Page 8 of My Heart to Find

If you’ve got to do take the dog, there’s a safe way. Wear different clothes. Don’t take a bag. Minimize things that could get contaminated. Tie your hair up. Wear gloves. Avoid touching Riley as much as you can. And shower when you get back.

“Okay,” I say.

*

THE VET PRACTICE ISon a little lane at the end of town, a twenty-minute walk from our house. I’m not allowed to drive because of the fainting, and how far I can walk without becoming ill varies day by day. I should’ve realized this morning would be worse, given how late I was out last night. By the time I’m a few minutes away, my breathing is labored and my legs feel too heavy. The sunlight’s too bright now—even though I know it’s not really, it’s just my photosensitivity, made worse by the Doxycycline. Dizziness keeps coming for me in waves and that just makes me more scared—if I faint and fall on the ground, I’ll be even more contaminated than I already am. I am really regretting refusing the lift that Mum offered me at the last minute. I was scared back at the house. I don’t like getting in cars because of my OCD; you never know who else Mum has been offering lifts to. I don’t like sitting on chairs outside the house—and in the house, there’s only one that I feel safe on. One I cover up with a blanket when I’m not using it.

I’m wearing waterproof trousers over my leggings and wellies, my huge raincoat, and blue sterile gloves. Under my wellies, I’ve got on my wellington socks as I was too scared about my leggings and ordinary socks touching the inside of my wellies. Have to cover myself up as much as possible. My outfit rustles like a plastic bag with every step. Riley’s a little wary of the noise and keeps as far away from me as he can on the leash. I feel bad, but I also feel safer.

Usually, when I walk into town, I listen to one of my audiobooks. I’m halfway throughLuckiest Girl Aliveby Jessica Knoll, and I’m just at a really disturbing part of it—I like dark, disturbing books. Jana is always horrified by my reading tastes. She’s into contemporary romance and family saga. And anything with sex in it too—but not really erotic stuff, she told me once, there’s got to be emotion in it too.

I’m more drawn to dark stories that tell you a lot about human nature. And I love an unreliable narrator. But I decide against listening to more ofLuckiest Girl Alivenow. It’s too dangerous with Riley so close to me. He might knock my phone or my earphones or anything.

When the vets building is mere feet away, I breathe a sigh of relief. I can rest inside—even if I can’t manage to sit down, standing still will help, won’t it?

It won’t help with the POTS.

And I want to curse that I have POTS—Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome, the disorder that means my heart rate is way too fast. And standing still makes that worse. Makes me dizzier and faint

But I can’t sit down when I get there. I’ll have to keep pumping my calf muscles instead, try to keep my blood from pooling. I can rest properly when I get home. Having OCD as well as chronic illness just sucks.

The door opens, and a man steps out, right toward me—we’re going to crash.

I jolt back and—

“Damien?” I stare at him.

Itishim. Again. Looking so...amazing. I can’t even think of a word other than ‘amazing.’ Blame the brain fog.

But Damienisamazing. And my heart does all these little fluttery things as I recall the retreat. Damien the Dashing—he has to be in my cartoon. Why isn’t he already in my cartoon?

Damien looks up at me. His eyes widen a little. “Uh, Cara?”

A warm feeling fills my chest, and I’m trying not to smile too much because there’s a chance I’ll turn full-on into the Cheshire Cat. Heremembersme.

“Hi.” My voice is breathy, and Damien’s giving me that easy smile that he gave to me so many times on that retreat, three years ago. My heart does a few more little fluttery jumps, makes me feel sicker with nerves. And I am sweating—sweating like a pig. So unattractive.

“Hi yourself.” Damien leans forward, smiling. “And who is this?” He crouches down, fussing over Riley who of course decides that he absolutely loves Damien instantly. Or maybe he just wants some attention. I’ve avoided touching him pretty much from the moment Mum handed me his leash earlier.

God, I really hate the OCD.

“He’s called Riley,” I say.

“Well, Riley, you’re looking like an extra good boy today.” He looks up at me. “Is it a routine appointment?”

“Jabs,” I say.

Damien nods. Then my throat squeezes. Damien came out of the vet practice without an animal.

Does that mean?

No—he could’ve been picking up medication or anything.

“I thought I saw you last night,” I say, looking down at his head. He’s still fussing over my dog, and I stare at Damien’s hair. Messy, dark blond. Shorter than it was three years ago. Then he could tie it in a ponytail, but I think it’s slightly too short for that now. “Coming out the takeaway on George Street? I didn’t think it could be you, like I thought you lived in Dorset, but I guess it was you?”

He laughs and looks up. “Yep, that was me. Do love a good curry and chips. Didn’t see you though.” He plays with Riley some more, stroking all the silky hair around Riley’s ears. Riley who’s now trying to lick Damien. “Yeah, I’ve just moved here—was just dropping cards off here.” He gestures toward the door of the vet. “Business cards. I’m a dog-walker.”

I step back a little, extending the lead. “I remember.”

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