Page 95 of Situationship
“What the actual fuck?” Colin asked, his voice calm, the kind of calm that would send a smart man running.
Ronnie wasn’t only stupid; he was so arrogant he didn’t bother to look up. He took the shot, watched the ball fly, even leaning to the right when it went off course.
“Is this about the dog?”
“Oh, it’s about a lot of things.” Unacceptable things that had Colin seeing red.
“What did you want me to do?” Ronnie walked behind his desk and sat down. “It was a four-thousand-dollar procedure, half of which we’d absorb. So I sent them to Southside Clinic. They’re better set up for that kind of thing.”
“I’m better equipped for ‘that kind of thing,’ since I’ve been his vet for six years.”
Ronnie gave an unconcerned shrug. “You were in with another animal, so I made a judgment call.”
“It was the wrong call. And your judgment led to an amputation. If I’d been notified the moment they came in, I could have saved his leg.”
“How is this my fault? If she’d called ahead of time, I would have had Barb explain that we were booked solid.”
“It was an emergency visit which should have had priority. And we’re booked solid because you’re too cheap to hire an additional veterinarian.”
With only three full-time vets and two part-time residents on the payroll, they had more clients than openings in the schedule. Clients who’d entrusted their pets to Pacific Cove Animal Clinic for more than thirty years. After the practice changed hands, Colin went from working a solid forty hours a week to nearly sixty, just so he could keep up with their regulars. That wasn’t including the new clients brought in by all the ads Ronnie was placing.
He wanted a full roster of paying customers with an understaffed office. Colin was surprised a travesty of this magnitude hadn’t happened sooner. That it’d happened on his watch made it all the more devastating.
“You could have brought in the on-call vet. That’s what the term means.”
“Time and a half, buddy. We might as well start paying clients for services rendered. Sorry about the dog, but what was I to do?”
“Have Barb call Thuy, who lives two blocks away. Jesus, man, Harbor was a service dog who, because of you, lost his back leg and won’t be able to do his duty. You essentially robbed a disabled kid of his only means of independence. Do you have any idea how this is going to affect the hospital’s standing in the community?”
For the first time Ronnie looked scared. “Shit, had I known this would hurt our reputation, I’d have called you in immediately.”
“You know this will end up in the newspaper.” Because Colin was going to call the editor and explain what a little weasel Ronnie was. “No matter how you spin it, this is a huge lawsuit in the offing. This hospital’s reputation is dead. That family deserved so much better and oh, by the way, I quit.” Because Colin deserved better as well.
Plan Get Your Mojo Back now entailed a complete life overhaul—personal and professional.
* * *
Friday night game night at the Bianchis’ was a tradition going back as far as the seventies, when Rose and Iris would invite the other neighborhood military wives over for a game of high-stakes bunco. Each week, the ladies would bring a dish to share and each week a different player would provide a bottle of hootch. The women would gossip and laugh, forming a special bond that helped them through some of the toughest times.
In keeping with tradition, Harley had taken the initiative and planned this week’s family game night. Teagan had been working hard all week and Harley wanted to surprise her with a no-stress, come as you are, fun and relaxing evening with the kids.
She and the girls made popcorn balls—a preapproved late-night snack—and homemade pizza on cauliflower crust. Frank made himself comfortable on the couch watching basketball.
By the time her sister walked through the front door, Harley had cleaned the house, bathed the girls, and—after a conversation about house safety rules—rehung the hammock. She was exhausted.
She’d never realized how much work went into being the mom of twins—cleaning, entertaining, disciplining, and getting dinner on the table, all at the same time. Then there were the special nights, like movie-a-thon or tonight, which Harley had assumed would be easy-peasy.
It made her respect her sister even more.
The front door opened and closed and moments later, Teagan walked into the kitchen.
Garbage Disposal, who’d been sound asleep in his doggie bed, sprang into action, his tail moving like the rear propeller on a helicopter as he catapulted himself straight at Teagan. Her sister prepared herself for impact.
Harley stuck a foot out, boxing him in.
“Down,” Harley commanded. To her utter surprise, Garbage Disposal dropped to all fours, then rolled over to expose his doggie bits, looking for a belly rub.
She gave him a few pats. “It’s a work in progress,” she said to her sister, who was looking around the kitchen.
