The half-filled cardboard box on the passenger seat burned like an ember in Al’s peripheral vision. This was all he had to show for nearly three decades of service? A framed picture of Millie taken fifteen years ago. A stack of snapshots of the kids and grandkids he’d tacked to the wall of his cubicle above his computer monitor. The magnetized paper clip holder one of the boys had given him for a long-ago Christmas. A few file folders with personal papers inside, which his human resource escort had examined while he stood watching and feeling like a criminal accused of stealing corporate secrets. His nameplate, of course, since soon his cubicle would be occupied by someone else.
Someone younger.
His hands clenched the steering wheel. Should he hire an attorney? Claim age discrimination? He probably had a good case. A wave of retribution swelled in his chest and then receded like the tide washing back out to sea. What good would a lawsuit do? Cases like that were expensive. The lawyers would take a chunk of any settlement he might get, and he’d end up with less than the severance package they’d given him. And probably forfeit his retiree insurance in the process.
A car’s horn dragged him out of his gloomy thoughts. The traffic light in front of him glowed green. With an apologetic wave at the impatient man behind him, Al stepped on the gas pedal. The Ford pickup pulled into the left lane and sped around him, the driver tossing a glare his way as he passed.
He directed an excuse toward the truck’s rear bumper. “Gimme a break, will you? I’m old and unemployed.”
How would Millie take the news? He dismissed the question the moment it entered his mind. He knew exactly how his wife of nearly forty years would react. She would be taken by surprise, as he had been, but would recover quickly. Given Millie’s naturally cheerful nature, she’d put a positive spin on this devastating blow within a minute or two. We’ll have time to travel, she would say. We can finally use your motorhome and go see the Grand Canyon. That, of course, would only be for his benefit, an attempt to cheer him up. Eventually she would get around to the point he dreaded hearing. We can open the B&B early, get some paying guests, and begin building up our savings again.
A shudder shook his frame. Last spring they had entertained a few experimental guests, a sort of practice run she’d called it. The results had been disastrous. Three weeks of misery, and in the end not a single penny’s profit. No. He couldn’t face that again, not yet. Not while he was still reeling at being sledgehammered, forced out to pasture before his time. Depression already dragged at him like a millstone necklace. He wouldn’t be able to come up with a single plausible excuse in the face of his wife’s cheerful insistence that they hang out their shingle and start taking reservations.
Another traffic light turned yellow up ahead, and he slowed to a stop. The B&B was Millie’s dream, her endeavor. Knowing his capable wife, she would make a success of it. In no time, his home would have a constant stream of strangers in and out, and Millie would be in her element, cooking delectable breakfasts and making sure every bedroom had fresh flowers. She’d probably put mints on their pillows at night. And what would become of him? He’d be reduced to carrying luggage, waiting tables, and performing whatever menial tasks she came up with. His wife would become his boss.
Unthinkable. The man was supposed to be the breadwinner. That was the natural order of things.
The obvious answer struck him. He wouldn’t tell her. Not for a while, anyway. Not until he had time to think and come up with a plan of his own. Straightening his shoulders, Al let the idea settle. Yes, that was the answer, at least in the short term. He wouldn’t actually lie, just withhold the news for a while. Only long enough to figure out his next move.
After the decision was made, a sort of peace settled over him. At home the routine would not change. He’d still get up, dress in his work clothes, and leave the house at seven fifteen as always. During the day he’d have plenty of time to figure out an arrangement he could live with. Next week was a short week because of Thanksgiving, so it would only be for a few days. It was a good plan.
The traffic light changed, and with a lighter heart he started through the intersection. Then a thought slapped him like a blow to the head.
Franklin Thacker.
He slammed on the brakes, earning another angry honk from the car behind him. Thacker occupied the cubicle next to his at work and lived in Goose Creek. A thoroughly insufferable man, but his wife and Millie were friends.
Jerking the turn signal on, he executed a quick right turn and then steered his vehicle into the closest parking lot. A quick rummage through his box of belongings produced his cell phone, which he flipped open and turned on. Agonizing moments passed as the ancient device powered up. Millie frequently accused him of owning the only workable flip phone still in existence, but why spend money for a fancy one as long as this one still did the job? Finally, he was able to punch in a phone number.
“Goooooood morning. Franklin Thacker here.”
The sing-song tone set Al’s teeth on edge, but he didn’t waste time. “Thacker, it’s me.”
“Bert?” The man’s voice lowered to a whisper. “Oh, man, I just heard. What a shocker. Everybody’s talking about it. I can’t believe they’d fire an old guy like you who’s been here a hundred years.”
Al ground his teeth. How old did Thacker think he was, anyway? “Twenty-eight years.”
He’d been thankful that Lewis had called a department meeting while he cleaned out his cubicle. At least he hadn’t been subjected to the stares and whispers of his coworkers. Though he would love to question Thacker further and find out exactly what was said about his departure, he had no time to waste.
“You haven’t called Lulu yet, have you?” Al directed a mental plea toward heaven and held his breath as he awaited the answer.
“I was getting ready to when you called. We just got back to our desks.”
Thank goodness.
“Look, I need you to do something for me.” Al swallowed hard. How it galled to ask Thacker for a favor.
A pause on the line, and Thacker’s whisper became conspiratorial. “Is it illegal?”
Al pulled the phone away from his ear to give it a disgusted look before responding. “Of course not! I need you to keep this under your hat for a while. Don’t tell Lulu or anyone else in Goose Creek.”
An even shorter pause, and then, “Not gonna tell the missus, huh?”
One thing about Thacker. The man was irritating in the extreme, but he was quick on the uptake.
“No, I’m not.” Feeling guilty, Al rushed on. “Not immediately, anyway. I need a while to settle some things. I want to have a plan in place. I have a few ideas I’d like to nail down first.”
A complete lie, but a necessary one. Necessary for his self-esteem, that is.
“Weeeeelll.” Thacker stretched the word into three syllables. “I have a hard time keeping secrets from Sugar Lips. All she has to do is give me that look, and I melt like ice cream in July. That woman’s got feminine wiles oozing out of her pores. You know what I’m talking about, dontcha? I mean, you’re old and all, but surely you still—”
“I know the look,” Al hurried to say, repugnance settling in his stomach. “But if you don’t tell Lulu you’re keeping a secret, she’ll have no reason to try her”—he swallowed hard—“feminine wiles on you.”
“Good point. Okay, buddy. Us Geese gotta stick together, right? My lips are sealed. I mean, my beak is sealed.” Thacker’s trademark guffaw blasted through the phone, ending in a grating snort.
Even so, Al let out a pent-up breath. “I appreciate it.”
“No problemo, amigo.” His voice lost all trace of its customary bluster. “Listen, Al, if you need anything, I’m here for you.”
A lump formed in Al’s throat, and he had a hard time getting an answer out. “Thanks, Franklin.”
He hung up and sat staring at his phone. For the first time in all the years they’d known each other, Thacker had called him Al instead of Bert. If his annoying former coworker felt it appropriate to drop the irritating nickname he knew Al hated, his situation must be as pathetic as he thought.
“That’s the last one, Mrs. Smellenberg. All vaccinated and ready to go.” Susan placed the fifth kitten back in the pet carrier and latched the door. “Have you found homes for them?”
“Only three.” The woman’s expression became hopeful. “You don’t happen to know anyone who wants a six-toed kitten, do you?”
“No, but you’re welcome to put a notice on the bulletin board in our waiting room.” Susan noted the date and treatment code in the file folder. “Tuesday Love might also let you hang a sign in the window of the Day Spa. She’s extremely sympathetic to polydactyl cat owners.”
Mrs. Smellenberg brightened. “That’s a good idea. Is there anything special I need to do for Taffy?”
Susan peered into the second carrier, where the kittens’ newly spayed mama lay dozing. “She’s going to be groggy for several hours, so give her a quiet place to rest. It’s best to keep the kittens and your children away from her for a day or two. Some cats get cranky as the anesthetic wears off. I’ll give you some pain pills and a bag of special litter to use for the next week, until that incision heals.”
“I wish I’d had her spayed before she got pregnant. But since she’s an inside cat, I thought I had time.” Picking up the kittens’ carrier, the woman heaved a sigh. “She only got out of the house once, but that was enough.”
With a sympathetic smile, Susan lifted Taffy’s crate and followed her owner out to the reception area. Her next patient, a brindle-and-white pit bull, strained at the leash in the Playful Pups waiting room, its black nose quivering in their direction.
She handed Taffy’s file folder to Alice. “Take twenty percent off the vaccination total.” She smiled at Mrs. Smellenberg. “A volume discount.”
“Thank you, Dr. Susan.” The woman dug in her purse and produced a credit card.
Alice took it, and, when she turned in the reception chair to run it through the machine, dropped it on the floor.
“Clumsy me,” she mumbled, a pink stain rising in her cheeks. She retrieved the card, punched the total into the reader, and swiped. While she waited for the receipt to print, her gaze flickered toward the waiting room, and the blush deepened.
Curious, Susan glanced in that direction. The man holding the other end of the pit’s leash stared at them, a shy smile playing around his lips. Correction. His stare was fixed on Alice.
The receptionist tore off the receipt and placed it on the counter for Mrs. Smellenberg’s signature. The cat owner picked up a pen and started to sign, but then stopped.
“Either you’re the cheapest veterinarian in the world, or I got way more than a twenty percent discount.”
Susan glanced at the slip of paper, which listed the total bill at twelve dollars. “I think a few numbers are missing.”
Visibly flustered, Alice snatched the receipt. “I’m so sorry.” Her face flamed and she spared another quick glance toward the man before ducking her head and turning again to the credit card reader.
Alice never made mistakes like that. Her fingers trembled as she punched the correct amount into the machine. The poor woman was obviously flustered, and the explanation sat in the Playful Pup room.
Compassion for her shy receptionist prompted Susan to offer an excuse. “We’ve been having trouble with that machine. We probably need to call the company and have them send a replacement.”
Alice flashed her a grateful look.
When Mrs. Smellenberg had paid her bill, she reached for Taffy’s carrier.
“Would you like some help out to your car?” Susan asked.
“I’ll help.” Alice leaped up from her chair so quickly it rolled across the floor and crashed into the printer stand. At the same time, she knocked a stack of papers off the reception desk, and they fluttered to the floor. Thankfully, the man in the waiting room couldn’t see behind the tall reception counter, but Alice, misery plain on her expression, probably didn’t notice as she scrambled to retrieve them.
“Uh, that’s okay.” Mrs. Smellenberg shouldered her purse and, with a curious glance at Alice scooping papers off the floor, took Taffy’s carrier from Susan.
When Susan had closed the door behind her, she turned toward the cause of Alice’s agitation. “Hello. I’m Dr. Susan Hinkle.”
He shook her hand. “Ansel Crowder.” The name was spoken with the heavy Appalachian drawl common in eastern Kentucky.
“And who is this?” Susan stooped to rub the dog’s ears. The breed had the reputation of being vicious, but most of the pit bulls she’d encountered were as friendly as any other. Like this one, who closed its eyes and leaned into her caress.
“This here’s Goob.” Ansel aimed an affectionate grin at his pet. “I aimed to call him Butch, but when he was a pup he was such a bumbling little goober, he ended up being Goob.” He leaned down and scrubbed the dog’s neck roughly. “But you grew outta that, didn’t ya boy?”
“Goob.” Somehow she managed to keep a straight face while repeating the name. “Why are we seeing Goob today?”
“He went and got himself bit by something. Ain’t sure what, but his hind leg’s all swelled up and oozing.”
A close inspection of the wound—two nasty-looking gouges—revealed the cause. “Looks like Goob surprised a snake. Maybe venomous from the looks of it, but definitely infected.”
“I seen a cottonmouth by the crick a few weeks back.” Concern settled over the man’s broad face. “He’ll be okay, won’t he? I mean, he ain’t gonna die from it?”
“I’m not at all concerned about that.” Susan stood and gave him an assuring smile. “From the size of the fang marks, the snake was probably a baby and without enough venom to kill a big dog like Goob. I’m surprised he isn’t sick, though.”
“We-el, he has been kind of puny since yesterday. Sleeps a lot, and he’s off his feed. He tends toward lazy, so I didn’t think nothing of it until I saw him limping. The animal doc I go to over in Morleyville is on vacation, so I figured I’d give you a try.” His gaze slid past Susan toward Alice. “Sure glad I did.”
Though Susan managed not to look at her receptionist, she could almost feel the heat of another furious blush radiating from that direction. “I’m glad too. We’ll get that cleaned up and give him some medicine that’ll have him back to normal in no time. Let’s take him to an examination room.”
Passing the reception desk, she spared a quick glance at Alice, who was scribbling on a notepad, her head bent so far over her nose nearly touched the paper. Ansel stared hard at her as they passed, but she didn’t look up. A grin threatened, which Susan suppressed. A little male admiration was good for any female’s self-esteem, but especially Alice. As a single mother of five—including two rowdy boys who caused more trouble than a herd of coyotes—she often appeared exhausted and careworn.
“Yep.” Ansel craned his neck to keep Alice in sight as he followed Susan through the swinging door to the clinic area. “Sure am glad I came to Goose Creek today.”