Ned arc around me, even though we’re in no danger of wandering into each other’s paths.

It doesn’t surprise me. After all, the town sees me as an oddity to gossip about. The reason everyone believes I constantly wear gloves may be an outright lie, but what isn’t a lie is my self-imposed solitude. And the locals love to speculate on that one.

When I reach the Little Drop of Heaven café, I push through the door and stride inside.

Behind the counter, Josephine Little places sweet pastries in the display case.

At only seventeen, she’s dropped out of high school to help her parents run the café after her father suffered a heart attack.

I know all this through Emily, and I also know Jo wants to sell the place and move to Sydney once her parents pass away.

I respect her for that. It shows how much she cares for them. She could, after all, already be gone.

As she turns towards me, I see her eyes flick to my gloves. She does nothing to hide her distaste. Nor does she bother smiling. Fine with me. Smiles are just something else I’ve learned to do without.