Dark River Road (57 page)

Neither said anything until they were almost back at the motel. Then she asked, “Why did you come back, Chantry?”

He didn’t bother with a long, involved reply. “I don’t know.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the truth. I think I know, but maybe it’s just an excuse. I’m doing my residency with Doc. A preceptorship for veterinary school. I’m in my last year at Mississippi State.”

He turned to look at her, studied her profile, the straight nose and full mouth, classical and just flawed enough to save her from the impression of a cold statue. God, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He couldn’t help his reaction, more than just physical, but a feeling deep down in his gut that he’d lost something precious.

“Why’d you stay?” he asked more roughly than he intended.

After a moment, she said softly, “I don’t know.”

He understood. Life had a way of doing that sometimes. Presenting questions with no clear answers. Or answers you’d rather not face, anyway.

There were other questions he wanted to ask, ones that would take a lot longer than a few minutes or words to answer. He wasn’t sure he should ask, but it came out anyway before he could stop it: “Are you married?”

“No. And since you were with Cathy, I assume that you aren’t married now either.”

Denial never had done any good, even when it was true, so he didn’t bother with it now. “Never been married.”

“Spoken like a confirmed bachelor.”

“Yeah. Haven’t seen much to recommend it.”

Now she looked at him, a brief turn of her head with an expression he couldn’t read on her face. Like she was remembering Mama and Rainey, and the hell of their lives together. Or maybe she was thinking about her own parents, a match made for mutual advantage if not for love. He’d never quite figured that one out, but he’d never tried too hard, either. There had been lots of other things on his mind back then.

An awkward silence stretched, and then they were at the motel and he knew he should get out of the car. He delayed the moment, and she said nothing to hasten it either. They sat silently in the whoosh of air coming from the vents, while the hot sun baked the parking lot.

“How’s Mikey?” she asked finally.

“Walking on his own now since he got the last operation on his feet. In college. Thinks he knows more than he does. The usual.”

She smiled. “I’m glad. He was a sweet little kid. He deserves success.”

“He gave it to me that day. You know. The bracelet you sent for my birthday.”

Something else stirred between them now besides the awkwardness, old memories maybe, a sense of loss, of tentative reconnection. He saw her glance toward his wrist, and shook his head.

“I had to stop wearing it when I was in the service. After—it just never felt right again.”

“You were in the service?”

“Yes.” He paused, then added, “Marines. A long time ago. A few months after high school graduation.”

She studied him for a moment. “Maybe that explains it then.”

He stared at her. “Explains what?”

“You
 . . .
your hardness now. I mean
 . . .
you always had this wary look in your eyes, like you were just waiting on something to happen, but there was always a
 . . .
a sweetness about you, too. A kindness.”

“So now I’m Jack the Ripper?”

“No. Of course not.” She looked away, at her hands on the steering wheel. “Maybe it’s just because you’re older. So tall and
 . . .
and dark. I don’t know. There’s a difference, though.”

He didn’t doubt that. He just hadn’t realized it was so obvious. It made him feel uneasy, tense. Uncertain.

“Maybe I have changed,” he said after a minute. “It’s been fourteen years. I couldn’t stay sixteen forever.”

“No, and neither could I. But I always thought
 . . .
when I was eighteen, that you’d come back.” She laughed softly, but it sounded sad. “I actually expected you to show up on my birthday that year. Silly to remember that now.”

He couldn’t say anything.

“When you didn’t come or call,” she said after another moment ticked past, “I knew you were really gone, that you never meant to come back at all. That I had to go on with my life. So I have. I put you from my mind nearly twelve years ago and until two days ago, I thought you were gone forever. Now you’re back. I hope it’s for the right reasons.”

He couldn’t tell her why, couldn’t give her right reasons when he didn’t know himself, had no idea why he’d felt compelled to come back here when he knew he wouldn’t get the answers he wanted. And he didn’t want to tell her that he’d never let himself think about her, never again let himself be stupid enough to dream things that’d never happen. All his dreams had turned to ash a long time ago, and he knew the futility of wanting something that was out of reach. It was safer to focus on life’s necessities, not the intangibles.

“Me too,” was all he said, and could tell from her suddenly opaque eyes that it wasn’t the right thing to say. She looked away.

“Nancy will have the paperwork ready for you tomorrow. We’re open until six, but if you need her to bring it by to you later in the day, she’ll make arrangements. I have plans to leave town for my annual vacation this week so doubt I see you again before my return. I’ll be gone for a month or two. My caretaker will be there should you need anything done in the carriage house.”

He might have said something then, he didn’t know what, but she stuck out her hand when he turned toward her and said simply, “Goodbye, Chantry. And good luck.”

“Yeah. You, too. Thanks for—helping out.”

He shook her hand, a swift impersonal gesture, then got out of the car and shut the door. She drove away and it felt oddly like another loss. One more thing Mikey was right about—he really was a dumbass.

“No. What about my other dogs?”

“Those who haven’t been inoculated yet need a vaccine. Wash down all the cages and disinfect them, and anyone that feeds should disinfect hands and boots. The virus spreads by direct contact with an infected dog, but can also get carried into runs, cages, food dishes. Watch the other dogs, and if you see any blue eyes, increased thirst or lack of appetite, get them in to the clinic pretty quick. Got a crate?”

Ledbetter called one of his workers to bring a crate for the pup, and they loaded the dog into Chantry’s car while he checked out the other dogs. None showed any symptoms, and he told Ledbetter to bring any in that hadn’t yet had their ICH vaccines. Then he went to tell Doc what was going on, and that he’d be at the clinic if he needed him.

Knee-deep in cow manure and cranky bull, Doc waved him on. Ledbetter walked him to his car, stood for a moment, hands deep in his pockets, rocked back on his heels and looking like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. Finally he just nodded toward the dog in the rear of the car.

“He’s in good hands, son. Glad you’re back.”

Well, there were three people glad to see him. Four, if he counted Cathy Chandler. Not really good odds in a town of nearly two thousand. But when had he ever worried about the odds being in his favor?

Back at the clinic, he did the blood work and put the pup on an IV. It was doing pretty well, all things considered. No bloody diarrhea yet, so it might just have a mild infection. He’d known dogs to die within a few hours of the first symptoms. This pup might just make it.

Doc had a new assistant. Mindy Rowan, who used to babysit Mikey after Mama died. She looked at Chantry sideways sometimes and kept her distance, but wasn’t unfriendly. She had to be in her mid-twenties by now, several years younger than him, and was married with a couple of kids under the age of three. She called him
Doctor
or
sir
instead of by his first name. It made him feel suddenly ancient, but then, he’d always felt old.

“Doctor, Mrs. Tidwell is here with Precious,” Mindy said from the clinic doorway, “and is insisting that someone look at him right now. What should I tell her?”

“Precious. That cat’s still alive? Jesus. He has to be—how old?”

“Sixteen, almost seventeen. And he’s not as sweet as he used to be.”

“You’re joking, right? He was never sweet. An ill-tempered beast if ever there was one. If she wants me to look at him, though, I will.”

Precious hadn’t improved over the years. Fat, white, prone to bouts of diarrhea probably caused by Mrs. Tidwell feeding him people food instead of sticking to a decent feline diet, the cat apparently remembered Chantry as well. He hissed and moaned, showing fangs and claws from the safety of Mrs. Tidwell’s chubby embrace.

Chantry eyed Precious. Mrs. Tidwell eyed Chantry. “Don’t I know you?”

“Yes, ma’am. What’s the matter with Precious today?”

“He’s sick. Pooping everywhere. Aren’t you that boy who used to work here?”

“Yes, ma’am. Mindy, will you please hold Precious on the examining table?” He took his temperature, another adventure in veterinary technique, then dosed him with KP Plus before saying, “If you want him to live a long time, you’ll stop feeding him stuff that’s making him sick. Stick to a good brand of cat food with only occasional feline treats.”

Mrs. Tidwell bristled. “Precious eats only the best food. I feed him what I eat.”

He eyed her portly frame for a beat, and remembered that part of veterinary medicine was supposed to treat the animal’s owner as well as the sick animal. He doubted Mrs. Tidwell would appreciate him advising her to push back from the table, however, so he said only, “It’s too rich for him and will probably kill him if you keep it up. He needs vitamins and nutrients not found in our food. There are several brands you can choose from, either here or at any pet store. Mindy will get you the names. Give him five cc’s of the KP three times a day. It has an antibiotic in it.”

“Doctor Malone said giving Precious chicken and tuna is just fine.”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean KFC and Starkist. You’ll end up killing him.”

“Here, Mrs. Tidwell,” Mindy said, “I have you a new bottle of KP Plus all ready. And I’ll get you that list.”

Mrs. Tidwell glowered at Chantry but she followed Mindy out front. He was glad to get to the back again. It was safer with the animals.

Mindy came to the back a few minutes later and leaned in the doorway. She wore her brown hair high in the front so that it looked like an air scoop on a hot rod hood from the sides and back, but the rest was long, caught back in a ponytail. With one hand on her hip, she said, “You might need to work on your people skills.”

“Why? I don’t like most people. I prefer animals. At least they’re honest.”