Chapter Twenty-Three

Comfort and Joy had settled quickly into Grace’s daily routine and were suspicious of the lidded basket she placed them into for the trip to the vet. Grace had already waited days, trying to fatten up the two wanderers before taking them back out into the cold.

She sat in the empty waiting room of the clinic holding the basket on her lap, listening to Joy’s scratchy mewing. Grace whispered consoling words to the basket. Shortly after they arrived, the receptionist had checked them in with a curt, "The doctor will be right with you.” And then promptly departed, purse over her arm, as the clock ticked over to 5:00.

Grace waited patiently. Then, not so patiently until 5:30, when no sound came from the back office. Finally, she picked the basket up and walked past the reception desk and down the hallway, looking for any sign of life in the series of small, antiseptic-smelling rooms. Faint strains of the Halleluiah Chorus came down the hallway. She could hear papers shuffling and off-key humming to the music.

“Hellooo?” she called down the hallway and stopped in front of an office, overflowing with paper. Anatomical drawings of a dog were on one wall, a cow on another. An example of the course of feline leukemia was posted above the desk with a plastic model of the internal organs of a cat sitting below the poster, in pieces like a child’s puzzle. Turned away from Grace and bent over a low file cabinet against the far wall, the off-key baritone was still humming, dressed in jeans and a heavy field shirt of dark green. Grace caught herself admiring the cut of the jeans, then coughed quietly.
“Excuse me?”

“What the—DAMN!” The man’s head came up sharply under the overhead cabinet with a resounding thump. Grace winced.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I, well—”

“Is this an emergency?” His voice was sharp. One large hand was rubbing what was no doubt a growing lump on his skull.

“Uhm, no I—”

“Office hours are nine to five unless it’s an emergency.” The man’s green eyes were mesmerizing. They were also watering from the pain.

“I had an appointment at 5:00, but your receptionist said to wait.” Grace felt like one of the school children in Homer Emerson’s office.

“She left you out there? err—sorry.” It was not a genuine apology, but Grace thought possibly it was the only one she’d get.

“Are you all right? No blood, I hope?” She tried a weak smile. He had the goodness to look embarrassed.

“No, no. Well, what was the name?” Both kittens were now mewing and scratching the basket. Joy almost inaudible, Comfort in healthy voice.

“Phillips. Grace Phillips”

He strode down the hallway to the reception desk, scanning the space and then looking at a computer print-out he pulled from a stack of files held in place by a coffee cup featuring a border collie with the gleaming smile of a game show host and advertising dental bones.

“Okay. Phillips. Here you are. Let’s take that basket of cats back here and have a look.” Pulling a sheet of white paper off a large roll, he covered an examining table and grabbed a notepad.

“Address is on—oh, that Phillips. Living in the old Bouche place, right?”

“Yes that’s me, that’s us. You see I found these kittens in the ice storm. Well, actually, they found me. And Norm thinks the mother may be dead.” He already had Comfort in one hand, running a finger over his small nose, then palpating his stomach while the kitten purred, allowing the exam and enjoying the attention. Grace was surprised to see him slip a cover off a hypodermic needle quickly and slide it under the silver tabby’s skin before Comfort, who was enjoying a one-finger neck scratch, could complain. He listened to her describe the condition of the kittens when they were found and then handed her the silver tabby and pulled Joy away from a trash can she was examining with one paw.

“A little raspy there, aren’t you?” Joy answered with a nearly noiseless meow and then gave the vet her now-famous grin.

“She seems to be fine. Some Siamese there, definitely. Well,” he said as he washed his hands in the sink after finishing with the white kitten, “she may not get the voice back. But that may be to your benefit. The Siamese are yowlers. And climbers. You’ll find this white one on top of your refrigerator soon. They were lucky you opened your door in the middle of that storm, Miss Phillips.” There was no accent on the Miss as there had been with Lance Curtis.

“It’s Grace. I’ve always been more of a dog person. But there they were and they were in bad shape. Maybe that’s when Joy lost her voice.” She stroked Joy and then tucked her, uncomplaining, into the basket with a drowsy-looking Comfort.

“Comfort and Joy, a couple of early Christmas presents. They’ll need another round of shots in a few weeks, so you’ll be back to see us. And,” the grin was genuine this time, “sorry about the wait out there. I’ll have a word with Trudy. She has young ones, so she worries about leaving on time.”

“Thank you for seeing them.”

“Small, but getting stronger it appears.. Give them kitten food and the wormer I’ve jotted down here and they’ll be fine. The Bouche mansion will be devoid of mice with those two around.”

He did have a nice smile, she thought again. He looked to be in his forties , with black hair and very, very green eyes. She shook herself mentally. She was staring and she knew it. But the look was warm and friendly. Grace smiled.

She thought back later about those green eyes as she brushed her hair before bed. She had come home and belatedly checked the mirror. She cursed herself. No lipstick. Her face reddened by the wind. Hair blown all around. She probably looked like she had flown in on her broom. Why couldn’t her hair be dark, like Ellie’s? Or a nice golden blonde like Katy’s? She was the in-between sister. Moderately brown hair, an average nose. Average height and the other side of average build. She squinted at the mirror. She grabbed some lipstick and applied it almost viciously then checked the mirror again. She now looked ridiculous, with a red face and absurdly pink lips.

Why was it men like Lancelot Curtis drooled all over her hand, but men like the tall, good-looking vet with the nice smile greeted her with a head bang and a “Damn”? She was, in fact, cursed.