Page 59 of The Leaving Kind
Cam looked down at Honey, who was gazing up at him. Her eyes reflected the confusing sorrow he felt. “Yeah,” he said into the phone. “I’m here.”
“Would you be available to bring her by the office?”
“Now?”
“If you have time.”
Cam checked the microwave display. Five thirty. His only plan for the evening had been to figure out a scheduling mechanism, eat the rotisserie chicken he’d bought on the way home, and queue up a movie or two. Or three. Why not take a trip into Milford to give away his only happiness?
Maybe we should schedule some time to brood over why you’re not happy.
Shut up.
“Yeah, sure. I can come now. I’ll be there in a few.”
After coaxing Honey into the back seat of the car (repaired once again, but wheezing oddly every time he approached the top of a hill), Cam ran back into the house for her favorite blanket and the two toys he’d picked up for her. She seemed to like the fuzzy banana with the dangling rope legs best. She carried it upstairs every night to bed. Well, he carried it. And her. With her cast, it took her nearly ten minutes to hobble up the stairs—a fact he’d discovered one night after hearing a sound by the front door. When he’d gone to investigate, he’d found Honey halfway to the top, the banana clamped in her jaws.
Back at the car, Cam sat behind the wheel and stared through the open garage door. If he drove all night, he could make Indianapolis by dawn. He and Honey could simply disappear. Tour the open road. Not that Emma’s car would make it to the other side of Pennsylvania.
“Damn it.” He started the car and sped out of the driveway. Best to do this quickly. Rip off the bandage before he felt the pain. Except he was already feeling it. “Damn. It.”
At the animal hospital, Cam carried Honey, her blanket, and her banana inside. He spotted them right away, the couple who’d lost her. Amiable-looking folks. He turned toward them and watched hope brighten their faces like a sunrise. Any minute now, Honey would try to leap from his arms. He tightened his grip a little. Wouldn’t do for her to break another leg.
When he reached the couple, Cam squatted down to let Honey loose. She hopped to the floor and looked up at him, and he handed her the banana, which she dutifully took in her mouth. Cam stood and mustered a smile. It felt like one of his brother’s. Lopsided and awkward.
The receptionist had rounded the desk to crouch by Honey and was enthusiastically stroking her ears. “You’re such a good girl,” she crooned. “So sweet.”
She sure was.
The vet who’d fixed up her leg arrived, all smiles.
Sick of the stretched elastic feel of his own mouth, Cam prepared to make his exit. He glanced at the couple.
They weren’t smiling.
This time, the mysterious hand that scooped out the insides of sad people seemed to sweep the room. Everyone lost their happiness all at once. Even Honey, who’d been enjoying the sudden attention.
“It’s not her?” the vet asked.
They shook their heads.
Cam’s knees trembled. Two weeks. He’d had this dog for two freaking weeks. What was he going to do if another two weeks passed before her owners turned up? He looked to the couple in quiet appeal. The woman met his gaze and shook her head, but gently, as though she understood exactly what he was feeling. Then she crouched to get in on all the petting.
“She’s a sweetheart. What do you call her?”
“Ho-ney.” Cam’s voice caught halfway through.
“Perfect.”
Conversation continued, with Cam only half-aware. The vet took a few minutes to examine Honey’s cast. “While she’s here.” He checked the muscles above, her shoulder joints, and her other legs and pronounced her fit and healing nicely. “Let her walk a little more if you can. Not too far.”
Then Cam was back behind the wheel, Honey in the back seat, both of them sitting there, contemplating the drive to Indianapolis.
“I don’t know why that’d be our first stop, except I’ve never been there.”
Honey huffed.
Cam drove home.