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“Yeah, it’s fine, I guess.” She tucks her hair behind her ear, doing her best to remain aloof as she drifts around the room.
“Muriel has been keeping her busy at the resort, cleaning cabins.”
The sharp look Mabel shoots Calla says that part of moving to Trapper’s Crossing has not been fine.
Calla’s eyes sparkle with amusement. At least she’s not taking teenager syndrome personally. “Jonah said everything went well yesterday with moving your sister in?”
“We got it done in half the time with his help.” Frankly, we wouldn’t have gotten it done at all. Vicki’s bedroom furniture was far too heavy for me and Oliver, and Jim conveniently had to work. “I take it he told you all about Beau the Bear-nese?”
“Yes!” Calla exclaims. “I spent all night catching up online. I am so impressed.”
I laugh. “I knew you would be.”
“Sounds like it’s helped drum up some business for you, though?” Calla’s face pinches with concern. I have a feeling Jonah mentioned my financial woes. Is that why she’s standing in my clinic’s lobby for the first time since she moved here?
“It has. We’ll see how long it lasts. How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay. Tired. More because I cut out caffeine than anything.” Her lips twist with a sour expression. “You don’t realize it’s going to be the last time you have a cup of coffee for nine months until after you’ve had it. Hey, so, how old is this picture of you?” She points to the wall.
I school my expression, fighting my urge to laugh. She can’t let it go. “A few years, maybe?”
“You know, it’s always good to keep these things updated. I have a pretty good camera. I could come by and take a few new headshots for you. Something fresh and …” She searches for the word.
“Less like she belongs on the six o’clock news for a meth-induced string of murders?” Cory chirps, ending her call.
Finally, Mabel’s face cracks with a smile.
“It’s okay.” I laugh. “I know how bad it is. It’s more a joke than anything at this point.”
“Oh, thank God,” Calla mutters under her breath, frowning at the framed picture. “But still, Marie. Okay, let’s make plans. Soon.” She hesitates. “And I was also thinking, I could update your website, if you want?” It’s a tentative question, her nose wrinkling as if afraid she’s overstepping. “I was skimming it last night and, I don’t know, it could use some—”
“Yes, please,” Cory pleads, nodding vigorously, first to Calla and then to me. “I meant to spend some time on it this summer, but I’m swamped with wedding plans, and now this”—she gestures at the phone—“we don’t even have the right hours listed.”
“It won’t take me long.”
Cory doesn’t understand what Calla means when she says “update.” “Thank you for the offer, but I can’t sink money into that now.” I looked into design costs once after flipping through Frank Hartley’s professionally built website. I could stock my shelves with syringes and gauze for months with that amount.
She waves my words away. “Consider it payment for all the times you’ve come by to check on Bandit and Zeke. We owe you.”
And I’m certain now that Jonah has told her everything.
She looks around my lobby. “You know, a plant might look nice in here. It doesn’t have to be real.”
She says plant, but she’s already picturing different chairs and wall art. Probably new flooring, too. This is what Calla does when she walks into a neglected space, whether it’s by passion or compulsion. She somehow even managed to get her creative hands past Muriel and on the Ale House, and now its wayward personality is stylized with some semblance of intention. Small details, like harmonizing vinyl tablecloths, frames to replace the thumbtacks on the photographs, lanterns on windowsills, and montages of kitschy signs rather than a clutter of them. It’s still the same bucolic watering hole, just with more charm.
I will be the first to admit Calla’s wildly talented, as I’ll also admit my clinic lobby fits the profile of a neglected, zestless space. But I can’t spend money on a remodel.
The clinic’s phone rings.
“Ten bucks says it’s a new patient,” Cory drones as she reaches for it. “Lehr Animal Care, Cory speaking …” Cory frowns as she listens. “Yeah, she’s here. Hold on a sec, okay?” She covers the receiver rather than putting it on hold. “Tyler’s brother is on the phone? Sounds like there’s something wrong at the kennel, and he can’t get hold of Tyler.”
* * *
The rain falls in sheets against my windshield as I slam my foot against the brakes. My truck skids to a halt in front of the gate blocking the driveway. I’d thought Reed would come out on his ATV to open it, but I realize now what a foolish expectation that was. With how frantic he sounded, there’s no way he’d leave Nala’s side. He probably didn’t think about this obstacle.
