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The nurse leads me to another waiting room and tells me she’ll return once she has more information. The receptionist enters the room with Butterscotch and inquires if there’s anything she can get me, or if there’s someone she can call. I shake my head.
I lift Butterscotch onto my lap and fuss over him, thanking him for being here for me. He laps up the attention, but I can tell he’s wondering where Bailey is. He’s used to Bailey being by my side. I’m used to her being there too. I feel so naked and alone without her.
Maybe I should text Jenny and let her know what’s going on. But what if she decides I don’t deserve Bailey because I let this happen? I could text Zara, Emily, and Simone instead.
Or even Violet.
I brush the idea aside. I don’t want to worry them. I’m not the only one who loves Bailey.
Fear and restlessness tighten my chest, turn my skin itchy. I push to my feet with Butterscotch in my arms and pace.
I’ve made a good start to creating a canyon to Australia when the vet comes into the room. He smiles at me. The smile isn’t big, but it fits like a reassuring hug.
The tightness in my chest eases a little. “Is she okay?”
“She will be. She somehow ingested poison, but because you got her here so soon, we were able to prevent any long-term damage. I would like to keep her here for observation overnight, but she’s young and will rebound quickly.”
“Can I see her?” Hope lifts the pitch of my voice, loosens the tightness around my heart some more.
“For a few minutes. She’s groggy right now and needs to rest.”
Ambrosia takes Butterscotch back to the receptionist while the vet leads me to the room where Bailey is recovering. Rows of cages line one wall, and the tightness in my chest returns.
Breathe.In…two…three. Out…two…three. It will be okay. She’ll be okay.
This isn’t a prison, but even knowing that doesn’t stop the flood of memories of my old prison cell. The emptiness, the cold starkness, the torment. I rub my arms, trying to rid my body of the chill creeping in.
Bailey is asleep on a dog bed in one cage, oblivious to my presence. I crouch to her level. The vet opens the door to let me stroke my puppy.
I run my hand over Bailey’s thick golden hair. “I’m so sorry, Bailey.” My voice is a low plea to the universe. “I have no idea how you managed to eat poison. But I’ll make sure it never happens again. And as soon as you’re healthy, you’ll get to come home.” Pressure builds in my throat, making it difficult to drag air into my lungs. “I love you.”
The vet ushers me out so Bailey can rest, and I pay the breath-stealing fee at the desk. Butterscotch and I return to Troy’s truck. But I can’t go home yet. I’m too restless for that.
I could call my friends since I still haven’t told them about Bailey, but I’m not ready for that either. I’ll call them tonight. After I get back. I need to relax, to clear my head.Hiking.I really want to go hiking. And thanks to Troy, I have the means to do that.
I don’t know Katherine, Troy’s neighbor. Rose has offered to look after Bailey if I ever need to go somewhere that a service dog in training isn’t allowed. I assume the offer applies to Butterscotch too.
I take him to the truck. “I’m dropping you off at Rose’s house. But I’ll pick you up once I’ve returned. I’ll only be gone a few hours.”
We arrive at Rose’s house. She opens the door and grins the warm grandmother smile that eases a tiny bit of my tension. “Hi, Jess.” She looks down. “Hi, Butterscotch. Where’s Bailey?”
I tell her what happened. Rose’s face pales. “Oh, dear. The poor thing.”
“The vet said she’s going to be okay.” I infuse my words with more reassurance than I feel. “Troy left for a search and rescue mission this morning. I’m looking after Butterscotch for him, but I need to go somewhere for a few hours, and I was wondering if you could look after him until I get back.”
“Of course!” Rose lets Butterscotch into her house.
I thank her and return home. A few minutes later, I’m in my hiking clothes—walking shorts and a T-shirt. My bag is packed, and I’m driving toward my favorite trail.
It’s late afternoon and the parking lot isn’t as busy as it might’ve been an hour or two earlier. This is the first time I’ve hiked on my own, but as long as I stick to the trail, I should be fine.
It’s also the first time I’ve hiked without Bailey since she’s come into my life. An ache spreads through my chest, but it’s quickly doused, knowing she’ll be okay. It’s because of what Bailey has given me over the past two and a half months—a taste of my old strength and self-confidence—that I’m even able to hike on my own.
I pull on my backpack and walk to the trailhead, breathing in the clean mountain air, letting it wrap around the anxieties trying to push to the surface. I pick up my pace, needing to distract my thoughts from anything that doesn’t involve hiking and photography. I focus on the rocks and the roots sticking out of the ground and the winding path that grows steadily steeper.
I focus on the wind against my cheeks, on the rustle of the leaves, on the call of the birds. I focus on the sounds and sights and smells and textures of freedom. Every so often, I stop and shoot frame after frame with my phone camera of whatever grabs my attention. The view. A chipmunk sitting on a rock. The hawk surfing on the wind.
Exploring the world through the lens relaxes me in a way I didn’t think would be possible again. Not when I’d been sentenced to twenty-five years in prison. But even though I can take nice photos with my phone, I still miss the feel of a DSLR camera in my hand. I still miss what I was capable of achieving with my old one.
