Heaven Sent Rain (8 page)

As if the bank of microphones on the lectern were not enough, the reporters in front of her were holding variously sized mics and iPhones as close as they could get; the ones behind raised mics high and pointed them at her above the others’ heads. People with cameras and cell phones were clicking off pictures. And Dinah could not even remember if she had combed her hair recently.

She almost stammered, caught herself in time, squared her shoulders.
You can do this. So do it.
She began to read from her paper, the words exactly as April had written them, exactly as everyone had approved them. She used the voice inflections she had rehearsed so that it didn’t sound quite so much like simply reading. But what she had not thought about or rehearsed was how she would make her exit. Should she say anything? Just leave? How suspicious would that look? She came to the end.

“Thank you for your attention.” She stepped back. That sure was a superfluous comment.

“Ms. Taylor, has the FDA approved this yet?”

She almost answered with “Approval is not needed for a food additive,” and stopped herself just in time. “I’m sorry; no questions, please.”

But someone else was shouting, “An Eli Lilly representative claims that—”

Even as a woman directly in front of her barked, “Can you seriously say this thing is not a drug? It would—”

And right behind her, “You did not address the issue of side effects. What si—”

“No questions!” Hal’s voice boomed. He seized her by one arm and Hans grabbed the other, and they plowed a path through the solid mass of shouting people, almost dragging her away. Had they not done that, she surely would not have been able to ignore the clamoring questions.

As she stepped through the doorway, Hal paused to turn back. “Tell you what; we’ll allow one in-depth interview with Dr. Taylor. Decide amongst yourselves who will represent you. You may all receive more information about that tomorrow.” His tone implied that idea of the interview had just occurred to him, just as they’d planned in their meeting.

The doors closed behind them, muting the cacophony but not blocking it completely. What could have been an informative, even joyful, event had turned into a battle zone. Why? It made no sense. It wasn’t like she was peddling dope or something. This was a product that would
help
people.

Hal had tried to warn her that there would be plants, people peppered through the crowd to ask provocative and unnecessary questions. These were not just local media people. She’d seen the logos on the mics. ABC, NBC, and CBS, plus Fox, were all out there, and who knew what papers or magazines, along with the big international news agencies—even the Associated Press was finally getting interested in her. Would they be more honest and evenhanded, or were they caught up in sensationalism, too? Had she taken longer than a moment to glance away from her notes, she might not have continued. While she’d never been stagestruck in her life, there was a first time for everything.

Her dream of a nationwide product was now being known nationwide and halfway around the world. If only the world could know the truth.

D
inah is sure getting into hot water.”

Garret looked up to catch a sad, wistful look on Dr. Sue’s face. “Why? What?”

She snorted. “She’s our client. Do you not ever keep up on what is happening in Eastbrook?”

“I count on you for that.” Garret already wished he’d ignored her, but Sue had a way of getting through to him when others failed. Sisters, and, it seemed, sisters-in-law, could be like that. He returned his attention to the paperwork that he hated with such a passion. Even though they did nearly all of it now on computers. This breeder, like a lot of other breeders and pet owners, had insurance coverage on their animals. Another headache. If only he could spend his time on the animals, his research, and drawing, his life would be perfect. They needed someone who spoke insurance-ese.

But now she had introduced the thought of Dinah, breaking his resolve not to think of her—at all.

“Uh-oh, emergency! Marcy hit the button.” Sue motioned to the flashing light on the wall by the door.

A knock sounded on the door. “We need both of you. Stat!”

They shared a look of despair and ran out to the examination room.

Animals always lost altercations with cars. The German shepherd lay on the operating table, still on the quilt the people had used to carry him in. Jason was at his head, removing the collar. Good; at least they’d have that blue rabies tag to ID him.

“How bad?”

“Bad.”

“How long ago?” While he questioned, Garret checked the comatose animal’s eyes—still able to focus—and gums—still mostly pink. Hopefully, no internal bleeding. But the mangled back leg was heartbreaking enough. “Any idea what happened?”

“Dog ran out in front of a car. Driver and passenger threw the quilt over him and when he went still, loaded him in the car, and brought him in.”

“Contacts on tags? He sure looks familiar.”

“Checking.” Jason peered closely to read the worn tags, then read off the info. Amber, beside him, wrote it down and jogged off to the front desk.

Aha! “I think this is Valiant, Tessa’s service dog.” He closed his eyes, trying to remember her last name.
Tessa. Tessa! Come on, Garret, you’ve known her for years.

Sue shaved a spot on the front leg and between her and Jason got the IV started. Betsy, their cage cleaner, came running in. “Amber says you need help.”

“Monitor his heart.”

The team swung into ER mode. Garret was always rather amazed at how well and how busy they instantly got. Training pays off. So does paying personnel instead of skimping with volunteers. Betsy Kellan was sharp as a new razorblade when it came to instantly and effectively diving in.

“You think we can save the leg?” Jason stepped back.

“No idea. Get the X-ray in here.”

“Harold is bringing it right now.” One of their better investments had been that portable X-ray machine. As if on cue, the double doors swung open with a clunk and Harold shoved the unit up to the table. At age nineteen he was built like a twelve-year-old, and his social graces weren’t quite as good as a twelve-year-old’s. But he had the machine up and running in seconds. As an electronic wizard he could not be beat.

While they scrubbed up for surgery, Betsy shaved as much of the leg and hip as she could, disinfecting as she moved. Sue set up the anesthesia. As soon as the X-rays showed up on the screen, they started in. Jason broke open a sterile surgical package and laid it out on a sterile tray for Garret. Many human urgent care centers were not as well equipped as they were, and this would be one of the cases that taxed that.

Garret lost track of time, as he always did when facing a monumental challenge. He would fix Valiant. He
would
. Amber called from the doorway, “Mrs. Welles is here. She says do whatever you need to.”

Welles. Of course.

Sue asked, “Papers signed?”

“Yes.”

Not that they’d given the cost any thought, not when there was a chance of saving this magnificent animal. Besides, Tessa Welles’s life depended on this dog. They’d treat him for nothing to help her if they had to. He started at the top and worked down so that he wouldn’t miss anything. Sue monitored vitals and anesthesia and assisted him, filling in where she could.

Two hours later, with the leg pinned and plated, bone fragments removed or laid back in place and glued in, the hip pinned and plated, the dog’s heart continued beating strongly.

Garret stepped back, pulling his mask down and wiping his forehead. “He sure has a will to live.”

“That’s why she calls him Valiant.”

“How’d he ever get out on the street?” Together they lifted him over to a gurney to move him to recovery. His eyelids were already twitching. “Coming out. Let’s get him in the largest crate. The heater on there?” He knew he was asking unnecessary questions, but rote was in full drive.

With the dog resting as comfortably as possible but still lightly sedated, they moved to the break room, where the coffee pot had been started and sandwiches intended for lunch waited in the refrigerator, since noon had come and gone.

Amber called from the doorway, “You ready to talk with Tessa now?”

“Give us five and show her back to Valiant’s cage.” Garret poured two mugs of coffee while Sue set out the platter of varied sandwiches. He bowed his head and whispered, “Thank You, Lord. For food and staff and all You have here given us.”

Sue said the amen and the whole team helped themselves, all aware this would most likely be their first and last break of the day. Amber entered with an armload of files and plunked them down. “I’ve put them in chronological order. None are emergencies, so no triage to do. The waiting room is full, but several regular customers opted to rebook; didn’t want to wait. Three others left their pets, so there are cages, too.”

“Thanks, Amber.” Ham and cheese tasted mighty good. He tried to remember if he had eaten breakfast but then reminded himself he’d picked up a bagel on the way in. Eating while driving had become a habit.

He glanced at the top file. “I’ll start with Tessa at Valiant’s cage.”

“Fill the rooms and we’ll go on to the next as quickly as possible,” Sue said, then leaned the back of her head against the wall, chewing slowly.

Garret left his lunch mess for Betsy to tidy up and headed for Valiant in the recovery room. Parked near Valiant’s cage, Tessa, a wizened little woman in a wheelchair, paraplegic and a longtime client, wore makeup tracks down her cheeks. Ten years earlier a brain-stem stroke had canceled her growing career in real estate. She’d spent the years since then working at rehab far beyond what had been predicted. Self-sufficiency had always been her goal. Valiant was her second service dog.

Garret peeked into the cage. All good. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. Valiant never runs—you know that. I was in the bathroom and he used the doggy door like always. When he didn’t come back in, I started calling and he didn’t come. He had to have jumped a six-foot fence and what possessed him to do that, I have no idea. Unless someone let him out—I don’t know. Oh, Dr. Garret, please tell me he will live. He’s my best friend, let alone the best dog I’ve ever had.” A freshet coursed down her cheeks, adding to the raccoon affect.

Garret leaned his haunches against the cabinet counter. “I’m sure he’s going to make it. Valiant is his name, all right. But that rear right leg is iffy. He might lose it, although we’ve done all we can to keep that from happening. Even in the best scenario, it’ll be some time before he can work.”

“No guesses?” She sniffed and dug out a tissue to blow her nose.

“Can you get someone to stay with you?”

She shrugged. “No idea. I depend on him so much.”

“He’s the one who’s going to need help now. Once we put the cast on, he probably won’t be able to chew the wounds, so he most likely won’t need a cone. He should be crated and let out only briefly and helped outside to do his business. A towel sling in front of his hindquarters is the usual. But you can’t do that.”

“When he needs me for a change, I can’t help him.” Tessa fought the tears back. “This dog has always been my other half.” She inhaled and exhaled forcibly. “But God will provide. He always has, so why would He stop now?”

She peered into the cage. “Dr. G, he seems awfully, you know, not caring.”

“We are keeping him sedated for a couple of days on heavy doses of pain meds. Let the healing begin. You come any time of day, whenever you can.”

She sighed heavily. “Looks like I might have to get an electric wheelchair after all. They are horrendously expensive.”

“Can you qualify for assistance? A medical prescription?”

She ignored his question because she was watching her dog. “Hey, big dog, you gotta get better.” Tears rained down her cheeks but she held her voice steady. “I love you so.” She looked up at Garret, her blue eyes shimmering in the reflected light. “Thank you. Can I just sit here awhile?”

“As long as you want.”

“You sure he can hear me?”

Garret pointed to the tip of the dog’s tail. It moved slowly, but it moved. “Usually dogs in this condition are lights out, no one home. But he responded.”

She rolled her lips together, trying to hold back the tears but failing miserably. “I wish I could sit down on the floor beside him.” She heaved a sigh. “Life sucks at times, doesn’t it?”

“It does.”

“Dr. G, can we borrow you for a bit?” The voice from the hallway made him straighten.

“I’ll be right back.”

But when he finally made it back, she had left. He thumbed the intercom. “Is Tessa in the waiting room?”

“No, a friend came and picked her up. She said she’d call later.” Karen’s voice. So Amber had gone off duty and Karen had come on.

“Thanks.” He heaved a sigh himself and dove back into the fray. Had every client they served decided today was the day to visit the vet?

Even with all of them pushing hard, the last client did not exit until nearly seven.

“Has Tessa called back?” he asked finally.

“No. I left a stack of messages for you, though. Not a big stack, and most of them can wait until tomorrow.” Karen smiled apologetically. “All but the two on top. I said you’d get back to them tonight.”

“Good, thanks. Have a good evening.”

“Right. You, too.” Their chief receptionist/office manager waved as she headed to the back, where the employees parked their cars.

“I’ll see you in the morning, then?” Sue tipped her head back. “I know, tomorrow is supposed to be my day off, but we have three spays that were moved to tomorrow, so I will do those. I have a feeling you’ll spend the night?”

“Most likely. Easier than coming back to check on him, or rather them.”

“We don’t usually have six in-patients.” She gathered her bag and briefcase with her computer in it. “Call me if you need me.”

At least they were not open for urgent care tonight. They swapped with a clinic across town so that each of them were closed two nights a week. But while they had the schedule posted front and center on their Web page and on all ads, they still got calls. Even their answering service referred the callers automatically on the closed days. He threatened to get an unlisted personal phone number but, for some reason, never had. If someone needed him that desperately, he wanted to be available.

“You want me to bring you supper?” Ken Steiger, their beanpole walking assistant, asked before he left.

“Naa, I’ll have Pizza Castle deliver. But thanks.” This most certainly would not be the first night Garret had slept on the cot in the room with a sick animal.

After the others left, he returned the phone calls, one to an elderly lady who treated her shih tzu like fragile china. The caramel-and-white bit of fluff knew how to work his mama. Garret told her what to do in case Baby threw up again and to bring him in in the morning if it continued. Baby often threw up when he got something to eat he shouldn’t. But that didn’t stop him from snatching.

He left a message on the answering machine for the next caller, closing with “If you feel you need to see a vet tonight…” and gave the contact information for the other clinic. Perhaps they had already taken that recourse, since no one answered.

Restless after doing catch-up work for a couple of hours, he ordered the pizza, ate that, and tried to settle into the cot. Getting up about an hour later, he checked his charges—all were resting well—and went back into the break room for a cup of decaf. He hated decaf, but he knew the leaded would keep him awake for sure.

Why could he not sleep? His charges were all snoozing soundly. He mopped urine for Valiant, who was now incontinent due to the meds, and made sure he was clean and dry. He changed an IV bag and, having run out of things to do, returned to his cot.

Half an hour later, he was back up. He took out his markers and a half-sheet tablet. Jonah’s eyes, so full of emotion he didn’t have the words to express, kept invading his thoughts. Garret drew and redrew, ripping pages off, doing multiple studies on different sheets.

Why could he not get them right? He had finally done so on the picture he gave to Jonah. Why not again?

He closed his own eyes to draw on memories.

But when he picked up his fine-point pens the eyes turned to blue that one moment could look like a storm-tossed sea. Lake Erie, mid winter when waves crashed great ships onto rocks and wind ripped roofs from houses. Or like a high mountain lake he’d seen on a backpacking trip into the Rockies. That trip had forever stayed front and center in his memories. A sky reflecting blue, clear and pristine so you could see all the way to the bottom where fish swam and rocks shimmered. Or down into her soul.

His pens flew over the paper, making him wish he had something more substantial. Like brushes and canvas. But he worked with what he had—and the papers littering the floor attested to his feverish preoccupation.

The eyes turned canine, warm brown, full of love, darker, distant. Narrowed, warning. Mutt’s eyes. Like Jonah, eyes that shared her soul.

He threw away a couple of drained-dry markers and ripped the last page from the pad. He was finished. In more ways than one.