Page 23 of Finding Gideon
Chapter 8
Gideon
It was my first Saturday at the clinic. The pace was slower than the rest of the week, but time still seemed to slip through my fingers. By the time I’d finished stocking up the supply closet, half the appointments had already been and gone. A few wagging tails, some cautious paws, and the occasional cat letting everyone know exactly how it felt about being there. I hadn’t done anything complicated. Nothing heavy. Just steady work, easy rhythm.
Malcolm moved through it all with quiet precision—checking a patient’s eyes, adjusting a bandage, listening to a heartbeat. Every step was measured, purposeful. He made handling the animals, talking to their owners, and keeping the room calm look so damn simple. And maybe I kept watching because I liked working beside him.
At one point, he caught me looking. “Need something?”
“No,” I said, wiping down the counter. “Just noticing you have this… way of making things look effortless.”
His mouth curved slightly—not quite a smile, not quite a smirk. “Years of practice.”
“I’m guessing that helps the animals. And the people.”
“Exactly. Pets pick up on their owners’ nerves. If I can keep the room calm, it makes everything easier.”
It made sense. Malcolm had that grounding presence, like if the ceiling started caving in, he’d simply point to the nearest door before walking everyone through it.
The bell over the front door jingled. A woman stepped in, cradling a rabbit wrapped snug in a fleece blanket. Plump and caramel-colored, with one floppy ear and a twitching nose that looked like it was searching for a signal.
Something tightened in my throat—quick, reflexive.
“Morning,” Malcolm said. “You must be Sadie. Is this Thumper?”
“Yeah. My niece named him. Not exactly original, but it stuck.”
I hesitated a fraction too long.
“Gideon?” Malcolm glanced over his shoulder.
“Right,” I said quickly, stepping forward to help. “Cute rabbit.”
Sadie adjusted her grip. “He’s been sneezing a lot. I think it might be allergies. Or maybe his bedding?”
We stepped aside to let Sadie carry Thumper into the exam room. Malcolm motioned toward the small scale on the counter, and I set the fleece-wrapped bundle down gently. The rabbit shifted, nose twitching, as the numbers blinked to life. 5.4 pounds. Solid, warm, and—yeah—plump.
I lifted him back into my arms, his weight settling naturally against my chest. And then I really saw him. Not just a rabbit—thatrabbit. Did animals have doppelgängers? Because Thumper could’ve been Rusty’s twin. Same caramel coat, same one floppy ear. Same twitchy nose. The recognition hit sharper this time, cutting past the earlier flicker. My fingers curled slightly, aching with the muscle memory of another rabbit in another lifetime?—
—and just like that, I was nine again, standing behind the school dumpster with Garrett, both of us staring at the scrap of a thing, fur matted with leaves, eyes wary but hopeful.
“He’s ours,” Garrett had said, grinning like he’d just found treasure.
Garrett told me he was going to name him after a rockstar, but the reddish streak along his back sealed it—Rusty.
Mom’s rules were carved in stone: No pets. Not with her working the register at Food Mart and Dad sweating twelve-hour shifts at the mill. “Pets eat food. Pets need medicine. You want to pay a vet bill on a cashier’s tips and a millhand’s check?”
But Garrett had a way of bending rules without breaking them. We scrounged leftover boards and chicken wire from behind Mr. Willis’s shed, built Rusty a pen behind the church down the block. Every morning before school, we’d sneak over, breath puffing in the cold, to feed him lettuce leaves and refill his water. Every afternoon, the light slanting gold through the sycamores, Garrett would crouch by the pen and tell Rusty about our day—about the science test we bombed, about the fight in the lunchroom, about the movie we weren’t old enough to see but would, somehow.
We kept him hidden for almost two years.
Then Rusty got sick. It started with him eating less, then sitting too still, too quiet. We didn’t have the money for a vet. We tried our best—fresh greens, warmer bedding—but it wasn’t enough. He was gone before we figured out how to help.
Even now, the memory sat heavy in my chest, like the cold from that morning had never left.
“Gideon?”
I blinked. Malcolm stood a step away, one hand braced on the counter, his eyes steady, noticing. Like he’d caught the pause I hadn’t meant to take.
