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57
JESSICA
June, Present Day
Maple Ridge
Butterscotch comesinto the kitchen and whimpers. For once, Bailey isn’t by his side. The three of us returned from Violet’s house four hours ago, and they’ve been hanging out in the living room.
“What’s wrong? Do you miss your daddy?” I pick up the dish towel and dry my wet hands. “Why don’t we go for another walk?”
He barks and runs off to the living room. From where I’m standing in the kitchen, I can’t see where he disappeared. But I do know that it wasn’t to the front door.
He barks again, the sound almost desperate.
My stomach twists. Something’s not right. I scramble in the direction of his bark. He’s behind the couch, next to Bailey, who’s lying down, eyes closed. Even from where I’m standing, I can tell something’s seriously wrong.
I race to them and drop to my knees. Bailey is breathing, but the movement of her chest is shallow and labored. I run my hand over her body, tears stinging my eyes. She was fine a few minutes ago, and I didn’t hear anything that warned me she was hurt. No strange barks or cries. Nothing like that.
“It’s going to be okay, Bailey.” My words tumble out, the edges roughened and cracked.
Butterscotch whimpers again and barks but doesn’t leave his friend’s side.
“Don’t worry. We’ll take her to the vet. She’ll be fine.”She’s gotta be fine.My heart pounds hard and fast, and my pulse echoes the chaotic rhythm in my ears.
I grab Troy’s keys from the hallway table and scoop up Bailey’s warm body. “Hold on, girl. Everything’s gonna be all right.”
Whatever you do, don’t fall apart now. Bailey needs you.
Just like I need her.
I carry Bailey to Troy’s truck. Butterscotch trots beside me. I press on the key fob, unlocking the doors, and open the rear passenger door. The movement is awkward, with both my arms supporting Bailey’s weight. I gently lower her onto the back seat. “Please be okay. Please be okay. Please be okay.” My voice is a shaky whisper, a prayer, a plea.
I strap her in with the seat belt and shut the door. Then I lift Butterscotch onto the front passenger seat, sprint to the house, grab my purse, the dogs’ leashes, my keys. I lock the front door and race to the truck, not bothering to set up the makeshift alarms in my house. No time.
I climb into the driver’s seat, turn over the engine, and reverse onto the street. This isn’t the first time I’ve driven a truck, but it is the first time I’ve driven Troy’s.
The drive to the vet clinic is only a few minutes, but it feels like hours before I’m hoisting Bailey off the back seat. My sweet puppy whimpers at the movement, her breathing still labored.
The tears I’ve been restraining finally shatter the dam and wet my cheeks. “Please hold on, Bailey. I love you so, so much. Please be okay.”
I can’t lose her. I’ve already lost so much. She’s the one thing that makes it easier for me to breathe. And thanks to Troy and Jenny, I won’t lose her once her training is over. I won’t lose her then, and I have no intention of losing her now.
I close the door with my shoulder and rush toward the clinic, practically dragging Butterscotch behind me on his leash.
I approach the glass door. A man is leaving and sees my arms are full, my load heavy. He opens the door wider.
“Do you need help?” Sympathy colors his eyes. His young German shepherd attempts to sniff Butterscotch.
“Thank you. I’m fine.” My voice splinters, and I hurry to the front desk in the clinic.
The blond, white woman behind the computer looks up, smiling. The smile is quickly replaced with concern. She pivots to the Black woman with a cloud of textured curls and wearing cat scrubs. “Ambrosia, we have an emergency here.” Her voice is both urgent and calm, the tone of a professional who has experienced her share of emergencies. She swivels back to me, her compassion locking on my gaze. “What happened?”
“I don’t know. She was like this when I found her in my living room.”
Bailey and I are led to an exam room. The receptionist keeps Butterscotch with her, recognizing him as Troy’s dog.
The next few minutes are spent in a whirl of questions about Bailey. What did she eat today? Could she have gotten into something she shouldn’t have? Where has she been during the past twenty-four hours? My brain feels like it’s filled with water. I can barely make out what they’re asking me. And my body is shaking so badly, I’m surprised I can stand.
