coming in today. His owner . . . my friend . . . is bringing him.”
My friend. That felt like another little lie.
At two exactly, the door opened and I looked up, and there they were. I pictured David sitting in his father’s Jaguar in the parking lot, watching the minutes change so he could pinpoint the exact punctual moment to get out of the car.
The waiting room was empty, but Masher seemed to remember getting bullied before and sniffed the air nervously. David saw me and sort-of waved with one hand, pulled off his sunglasses with the other.
“Hi, Laurel,” he said, sounding formal, his eyes sweeping the space. He was dressed in a long-sleeved thermal shirt and black corduroys, even though it was easily eighty-five degrees outside.
“Welcome,” I said, giving formal back to him.
I came through the half door that separated the front desk area from the waiting room, and as soon as Masher saw me he ran over and jumped up. I caught his front paws in my hands and let him lick my face. David seemed puzzled.
“How’s he doing?” I asked after I finally got the dog off me.
“Good.” He paused. I noticed now that he’d put something in his hair to slick the sides back behind his ears, which looked newborn pink and too exposed. “I think he’s been a little sore or something. That’s actually the first time I’ve seen him stand up like that.”
I nodded, and now that the moment had turned awkward, I wondered how I could smoothly get back behind the safety of the front desk.
“How’s the job?” asked David, and looked me in the eye.
“I love it,” I replied, loud enough so Eve could hear.
I wasn’t sure what to do next but fortunately, Eve piped up, “Why don’t you take them into room two? Dr. B will be there in a minute.”
So I led David and Masher to the exam room, David holding onto Masher’s leash but Masher walking close to me. Once we were in, I wasn’t sure whether to stay or go. I waited for an invitation from David, but it didn’t come. He just examined the poster of two golden puppies in football jerseys and blackout under their eyes—“Wide Retrievers”—and let out a little laugh.
I had no idea what to say so I didn’t say anything, which seemed the worst choice of all, as I left the room and closed the door behind me.
Fifteen minutes passed. I spent most of it on the phone with a client who was disappointed with the grooming her Persian cat had received at a pet store, and wanted a promise from Dr. B that he could fix it.
“They were supposed to give him the lion cut, but he looks more like a poodle!” the woman said, on the verge of tears.
Eve and I had developed a hand signal for this type of call; I put a finger-gun to my head and pretended to shoot. Eve smiled, glad she’d dodged that bullet.
Finally, I heard a door creak open and Dr. B appeared. He was filling out some forms.
“We’re going to do a blood panel on Masher to check his coagulation levels and overall health. Apparently it’s been a while since he had a checkup or even any vaccinations. Pam Fischer has all his records, so call over there to get them faxed.”
Dr. B shot me a puzzled look, and although I knew he was wondering why I hadn’t brought Masher to his regular vet that day, I remained silent. If he wasn’t going to ask directly, I was definitely not going to answer.
The doctor disappeared again, and then I heard footsteps through the waiting room. I looked up just in time to see David walking out the front door, then watched him through the window as he sank down onto the stone bench right outside.
When I stepped out to join him, he was sitting on his hands, staring into space. He just glanced up at me with no expression.
“The doctor says it’s going to be a few minutes,” he said, and I just nodded. I’d watched a lot of clients waiting on this bench for test results and good news and bad news. It was designed to look like a big rabbit, with one end shaped like the head and the other, the tail and hind legs. Most people got on their cell phones or whipped out a magazine. But David didn’t seem to need anything to pass the time.
Finally, I found something