Dark Beach (16 page)

The basement.

She stopped at the basement door.

The door was unlocked, the room dark as ever. The old red chest sat by the wall untouched. The shelves stacked with home-preserved goods and all the corroded tools looked the same.

“Charlie?”

Silence.

“You in here, doggie?” She heard a noise behind her and turned to find Kip. “Kip, go back and sit. I don’t want you in here. There’s too many things to trip over, okay honey. Charlie?”

Nothing.

She searched the cramped space, bumping into just about everything and getting her hair caught on God-only-knows what.

This place needs to be gutted
. “Ugh … spider webs! Ugh! Get them off me!”

She whirled around, patting at her hair and face, and then heard a faint whine.
A little black paw poked out from behind the grey shelves. “Charlie!” Kneeling down, she touched him. “Oh my God, Charlie. Oh, my poor puppy.”

A dark smear of blood trailed behind him as Jenny slid him out of the corner—his back left paw caught in a rusty old mousetrap.

“Oh, Charlie.” Tears stung her eyes. Carefully, she picked him up. The dog’s eyes were closed, his breathing shallow.

“You followed me down here that night, you poor thing. I didn’t know. I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault, you poor little thing.”

“Mamma?” Kip still stood at the basement door.

“Don’t come in here! It’s dangerous. Back up, back up,” Jenny yelled, swiping at a tear and knowing she was unable to show the composure necessary
to deal with Kip just now.

“Charlie?”

“I’ve got him, honey.” Jenny squeezed past the junk and out, pulling the basement door shut behind her. “Charlie’s hurt, honey. We must go inside, come.”

“Charlie hurt. Uh-oh.”

Jenny piled some kitchen towel down on the counter and placed the dachshund on top. “I don’t know what to do.”

The metal teeth of the trap were clamped down firmly on the dog’s paw, cutting to the bone. Taking a dishtowel, she wrapped it delicately around the dog’s paw. Charlie didn’t even wince at the pain.

“Mamma, hungry.”

“Not now.” Jenny ran her hands through her hair, thinking. Then she frantically fumbled through every cupboard
and pulled open every drawer, hunting for a telephone directory or address book.

“There’s got to be a vet in town.” Snatching her cell phone up off the bench, she dialed Molly Coggington’s number and explained the problem.

“Poor Charlie,” the old woman clucked. “And of course I’ll watch Kip for you; just drop her around. The veterinarian is down on Shore Street, right near the supermarket.”

“Thank you. You’re a lifesaver,” Jenny said. “Be there in five.”

Wrapping Charlie in a blanket, she carried him out to Kurt’s truck.

Shit!
“I don’t have your car seat,” she told Kip. “You’ll just have to sit in the middle, by me, until we get to Mrs. Coggington’s.”  The thought gnawed at her.
Drive carefully, Jenny
, she thought, gently placing Charlie on the floor in the back.

* * *

The day was slow, very slow. Jean sat staring at the computer screen—solitaire. “Close early?” she asked, more a suggestion than a question.

“No. You never know when there’s going to be an emergency.” Just as the words left the veterinarian’s mouth, Jenny burst through the front doors.

“My dog—he’s dying.”

Their eyes widened at the sight of her. Jenny’s blonde hair was frizzled in all directions. Blood stained her
grey sweatshirt, and the look on her face said only one thing—something was dreadfully wrong.

“Bring him out back. I’m Doctor Shooner.”

The vet’s office was cleaner, brighter, and way more organized than the ER Jenny had been in the day before. “Place him here.” The vet patted the stainless steel table.

Jenny carefully placed Charlie on it.
The vet took a look.

“The mousetrap,” he said, examining Charlie’s paw. “How long?”

“Two days.”

“I’ll take care of him. First, we need to get this thing off.”

Jenny rubbed Charlie’s velvety black head. “It’ll be okay, boy.” She watched the veterinarian gather supplies. “What do I do?”

“You can stay here and watch, or Jean will see to you up front. I need to set up a sterile field and get some fluids in him.”

“I don’t want to leave him.”

“It may be unpleasant. You probably don’t want to be here for what I have to do.”

“What? What is it?”

“His leg looks infected
,” he said, giving the dog a shot of something. “He’s lost a lot of blood. I may have to amputate. And he may need a transfusion. He may not make it.”

Jenny’s look of concern turned to horror. “He’s going to—”

“I don’t know. I will do everything I can. We may have to put him down.”

Jenny burst into tears. Shocked, she rubbed her face, accidentally smearing herself with Charlie’s blood. “No. No, don’t put him down. Do everything—everything you can.”

Jean, looking incongruous in her tight black skirt and high black heels, entered. “You can come with me if you like?”

“Yes. I don’t think I can watch this.” She followed the receptionist to the front desk.

“I’ll need you to fill out some paperwork.”

Jenny shook her head. “Paperwork! I can’t think about that right now.” Jenny leaned over, head in hands on the
grey marble counter. The young receptionist frowned, pulled a wad of sterile wipes from a caddy on the wall and wiped at a smear of blood near Jenny’s elbow, causing Jenny to step back.

“It’s okay. Don’t worry, I got it. Here...” The nurse handed her a wipe. “Do you have pet insurance?”

“Yes.” Jenny tried to wipe the congealing blood off her hands.

“May I see your card please, and your ID?”

“My ID?”

“Yes please.”

“I don’t have it with me.”

“I need to see it to process the paperwork.” The secretary’s tone became officious.

Jenny scowled. “I can’t believe you’re speaking to me like that. Look at me.” She held up her hands, indicating her hair and the bloodstains. “My dog may die.” Taking another step back, she said loudly, “I’m going through hell, and you’re bugging me about paperwork?”

“I know. And I apologize, but I still need your ID and insurance card.” The receptionist sighed and rubbed her forehead. A huge diamond ring—three carats at least—sparkled on her hand.

“You’re married to him, aren’t you?”

“Excuse me?”

“The vet—he’s your husband.”

The secretary stood, flipping her long, jet hair over her shoulder. “I am.”

“I’ll be back.” Just as she had burst in, Jenny turned and burst out through the glass doors, which slammed shut behind her.

Stabbing the key into the ignition, she
wrenched the wheel left and headed into town. When she got there, she pulled to a screeching halt, hard and fast, spraying dirt up into the main road.

The tackle shop was empty.

Why does this not surprise me?

“
Kurt,” Jenny called. “I brought your truck back.”

There was the usual pile of notes on the checkout counter, but no sign of him or of anyone else.

“I thought he had a clerk? Where is everyone?”

When she reached the stinking fish-gutting sink at the back, Jenny put one hand over her nose and examined the rest of herself in the cracked mirror
. “Look at me. I’m a wreck.” She wet a paper towel, wiped a streak of blood from her cheekbone, and washed her hands. Running her fingers through her hair, she fumbled in her back pocket for a spare hair tie and, finding it, tied her hair back. 

“How’s that?”
She smiled.
Better.
She squinted again, assessing her smeared sweatshirt. “I’ll just take it off.”

Tucking in her scarlet, fitted T-shirt, Jenny rifled in the drawers for something to use as a belt. She
found a length of thin white rope and looped it through her jean loops like a belt. Fashion in a fish shop; who would have known?

A gleam of metal in the drawer caught her eye.
That might come in handy.
She snatched up the object and concealed it in her sweatshirt.

The store was still empty, except for an old green fridge in the corner. Looking at it, she suddenly realized she was starving. Jenny walked over and tugged on the heavy metal handle.

“I don’t think I have ever seen one like this; maybe in the movies,” she said to herself. Bending over, she checked the shelves. They were packed with  different brands of beer, beer cans, brown-paper-wrapped fish, fish eggs, and plastic containers filled with worms. In one long drawer in the bottom, she found a perfectly wrapped, store-bought sandwich.

Roast beef. Not her favorite, but she didn’t care; she was famished. She pulled the sandwich apart and picked off the tomato, then made her way down to the pier.

The
Retty
rocked back and forth gently on the tide. She was a pretty boat, long and sleek; Jenny hadn’t noticed before.
He takes good care of it.

“Kurt,” she called. “I brought your truck back—not a scratch, too.”

Still munching on the sandwich, she stepped into the cabin, noticing that the empty bowls from yesterday’s soup were now on the floor. Jenny picked them up and placed them in the small metal sink.
Where is he?
She scratched her head.

He wasn’t on the stern, but saw his brown-flannelled back as she neared the bow.

“What is going on? Kurt?” She knelt beside him. “Your head! You’re bleeding.”

“Oooooof.” Kurt came around with a deep moan. Using the railing—his old friend—he yanked himself to a sitting position.

“You reek.” She held her nose. “Did you sleep out here all night?”

“Thank you,” he grumbled.

“Are you drunk? Hungover?”

“No! Maybe … just a little.” He coughed.

“I brought your truck back.” Jenny helped him up and into the cabin, where he slouched wearily on his narrow bed.

“Thanks.”

“What happened?”

“I slipped,” he said with a tone so full of melancholy that Jenny felt a sudden twinge of real concern for him.

“Do you need anything?” she asked.

“No. I’ll just sit here awhile. I don’t want to move.”

“I don’t even want to ask, but … I was wondering—

“Your purse
? It’s up in the shop, in a drawer under the fish sink. I fixed your key fob.”

“You did?” Jenny’s face lit up.

Despite his pain, physical and emotional, Kurt grinned; he couldn’t help it.

“Thank you so much.”

“It just needed a battery, that’s all. And I have plenty.”

Jenny put her arm around him
, struck suddenly by the strength of him under the flannel shirt, the strong shoulders hard as brick. “I have to go, but ... your head. Are you sure you’re okay. I’ll come back if you need me to.”

“No, you go.”

“Just call me if you need me. I’ll write my cell down.”

“Wait,” he called as she turned,
his blank expressions hiding the longing in his heart.

Jenny stopped, one hand on the cabin door, and turned to face him.

“I think I need to see a doctor. I feel strange, dizzy … weird.” He put a hand up to the wall to brace himself. “My head is pounding; I need something.”

“I knew it. You don’t look like yourself. You’re very pale.” She put out a hand to him. “Here. I’ll take you in. Where do you go?”

“A clinic in town. It’s not far. Haven’t been to it in years, but that’s where it is.”

The walk up to SUV was slow, but eventually she helped Kurt into the front seat and started the car.

“Make a left here,” said Kurt as they passed the Vet Clinic.

“My dog, he’s injured, I had to take him there.” She pointed.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had a dog. Did you see Dr. Shooner?”

“You know him?”

“Yeah. I take him out a lot, salmon fishing. He’s one of my regulars, him and his wife.”

“Oh her … she’s…”

“A delight? She’s lived here her whole life. He came to town, opened up the clinic, hired her, and within three months they were married.”

“Three months! That’s all it took?”

Kurt laughed. “Yep. But he’s good. He’ll get it done. He’ll fix your dog.”

“I hope so. I don’t want to lose him. We’ve had Charlie five years now.”

“Always more dogs out there.”

Jenny grimaced. “Don’t say that. I can’t think about that.” Her tears welled up. “He’s not just a fish or something.”

“Oh…” Kurt reached a hand over to her. “Don’t listen to me. I’m bad with all this stuff. There it is, on the right.”