Page 9 of The One You Chose

seven

Couples We Know

Fitz

Backatmydeskafter the weekend, I turned my computer on to sort through the adoption applications that came in over the weekend. Thanksgiving weekend was always a big one, with families deciding they needed a new pet for the holidays. Between the application for a family of five looking to adopt a rabbit was a response for the placement application for Otis. I scanned the contents and groaned. While it wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened, the application included some private information. I didn’t think I would get fired over that, but it wasn’t an impossibility. Reading the person’s response, I chuckled. At least they had a good sense of humor about it. I shot the person a quick email back and then re-sent the email the correct recipient who was indeed a calculus teacher at the same college this E. McConnell seemed to work at.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: re: re: Your Adoption application #30751

E. (Not W.),

Thank you for getting back to me. I might have waited around for a while for Mr. McConnell’s application. You are absolutely right. I did type E instead of W. I think the rush of getting everything done before Thanksgiving has me distracted. It’s my first month on the job, and I’m embarrassed that I made such a big mistake. Thank you for letting me know.

Since you have already seen our website, we have several animals here that would be a good fit for a 24-year-old preschool teacher, especially one who is responsible enough to respond to a mistaken email. Maybe a kitten? I’ve attached a few photos of some kittens we will put up for adoption in the next few days. If you ask me, Retta-Mae is pretty cute. You can thank me for the sneak peek when you come in to fill out an adoption application.

Respectfully,

Jeremiah F. Deir

Adoption Coordination Director

Port Madison Humane Society

I moved on to the long list of applications I had on my desk. Some people thought they could just come into a shelter and pick out the pet they want with no questions. The process was far more involved than that. Most of the time, people had to answer a list of questions correctly before they could even see the animals. What is their home like? Do they have children and if so what are the ages? How often are they away from home?

Francine Crosby, the shelter’s veterinarian popped her head into the room.

“Parsley has passed the checkup and should be ready for adoption by Monday.” Francine was pulling the sleeves down on her red and green flannel.

I glanced up to grin at the older woman. “I was wondering how my favorite little lady was doing.”

The cat had come in a week before, dropped off at our surrender station in the middle of the night. The orange and white cat had seemed to be on death’s door when Cooper had found her that morning, but with a healthy diet of wet food and medicine, she was making a fast recovery.

“She’s doing good, she’ll get adopted out in no time, I just know it.”

“Good, good,” I looked from Francine back to my screen. Only a few weeks into the position, I already knew if you engaged Francine in conversation, she could talk for hours. The near miss with Otis’s paperwork had me on edge. I couldn’t have any more delays in getting my work done.

Instead of taking the hint, the veterinarian walked further into the room. “Speaking of little ladies, I don’t see a ring on that finger." She glanced at my barren desk. “Do you have someone special in your life?”

Joining the staff of a shelter in the small town came with this high level of curiosity and a low level of personal boundaries. I could already tell that living in Ridgewood was going to open me up to this line of questioning. “Are you asking me out, Dr. Crosby?”

The woman threw her head back to laugh, a bawdy sound that matched her clean face and crinkled the lines around her gray eyes. Straightening, she patted her short silver hair, her cheeks pink. “If I had met you thirty years ago, absolutely, but no, my daughter. Imogen. She just graduated from Southeastern and is moving back to town. She’s twenty-four, has a degree in communications, and was hired to be the event planner for the city. And she loves cats and Thai food.”

“She sounds lovely, Dr. Crosby...”

“She is lovely. Looks just like me thirty years ago.” Straightening, she preened in front of me. “I may not look like it now, but I was a looker in my days. I’ll give you Imogen’s number. You’ll call her for coffee.”

I gave her a smile. “As wonderful as your daughter sounds, I’m afraid, I’m a little busy getting settled into town to be looking to date.”

Dr. Crosby eyed me, frowning. “It’s just coffee, Jeremiah.”

“You can call me Fitz, Dr. Crosby.” It seemed that before I started the director had told everyone of my coming and now I was having to break them of the habit of calling me by my first name. Leaning back in my chair I studied the veterinarian. “Does your daughter know you’re setting her up on dates?”

Dr. Crosby flapped her hand as if dismissing the comment. “She has terrible taste in men. All I’m doing nudging her in the right direction.”

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