Page 42 of Heart Me Up
It was a little bit satisfying to see the appalled expression come over Malcolm’s face. “Oh, shit,” he said.
I held out my hand. “Show me the texts.” He passed over his phone without protest. I read the texts. Juvenile dude-bro humor, as expected.
“Man, I’m so sorry. I thought you guys were solid. Long-term.” Malcolm’s voice was quiet, his tone regretful.
“Well, apparently we aren’t,” I snapped.
He winced. I rubbed my forehead, then stood up to get more coffee.
“I’ll call him this morning and explain,” Malcolm offered gruffly.
I considered as I poured the last of the pot into my mug. “No.” I shook my head. “No, it needs to be me.”
“He was probably really tired from working all those late nights.”
“Well, even if that’s the case, if he can’t give me the courtesy of asking a question before tanking any possibility of us having a future together, he and I are not going to work out.”
Malcolm winced again, but didn’t respond.
It was still too early to call Foster and rant at him. I was sorely tempted to wake him up, but I wanted him alert and clear-headed for our conversation.
So I headed into work. Greg was coming in a little later this morning, so I had some quiet time in the office to get some of the administrative tasks done.
Around 9am I decided Foster had had enough sleep. I took a deep breath and picked up my phone, tapping Foster’s name to call him.
He answered on the third ring. “Hello? Craig?” Based on his scratchy voice, I’d woken him up, and I felt a surge of petty satisfaction.
“Foster. I need to talk to you about the text you sent last night.” I was polite, yet firm.
Rustling sounds came through the phone, as if Foster was sitting up in bed. I forced myself to focus on how angry I was, not on imagining what Foster might or might not be wearing.
“What about it?” Foster’s tone was cautious.
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe that you’re being afucking idiot?” I may have shouted that last part. It was even more gratifying than waking him up.
“You mean, you and Malcolm aren’t….”
“No, wearen’t,” I snarled. “Malcolm was making ajokewhen he texted you.” Foster started to say something, but I was on a tear so I didn’t stop. “Speaking of Malcolm, I can’t believe you didn’t get why he needs to stay at my house instead of yours.”
I heard a knock at my door. “I’m at work. I have to go.” Then I hung up on him, which gave me an even bigger rush of petty satisfaction. I decided to revel in that for the rest of the day, and maybe later I’d decide whether or not to call Foster again.
I said, “Come on in.” The door opened a few inches and Rhea tentatively stuck her head in. I could guess what this was about. Rhea was notorious for having “family emergencies” that required her to leave early from her shifts, most often on a Friday or Saturday. Today was Tuesday, so this was slightly unusual. Kat kept track of all of Rhea’s supposed family members and their ailments. I braced myself for whatever excuse she was about to offer this time.
“What is it, Rhea?” There, I’d managed a calm, welcoming voice, unrelated to my actual thoughts.
“Um, I can’t find Kat. Can you come look at Bruno Matzoll?” Surprised, I stood up.
“Isn’t he the standard poodle? What’s wrong?” I followed her out of the office.
“I’m not sure. I was walking by, and he’s sort of, um, standing weird. I don’t know how to describe it.” Fear flashed through me. If Bruno was limping, Rhea would’ve told me.Standing weirdwas most likely bloat.
Bloat starts when air gets trapped in an animal’s stomach. Instead of the animal burping it out, the air stays inside. And if the stomach expands too far, particularly in a small-waisted dog like a poodle, it can cut off the blood from the back half of the dog to the heart. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, the stomach can flip over and drag some of the digestive organs with it. That’s when things turn really nasty. But in either case, without treatment a dog will die.
I tried hard not to think of Lucy as I ran to the boarding area.
As soon as I saw Bruno, I knew. I hurried inside his suite and palpated his abdomen. Distended and hard. Shit. I turned to Rhea. “I’m taking him to the emergency vet. Can you please call Greg and Kat and tell them what’s going on?” She nodded and started to walk away. “Rhea,” I called. “Good catch. You probably saved Bruno’s life.” She smiled and dashed off. I’d have to get her a gift card or something as a thank-you.
Quickly I got Bruno into the back of my SUV. He was stiff and trembling in my arms. I didn’t have time to try to soothe him though. I called the vet clinic from the car, and they were waiting outside as I pulled up, rushing Bruno back to get evaluated as quickly as they could.
