Page 45 of The Sharpest Edges

A dog or cat was out of the question. He never asked, no matter how badly he wanted to and did he ever want to. He had seen some of the other kids playing with their dogs in the yard from the window of his school bus and wondered what it might be like to have something that loved him unconditionally because that’s what pets were supposed to do. Be loyal, see past his faults, and love him no matter what.

He knew better than to tempt fate, though. It would only take one drunken rage for his father to hurt something he cared about, or for Boone to do the same with a prank or a joke. It was easier in the long run to have one less thing to worry about or get attached to.

Sitting in this waiting room, watching Ava hug her kitten close to her chest, only reminds him how simple it is to fall for these things. She’s tried to keep it at arm’s length. She won’t even name it, and that’s a sure sign that she expects it to disappear one day and break her heart.

If he believed in any sort of God he’d say a prayer. He doesn’t believe in a damn thing, though, so the last thing he does is pray on the off chance there is a deity up there and it hurts that cat just to spite him for daring to try. Thoughts and prayers are useless things.

He fills out the paperwork instead, writing down the answers she gives him so she won’t need to hand over her sneezing, coughing burden to hold a pen or a clipboard. He fills in the box for the animal’s name with Kat, making a joke at his lack of name when there’s nothing funny about this situation.

Ava is surprisingly calm for someone who fell apart back at the house. All frantic words and hectic movement, so unsure of what to do he had to take the cat from her and wrap it in a blanket because she stood there clutching it, unable to do much more than wait for him to take over and make a choice.

Now though, in this cold, sterile room, sitting in these hard, plastic chairs, Ava is quiet and calm with dry eyes and a thousand-yard stare.

“How long do you think it’ll be? Should we ask?” she whispers.

He glances around the room. There are three others ahead of them and he wonders how everyone here had such shit luck at the same time.

The receptionist, friendly but tired, told them to fill out the papers and wait their turn. Thatthe cat wasn’t bad off enough to skip the line and that’s the best news he could have hoped for. He thought the damn thing was two breaths away from dying the way it lay limp in Ava’s arms in the car, but the longer they wait the more they both worry and one thing is for certain, this cat isn’t getting any better, only worse.

“Gonna go check. Hold on.” He heads to the front desk, hoping there’s some way to skip to the front of the pack.

He’s no vet but the other animals in here look less like an emergency than he’d have expected. A dog with a bandage on its paw, another in a chair wagging its tail, and a little cat in a carrier with a nice set of lungs. They wouldn’t be here if they didn’t need care, but the urgency is questionable.

When he reaches the receptionist, she eyes him with a wary stare, likely having taken the brunt of people’s outbursts every day of every shift. He tries hard as he can not to be a complete asshole when he speaks to her. “Any idea how long? Been over an hour.”

She shakes her head, sighing in defeat, the bun she wears toppling over in the process. “I’m sorry no, there’s three ahead of you.”

“Dunno if you go by first come first serve or by need, but I got a cat no bigger than a fat squirrel, and every few seconds it’s hacking up a lung and wheezing and getting more limp and pitiful. Worried it’s suffering. Getting worse.”

None of that is a lie, and it’s not like the woman in front of him doesn’t know the condition of their cat, she does, but maybe an hour’s wait and the possibility of it going even further downhill is enough because she squints at him, tilting her head with a frown.

“You say he’s more limp than before? Having worse trouble breathing?”

Dean nods, eager to see a vet and get help for a problem they weren’t prepared for tonight.

“Okay, lemme see him. I’ll get someone to take a quick look.”

A few seconds later, the kitten disappears into the back room and he and Ava are left alone to suffer harsh glares from others. He doesn’t give a shit though, only grabs two styrofoam cups of coffee from the machine and holds down the chair next to her like it’s his job.

Ava’s arm presses against his while she stares off into space, holding her coffee like a lifeline.

“He’ll be alright,” Dean says softly.

“You don’t know that.” Her voice is cold, like she could be talking to the wall instead of him. “I didn’t even name him. I should have.”

“You still can. He ain’t gone, that cat will be just fine.”

“And if he isn’t?”

“If he isn’t, then we still will be, but don’t get too far ahead yet.”

She looks away, fighting tears until they give up and recede.

They spend another fifteen minutes like anxious parents waiting on news of their sick child. Drinking bitter coffee and holding hands, watching some random cartoon on the TV before they’re finally called back.

* * *

An upper respiratory infection.

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