Say Good-bye (2 page)

I roll my eyes at her. Is she trying to be dense on purpose? “It’s just like having a housekeeper to do the dirty work. Then the owners get to spend quality time with their pets. It makes perfect sense to me.”

“Ridiculous,” Maggie snorts.

“It is not—”

Gran holds up her hands between us like a referee at a boxing match. “All right, girls.
This is not a debate here. And this is Zoe’s pet, Maggie. You’ve got your hands full taking care of Sherlock.” Sherlock is Maggie’s seven-year-old basset hound. He’s slow and calm—and trained. What’s there to take care of?

I smile smugly. “So,” I try again, “can we hire someone?”

“Absolutely not,” Gran replies. “You know how I feel about that, Zoe. If you care enough to have a pet, you should care enough to take care of it. Now, I’d appreciate it if you’d clean up this mess, and then—”

“Do I have to?” The whine escapes my lips before I can stop it. I know Gran hates whiners.

“Hey, this is the real world,” Maggie says. “We don’t have maids here. We clean up our own messes.”

“Maggie,” Gran warns. “That’s enough.”

Gran rarely gets really angry at Maggie or me, but she looks as if she’s seriously thinking about it this morning as she stares at us both. She opens her mouth to say something, but then we hear the bell over the door to the clinic. Someone’s here to see Dr. Mac.

“I have to go,” Gran says. “Zoe, please clean up this mess. Then take Sneakers outside.”

Maggie grins at me like a Cheshire cat.

“And no more squabbling,” she tells us both.

Gran grabs her coffee mug and hurries through the door to the clinic. I stare at her forgotten plate of cold French toast.

Maggie seems to make a point of smacking her lips while she finishes her cereal. I make a point of not noticing.

A horn beeps outside. Maggie turns up her cereal bowl and slurps the last of the milk. The spoon clatters in the bowl as she dumps it in the sink and grabs her backpack.

I glare at the table. A few pink and green O’s lie drowned in a puddle of milk.

How can I possibly be related to this girl? She has the table manners of a horse!

“Hey!” I call after her. “What about ‘We clean up our own messes here’?”

The slam of the screen door is my only answer.

I grab a rag and wipe up the remains of Maggie’s breakfast. Okay, I know it must not be easy for Maggie, the way I moved in on her. Her parents died when she was a baby. So she was raised by Gran and never had to share her or the clinic.

But it’s not my fault. It’s not like I asked to come here. And none of us knew I was going to be here this long.

With a groan, I grab some paper towels and some newspaper from the recycling bin and glare at the mess on the floor. Might as well get this over with. “Sneakers, you little poop factory! Where are you?” I call out. No answer. I guess he’s smart enough to hide out until all this blows over.

I pull out a chair and peer under the table. I hate to seem like such a wimp. Maggie doesn’t seem to mind sticking her hands in all kinds of goop—and believe me, we get a lot of icky messes around the clinic with all the sick animals we have.

But I never had to clean up anything before I got here. I mean, my parents got divorced so long ago, my dad’s like a character in a movie you barely remember seeing. So it was just me and my mom living in a nice modern apartment building in Manhattan. Mom was an actress on a daytime soap opera, and she was always at work or rehearsals or auditions. In a lot of ways, she’s been more like a big sister to me than a mom. Our housekeeper, Ethel, took care of everything
She got Mom to work on time, washed and ironed all our clothes, and cooked all our meals. She even helped me with my homework and taught me how to French-braid my hair. Ethel kept the place so spotless, I never saw any messes—much less had to clean them up.

I guess I never realized how much work Ethel put into keeping our apartment nice. It was like having an aunt or a fairy godmother living with you. Only she got paid.

Everything was perfect—till Mom’s soap got canceled. She was really upset at first, but then she got herself psyched up to move to L.A. to audition for some regular TV series. I was so excited!

Until she told me the rest of the news. She wasn’t taking me.

I spray at Sneakers’ spot on the floor with disinfectant, then scrub with an old rag. I scrub hard, remembering what Mom said.

She tried to explain that it was for my own good, that she’d be too busy with auditions, casting calls, and getting settled to take me along, and that I’d never get to see her anyway. It wouldn’t be fair to me, she said.

But was it fair to leave me behind?

I tried to get her to let me stay in Manhattan with Ethel. I loved Ethel. But Mom said we couldn’t afford a housekeeper now that she was out of work. Then Ethel went home to look after her sick brother. And suddenly… I didn’t have anywhere to go.

At first I dreamed up this fantasy. I would call my long-lost father and go live with him—it would be this wonderful reunion, like straight out of the movies. He’d realize how much he missed me and be thrilled to have me back in his life. Maybe he and Mom would even…

“Not an option” was all my mom would say about that.

So Mom came up with an even more bizarre plan. She’d send me to stay with her mom, Dr. J.J. MacKenzie—a person she didn’t even get along with all that well herself. Just for a little while, she said. Until the work thing got straightened out.

Once I was here, Gran insisted I enroll in school and finish out the school year. That was in March. Now it’s August, and I’m still here.

Sometimes… I wonder if my mom’s ever going to come get me.

•  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •

A
fter I clean up from breakfast, I look for Sneakers, but I can’t find him anywhere. Frustrated, I give up and hurry through the door that leads into Gran’s clinic.

It’s almost hard to remember how strange this place seemed when I first came here. I’d never been around animals much, had never even been to a vet’s office before. Dr. Mac’s Place was noisier, rowdier, and, well, smellier than I’d ever imagined!

But the biggest surprise was how quickly I fell in love with the animals. Mom’s not a pet
person, so maybe this new feeling for animals is something I inherited from Gran and just didn’t know about till now.

What I’ve learned about animals is this: They don’t care where you’re from or what kind of clothes you wear or what you mother does for a living. They love you for who you are.

That’s one reason I’m starting to actually like being here. Not that I’d ever tell Maggie that.

I mean, I still get nervous around some of the animals that show up in Gran’s clinic. Especially the weird ones like ferrets and Gila monsters. One guy even brought in a sick tarantula!

I think Mom would be proud of me if she could see what I do here. I work as a vet volunteer along with several other kids: Brenna Lake, Sunita Patel, David Hutchinson, and Maggie, of course. They started working together when the clinic was full of sick puppies—including Sneakers—and Gran was desperate for help. The puppies had all been bought from a man at the farmer’s market who was running a puppy mill—an illegal business where dogs are bred in really rotten conditions, just so somebody can make a fast buck. I arrived in the middle of it all
and had to jump right in. We all did such a good job, Gran said, that she decided to keep us on as volunteers.

We get along pretty well, even though we’re all different. Now that it’s summer vacation, most of us help out every day.

This morning the others are already here, ready to go to work.

“Good morning!” Gran says with a big smile as she comes out of her office. “I’m so glad you’re here today.”

“Do you have a lot of patients today, Dr. Mac?” Sunita asks. “Any cats?” Sunita loves cats.

“I’ve got something better,” Gran says, grinning. She holds up a clipboard with a list. “A lot of chores.”

Everyone groans.

Gran reads down the list. “The supply closet needs to be replenished. Sunita, can you take care of that? And the kennels need some cleaning—we’re expecting a lot of boarders this weekend…”

There’s a lot of good-natured complaining as she goes down her list, but nobody really means it. We all feel pretty lucky to get to volunteer at a cool place like the clinic.

The bell over the door rings again. I look up and see my favorite client.

“Yum-Yum!” I exclaim. I run over and scoop the cute black-and-white dog into my arms. “What are you doing here, you little sweetie pie?” I say, stroking his long, silky hair. “Are you sick?”

“It’s an emergency!” jokes his owner, Jane Young. “He’s having a bad-hair day—and he’s got a big date!”

I laugh, and Yum-Yum licks my face. Yum-Yum is a tiny dog called a shih tzu. He’s not a puppy—this is as big as he’ll ever get. He almost looks like an expensive stuffed animal. Jane is an old friend of Gran’s. She owns a beauty salon, so she would have a dog with long, brushable hair! Gran’s been letting me take care of Yum-Yum’s grooming this summer.

“We just got a last-minute call to visit the kids’ cancer ward at the hospital,” Jane explains. “You know, just to cheer them up a little. The dog that usually goes in on Monday can’t make it today, so I agreed to fill in. Can you do him right now?”

“Sure, we’ve got time,” says Gran.

I take Yum-Yum and Jane back into the
grooming area and slip on an apron. Washing a dog can get really messy—especially if the dog isn’t too happy about having a bath! Yum-Yum doesn’t fuss at all, though, even when I dab a small amount of ointment into his eyes to protect them from the shampoo.

Next I put cotton balls in his ears to keep the water out. I laugh. On Yum-Yum, they look like tiny little earmuffs!

Talking softly to Yum-Yum, I turn on the sprayer and check to make sure the water is warm, but not too warm. Then I hold the sprayer about an inch from his back and soak his coat down to the skin. Gran taught me an important lesson about bathing animals: Be careful never to spray them in the face. It really upsets them.

Once Yum-Yum is good and wet, I soap him up with a mild doggie shampoo. When I shampooed Yum-Yum the very first time, I wanted to use my salon shampoo and conditioner that I brought from New York. Mom always said it was the best brand for shiny, silky hair. I thought it would make Yum-Yum smell great and make him look like a doggie movie star. But Gran told me that you should never use people shampoo on dogs. It can be too harsh.

Yum-Yum’s tail wags as I gently rub the soap through his coat. Some animals hate to be groomed, but Yum-Yum seems to enjoy his shampoo. He doesn’t try to squirm away. And he looks like he’s smiling!

When I’m finished, I rub him down with a towel, then use a blow-dryer set on a quiet, low-temperature setting to dry him.

“If you ever get tired of the animal business, you’ve got a job at my salon,” Jane jokes.

“This is a lot more fun than some of the things we have to do here,” I tell her as I comb Yum-Yum’s soft hair. Like clean up dog poop!

Gran stops by in between patients. “Yum-Yum! What a handsome pup you are.” She smiles at me. “How’s our groomer doing?”

“Great,” Jane tells her. “Yum-Yum’s always glad to see Zoe.” Then she turns back to me. “Say, how would you like to come with me today and see Yum-Yum do his stuff?”

“You mean to the hospital?”

Jane nods. “What do you say, J.J.?” she asks Gran. “Can you spare your assistant for an hour or so?

“Can I, Gran?” I ask hopefully. “Please?”

“Sure,” Gran says. “Things are kind of slow
around here today. And don’t worry, we’ll save some cleanup for you to do when you get back.” I know she’s teasing a little, though she barely cracks a smile. And I also know there really will be chores for me to do when I get back!

“Thanks, Gran!”

I hear a little bark and look down at my feet.

Sneakers has snuck into the clinic again.

“I’ve got one more thing to do before I go, though,” I tell Jane. She looks down and laughs. Gran shakes her head.

Sneakers has peed on the floor!

•  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •

I
hold Yum-Yum in my lap as Jane drives us to the hospital. It’s a beautiful, hot August day, so we roll the windows down and drive with the wind in our hair.

When we pull in to the parking lot, I stare up at the huge hospital building. So many windows … I think about all the people inside and why they’re there.

Suddenly I feel really weird.

When I lived in Manhattan with my mom, I got to go lots of places with her. I’ve traveled to other countries. Been to fancy restaurants, the theater, and the ballet. Mom would even take me
to the set of her soap. She liked to brag that for a kid my age, I could talk to just about anyone, even grown-ups.

But I’ve never been in the hospital. Never even visited anybody—especially sick kids.

I try to ignore the strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. I put on a smile and walk through the automatic doors into the main lobby. Everything looks cheerful, but in a forced kind of way. Like we’re all trying hard to pretend that nobody’s sick, as if nothing’s wrong.

Jane leads me down a long hallway. The children’s cancer ward is on the first floor, through some swinging doors.

It looks just like the hospital from the soap my mom was on, except the doctors and nurses don’t all look like gorgeous models and movie stars. They look pretty nice, though.

The place smells like disinfectant. Colored drawings dot the faded green walls like wild-flowers. Pictures of rainbows, of mommies and daddies. Signs that say I LOVE YOU, DR. BILL!

As Jane checks in at the nurses’ desk, I peek down the hall and into the nearest room.

Oh, my gosh!
There’s a girl about my age
propped up in bed watching cartoons—and she’s totally bald!

I’ve heard that chemotherapy—the drugs they give people to try to cure cancer—can make people lose their hair. But I’ve never actually seen anybody it’s happened to.

I suddenly feel very conspicuous with my thick blond hair streaming down below my shoulders. I wish I’d skipped the shampoo and blow-dry this morning—wish I’d simply stuffed my hair up under a baseball cap like Maggie.