On the way home, she’d swung by the bookstore to buy a book on astronomy, and later, as she was about to fall asleep, she’d realized she felt better about the future than she had in a long time, except for the fact that her muscles seemed to be stiffening by the minute.
Unfortunately, the new, improved Gabby had found it exceptionally painful to rise from bed the following morning. Everything hurt. No, scratch that. It was beyond hurt. Way beyond. It was excruciating. Every muscle in her body felt as if it had been run through a juice blender. Her back, her chest, her stomach, her legs, her butt, her arms, her neck . . . even her fingers ached. It took three attempts to sit up in bed, and after staggering to the bathroom, she’d found that brushing her teeth without screaming took a herculean amount of self-control. In the medicine cabinet, she’d found herself reaching for pretty much everything—Tylenol, Bayer aspirin, Aleve—and in the end, she’d decided to take them all. She’d washed down the pills with a glass of water and watched herself wince while swallowing.
Okay, she admitted, maybe she’d overdone it.
But it was too late now, and even worse, the painkillers hadn’t worked. Or maybe they had. She was, after all, able to function in the office, as long as she moved slowly. But the pain was still there, and Dr. Furman was gone, and the last thing she wanted was to deal with Dr. Melton.
Without another option, she asked one of the nurses which room he was in and, after knocking on the door, poked her head in. Dr. Melton looked up from his patient, his expression becoming animated as soon as he saw her.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she said. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
“Sure,” he said. He rose from his stool, set aside the file on his way out, and closed the door behind him. “Did you change your mind about lunch?”
She shook her head and told him about Eva Bronson and George; he promised he’d talk to them as quickly as he could. As she left, she could feel his eyes lingering on her as she limped down the hall.
It was half-past noon when Gabby finished with her last patient of the morning. Clutching her purse, she hobbled toward her car, knowing she didn’t have much time. Her next appointment was in forty-five minutes, but assuming she wasn’t held up at the vet, she would be okay. It was one of the nice things about living in a small town of fewer than four thousand people. Everything was only minutes away. While Morehead City—five times the size of Beaufort—was just across the bridge that spanned the Intracoastal Waterway and the place where most people did their weekend shopping, the short distance was enough to make this town feel distinct and isolated, like most of the towns down east, which was what the locals called this part of the state.
It was a pretty place, especially the historic district. On a day like today, with temperatures perfect for strolling, Beaufort resembled what she imagined Savannah to be in the first century of its existence.
Wide streets, shade trees, and a little more than a hundred restored homes occupied several blocks, eventually giving way to Front Street and a short boardwalk that overlooked the marina. Slips were occupied by leisure and working boats of every shape and size; a magnificent yacht worth millions might be docked next to a small crab boat on one side, with a lovingly maintained sailboat on the other. There were a couple of restaurants with gorgeous views: old, homegrown places with local character, complete with covered patios and picnic tables that made customers feel as if they were on vacation in a place where time stood still. On occasional weekend evenings, bands would perform at the restaurants, and last summer on the Fourth of July, when she was visiting Kevin, so many people came to hear the music and see the fireworks that the marina literally filled with boats. Without enough slips to accommodate them, the boats were simply tied up to one another, and their owners would walk from boat to boat until they reached the dock, accepting or offering beers to strangers as they went.
On the opposite side of the street, there were real estate offices mingled with art shops and tourist traps. In the evenings, Gabby liked to stroll through the art shops to examine the work. When she was young, she’d dreamed of painting or drawing for a living; it took a few years before she realized that her ambition far exceeded her talent. That didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate quality work, and every now and then she found a photograph or painting that made her pause. Twice, she’d actually made purchases, and both paintings now hung in her house. She’d considered buying a few more to complement them, but her monthly budget prevented it, at least for the time being.
A few minutes later, Gabby pulled into her driveway and yelped as she got out of the car before gamely making her way to the front door. Molly met her on the porch, took her sweet time smelling the flower bed until she took care of business, then hopped into the passenger seat. Gabby yelped again as she got back in, then rolled down the window so Molly could hang her head out, something she loved to do.
The Down East Veterinary Clinic was only a couple of minutes away, and she pulled into the parking lot, listening to the crunch of gravel beneath her wheels. A rustic and weathered Victorian, the clinic building appeared less like an office than a home. She slipped a leash on Molly, then stole a glance at her watch. She prayed the vet would be quick.
The screen door opened with a loud squeak, and she felt Molly tug at the leash as she was confronted with odors typical of animal clinics. Gabby approached the front desk, but before she could speak, the receptionist stood up from behind her desk.
“Is this Molly?” she asked.
Gabby didn’t bother to hide her surprise. Living in a small town still took some getting used to. “Yeah. I’m Gabby Holland.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Terri, by the way. What a beautiful dog.”
“Thank you.”
“We were wondering when you’d get here. You have to get back to work, right?” She grabbed a clipboard. “Let me go ahead and get you set up in a room. You can do the paperwork there. That way, the vet can see you right away. It shouldn’t be long. He’s almost done.”
“Great,” Gabby said. “I really appreciate it.”
The receptionist led them to an adjoining room; just inside was a scale, and she helped Molly get on it. “It’s no big deal. Besides, I bring my kids to your pediatric office all the time. How do you like it so far?”
“I’m enjoying it,” she said. “It’s busier than I thought it would be.”
Terri recorded the weight, then proceeded down the hallway. “I just love Dr. Melton. He’s been wonderful with my son.”
“I’ll tell him,” Gabby said.
Terri motioned to a small room furnished with a metal table and plastic chair and handed the clipboard to Gabby. “Just fill that out, and I’ll let the doctor know you’re here.”
Terri left them alone, and Gabby gingerly took a seat, wincing as she felt the muscles in her legs plead in agony. She took a couple of deep breaths, waiting until the pain passed, then filled out the paperwork while Molly wandered the room.
Less than a minute later, the door opened and the first thing Gabby noticed was the white smock; an instant later, the name embroidered in blue letters. Gabby was just about to speak, but sudden recognition made it impossible.
“Hi, Gabby,” Travis said. “How are you?”
Gabby continued to stare, wondering what on earth he was doing here. She was about to say something when she realized that his eyes were blue, when she’d thought they were brown. Strange. Still—
“I take it this is Molly,” he said, interrupting her thoughts. “Hey, girl . . .” He squatted and rubbed Molly’s neck. “You like that? Oh, you’re a sweet one, aren’t you? How you feeling, girl?”
The sound of his voice brought her back, and memories of their argument the other night followed. “You’re—you’re the vet?” Gabby stammered.
Travis nodded as he continued to scratch Molly’s neck. “Along with my dad. He started the clinic, I joined him after I finished school.”
This couldn’t be happening. Of all the people
in this town, it had to be him. Why on earth couldn’t she have an ordinary, uncomplicated day?
“Why didn’t you say anything the other night?”
“I did. I told you to bring her to the vet, remember?”
Her eyes narrowed. The man seemed to enjoy infuriating her. “You know what I mean.”
He looked up. “You mean about me being the vet? I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t let me.”
“You should have said something anyway.”
“I don’t think you were in any mood to hear it. But that’s water under the bridge. No hard feelings.” He smiled. “Let me check this girl out, okay? I know you have to get back to work, so I’ll make this quick.”
She could feel her anger rising at his nonchalant “No hard feelings.” Part of her wanted to leave right then. Unfortunately, he was already beginning to prod Molly’s belly. Nor, she realized, could she rise quickly, even if she tried, since right now her legs seemed to be on strike. Chagrined, she crossed her arms and felt something akin to a knife blade plunging into her back and shoulders while Travis readied the stethoscope. She bit her lip, proud of the fact she hadn’t yelped again.
Travis glanced at her. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said.
“You sure? You seem like you’re in pain.”
“I’m fine,” she repeated.
Ignoring her tone, he returned his attention to the dog. He moved the stethoscope, listened again, then examined one of her nipples. Finally, he slipped on a rubber glove with a snap and did a quick internal.
“Well, she’s definitely pregnant,” he said, removing the glove and tossing it into the bin. “And from the looks of things, she’s about seven weeks along.”
“I told you.” She glared at him. And Moby is responsible, she refrained from adding.
Travis stood and put the stethoscope back into his pocket. He reached for the clipboard and flipped the page.
“Just so you know, I’m pretty sure Moby’s not responsible.”
“Oh, no?”
“No. Most likely it’s that Labrador I’ve seen around the neighborhood. I think he’s old man Cason’s, but I’m not positive about that. It might be his son’s dog. I know he’s back in town.”
“What makes you so sure it’s not Moby?”
He started making notes, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure he’d heard her.
He shrugged. “Well, for one thing, he’s been neutered.”
There are moments when mental overload can render words impossible. All at once, Gabby saw a mortifying montage of herself babbling and crying and finally storming off in a huff. She did have a vague memory of him trying to tell her something, all of which served to make her feel queasy.
“Neutered?” she whispered.
“Uh-huh.” He looked up from the clipboard. “Two years ago. My dad did it here in the office.”
“Oh . . .”
“I tried to tell you that, too. But you left before I had a chance. I felt sort of bad about it, so I stopped by on Sunday to tell you then, but you were out.”
She said the only thing that came to mind. “I was at the gym.”
“Yeah? Good for you.”
It took some effort, but she uncrossed her arms. “I guess I owe you an apology.”
“No hard feelings,” he said again, but this time it made her feel even worse. “But listen, I know you’re in a rush, so let me tell you a bit about Molly, okay?”
She nodded, feeling as if she’d been placed in the corner by her teacher, still thinking about her tirade on Saturday night. The fact that he was being gracious about it somehow made it even worse.
“The gestation period lasts nine weeks, so you’ve got another two weeks. Her hips are wide enough, so you don’t have to worry about that, which was why I wanted you to bring her in. Collies sometimes have small hips. Now, normally, there’s nothing you need to do, but keep in mind that most likely she’ll want a cool, dark place to have her puppies, so you might want to put some old blankets down in the garage. You have a door from the kitchen, right?”
She nodded again, feeling as if she were shrinking.
“Just leave it open, and she’ll probably start wandering in there. We call it nesting, and it’s perfectly normal. Odds are she’ll have the puppies when it’s quiet. At night, or while you’re at work, but remember this is completely natural, so there’s nothing to worry about. The puppies will know how to wean right away, so you don’t need to be concerned about that, either. And you’ll most likely throw out the blankets, so don’t use anything fancy, okay?”
She nodded for the third time, feeling ever smaller.
“Other than that, there’s not much more you need to know. If there are any problems, you can bring her to the office. If it’s after hours, you know where I live.”
She cleared her throat. “Okay.”
When she said nothing else, he smiled and began to move toward the door. “That’s it. You can bring her back home if you’d like. But I’m glad you brought her in. I didn’t think it was an infection, but I’m happy I made sure.”
“Thanks,” Gabby mumbled. “And again, I’m really sorry. . . .”
He held up his hands to stop her. “It’s no problem. Really. You were upset, and Moby does wander the neighborhood. It was an honest mistake. I’ll see you around, okay?” By the time he gave Molly a final pat, Gabby felt six inches tall.
Once Travis—Dr. Parker—left the exam room, she waited for a long moment to be certain he was gone. Then slowly, painfully, she rose from her chair. She peeked out the door and, after making sure the coast was clear, went to the receptionist’s desk, where she quietly paid her bill.
By the time she got back to work, the only thing Gabby knew for certain was that as forgiving as he’d been, she’d never live down what she’d done, and since there wasn’t a rock large enough for her to crawl under, it was in her best interest to find a way to avoid him for a while. Not forever, of course. Something reasonable. Like the next fifty years.
Four
Travis Parker stood by the window, watching as Gabby led Molly back to the car. He was smiling to himself, amused by her expressions. Though he barely knew her, he’d seen enough to conclude that she was one of those people whose expressions were a window to their every feeling. It was a rare quality these days. He often felt that too many people lived their lives acting and pretending, wearing masks and losing themselves in the process. Gabby, he felt certain, would never be that way.
Pocketing his keys, he headed for his truck, with the promise that he’d be back from lunch in half an hour. He retrieved his cooler—he packed his lunch every morning—and drove to his usual spot. A year ago he’d purchased a plot of land overlooking Shackleford Banks at the end of Front Street, with the thought that one day he’d build his dream home there. The only problem was that he wasn’t quite sure what that entailed. For the most part, he led a simple life and dreamed of throwing up a rustic little shack like the kind he’d seen in the Florida Keys, something with lots of character that appeared a hundred years old on the outside but was surprisingly bright and roomy on the inside. He didn’t need much space—a bedroom and maybe an office in addition to the living area—but as soon as he’d start the process, he’d reason that the lot was better suited for something more family-friendly. That rendered the image of his dream home fuzzier, since it no doubt included a future wife and kids, neither of which he was even close to imagining.
Sometimes, the way he and his sister had turned out struck him as strange, since she, too, was in no hurry to marry. Their parents had been married for almost thirty-five years, and Travis could no more picture either of them single than he could picture himself flapping his arms and zooming into the clouds. Sure, he’d heard the stories of how they’d met on a church group camping trip while they were in high school, how Mom had cut her finger while slicing a piece of pie for dessert, and how dad had clamped his hand over the wound like a surgical bandage to stem th
e bleeding. One touch and “Bing, bang, boom, just like that,” Dad would say, “I knew she was the one for me.”
So far, there’d never been a bing, bang, boom for Travis. Nothing even close, for that matter. Sure, there was his high school girlfriend, Olivia; everyone at the school seemed to think they were perfect for each other. She lived across the bridge in Morehead City these days, and every now and then he’d run into her at Wal-Mart or Target. They’d chat for a minute or so about nothing important and then amicably go their separate ways.
There had been countless girlfriends since Olivia, of course. He wasn’t clueless when it came to women, after all. He found them attractive and interesting, but more than that, he was genuinely fond of them. He was proud of the fact that he’d never had what could even remotely be considered a painful breakup for either him or one of his exes. The breakups were almost always mutual, petering out like a soggy fuse on a firecracker as opposed to the big kaboom of fireworks overhead. He considered himself friends with all of his exes—Monica, his latest, included—and figured they’d say the same thing about him. He wasn’t right for them, and they weren’t right for him. He’d watched three former girlfriends get married off to great guys, and he’d been invited to all three weddings. He seldom thought about finding permanence or his soul mate, but in the rare times he did, he always ended up imagining finding someone who shared the same active, outdoor passions he did. Life was for living, wasn’t it? Sure, everyone had responsibilities, and he didn’t mind those. He enjoyed his work, earned a good living, owned a house, and paid his bills on time, but he didn’t want a life where those things constituted all there was. He wanted to experience life. No, change that. He needed to experience life.