Page 132 of Wyatt
“Happy to,” Wyatt says. “We’re in our element.”
When the colt is sedated, Wyatt crouches by my side. Together, we talk through what my plan is for the repair. He asks a lot of questions—Why put the screw there? What can the cables do that a plate can’t?—and time flies as I answer them.
Dad and Vance join us in the stall as I begin to operate. We all chat amiably as the surgery progresses. When I start to sweat, Wyatt somehow rummages up a bottle of wateranda straw, so I’m able to drink it without taking off my gloves.
He chuckles when I’m inserting the screws with a drill. “No wonder you like all those murdery shows. You’d make an excellent serial killer.”
I laugh, the ache in my knees and eyes easing ever so slightly. “I do the opposite of dismemberment.” I gesture to the horse’s leg. “Look, I literally put bodies back together.”
“Which means you know how to take ’em apart, too, don’t you?”
I crank my drill. “Keep talking shit, and you’re gonna find out.”
He smiles, and I do too. By the time the surgery is done and I’m wrapping up the colt’s leg, I’ve laughed so hard and talked so much that I’m exhausted beyond belief, but also buzzing with energy.
This is what happiness feels like, I think as Wyatt hands me an enormous cardboard cup of coffee and an egg-and-cheese biscuit from Mrs. Wallace’s kitchen.
I think the same thing when Wyatt digs his thumbs into the sore muscles at the bottom of my neck while Dad and Vance prep the next horse for surgery, the mini massage making goose bumps break out on my arms.
Meanwhile, Ava fills me in on Pepper’s recovery. She’s doing so well that I give Ava permission to let her out of box rest.
The realization crystallizes with sudden, startling clarity. This sense of belonging, of being appreciated, of community—thatis what I’m missing in Ithaca. The connection I feel to this place and these people is what makes my work here so satisfying.
Dad’s never worked anywhere else, so maybe he doesn’t understand how awful it is to practice surgery in a place that values prestige over people, success over saving lives.
In Hartsville, people focus on the right things.
They spend their time and energy doing right by their neighbors, their families, their animals.
They’re proud people, and they should be. There’s a real sense here that we’re all in this together, which makes the work feel so much more meaningful, like it matters. Like Imatter. At the big universities where I’ve worked, it feels very dog eat dog, like everyone is out for themselves.
That’s just not who I am. That’s not who Mom and Dad raised me to be. And maybe me choosing community and character over a fancy job title will make them proud.
Sure as hell makesmeproud. And that’s ultimately what has to matter, isn’t it?
“You need me to give you aRockypep talk, or are you good?” Wyatt asks. “I know you’re running on fumes.”
“I’m good. You’ve gotta be wiped too, Wy. You don’t have to stay. I know your brothers?—”
“Are fine. I like watching you screw…things in.”
“You’re funny.”
“You got this.”
I grin. “I do.”
Ava just stares at the filly, slowly shaking her head. “You’re a miracle worker, Sally.”
“Let’s not speak too soon. I’m cautiously optimistic about this one?—”
“Which means this sweet girl’s gonna be just fine.” Wyatt nods at the horse.
The filly’s surgery was thankfully less complicated than the colt’s. Turned out, she had broken ribs and a fractured tibia, which didn’t require any plates to correct.
I’m thrilled with how it went. I’m also dead on my feet as I watch Dad and Vance clean up the stall.
“I truly can’t thank y’all enough.” Ava’s gaze catches on mine. “You really are talented. When the Wallaces asked me to start their training program here?—”