Page 22 of Broken Instrument

You’re such a screw-up, Fen.

Dr. Grover squats down and studies her carefully. “We’re going to take her back and see what we can do to get the toxins out of her system.”

“Thank you,” I return.

Dr. Grover slips a baby blue slip-knot leash over Pixie’s head since I couldn’t find mine in my rush to get here. He urges her to follow him into the back room. And because she’s the most obedient dog in the world, she listens without hesitation, though her head hangs low and her steps are slow as if each tiny movement is exhausting.

As the door swings closed behind them, I collapse onto the maroon vinyl cushioned bench in the exam room.

With my elbows on my knees, I rest my head in my hands and let the silence and unknown eat me alive.

“She’s going to be okay,” Hadley murmurs a few minutes later. I can feel her sit down beside me, though I don’t bother to look at her. I can’t. I’m too ashamed. She trusted me with Pixie, and I let her down.

“You don’t know that,” I mumble. “You don’t know if she’s going to be all right.”

“I was talking to the vet tech before you got here. He said this happens more than you’d think, and as long as the dog gets here in time, they’re usually able to treat them without any issues. It helps that Pixie’s massive and would’ve had to eat a ton of chocolate for it to really affect her. I think she’ll be fine, Fen.”

“But if I hadn’t––”

“Stop,” she orders, grabbing my knee and squeezing roughly with her tiny hands. I drop my arms to my sides and look over at her. Her eyes are bloodshot and drained.

“Look, I’m sorry––”

“I’m not crying because of Pixie, although it does feel like her incident is the icing on top of a crap cake…” Her voice cracks, then trails off, and she rubs beneath her red-rimmed eyes.

“What happened, Hadley?”

“The police called. Apparently, they found some evidence which may or may not relate to Bud.”

“What kind of evidence?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know. They won’t tell me. Which is frustrating. Because I feel like…if I just had all of the puzzle pieces, I could make them fit, ya know? His disappearance. Where he is. Why he hasn’t come home yet. I need the stupid puzzle pieces, and they won’t give them to me. It’s…frustrating.” She shakes her head again as if to stop herself from falling into the same little loop of unanswered questions she’s been drowning in since Bud first disappeared. She tucks her hair behind her ear and lets out a slow breath. “I don’t want to talk about it. I want to focus on Pixie’s situation. Something I can potentially have control over.”

Pixie.

The knife in my gut twists.

“Yeah, well, I’m sorry I added more to your plate,” I grunt, another wave of guilt flooding my system. “If something happens––”

“We’ll deal with it.”

“You trusted me,” I remind her.

“And so far, you’ve been doing a great job. This one situation doesn’t change anything. It’s chocolate. It happens.”

“Doesn’t make me feel any less guilty.”

“Well, it should.” She leans closer, her glasses framing her baby blue eyes contrasting with her dark lashes and dark hair like a lighthouse on a stormy night. Captivating. And enough to pull me from my guilt. For a minute, anyway.

“You did nothing wrong,” she says. “I promise.”

My phone rings in the otherwise silent room, and I dig it out of my pocket, grateful for the distraction. My forehead wrinkles as I take in the unfamiliar number. I look at Hadley, remembering my manners, and I start to tuck it back into my pocket.

“Who is it?” she asks.

“I don’t recognize the number.”

Reading my thoughts as if they’re her own, she suggests, “You should answer it.”

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