Chapter 15
Nan
The day after Monica’s taste test for Restaurant Month turned out to be busy, and very stressful. It was partly my own doing because when Chrissy phoned that morning, I made the mistake of telling her about Dani’s call and how I’d been cruising the bridges and byways of Portland every day since, searching for her.
“Mom, for the ten thousandth time, Dani has made her own choices. Trying to rescue her will only make it worse. You need to let her hit bottom.”
Chrissy teaches fourth grade. Maybe that’s why she always talks to me like I’m nine years old. But she’s always had a tendency to lecture. When she was about six, I walked past Chrissy’s bedroom and heard her scolding the teddy bears for not washing their paws before her pretend tea party.
“It’s easy to say that. But when I’m lying in bed and it’s warm under the covers but freezing outside, and I think of Dani out there—” I felt something brush my leg and looked down to see Blixen leaning against me, her muzzle resting on my knee.
“Mom, you raised seven kids and six of us turned out just fine. Do you know what the odds are against that happening these days? Half of my friend’s kids are in therapy, and the other half ought to be. You were a great mother. But Dani is just . . . broken. Beyond repair. Hopeless.”
“Don’t say that. Nobody is beyond hope, ever. If I could only find her, talk to her. She needs help.”
“You can’t give Dani money. She’ll only—”
“I know that,” I snapped.
Really, how did I raise a child who is not only bossy but pedantic to boot?
“I packed a bag with food and clothes and a waterproof sleeping bag and put it in the car, in case I see her when I’m driving around town.” Chrissy started to argue with me, but I talked right over her objections. “You didn’t hear her when she called. She sounded desperate, sick, and weak. I can’t force her to get help, but I can keep her from starving or freezing. If I let her know that I’ll always be there for her, maybe someday she’ll believe me.”
“Like she doesn’t already,” Chrissy scoffed. “The second Dani pulls one of her little dramas, you’ll drop everything and run to the rescue. Did it ever occur to you that she might need a little tough love?”
I took a deep breath and counted to five.
“Chrissy, it was thirty-four degrees and pouring rain last night. Your sister is hungry and homeless. She’s a hostage to an addiction so strong it makes her forget everything except getting her next fix. How much tougher do you think love should be?”
Chrissy was silent, leaving me space to regret my rebuke. And I did regret it, not my words, but the way I’d said them.
As I was about to apologize, she said, “Well, I don’t know how you expect to find her. Or what you imagine would happen if you did. She’s had so many chances and thrown them all away. You’ve done everything for her, Mom. It upsets me to see you feeling bad about Dani when you’ve done such a good job with the rest of us.”
Chrissy is protective of anyone she cares for, including me. She’s always been like that—a motherly fussbudget. When she was little, it was sweet. In some ways it still is. But she’s more set in her ways than she used to be, and more judgmental. I love Chrissy. I love all my kids. Nothing will ever change that. But some days, liking them can be hard.
“Honey, I’m glad you think I was a good mother. But don’t you see? My search for Dani is part of that. It’s a big city. I know I probably won’t be able to find her, not unless she wants to be found. But I’m going to keep looking. She’s my tenth sheep.”
“Dani’s a sheep?” she asked, sounding confused.
“Like in the parable. When one of the sheep went missing, the shepherd left the other nine in a safe place and searched for the one that was lost. Your sister is my tenth sheep. I’ll never give up looking for her, Chrissy. I can’t.”
Not long after I got off the phone with Chrissy, Donna Gomer, the care coordinator for Rainbow Gate, called. One of the rescue’s other volunteers had suffered a stroke and died, leaving behind his own two dogs—a pair of black Labs—and a bulldog he was fostering.
Leaving Blixen and the rest of the pack at home, I dropped everything and drove to Sandy, near Mount Hood, to pick up the orphaned dogs. One of the Labs, Mildred, was holding one eye closed. Though it didn’t seem like an emergency, I decided to drop by the animal hospital and ask Dr. Kelly to take a look. But first I drove to the pet shop. Lovey, the bulldog, was on a special diet and needed a particular brand of canned food. And with so many dogs in residence, I was going to need more kibble. Sylvia was glad to see me and happy to hear we were going to move forward with her idea for the dog jackets.
“I thought we’d display them here,” she said, walking me to an endcap near the front door that was currently stocked with leashes. “That way people will see them right when they come in.”
“You are so sweet to do this. But are you sure you want to donate all of the proceeds to the rescue? You deserve to make at least a little profit.”
“A little profit is all I’ve ever made,” Sylvia laughed. “You don’t open a pet shop because you plan to get rich; you do it because you love animals. Besides, Rainbow Gate does good work. And look at all the business you give me.” She pointed to the counter where I’d stacked all my purchases. “You’re taking care of seven dogs? I don’t know where you find the energy.”
“It’s just temporary. Hopefully the rescue will be able to find permanent homes for them soon.”
Sylvia offered to help carry the dog food to my car, but then the phone rang and she got involved in a conversation about guinea pigs that looked like it might take some time. Though it was cool and cloudy and the car was locked, I didn’t like leaving the dogs alone for long. I mouthed a silent farewell to Sylvia, then stacked the bag of kibble on top of the case of food and left.
The car was only parked in the next block, but the load was heavy and my arms were aching even before I got to the corner. As I was about to cross the street, I heard someone call my name. It was Malcolm Kelly.
“Here! Let me take those,” he said, relieving me of my burden before I could protest. “Good grief. Are you feeding every stray in the neighborhood?”
“Almost,” I said, then explained about my unexpected guests. “Are you on your lunch hour? I was just about to drive to the hospital. Something is wrong with Mildred’s eye.”
“I haven’t taken a lunch hour in thirty-six years. But I’m not in the office today. Actually,” he said, his smile fading, “I’ve retired, sold the hospital. The new vet, Laura Carey, took over this week. You’ll like her.”
“Retired?” I clicked the remote to unlock the car. “Why didn’t you say anything the last time I came in?”
“I didn’t want to tell anyone until the papers were signed. And part of me was hoping for a reprieve. Selling the hospital was my wife’s idea, not mine. Well, maybe it was her lawyer’s idea.” He shrugged, as if it didn’t matter one way or the other. “Anyway, it’s done.
“Barbara wanted a divorce. The judge ruled that she was entitled to half the business. I couldn’t afford to buy her out and so . . .” He shrugged again.
“Oh, Malcolm. I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”
I opened the back door and Malcolm hefted the dog food onto the seat, then straightened up and rubbed his lower back.
“I’m fine. I was going to have to retire eventually. Maybe it’s for the best. Barbara moved out once before, after our youngest went to college. I convinced her to give it another chance, went to counseling and all that. For a time it seemed like things were better, but she said she just doesn’t like being married. She wants a life of her own, she says. She’s training to be a Pilates teacher. Wants to open a studio. But I’m fine,” he assured me once again. “And I wish her well. Or well enough.”
He smiled a little. “My biggest problem right now is finding ways to keep myself busy. I’ve reconnected with some old friends from my college days,” he said. “That’s what I was doing this afternoon, having lunch with some of the Romeos.”
“Romeos?”
“R.O.M.E.O.—Retired Old Men Eating Out.”
I laughed. Malcolm rolled his eyes.
“Believe me, it’s just as bad as it sounds,” he said. “The two main topics of conversation were golf and Viagra.”
“I thought Scotsmen liked golf.”
“I don’t dislike it,” Malcolm said. “But I’m not quite ready to turn it into my reason for living. I’m glad I ran into you. I’ve been thinking—maybe I could do a little volunteer vet work with the pet rescue?”
“Oh, Malcolm! Would you? Medical bills are one of our biggest expenses.”
“And still will be,” he said. “Without surgery and lab equipment, I won’t be able to do much beyond the basics. Dr. Carey is an excellent vet, but with school loans to pay off, she can’t afford to offer discounts. Maybe I can help balance out the costs a bit.”
“Malcolm, that would be great. Thank you so much.”
“Not at all. You’re saving me from spending my golden years trying to tap a little ball into a cup.” He shuddered with pretended horror and I laughed. Malcolm always had a good sense of humor.
He walked to the back of the car and peered through the hatch window at the pet crates. “Now, then, which of these wee doggies is Mildred? Oh, I see. The one with her left eye closed.” He winced. “That looks sore. But I don’t see any seeping or signs of infection. Could be a scratched cornea. Would you like me to take a peek?”
“Would you, please?”
I pressed another button to open the hatch. All of the dogs got immediately to their feet, wiggling and barking in excitement.
“I know, I know,” I said. “We’re not going for a walk yet, gang. Malcolm is just going to check out poor Mildred’s eye. Then we’ll head home and have a good romp in the yard. Okay?”
With so many years of experience handling rescue dogs, I’m always careful to make sure the animals in my care are under control, especially when we’re anywhere near a road, and today was no exception. However, I didn’t realize that the locking mechanism on one of the crates was damaged.
Mildred, just over a year old, was still a bouncing ball of unbridled energy. As I tried to reach through the bars of the crate to get hold of her collar and clip on her leash, she lunged forward, slamming into the door and snapping open the broken lock. When she bolted through the door, I was knocked backward onto the pavement. Malcolm threw himself between the dog and the street, quickly scooping Mildred into his arms.
“Oh, you naughty brute,” he scolded as Mildred licked his face. “You could have gotten yourself killed. Come now, back into the crate. I’ll follow Nan to the house and check you there. It’ll be safer for everyone. Don’t you think so—?”
Malcolm turned around to ask his question and gasped when he saw me sprawled on the pavement. The pain was terrible. Moving quickly, Malcolm popped Mildred back into her crate, closed the hatch, and knelt down beside me.
“Where does it hurt?”
“Everywhere. But mostly—” I tried to sit up and winced in pain.
“Don’t move,” Malcolm ordered. He conducted a quick examination, paying particular attention to my neck and limbs, then pulled out his phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling 911. You’ll be fine,” he assured me. “But we’re going to the hospital.”