Page 25 of A Much Younger Man
Chapter Seven
It had to be acknowledged—partof my job was euthanizing critically ill pets. It was never easy discussing the decision or seeing a client in distress over their loss, but some days seemed harder than others. Some days seemed agonizing.
For certain clients—those for whom it would be too painful to move the animal or those who preferred to undertake the act as a family rite of passage—I made house calls.
The day after I got Beck’s guitar back, I had to put three pets down—two in their homes.
Children are my kryptonite anyway, but watching a parent explain that a child’s pet was not simply going to sleep, that in fact their pet would never again wake up, was enough to scrape my heart raw.
I understood the instinct to acquaint children with the cycles of life. To educate them about the precious and finite nature of their pet’s time on earth. I honored my clients’ requests to allow children to be a part of the process when asked, but it was painful for me when I had to leave an entire family in tears.
At the end of the day, I accessed an emergency bottle of Jack I kept in the filing cabinet.
Lena tiptoed in. “You okay?”
“Sure,” I lied.
She came forward and rubbed my shoulders. I tried not to flinch, but she had a grip like a mobster. I barely kept from screaming. Eventually her touch went from intrusive to soothing. Maybe it was the whiskey.
“Better?”
I nodded. “Thank you. Go ahead and take off. I just have a few things to finish up here.”
“Beck’s with the kittens until April gets back from supper. You skipped lunch, so make sure you eat something healthy for dinner, otherwise you’ll be three sheets to the wind before you know it. And don’t drive.”
“I would never.”
“No ramen cups. No protein bars. Cook or order actual food.”
“Okay, okay.” As she walked away, I lobbed a crumpled Post-it her way. “I have a perfectly fine mother, you know.”
I immediately regretted my words when Beck appeared in the doorway with Callie at his heels. I resolved not to take my folks for granted. Beck held a kitten out for me.
“Blanche has got a gloopy eye,” he said. “Is that a thing?”
“Well, let’s take a look.” I was pretty grateful for something to do and maybe just a little too relaxed. I swung up from my desk chair and had to shake my head a little to clear it.
“Have you been drinking?” Beck’s eyes widened comically.
“A smidge.” Looking back, I probably exaggerated every movement, but I felt like I was the epitome of cool professionalism.
Lena nudged Beck on her way out, and I saw them exchange whispers.
“Knock it off, you two. No chismes.”
“Oh, there he goes.”
“You speak Spanish?” asked Beck.
I thumped my chest. “Soy bilingüe.”
“Okay. Bravo then.”
“Night, baby. Don’t be stupid.
“Lena,” I whined before going to an exam room, where I could get good light on the kitten, with Beck. “Any of the others have eye gunk?”
“No.”
