The Choice

Travis glanced at her. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said.

“You sure? You seem like you’re in pain.”

“I’m fine,” she repeated.

Ignoring her tone, he returned his attention to the dog. He moved the stethoscope, listened again, then examined one of her nipples. Finally, he slipped on a rubber glove with a snap and did a quick internal.

“Well, she’s definitely pregnant,” he said, removing the glove and tossing it into the bin. “And from the looks of things, she’s about seven weeks along.”

“I told you.” She glared at him. And Moby is responsible, she refrained from adding.

Travis stood and put the stethoscope back into his pocket. He reached for the clipboard and flipped the page.

“Just so you know, I’m pretty sure Moby’s not responsible.”

“Oh, no?”

“No. Most likely it’s that Labrador I’ve seen around the neighborhood. I think he’s old man Cason’s, but I’m not positive about that. It might be his son’s dog. I know he’s back in town.”

“What makes you so sure it’s not Moby?”

He started making notes, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure he’d heard her.

He shrugged. “Well, for one thing, he’s been neutered.”

There are moments when mental overload can render words impossible. All at once, Gabby saw a mortifying montage of herself babbling and crying and finally storming off in a huff. She did have a vague memory of him trying to tell her something, all of which served to make her feel queasy.

“Neutered?” she whispered.

“Uh-huh.” He looked up from the clipboard. “Two years ago. My dad did it here in the office.”

“Oh . . .”

“I tried to tell you that, too. But you left before I had a chance. I felt sort of bad about it, so I stopped by on Sunday to tell you then, but you were out.”

She said the only thing that came to mind. “I was at the gym.”

“Yeah? Good for you.”

It took some effort, but she uncrossed her arms. “I guess I owe you an apology.”

“No hard feelings,” he said again, but this time it made her feel even worse. “But listen, I know you’re in a rush, so let me tell you a bit about Molly, okay?”

She nodded, feeling as if she’d been placed in the corner by her teacher, still thinking about her tirade on Saturday night. The fact that he was being gracious about it somehow made it even worse.

“The gestation period lasts nine weeks, so you’ve got another two weeks. Her hips are wide enough, so you don’t have to worry about that, which was why I wanted you to bring her in. Collies sometimes have small hips. Now, normally, there’s nothing you need to do, but keep in mind that most likely she’ll want a cool, dark place to have her puppies, so you might want to put some old blankets down in the garage. You have a door from the kitchen, right?”

She nodded again, feeling as if she were shrinking.

“Just leave it open, and she’ll probably start wandering in there. We call it nesting, and it’s perfectly normal. Odds are she’ll have the puppies when it’s quiet. At night, or while you’re at work, but remember this is completely natural, so there’s nothing to worry about. The puppies will know how to wean right away, so you don’t need to be concerned about that, either. And you’ll most likely throw out the blankets, so don’t use anything fancy, okay?”

She nodded for the third time, feeling ever smaller.

“Other than that, there’s not much more you need to know. If there are any problems, you can bring her to the office. If it’s after hours, you know where I live.”

She cleared her throat. “Okay.”

When she said nothing else, he smiled and began to move toward the door. “That’s it. You can bring her back home if you’d like. But I’m glad you brought her in. I didn’t think it was an infection, but I’m happy I made sure.”

“Thanks,” Gabby mumbled. “And again, I’m really sorry. . . .”

He held up his hands to stop her. “It’s no problem. Really. You were upset, and Moby does wander the neighborhood. It was an honest mistake. I’ll see you around, okay?” By the time he gave Molly a final pat, Gabby felt six inches tall.

Once Travis—Dr. Parker—left the exam room, she waited for a long moment to be certain he was gone. Then slowly, painfully, she rose from her chair. She peeked out the door and, after making sure the coast was clear, went to the receptionist’s desk, where she quietly paid her bill.

By the time she got back to work, the only thing Gabby knew for certain was that as forgiving as he’d been, she’d never live down what she’d done, and since there wasn’t a rock large enough for her to crawl under, it was in her best interest to find a way to avoid him for a while. Not forever, of course. Something reasonable. Like the next fifty years.

Four

Travis Parker stood by the window, watching as Gabby led Molly back to the car. He was smiling to himself, amused by her expressions. Though he barely knew her, he’d seen enough to conclude that she was one of those people whose expressions were a window to their every feeling. It was a rare quality these days. He often felt that too many people lived their lives acting and pretending, wearing masks and losing themselves in the process. Gabby, he felt certain, would never be that way.

Pocketing his keys, he headed for his truck, with the promise that he’d be back from lunch in half an hour. He retrieved his cooler—he packed his lunch every morning—and drove to his usual spot. A year ago he’d purchased a plot of land overlooking Shackleford Banks at the end of Front Street, with the thought that one day he’d build his dream home there. The only problem was that he wasn’t quite sure what that entailed. For the most part, he led a simple life and dreamed of throwing up a rustic little shack like the kind he’d seen in the Florida Keys, something with lots of character that appeared a hundred years old on the outside but was surprisingly bright and roomy on the inside. He didn’t need much space—a bedroom and maybe an office in addition to the living area—but as soon as he’d start the process, he’d reason that the lot was better suited for something more family-friendly. That rendered the image of his dream home fuzzier, since it no doubt included a future wife and kids, neither of which he was even close to imagining.

Sometimes, the way he and his sister had turned out struck him as strange, since she, too, was in no hurry to marry. Their parents had been married for almost thirty-five years, and Travis could no more picture either of them single than he could picture himself flapping his arms and zooming into the clouds. Sure, he’d heard the stories of how they’d met on a church group camping trip while they were in high school, how Mom had cut her finger while slicing a piece of pie for dessert, and how dad had clamped his hand over the wound like a surgical bandage to stem th

e bleeding. One touch and “Bing, bang, boom, just like that,” Dad would say, “I knew she was the one for me.”

So far, there’d never been a bing, bang, boom for Travis. Nothing even close, for that matter. Sure, there was his high school girlfriend, Olivia; everyone at the school seemed to think they were perfect for each other. She lived across the bridge in Morehead City these days, and every now and then he’d run into her at Wal-Mart or Target. They’d chat for a minute or so about nothing important and then amicably go their separate ways.

There had been countless girlfriends since Olivia, of course. He wasn’t clueless when it came to women, after all. He found them attractive and interesting, but more than that, he was genuinely fond of them. He was proud of the fact that he’d never had what could even remotely be considered a painful breakup for either him or one of his exes. The breakups were almost always mutual, petering out like a soggy fuse on a firecracker as opposed to the big kaboom of fireworks overhead. He considered himself friends with all of his exes—Monica, his latest, included—and figured they’d say the same thing about him. He wasn’t right for them, and they weren’t right for him. He’d watched three former girlfriends get married off to great guys, and he’d been invited to all three weddings. He seldom thought about finding permanence or his soul mate, but in the rare times he did, he always ended up imagining finding someone who shared the same active, outdoor passions he did. Life was for living, wasn’t it? Sure, everyone had responsibilities, and he didn’t mind those. He enjoyed his work, earned a good living, owned a house, and paid his bills on time, but he didn’t want a life where those things constituted all there was. He wanted to experience life. No, change that. He needed to experience life.