The Unexpected Everything (22 page)

“Thanks—” I started, but the call had already been transferred, and a moment later, Muzak started playing. I looked up,
then drew back slightly. We'd both been leaning over the phone, and I hadn't realized quite how close together our heads were.

“They have poison control for animals?” Clark asked as he gently patted Bertie's leg again.

“I guess so,” I said, not wanting Clark to know how far out of my depth I was here. I looked over at Bertie as an instrumental version of the Piña Colada song began to play. His eyes were still tightly closed, but he seemed to be shaking less, which I assumed was a good sign. Unless it was a bad one. I ran my hand over the dog's head. But it wasn't like we could even ask Bertie where he was hurting, what he was feeling. How did vets
do
this?

“Hello?” A gentler-sounding woman came on the line, and Clark and I both leaned forward at the same time, coming within a centimeter of bumping our heads together.

“Hi,” I said, then took a breath and started to run through what had happened so far. The woman at the poison control center—Ashley—walked us through a series of questions. She seemed to be trying to figure out exactly how much chocolate Bertie had eaten and what kind. Clark ran to the kitchen to get what was left of the box as I tried to describe the chocolate to her.

“It was dark chocolate,” I said, but even as I said this, I wondered if it was right. Had it been milk chocolate? I had been so focused on not tasting the hazelnut, I wasn't entirely sure. “I think.”

“Milk or white would have been better,” she said. “But you'd have real trouble if it were baking chocolate. That's the most dangerous. Dogs can't process caffeine or theobromine like we can. I
get this call a few times a week. Their systems just overload.”

“Okay,” Clark said, running back into the room, holding the pieces of the box in his hands. “It was . . . ten ounces. Dark chocolate.”

“And he ate all of it?” Ashley asked, her voice getting sharper.

“All but a few pieces,” Clark said, meeting my eye. “What does that mean?”

There was a tiny pause, and Ashley said, “I think you'll be okay. But you're going to need to get this out of his system. You're going to need to get him to throw up—”

“Oh, he's been doing quite a lot of that,” Clark said.

“That's a good thing,” Ashley said. “He's basically been poisoned, and he needs to clear it out.”

“So we don't need to take him to a vet?” I asked, surprised. I'd assumed that the professionals were going to take over at some point. I hadn't thought this was going to be left to us.

“You're going to need to monitor him for the rest of the night,” she said. “If he starts seizing, you'll have to bring him to a vet immediately. But otherwise, based on his weight, I don't think he ate enough for this to be truly life-threatening.”

“Oh, thank god,” Clark murmured, sitting back and running a hand over his face.

“But you need to to get him to drink fluids so he doesn't become dehydrated,” she said. “And keep watch on him tonight. If the shaking gets worse, bring him in.”

“Got it,” I said, looking over at Bertie. “Thank you.”

“Thanks a lot,” Clark said, leaning forward slightly to reach the phone. Ashley said good-bye, and a moment later, hung up. And
then it was just me and Clark and the sudden silence that filled the room now that Ashley was no longer telling us what to do. “So,” Clark said, looking at the dog, then back at me. “Now what?”

•  •  •

Since it seemed like Bertie wanted to be in the laundry room, we got settled in there. Clark went to clean up the kitchen, and though I offered to help, I was secretly glad when he insisted on doing it himself. Not only was I not thrilled with the idea of cleaning up the mess in the kitchen, but after talking to Ashley, I really didn't want to leave Bertie alone. While on one hand I was relieved that he didn't seem to be in any serious, immediate danger, the fact that he had come so close to it was terrifying. As was the fact that Clark and I were the ones responsible for making sure he stayed out of it.

Bertie tried to kick the blanket off, and I took it off of him, running my hand over his back. I set it down just to the side of him, in case we needed to have it on hand. I was about to call to Clark, to see if he could bring out Bertie's water dish, when my phone rang.

The caller ID read
MAYA
, and I picked up immediately. “Hi,” I said, beyond relieved to hear from her. Maybe she and Dave were on their way over, and they could take over the dog night watch. I knew neither of them were vets, but they had way more experience with dogs than Clark and I had combined.

“Hi!” Maya said, and I could hear she sounded like she did when she was trying to wrangle her pack of dogs away from an aggressive barker—stressed, but trying to hide it with cheerfulness. “I'm so glad you picked up. I just heard from Clark. It sounds like he's having a problem with Bertie—”

“Yeah,” I said, cutting her off before she could tell me what I already knew. “He called me. I'm over there now.”

“Thank goodness.”

“Told you,” I heard another voice say—after a moment I realized it was Dave. I'd only met him once, when I had gone to their tiny office to drop off my tax and payroll forms. I'd expected the male version of Maya—tattoos, cheerfulness, dyed hair—and had met someone who looked like he could have been an investment banker, except for the spare leashes clipped to his belt with a carabiner. “I knew Andie would have this under control. Hi, Andie.”

“Hi, Dave,” I said, realizing that I must be on speaker in a car—I could hear both of them clearly, as well as the occasional car horn passing by.

“What's the situation?” Maya asked.

I took a breath and filled them in, ending with what Ashley had told us—that someone needed to sit up with Bertie all night. “So . . . ,” I said when I'd finished, waiting for either one of them to jump in and tell me they were on their way, that I could go home.

“Here's the thing,” Maya said. “We're up in New Hampshire, visiting Dave's mother, who hates me—”

“She doesn't
hate
you,” Dave interrupted, and I could hear a sigh somewhere in his voice, like they'd had this discussion a few times before. “She just doesn't understand the tattoos. I did suggest that maybe you could have worn a cardigan.”

“Anyway,” Maya went on, more loudly than before, “we weren't planning to leave until tomorrow. And even if we left now—”

“Which would
really
not go over well,” Dave muttered.

“We couldn't get there for four hours. So . . .” Now it was Maya's turn to trail off, and I had a feeling I knew exactly what she was asking.

“I can stay,” I said, after only the slightest hesitation. I knew I wouldn't be able to leave Clark alone with Bertie without worrying the whole time that something had happened to him. And if Maya and Dave weren't going to be here, I seemed to be the only option.

“Oh, thank you,” Maya said, relieved. “Andie, you're the best. I'll make sure you get overtime for this.”

“It's okay,” I said, glancing over at the dog and rubbing his ears. I could sit here tonight with Bertie. It wouldn't be that bad.

“And you and Clark get along, right?” Maya said, not really asking it like a question. “So you guys will be okay.”

“Well . . . ,” I started, then realized that Maya and Dave (and whoever else might be in the car with them) didn't really need to know that we'd just had a disastrous date. “Sure,” I finally said. “It's fine.”

“And I'll keep my cell on all night,” she said. “So call anytime. Even if it's four a.m.”

“Wait, what?” I heard Dave ask sharply.

“Are you walking anyone tomorrow?” Maya continued over him.

“Just one walk. Clyde, Sheriff, and Coco.”

“I'll get it covered for you so you can sleep,” Maya said. “And thank you again. Call if there's a problem!”

“I will,” I said, as Dave and Maya both shouted good-byes over increasing static. “Bye,” I replied, but I wasn't sure they could still hear me, and a moment later I heard the dial tone in my ear.

“Hey.” I looked up to see Clark standing in the doorway, wearing khaki shorts and a dark-red T-shirt. His hair looked wet and I could see comb tracks through it. “Sorry that took so long,” he said, as he crossed the room toward us. “I was pretty disgusting after cleaning up, so I took a quick shower.”

I nodded, trying not to get distracted by the way he smelled—like some combination of Ivory soap, fresh towels, and mint gum. Clark, in his more casual clothes, was making me all that much more aware that I was still in the dress, now ridiculously creased, that I'd worn for our date. “So Dave and Maya called,” I said, making myself look away from him. I tried to focus on the dog—his eyes were still closed, and he was breathing heavily. “They're in New Hampshire, but they said to call if we need help.”

“Oh,” Clark said, his face falling. He adjusted his glasses. “So . . . okay.” He looked down at Bertie and twisted his hands together, and I could see how scared he was at the thought of staying here alone with him.

“But I can stay,” I said, making my voice light and easy, like this was no big deal. “You know, so we can take shifts.”

Relief passed over Clark's face immediately, before it was replaced by something closer to worry. “Are you sure?” he asked. “I hate to ask you to do that.”

“You didn't,” I said. “I offered.” A moment later, though, I suddenly worried that he didn't want me there. It would make sense—who wants to keep hanging out with someone they had a bad date with,
especially
when there's no possibility of kissing at the end of it? “But if you don't want me to,” I started haltingly, “I mean—”

“No, no,” Clark said, so quickly that I knew he wanted me to stay. Probably his panic at being left alone with Bertie was overriding any awkwardness about spending more time with me. “It would be great if you could stay. I mean, if you don't mind.”

“Not at all.” Even as I said it, I was wondering what I was doing. I pushed myself to standing carefully, pulling my dress down. “I'm just going to get his water dish.”

“Great,” Clark said, nodding, then looking at the dog. “I'll keep an eye on him.”

I headed toward the kitchen, unlocking my phone as I walked. I started to compose a text to my dad, letting him know what was happening—
I had a work emergency. Sick dog needs to be watched over tonight. Will be home in a.m.
—when my phone beeped with an incoming text.

BRI

Andie, you okay? Why did you need a vet? What's happening? We're about to take off here—should we wait?

PALMER

Where even are you? We thought you'd be back by now.

ME

Dog sickness emergency.

So I'm at Clark's—definitely not coming back tonight

TOBY

PALMER

I'm sorry, Toby—what was that?

TOBY

!!

BRI

Yeah, I'm not sure I entirely understood what you were trying to convey there.

TOBY