Call it fate, p.5
Call it Fate, page 5
I scrubbed a hand across my face, practiced my smile, and shrugged on my coat. Minutes later, I’d cleaned the snow off my car and was navigating my way down Main Street, amused by the unoriginal name of one of the central roads in downtown Sterling Mill.
But even with my cynicism, I couldn’t deny how pretty the town looked with the fresh snow dusting tree branches, roofs, and business signs that lined the street. At the end of the road was a traffic circle that encompassed a fountain, currently turned off, with several benches. On the opposite side of the roundabout was a three-story, red brick building with two smaller wings on either side and buff-colored stone columns marking the entrance. A domed cupola was perched on top, overlooking the downtown area like a guardian.
I followed the simple directions to Market Street, the other main avenue catty-corner to Main Street, and drove a short distance until I pulled up to the address Cynthia had sent me. A framed sign with carved, wooden letters announced I’d found Sterling Mill Animal Clinic. Not even a hospital, just a clinic.
Repeating to myself that this would be worth it in the end, I stood before the plain, square building with two large front windows and a door in the middle. The clapboard siding was painted gray, and the window trim and door were a bright teal color. It was nothing like the sleek, modern clinic I’d come from. Drawing a deep breath, I pushed open the door.
At least my first impression of the interior was better. Pale blue walls and light laminate floors made it feel clean and fresh, and the slight scent of lavender was pleasing, especially compared to the wet dog or musty smell I’d expected. A wooden bench ran along three of the walls for seating, and individual colorful prints of a dog, cat, parrot, and a horse decorated the small area and made it feel less “clinical.” To my surprise, I found I rather liked it.
“Well, hello! You must be the new doc. Welcome to Sterling Mill.”
A plump woman with gray hair hurried from behind the small counter and greeted me with a friendly smile. “I’m Wanda, Doc Claypool’s wife. I fill in when needed and take care of all the bookwork. I can’t tell you how grateful we are to have you. Harold has been worried sick over not being here, and you know that’s bad for him. He needs rest to recover, obviously. When Ed promised he was sending one of his best to fill in, we were so relieved. How awfully kind of you to drop everything and come to help out, even though I’m sure you weren’t expecting this. And of course, there was the snowstorm last night. None of us were expecting that. But here you are, and oh, listen to me! I’m prattling on and on when you want to get to know the place.”
Her hands fluttered around almost as fast as her words. At least she was friendly. I held out my hand. “Zach Abbott. Nice to meet you.”
She hardly took a breath before she spun around and gestured with her hand. “Now this is obviously the waiting room.”
She bustled across the space, showing me the two exam rooms and the small operating room. I was shocked to see how modern most of it was. She opened drawers and cabinets and ran through available inventory before moving on to something else.
“We only schedule surgeries on Mondays unless it’s an emergency. We start appointments at nine every day and take our last appointment at four Tuesdays through Thursdays. Fridays, we start at seven, but we close at noon to make up for it. We’re open every other Saturday from nine to noon, and we close every day from noon to one, but sometimes, Harold makes house calls over lunch. Normally, we have a couple of openings we try to keep for emergencies, but sometimes, we have to fill those, too.”
I blinked at her, trying to absorb all the rapid-fire information. Six days a week seemed like a lot for one person, but at least the hours would make my time here go faster.
She winked at me. “Don’t you fret if you can’t remember. The schedule is posted on the door, and the girls are good about reminding you of appointments for the following day so there are no surprises.”
“You really stay that busy here?”
“Usually. Harold’s the only vet for over twenty miles, except for Brian Reeves, and he specializes in large breeds. They fill in for each other on vacations.” Her laugh was hearty. “But, oh, honey. Just wait. We’ll be booked solid for the next week.”
I was alarmed. Was there a rabies epidemic or contagious virus going around? “Why?”
“Because everyone is going to want to check out the handsome new vet!”
Lord help me. “But I just got here. No one even knows me.”
She laughed and shook her head. “Welcome to small-town living, Doc. People knew about you before you even crested the mountaintop.”
Everyone except Emalee. She had certainly been surprised. “Well, I hope I don’t disappoint them.”
The front door opened, and a pretty, young redhead walked in followed by a middle-aged woman who looked like she might be of Native American descent.
“Ah, Sarah, Kathy, come meet the new doc.” She introduced me to the two techs before they hurried off to set up for the day. Another girl breezed in a minute later, and I met Lucy, the receptionist.
“You’ve got about thirty minutes before our first appointment,” Wanda said. “I’ve had the phones turned off so we wouldn’t be interrupted, but I need to switch them over. Let me know if you need anything, Doc!”
The morning moved quickly with steady appointments of typical pet checkups and vaccinations. I was amazed to find the clinic as busy as it was. I didn’t know how to separate the curious from the routine clients, but as long as they were willing to take good care of their pets, I didn’t care. All of them were friendly. After a takeout lunch the staff insisted upon as a welcome, the rest of the afternoon passed in the same manner.
When I arrived, I figured I’d be bored. Instead, I’d been seeing one patient after another, mostly wellness checkups, but also a dog with an infected scratch from crawling under a barbed-wire fence, a pregnant cat, and an old dog that I suspected had cancer, but I didn’t share that with the family until I could confirm it with blood tests and other lab work.
There was only a half hour until the office officially closed as Wanda shut the door behind John Harmon and his arthritic golden lab, Trixie, with a bag of new pain meds. I’d assured John that I thought they would help Trixie more than what she was currently taking.
“You did good, Doc!” Wanda said. “I can’t wait to tell Harold all about how you managed to get a urine sample from Abe Smith’s cat. I swear, that animal has the disposition of a honey badger with PMS on a Monday under a full moon!” She shook her head.
I chuckled at her description. I hated to agree, but that cat was something else. Fortunately, I was quick with a towel and had it gently but firmly wrapped before it could scratch me more than a couple of times. “Hopefully, her temperament will get better once we know what’s going on with her.” I headed toward the back of the clinic. “By the way, can you label those labs as a rush for me?”
“Sure thing, Doc.”
At least some things around here worked the same.
Finishing up some paperwork, I heard the bells of the front door chime. Frowning, I glanced at my watch. Wanda’s raised voice reached me in the back.
“Tilly, you know you can’t bring that animal in here.” I’d only known Wanda for a few hours, but in all the craziness of the day, I hadn’t heard anything but calm and patience from her.
“Don’t you tell me what I can and can’t do, young lady. Doc Coleman never turned me away.” The woman’s voice was sharp.
“Doc Coleman isn’t here, and I can tell you what you can and can’t do since I’m running the front desk.”
“Hmph. Isn’t that just like a man. Always around when you don’t want one, never around when you do.”
I’d never witnessed a catfight—either the four-legged or the two-legged version—and I wasn’t up to it now. I hurried out to the front desk where Wanda and the other woman were standing with their hands on their hips and scowls on their lips.
The other woman was smartly dressed in black pants, a black sweater that I thought might be cashmere, and strands of pearls dropping down behind a colorful scarf. Black designer sunglasses were pushed to the top of her head, and her manicured hand rested on top of a cat carrier that she’d placed on the counter between us.
I knew it was judgy on my part, but she looked more like someone I’d see back in Raleigh, not here.
“Can I help you?” I asked, coming to stand next to Wanda at the desk.
“No,” Wanda said at the same time the other woman said, “yes.”
“Doc, it’s the end of the day, and she doesn’t have an appointment. Besides, she—”
I held up my hand. “Wanda, please lock the door so we don’t have any more walk-ins.” Her eyebrows rose behind her bangs. “I know it’s late, but it’s what I’m here for.”
Her eyes rose heavenward as she drew a deep breath but did as I asked. I didn’t miss the gloating smile that spread across the other woman’s face.
“Now, how can I help you, Mrs.…?”
“Matilda Espey. Call me Tilly. This is Rocky.” She nudged the carrier toward me. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him. He’s been lethargic and getting fat.”
“Well, let’s see if we can figure out what’s going on.”
Wanda stood behind Tilly with her arms crossed. Her I tried to tell you look should have been warning enough.
Chapter 7
Zach
* * *
Darkness had fallen by the time I turned off the lights to the clinic. I’d spent an extra hour after finishing appointments and the staff had gone home to do a more thorough assessment of inventory and making myself more familiar with the small clinic.
For its size, I was actually impressed, especially with the single operating room. It might not be the fancy hospital I was used to, but Harold Claypool had kept up with modern capabilities. Even the computer system was a current program, making it easy to track down information on the pets I’d seen today—including that damn animal Matilda Espey had brought in.
A raccoon? Seriously? Wanda told me the town called her Crazy Tillie, but I wasn’t sure Doc Claypool was much better. He’d labeled the damn animal as a “cat” in the records.
God, I needed a drink.
First, finding Emalee here, and now, this crazy job.
I needed to find someplace to eat before I headed back to The Dogtrot. I felt as though I’d been caught in a whirlwind since I stepped foot in Sterling Mill. Had it really only been last night? Despite the cold, I parked in the center of town and walked to take in my temporary home. It wasn’t like it was far from anything, a point in favor of the small town.
I shivered inside my winter coat as I walked down the street, surprised by how many people didn’t let the cold air keep them inside. I guessed they were used to it. I bet the cooler air felt good while the rest of us were baking in the hot summers back in the lowlands.
It also gave me the break I needed to put my thoughts in order and think about what to say to Emalee when I saw her again. I had a few things to get off my chest and make her answer for, but something she said earlier made me uneasy. She obviously saw me as the bad guy in the situation, and a niggling feeling suddenly made me feel less certain about what digging into the past would reveal.
My stomach growled as I passed by a diner called Simply Ruth’s. Even in the chilled air outside its closed doors, I could smell the savory aromas of spices and meat on a grill and hear bursts of laughter. It appeared to be a happening place for a weeknight.
But with one look through the windows, I saw tables full of both families and friends all smiling and laughing together or couples smiling across the tables at each other. With the luck I was having, I’d find Emalee at one of those tables, smiling at a date seated across from her.
I might tell myself I was over her, but I wasn’t a masochist, either.
I needed somewhere I wouldn’t feel so isolated if I went inside by myself. A quick search on my phone suggested Fergusson’s, a pub that served heavy appetizers and was across the way if you didn’t consider the extensive park separating the two major streets in town. Since I still had on my dress shoes, I had to take the long way and go around the park, but the sidewalks had all been cleared and salted.
I heard the thump of a baseline and muddled lyrics that morphed into a recognizable song as someone opened a door ahead of me. “Fancy Like” by Walker Hayes greeted me as I stepped into the bar. It was a great song, the kind of tricky rhythm I liked to crank up in my car and sing along with, but the lyrics hit too close to home and reminded me too much of the girl I was here to avoid.
Em had been so unlike other girls I had known. She was “low maintenance” as the song described, appreciating when I tried to take her to fancy restaurants but preferring quiet evenings, if you could call them that, at my fraternity house. She would get the guys to play board games and was a fierce competitor when it came to winning.
Fortunately, the song ended by the time I made my way past several round tables to the long, polished wood bar. I took off my overcoat and laid it across my lap, looking around in appreciation. The place was different from those in Charlotte. It didn’t have the “club” atmosphere; there wasn’t the techno lighting or DJ. There weren’t girls in tight, sparkly dresses or guys who thought they were big shots and looking to show off by dropping a few hundred on drinks. This was laid back, a place to unwind, either with friends or on your own.
Several long strings of globe lights were draped between metal pipes that hung from the wood ceiling and reflected in a mirror behind the liquor shelves. In the center of the bar, several taps that looked like they’d been there longer than I’d been alive promised an impressive variety of beer. A small dance floor with a raised platform for a band was to my left. But most interesting was the mechanical bull pen on the other side, where currently, a guy with a cowboy hat seemed to hold his own, judging by the cheers coming from the onlookers.
“Welcome to Ferg’s.” A pretty redhead placed a napkin in front of me. “What can I get for you, handsome?” I liked her smile, a little flirty and a lot genuine. I could tell she liked what she saw by the way her eyes lingered on me.
“I don’t suppose you have any Macallan?”
“Fifteen or eighteen years?” she replied without batting an eye.
“I think today calls for the eighteen.”
She turned around, climbed onto a stool, and reached for a bottle. She wiped the dust off with a clean cloth before she pulled the cork out and grabbed a lowball glass from under the bar.
“Something tells me you don’t want it on the rocks,” she said as she poured a generous finger’s worth into the glass and slid it in front of me before leaning her arms against the polished wood. “Are we celebrating or forgetting?”
I took a sip, enjoying its familiar complexity of flavors. I glanced at the pretty bartender. “More like avoiding.”
“Ah. Well, I would’ve thought a bigger city would be a better place for that, but you’ve come to the right place so long as you’re here.” She cocked her head to one side and studied me. “You look familiar, but I never forget a face, and I’m sure I’ve never met you before. You on TV or somethin’?”
I shook my head. “Nope. Never been here, never been on television.” I finished the glass in two more swallows, an abuse of the expensive drink that was meant to be sipped, but I relished the burn as it made its way down my throat.
I pushed it toward her for a refill. Pulling out my wallet, I slapped my credit card on the bar. “You might want to leave the bottle.”
She frowned. “You got somewhere to stay?”
I nodded. “The Dogtrot.”
I took the bottle, not caring that she continued to study me through narrowed eyes as if still trying to place me. Finally, she tapped the wood in front of me with her knuckles. “Holler if you need anything.”
But unless she could turn back the clock thirty-six hours when I was happily living my life back in Charlotte, there was nothing she could do. But this bottle might help.
Oomph.
“Shit.”
I rolled over and struggled into a sitting position. My head swam. Whose big idea was it to add a fourth step to the stairs anyway? Wasn’t three enough?
Somewhere, my legs had disappeared, so I stayed sitting. I could see my breath, but I couldn’t feel the cold.
I chuckled to myself. I’d never failed at anything I tried, and tonight was no exception. Mission accomplished; I wasn’t feeling anything.
I rolled my head from side to side, looking around. It was probably only ten o’clock at night, but there was no one around. Even the bar had emptied. Good thing I had finished my bottle.
It was so different from home, where restaurants and bars stayed open until midnight and later on weekends. There was always something stirring: cars, buses, pedestrians, occasional sirens. All noises that faded into the background unless you stopped to pay attention.
Here, there was nothing to listen to except the stirring of leaves this time of year, and tonight, even they were quiet. It was different but peaceful. Only the streetlamps offered any light, making the stars appear brighter than I was used to seeing.
As I watched them twinkle above my head, a door creaked, and a swath of light spilled onto the stairs like a spotlight showcasing my not-so-grand return. I squinted at the light, seeing a figure emerge from the center. I blinked, trying to focus, but it was like looking into the sun. I shaded my eyes, and sure enough, I was right.
“Hey, Zach.”
“Sunshine,” I croaked. I must have knocked my head on the stairs. “I know it’s not you because you’re not here because I’ve forgotten you.” I grinned. “But even not-you is beautiful.”
Her chuckle brought back that sense of lightness I’d always felt in her presence, like the bubbles in champagne that tickle your mouth and make you feel good.
