The Blessings of the Animals_A Novel

CHAPTER Thirty-Five

ON MONDAY MORNING, AURORA EXAMINED ZUZU’S SPLINT and the X-rays. “You did great, Cami.” She shook her head, her nose diamond twinkling. “Damn. I can’t imagine pulling that off by myself. Or rather, I can’t imagine pulling that off with my ex’s lover assisting me!”
We laughed. I’d filled her in on all the bizarre details—including my prediction that Zayna would leave Bobby.
Zuzu wriggled on the exam table, eyes bright, playful. The little squirt could grow on you.
Gabby had camped out on the kitchen floor with Zuzu last night, even though it hadn’t really been necessary. When the donkey brayed in the barn, Zuzu had howled. Gabby had sat up, eyes wide, clutching a hand to her throat. “What is that?”
When I told her, she’d rolled her eyes. “Great. A donkey? We have a donkey now, Mom?”
“We are fostering a donkey,” I said.
“Whatever.”
Here in the clinic, Aurora confirmed, “The foot is good. Excellent job. The pad is warm, skin is pink, no swelling. The bones, though . . .” She examined the X-ray.
“It’ll need a pin,” I said.
“Definitely. But all those fragments . . . maybe a plate? I’d recommend they go to an orthopedic specialist. Like Dr. Trick in Cincinnati. Want me to call Bobby and give them that recommendation?”
“I’d love you forever.”
“Hey! I thought you already did.”
“I’d love you more forever.”
But after I’d neutered two cats—assisted by my brilliant, capable, fabulous technician Bridget, whom I would never ever take for granted again after Saturday’s experience—Aurora came to the surgery door. “He wants you to do it,” she said. “You saved her life. He trusts you.”
I wanted to put my head down on the stainless steel table. An assistant brought in my third neuter, a smoky-gray cat. The assistant and Bridget anesthetized him. “I don’t get it. Is he trying to feel less guilty? He thinks this will make me feel better? This is not a favor!”
“You can refuse,” Aurora said.
I mulled this idea. Refusing felt like chickening out. Bridget laid the now-floppy cat on his back, tying his legs spread-eagle, exposing his white belly.
“You know,” I said to her, “we can do that surgery.”
Aurora smiled.
“Dr. Trick might do it faster,” I said, “maybe better, but we can do it.”
Aurora laughed and said, “We are doing it. I can see it in your eyes.”
“We won’t do Zuzu any harm,” I said.
“Puppies are resilient,” Aurora agreed.
“The more I think about it, the more I think it needs cross-pinning.”
Aurora’s eyes brightened. “We’ve never done that.”
“I know. But don’t you want to?”
“Ready, Dr. Anderson,” Bridget said.
“And you know who we should invite to observe tomorrow, if not to help?”
Aurora cocked her head. “Tyler?”
“Wouldn’t that be an impressive essay for a vet program if ever there was one?”
She grinned. But it was nothing compared to Tyler’s grin when we told him.
WE KICKED ASS ON ZUZU’S SURGERY.
I’d reviewed my orthopedics notes from school, Aurora had called a former mentor. We were ready. We let Tyler assist, and he was as great as any vet tech I’d ever had.
One hour and seven minutes, no surprises, no setbacks. Beautiful prognosis.
As I sutured Zuzu’s leg closed yet again—Aurora said I was neater—Aurora asked, “So, when Zayna leaves Bobby, who keeps the dog?”
I snorted. Should we talk about Bobby in front of Tyler? Why not—I felt a strange bonding after the successful surgery. “Bobby seems pretty smitten,” I said. “But he’s no good with neediness.”
“He’s not good with strength, either, if he left you,” Tyler said, turning down the gas.
I smiled behind my mask. “Well, thanks.”
I held up my tapered needle for more catgut. Tyler picked up the correct cassette without me having to say a word. I’d make this the neatest, tidiest row of sutures ever seen.
“What a dumb ass,” Aurora said of Bobby, with surprising kindness.
“I know. When she leaves, I wonder what he’ll do? I’d like to hope he learns something.”
“I’m not holding my breath.” Aurora gave Zuzu an injection of penicillin while I sutured.
Tyler turned off the anesthesia machine.
“Even though this was all his idea, he seems so lost, which is weird because even though this was something done to me, I feel like I’m . . .” I searched for the right word as I knotted the final suture.
Aurora’s eyes flashed as she pulled down her mask.
“Found?” she and Tyler asked in unison.
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s it.”
I felt strong. Strong as the bones in Zuzu’s leg in her postsurgery X-rays. “Those bones are together,” Aurora said.
She and Tyler high-fived.
RIDING HIGH ON THE SURGERY, I CALLED DUBEY AFTER Bobby (and Zayna, I noted) had picked up Zuzu to take her home. Bobby had seemed disturbed by the fact that the pins showed, poking out through the skin. Poor man probably wouldn’t be able to look at his dog for six weeks.
To my delight, Dubey had just finished work himself and was free for dinner.
We met at the Pine Club near UD, where we indulged in gin-and-tonics and divine filets.
Once again, our conversation unfolded like a dance we knew well—we fell into rhythm easily, no stumbles, smooth transitions.
He was riveted by the story of Zuzu and toasted to her recovery.
I toasted to Thanksgiving—the day after next.
“I’m thankful for my freedom,” he said.
I was tipsy enough that when Dubey asked me what had been the craziness I’d alluded to in my message, I blurted the whole story of Vijay as if we’d drunk truth serum.
As my mouth babbled on and on, my brain screamed, Shut up! Shut up! Why are you telling him this? But to my surprise, when I stumbled to a halt, Dubey raised his glass again and said, “I’m honored to know somebody with the strength, heart, and honesty you have. You are a kick-ass, independent woman.”
I think I mottled down to my toes.
Dubey got it.
“Here’s to never walking back into that trap,” he said.
“It wouldn’t be a trap with Vijay. It’s just—”
“Never again.” He downed his drink.
Well . . . Dubey sort of got it.
Close enough to feel like thanksgiving indeed.
Well, that is, until I drove home and saw I’d missed a call from Ginger Avalon. She would pick up Moonshot the Saturday after Thanksgiving.