CHAPTER NINETEEN

NICE LADY

Griff and I hiked across the parking lot and over the dusty terrain to the now-familiar veterinarian clinic. “Visitors often think volunteering here is all about playing with puppies and petting kitties, but we need the most help with cleaning cages and general upkeep. The volunteers keep this place going. I don’t know what we would do without them.”

Okay, I thought reasonably. He’s charming to all the volunteers to soften the blow of giving them dull jobs. A golf cart driven by a young woman with a gray stocking cap and a springer spaniel riding next to her bumped by. The dog’s ears flew behind him, and his mouth was wide open in a smile. The cart hit a divot, and the woman’s arm shot out and made sure the dog was secure.

When we entered the clinic, I was the only volunteer with Griffin. And I considered Griffin again. Why did I care what he thought of me? What anyone thought of me?

A staff member, a small man with glasses, stopped Griffin to ask about supplies for the clinic. I watched them speak, tried to puzzle out what was going on with me. If Maddie had been here, I could have focused on a teachable animal moment, or made sure she knew where to get lunch. But she wasn’t, and I had the time to think about me.

Another staff member pushed out of the clinic and saved me from the reverie. “Hi, Marcy,” Griffin said. The woman stopped, fished a note out of an apron pocket, and held up a laminated card I couldn’t read. She wore canvas shoes with Vegan written on the top of each one. Griff read the message on the card. “Clinic, then Dog Town,” he said.

The woman turned to me and held up a different card for me to read. It said, I won’t speak until the animals can .

“Oh,” I said.

She had a defiant look on her face, then she turned an invisible key at her lips and stalked off.

“She doesn’t talk?”

Griff took a deep breath and said, “This is a great place for people with strong convictions.”

My phone buzzed as we moved into the clinic, announcing that we were in the real world, despite feeling on the edge of it.

I peeked at the texts. Maddie, right on cue.

MADDIE: What should I do with my day off?

The twin zing of worry and delight buzzed through me. I had no idea how to answer my daughter. Had I taught her to ask for suggestions rather than to dial into her own wants? What I wanted to do was focus on what was happening right this minute. Was Griff interested in me? Was I interested in him? Awake. I felt awake.

“I haven’t been here long, and already the outside world is moving way too fast. Asking for too much.”

“That’s what happens. I thought I’d be here just to heal, but I can’t imagine jumping back into the regular world.”

MADDIE: Yoo hoo

ME: I can’t right now.

MADDIE: Rude, mom

And I didn’t reply.

When Holly blasted into the clinic, I was busy folding laundry, trying to be zen about this day delay. I had just decided to FaceTime Katie—I needed to see her smile, assess her color, and reassure myself. I found a place to prop my phone, but, as if in slow motion, I felt the door whoosh open, saw Holly’s panicked face, and heard her high-pitched shout. “Help!”

Holly had less of a mad-at-Sam look and more of a this-is-a-real-emergency expression. It was shocking to see the always sardonic and composed Holly rattled, but I was relieved that I hadn’t caused this particular crisis.

The clinic door slid shut behind her, and she shouted louder this time, “Hey!” while cradling a blanket in her arms. Griff moved with unruffled certainty, and a vet tech put her arm around Holly’s shoulders and said, “This way.”

Holly said, “Help it.”

Griff took whatever Holly held with practiced gentleness and placed the bundle onto the stainless steel exam table. A warm overhead light clicked on. Gently, Griff plucked the soft fabric aside.

Holly stood, wringing her hands, her face white as a paper cup. “I don’t know what happened. He was fine literally one minute ago.”

Griff said, “Fill me in.”

“I was in Cat World like I was supposed to be. There were pans to clean. I had been petting Fluffer Nutter in the Community Cat room earlier. I’ve never had a cat. I don’t know how to pet them. Is there a way to pet them?”

I peered at the bundle and said, “Fluffer Nutter?”

“I touched his back; he flopped over. Then something came out of it. A huge moving blob of poop came out of it.”

“A moving blob?”

“Of poop,” she said with increasing volume. Holly grabbed my arms and with wide, frightened eyes said, “It was horrible. He made this horrible mewing sound like someone had his tail in a door or something. I grabbed the first towel I saw, wrapped him and the poop up. I didn’t look. I just brought him here. I couldn’t find my staff person. I couldn’t find her!”

I rubbed Holly’s forearm, something I hadn’t done since she was a drunken, emotional college student who threw up chili in the dorm sink after drinking too much red wine.

“I’m sure you did the right thing.”

“The noise he made.”

“He’s quiet now, though. You did the right thing.”

“Is he dead?”

I put my arms around her shoulder, and it felt so good. I said, “I’m sure he’s not dead. Nobody dies from pooping.”

I knew what Maddie would say watching this interaction. She’d say, “Mom, why are you so nice to Holly when she’s so mean to you?”

The answer was so simple. I wanted her to love me again. I knew it was piteous. Maybe it was part of that weird thing we humans do. We only want to be a member of the club that won’t have us. Maybe it was my almost-desperate need to be liked, and here this person was, wildly, aggressively not liking me. But when Holly was vulnerable and needed somebody, I just wanted to comfort her, and I wanted her friendship because despite everything, I still loved her.

“Let’s go over and see Peanut.”

“Peanut?”

“Katie’s dog? The reason we’re here?” I tried to guide her toward the room where I knew Peanut and Moose lay quietly together, but she resisted. A young woman in blue scrubs said, “She’s having her babies. Fluffer Nutter is a mama.”

“Well, that explains it, Hol. She was pregnant.”

“He’s pregnant?”

“She is. Fluffer Nutter is a she.”

Holly gaped at the table, at Griff and the kitten. “I moved her. Midlabor, I picked her up.”

“You picked up the baby too. They’re doing fine though, right?” I said.

The woman smiled and nodded.

Holly looked at her hands and shuddered. “It looked so gross. And it was a baby? Babies aren’t gross.”

Griff laughed. “If you’re not used to seeing this kind of thing, it’s definitely gross.”

“I almost passed out,” Holly interrupted him.

“Okay. Let’s get you a chair.” I steered Holly to a tall stool.

“You were so good with Maddie when you delivered her.”

Surprise washed through me. I was so eager for any positive morsel tossed my way from Holly, but it stunned me when it happened.

Katie had been by my bedside and called Holly to come and bring her a change of clothes in case she had to stay the night. Holly came in at the worst possible moment. Right at the second when Maddie slithered out of the birth canal and into the doctor’s arms, followed by every other drenching membrane that came with birth.

But then she left.

“You were so dignified. It was so wet. All of it. So oceanic.”

“That’s one way to describe it.”

Holly shook her head. “So much of everything. Wetness, pain, stretching. I couldn’t take it. Katie stayed right by your side. Held your hand, remember? I had to go.”

I’d thought for so many years she had walked away in indifference. Now, seeing that Holly had been overwhelmed, not detached, I wanted to soothe her, to tell her it was okay. It would overwhelm anyone. “I remember you brought me two roast beef sandwiches for after.”

“I was going to drop them and leave, but I froze. I wanted to stay, but I was worthless. You don’t know this, but in the hall I got super dizzy and had to lie on a gurney. Somebody had to get me off it. It was for someone going to surgery. I threw up in my coffee.”

“I had no idea?” I knew I sounded incredulous, but I remembered nothing. During the delivery I’d had drugs and couldn’t process what was happening around me. Afterward I didn’t have time to think of Holly. I was too busy bonding with Maddie. Now here we were, Samantha and Holly, talking like old friends.

“I can’t handle all this.” She waved her arms around the clinic. Pointed to Griff, the cat, the exam tables with their large overhead lights. “This. Hospitals. All of it.”

It occurred to me then that what I was seeing was Holly’s future labor-and-delivery stage fright. She was worried for Rosie. Scared she would identify the baby as moving poop and freak out.

My tender feelings for Holly had me responding, “You and Rosie will be great. You rise to every occasion. You two seem to be able to do anything you want.”

Holly snapped her head up, eyes lit from within, furious. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I stepped back, bumped into one of the cold examination tables. “You’re good at everything.”

“That’s not what you mean, though. Rosie and I are just as able and qualified to be parents as you and Jeff.”

“I know that.” And I did. Of course I knew that.

“Do you? I don’t think you do. I think you’re pissed at us. Me. I think you don’t believe a child should have two moms.”

“What are you talking about, Holly?” I said so loudly that I shocked myself. “I was a single mom. Two moms would be much better than one mom.” I flashed a look at Griff, who didn’t seem at all alarmed by the drama on the table or from the two women getting into it in front of him.

“But you did have a man at one time.”

“What are you getting at?”

“Your thinly veiled homophobia.”

“My what?” I laughed bitterly at the ridiculousness from a woman who should have known better.

“Yeah, except it’s not so thinly veiled, is it?”

I backed away from Holly, but she stepped into the argument. I planted my feet and said, “Is this about graduation night? You can’t still be angry about Mike.”

“You don’t like us, do you? Rosie and I. Us as a concept. Us as a couple.”

“You know that’s not true.” I wasn’t even angry at the notion. I didn’t feel defensive, but I did feel misunderstood. “This is why you hate me? This made-up thing you have in your head about my being homophobic?” I should have been angry about the label, but instead I felt deeply hurt, saddened. I wanted to understand her thoughts, what had I said or done that was so obviously insensitive.

“Hate? How could you even say that to me?”

I felt wobbly, and my edge of sharp understanding began to dull with fatigue. I tried to clear my head and said, “I have never understood what happened to our friendship. I never thought you were disgusting. Mike was a jerk. Is this what we have to get over to be friends again?” I hadn’t heard my voice this shrill in years. I knew I was stepping into it. And I didn’t care. I wanted it over. All the tiptoeing, all the shame of feeling responsible for this great wrong in my life and having no way to right it.

The barking started low and almost conversationally. I heard it but had more to say before the lights of my focus succumbed to darkness. I lightly slapped both cheeks. I would not take a pass on this. I would stay awake.

“I’m sorry you’re not prepared for the grit of childbirth, but you can’t take out your fear on me.” A series of louder whines followed the lower rumble.

“You will never be ready to talk about anything, Samantha. Everyone who knows you knows that.” A sharp series of dog complaints filled the air, and Holly added over the din, “And don’t think for one minute I’m not ready to be a parent.”

“Stop it, Holly. When did you get so ruthless?” I wished it had come out stronger. But I was feeling a wash of sleep-disordered fatigue that was all-consuming. I imagined it was the same for an epileptic who felt a seizure coming on and was not able to stop it. If I could get a glass of cold water. Maybe that would help.

“I swear to God, Samantha, if you’re going to pretend to fall asleep right now—”

That did it. “Stop it! You’re a bully, Holly.”

I needed to sit somewhere. Put my head down, clear my thoughts. The dog barking, Holly, it was all too much. I felt an arm around my shoulders and another at my waist and heard Griff’s voice. “Holly. Go calm Peanut down. Samantha, you come with me.”

I looked over my shoulder and glimpsed Peanut standing on his hind legs, howling. Moose stood on all fours, emitting a series of high-pitched, staccato yips. I felt more supported by those two dogs in that moment than almost anyone in my life. It was clear Holly had no idea how to calm down the chorus of animals, but for once she did what she was told. I saw her move to the kennel, her hands out in front of her, saying something I couldn’t hear.

“She’s so . . .” I struggled to label her in the way she had labeled me. “She’s so mean,” I said like a kid on the playground to the teacher who had come to rescue her.

Griff guided me to his office, set a tall glass of water in front of me, and left me alone. I’d have given anything for one of my pills. If I took one just before I fell asleep, I’d wake in twenty minutes feeling like a superhero. Normal humans called this a coffee nap, but mine would more appropriately be called a speed nap. I drank the water, rested my head, and fell sound asleep.

When I woke, it was as if my thoughts were a child, waiting for me to reengage. Homophobic? Am I homophobic? Is there a Google quiz on this? I mean, I’m sure I have prejudices I don’t even know I have, but homophobia? No, I thought. I’m not. But maybe that was exactly what homophobic people thought. There had to be types of homophobia exhibited by well-intentioned people who didn’t understand their own biases. Was that me?

I shifted my position, closed my eyes, waited for the relief of my thoughts. I blinked. When did she come to this conclusion? When did Holly decide that I was against what she was at her core?

I dialed Katie, and she picked up on the first ring. “Hey, Nugget,” I heard myself say with delight at resurrecting our bond with one word.

“What’s wrong?” Katie examined my face for the distress I thought I’d ironed out before I’d rung her.

“Nothing! One more day here. The vet says we can leave, and boom. On the road.”

She wagged her head disappointedly. She knew me inside and out. I could hide nothing.

“Holly said I’m homophobic.”

“You’re not homophobic.” Boom. No preamble. Just real talk, real support, in real time.

“I don’t think I am. Maybe I said something once that was insensitive? I’m sure I did. Who doesn’t?” I thought about it. “You, I guess. She talks to you, so she doesn’t think you’re homophobic.”

In college Holly’s sexual orientation wasn’t a question. She dated guys, and later never came out as far as I know. “One minute she was in New York alone, and the next she was in New York with Rosie, and then when she called and it was, my wife and I ,” said Katie. I heard the frustration I felt in her voice.

“Okay, Katie, it’s all so pointless.” I felt like I did when my dad was yelling at me, making me feel like I couldn’t get away from the reprimands, and if I tried to defend myself, his anger would intensify.

“Are you going to make her talk about it?”

“Make her? Have you tried to make Holly do anything?”

“You’ll have the time in the car. Maybe you two can talk. You’re going to need each other.” Katie sounded worn out.

I held my breath. “What’s going on?”

“I’m not in remission anymore.” Her voice took on the false pluck of a girl who just didn’t care that she didn’t make the cheerleading squad. She was going to continue to do cartwheels just the same.

I clutched the phone. “Oh, Katie.” I pulled the sleeves of my sweatshirt over my icy hands. I had known this was coming, the petechiae, the red marks on her legs. “Like the last time, right? Did they say this is like the last time?” Already I was planning: We’d get the cold cap for her hair. We wouldn’t forget to ask for the nausea drugs early this time. Dum-Dum lollipops, only the red and purple ones. I’d stock up on rice cakes to settle her stomach. My thoughts raced, my body itching to run to her side, to start the process of saving Katie.

I heard a woman’s voice. Katie said, “Sam, I’ve gotta go. The nurse is here. I have to get in the shower, then some tests.”

“Wait. I need more information.” I heard the anguish in my voice. This was not the voice of a confident person. It was the voice of a person who knew this time was different, worse.

“There isn’t anything yet. I’ll call you as soon as I know more.”

“I am coming home,” I said, standing, shoving my chair back into the wall. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’m just going to get Peanut and drive.”

“Don’t speed,” she said. “I gotta go.”

The phone went silent.

There was a short rap on the door, and Griff poked his head in. “How are you feeling?”

Wild eyed, I said, “I’m so sorry we brought all this to your sanctuary. Can I pack whatever Peanut needs so we can go first thing tomorrow?”

In a calm voice Griffin said, “Everything is ready. He’s going to get his final dose of meds and his last bag of fluids tonight. I’ll have him bathed with Moose and ready when you wake in the morning. There’s three of you. You can drive all night.”

“What can I do?” I heard my voice crack, but I said it again. “What can I do?”

Griffin took a beat, then said with care, “Let’s get you back to your cabin.”