Dr. Mac returns with a syringe. “Okay,” she says, “this will make you feel better, girl.” She injects the anesthetic with one smooth move.
I watch Lucy’s eyelids droop lower and lower until she’s unconscious. Her breathing has slowed, and she looks relaxed. Dr. Mac carefully carries Lucy into the X-ray room. I follow her so that I can keep watch while the X-ray is being taken.
A couple of minutes later, Dr. Mac, Lucy, and I are back in the Herriot Room. Dr. Mac sticks the X-ray film on the light box on the wall and flips a switch to turn it on. “Hmm,” she says. “It’s broken, all right.”
Dr. Mac points out a section of the image to Mrs. Clark. “Luckily, it’s a closed fracture, so it shouldn’t be too hard to take care of.”
I exchange a relieved glance with Maggie and David. I’ve been at the clinic long enough to know that a closed fracture is when a broken bone hasn’t broken through the skin. When it does, it’s called a compound fracture and it’s a little trickier, since the wound could get infected. Because of Lucy’s diabetes, infections can be especially dangerous.
“Will she be all right?” Mrs. Clark asks in a quivering voice. “We’ve been together so long, I couldn’t stand it if she . . . ” She stops, seeming afraid to finish the sentence.
Dr. Mac flashes her a smile. “She’ll be fine,” she assures her. “It’s a hairline fracture, and it’s in the lower part of the leg where it’s easier to set. With a little luck, she’ll be as good as new once it heals.”
Mrs. Clark looks relieved. David has already heated a pan of water on a special hot plate. Now Dr. Mac picks up a sheet of bright blue plastic. She dips the thin plastic sheet into the warm water, letting it soften.
“What’s that?” Mrs. Clark asks nervously.
“It’s the splint,” Dr. Mac explains as she pulls the now pliable plastic out of the water. “I was just softening it so that I can shape it around Lucy’s broken leg. The fit will be nice and snug once it cools and hardens up again.”
Dr. Mac works quickly, fitting the warm plastic around Lucy’s foreleg. I wish I could do more to help, but Dr. Mac has everything under control. She finishes shaping the plastic splint, then steps back so we can all see it. “Would you bring me some bandages, Maggie, please?” she asks. After she carefully wraps the splint with the bandages, she steps back again, looking satisfied. “All finished,” she says. “Now all we have to do is let her wake up.”
Maggie steps forward. “Would you like a cup of tea or something while you wait?” she asks Mrs. Clark.
“Oh, a cup of tea would be nice.” Mrs. Clark smiles at Maggie gratefully. “Thank you. Lemon, no sugar, please.”
“Okay. I’ll be right back.” Maggie hurries out of the room.
David and I start cleaning up the exam room while Dr. Mac and Mrs. Clark talk about the storm. It doesn’t take long for Lucy to come around. First the cat’s long tail starts twitching, then she tries to lift her head. It wobbles weakly, and she lets out a soft meow. Mrs. Clark gently pets her.
“Don’t worry, Lucy,” she croons. “The doctor made you all better. Now we can go home.”
“Why don’t you let her stay until she’s fully awake,” Dr. Mac suggests. “I can check her glucose level before she goes home.”
“All right.” Mrs. Clark seems relieved to see her cat stirring again.
A few minutes later, Maggie returns, carefully carrying a mug with a picture of a schnauzer on it. Dr. Mac has a whole collection of animal mugs—her patients’ owners like to give them to her for Christmas. Mrs. Clark takes the tea and sips it gently.
“When should I bring her in next?” she asks Dr. Mac as Lucy sniffs weakly at the strange contraption on her leg.
“I’d like to see Lucy once a week until this is healed,” Dr. Mac says. “I’ll need to change the bandage and check the fracture site. In the meantime, call if there are any problems or if you notice swelling. But knowing Lucy, I’m sure she won’t let a little thing like a broken leg keep her down for long. Do your best to keep her as quiet as possible while she heals.” She smiles and reaches over to scratch the woozy cat behind her ears. “She’ll be groggy for a couple of hours, but she should come out of it just fine.”
Mrs. Clark bites her lip as she watches Lucy try to sit up. The cat wobbles and tips over. “Are you sure she’ll be all right?”
I can tell she’s worried. Lucy looks pretty awful right now. “I could stop by in the morning and check on her if you’d like,” I offer, looking from Dr. Mac to Mrs. Clark. “Just to make sure she’s doing well.”
“Oh, that would be wonderful, Sunita,” Mrs. Clark says gratefully. “I’m sure it will make Lucy feel better to have a visit from her favorite young girl.”
I’m pleased that Mrs. Clark thinks of me that way. “Okay, then,” I say. “I’ll come over on my way to the clinic tomorrow.”
“Good.” Dr. Mac nods her approval. “Esther, this may affect Lucy’s insulin level, so you should monitor her carefully for a few days. Make sure she’s eating and drinking the same amount as usual.”
Mrs. Clark nods. “Thank you,” she tells Dr. Mac. “I’m just so relieved that she’s going to be okay. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”
By the time Mrs. Clark finishes her tea, Lucy is more alert. Dr. Mac checks over the cat once more, then says it’s all right for them to leave. “We’ll send her home in this,” Dr. Mac adds, pulling out a lightweight plastic cat carrier from the cabinet under the sink.
This time, Mrs. Clark accepts it without protest. Soon Lucy is settled inside on a clean towel. Before latching the wire door, I reach inside and scratch Lucy in her favorite spot under her chin, being careful not to disturb the splint on her leg. “You’ll be fine, Lucy,” I whisper as I lift the carrier. “Just rest now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Good-bye, everyone,” Mrs. Clark calls as she heads toward the door. “And thank you so much for everything.” I slip into my raincoat and then follow with the cat carrier.
It takes only a few minutes to put the carrier into Mrs. Clark’s car and say good-bye to her and Lucy. But by the time I return to the clinic, I’m soaked to the skin. “Whew!” I exclaim as I lower the hood on my raincoat. “It’s like a monsoon out there.”
“I think you kids had better head home before the storm gets any worse,” Dr. Mac says, checking her watch. “I doubt we’ll have any more patients today.”
“Roger.” David is already reaching for his raincoat, which is hanging near the door. “See you tomorrow.”
“Maybe.” Dr. Mac glances at the rain pounding against the window. “If the weather is too bad in the morning, don’t try to come in. Maggie and Zoe and I can hold down the fort if necessary. Okay?”
I nod along with David. But I know that I have to brave Hurricane Felix the next day, no matter how bad it is. Lucy is counting on me.
Chapter Five
When I get home a few minutes later, I let myself in the back door and breathe in the delicious smell of Mother’s famous chicken tandoori. It makes me feel a little warmer, even though I’m drenched. I hang my raincoat on the hook near the garage door and walk over to the sink. That’s strange. Where’s Mittens? She’s usually the first to greet me.
As I’m doing my best to squeeze most of the water out of my long, thick hair, my mother comes into the kitchen.
“Sunita, Mittens is acting crazy,” Mother says, her dark brown eyes anxious. “She’s howling like a wildcat, and she won’t come out from under your bed.”
That doesn’t sound like Mittens at all. “I hope she’s not sick,” I say, heading toward the stairs.
I race up to my bedroom and flop down on the floor. Lifting the lace bedskirt, I peer into the dark space beneath my bed. A pair of glowing eyes greets me from the farthest corner by the wall.
“Waaah-oooh!”
The noise Mittens makes doesn’t even sound like a cat. It’s more like the howl of some creature from another planet.
“Here, kitty kitty
,” I croon, scooting forward a little more with the help of the hooked rug by my bed. “Come on out, Mittens. Please?”
Mittens howls again. As my eyes adjust to the dark, I can see that her ears are pricked toward me. Obviously she hears me—but she still isn’t coming out. After a moment, she creeps forward a little bit and meows uncertainly. Her black-and-white fur is fluffed up, and her tail twitches nervously.
“Come on, pretty girl,” I coax her. “That’s right. Come on out.”
It takes a while, but finally I get her to come close enough for me to grab her. I pull her out as carefully as I can, hoping that she’s not injured or sick. Please just let it be the weather, like Mr. Jermaine says. I carry her into the bathroom across the hall and shut the door so that she can’t get away from me. Now there are fewer places for her to hide.
As soon as I put her down, she crouches low. There’s a distant boom of thunder. It’s not very loud, but Mittens jerks her head around nervously, yowls, then leaps straight into the air, almost knocking over the white wicker towel caddy as she races over to wedge herself behind the toilet. Black fur floats in the air behind her. She’s shedding like crazy. That’s what most cats do when they’re nervous.
I sigh. “I don’t think you’re sick, sweetie,” I say, leaning back against the whitewashed vanity cabinet. “It’s just Hurricane Felix. You should be glad you aren’t Lucy. Not only is she weirded out by the weather like you are, but she has a broken leg, too.”
Thoughts about Lucy distract me. She must really have been scared to jump out of Mrs. Clark’s arms like that. I hope she eats all her food tonight.
Mittens lets out another yowl, which brings me back to the here and now. My poor kitty’s peering out from her hiding place, looking terrified. From what I can see out the bathroom window, I can’t really blame her. The sky is dark and ominous, and rain is slashing against the glass as if it’s trying to break in.
I talk to Mittens for a few more minutes, trying to comfort her. But she doesn’t even seem to hear me. We’ll have to wait for the storm to pass. I wonder how long that’ll be? I decide to check the Internet.
Figuring that Mittens will probably feel safest in her original hiding spot, I let her out of the bathroom. Sure enough, she races straight for my room and darts under the bed again.
“Well?” Mother asks when I go back downstairs. “Did you see her?”
“Uh-huh. I think she wants to be alone right now. She’s just scared of Hurricane Felix,” I explain. “Is it all right if I turn on the computer? I want to see how much longer this storm will last.”
“All right,” she says. “But if that lightning gets any closer, turn it off right way.”
I nod and head into the den. As soon as I get online, I check the weather site we have book-marked. The satellite image shows one band of rain clouds after another, with the storm’s eye hovering around the coast of Virginia. Then I type the word hurricane into a search engine. About a zillion sites come up. “Hmm,” I murmur, scanning the first few on the list. “Guess I should be more specific.”
This time I type the words hurricane and pets. Soon I’m skimming an article about getting your pets safely through a weather emergency. It says that every family should have a plan of action before disaster strikes.
“It’s a little late for that,” I mutter, glancing at the rain pounding against the window.
I read a little further. Uh-oh. The site says that Red Cross emergency shelters can’t take in animals, except for service dogs such as guide dogs for the blind. That can’t be right. I hit the “back” button to return to my search results and check another page. But it says the same thing. In fact, it notes that most human emergency shelters of any kind won’t let people bring their pets.
I guess that’s why it’s so important to plan ahead. I wonder how many people in Ambler have made plans for their pets in case there’s flooding from all the rain. Probably not many. We don’t have too many natural disasters here.
I don’t realize Mother is standing behind me until she clears her throat. “You’d better turn off the computer now, Sunita,” she says. “The lightning is getting closer, and we could lose power at any moment.”
“Mom, do we have an emergency plan?” I ask.
She looks at the site I’m reading. “We have a fire escape plan,” she says. “But don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll be fine here.”
I quickly scan the rest of the site. “But it says here that inland flooding is one of the deadliest parts of a hurricane, even if the winds aren’t that strong,” I tell Mother. “The heavy rains and flooding can affect people hundreds of miles from the ocean. See?” I point to the paragraph I’m reading. “It says here that Hurricane Floyd killed fifty-six people when it hit the eastern U.S. in 1999. And out of those fifty-six people, fifty drowned due to inland flooding.”
“Yes, flooding can be very dangerous. But our house is built on high ground.” Mother puts a hand on my shoulder as thunder rumbles again. “Don’t worry, Sunita,” she adds with a little squeeze. “Please turn off the computer now. I need you to help me check the downstairs windows to make sure they’re all closed. That’ll be the first part of our plan.”
I do as she says. As we walk from room to room checking the windows, I’m still thinking about what I just read. I guess Mother is thinking about the hurricane, too, because neither of us says much.
“I hope your father gets home from the hospital soon,” Mother comments as we check the living room.
We stand together staring out the front window. There’s so much rain that I can hardly see to the end of the driveway. “Me, too,” I agree.
Mother hardly seems to hear me. A little furrow creases her brow. “The roads must be terrible. Sunita, could you check the upstairs windows? I want to bring my cell phone in from the car in case our regular phones go out.”
“Sure.” I head upstairs. My little brother and sister are playing in the hall, racing some toy cars up and down on the smooth floorboards. They look up when they see me.
“Sunita, your hair is wet!” Jasmine exclaims. “Did you take a bath?”
“No,” I tell her, running a hand over my damp hair. It’s so thick that it takes forever to dry. “I was outside in the storm. It’s really raining hard.”
Harshil nods, looking excited. “It’s a hurricane,” he tells me. “Daddy says that’s a really, really big storm. Daddy says the storm’s name is Feligs.”
“That’s Felix,” I say, smiling. “With an X.”
“Maybe we should go see if our yard is flooded yet,” Jasmine says, looking worried.
“Yeah!” Harshil jumps to his feet. “If our house floods, will all our toys float away?”
“No, of course not. We don’t have to worry,” says a reassuring voice behind me.
I turn around. It’s Daddy. “I’m so glad you’re home.” I sigh, and smile.
The twins run to hug his legs.
He rubs their heads and says, “Our neighborhood is on pretty high ground. Most of this part of town is. The only ones who need to worry are the people over in the Oakwood area, outside of town.” Then he adds, “Oh, and maybe houses down on Willow Street. One of my patients lives in one of those old homes down there, and they got flooded out about ten years ago.”
For a second I’m so relieved to hear that our house is safe that I don’t take in what my father just said. Then I gasp. Willow Street? That’s where Mrs. Clark and Lucy live!
Chapter Six
Whoa,” I mutter, grabbing the front door against a heavy gust of wind. The sky still looks gray and gloomy this morning. It’s been raining all night, but right now it’s only drizzling lightly. I saw on TV that Felix made landfall a couple of hours ago in southern New Jersey. I’d really hate to see what the wind is like down there.
I glance over my shoulder at the cozy, dry living room behind me. For half a second I’m tempted to close the door and stay inside. Dr. Mac can manage without me. But then I remember Lucy. I have to che
ck on her. It seems even more important now because of the storm. What if there has been some problem with Lucy’s splint or complications because of her diabetes, and Mrs. Clark can’t get to the clinic because of Hurricane Felix?
Mother appears behind me, peering out at the steel-gray clouds. “Sunita, maybe you should stay home today. I’m not sure you should be wandering around town in this weather.”
“It’s only a few blocks to Mrs. Clark’s house, and then I’ll go straight to the clinic. Besides, it’s hardly raining anymore.” I hold my breath, hoping Mother won’t remember that Mrs. Clark lives on Willow Street. If she remembers that and thinks there might be any flooding, she might not let me go.
Mother still looks uncertain, but finally she nods. “All right,” she says. “But be careful. Call me at the hospital when you get there.”
“I will.” I smile at her as reassuringly as I can. It’s amazing. When I first started volunteering at the clinic almost six months ago, my parents hardly ever let me do anything on my own. I think working with Dr. Mac might have convinced them that I can handle more responsibility than they thought. And if Mother can make it to work today, so can I.
I brace myself and head out the door. As I cross the street and walk down the block, it starts to rain harder. Then a gust of wind whips the hood of my raincoat right off my head. “Ugh,” I say, grabbing it and squinting against the rain blowing into my eyes. There’s no traffic in sight—unless you count the empty trash can spinning crazily down the street toward me. I jump aside to avoid it.
Lucy needs me. Lucy needs me. I repeat the thought over and over, timing the words to my steps. It helps to keep me going as I trudge toward Willow Street. I don’t pass a single pedestrian, and only a few cars go by, their tires throwing up sheets of water from the puddles on the road. Quite a lot of tree branches blew down overnight, and leaves and stray bits of paper are blowing around everywhere.