“Hey, Shane, how are you feeling today?” he asked.
“Better,” I said, putting on my sunglasses and leaning my head back against the rest. “Thanks for asking. What’s up?”
“Wilma wants to know if you’d like to come to dinner tonight? She’s making a pot roast.”
“Tell Wilma thanks, but I’m really not up to socializing. Maybe tomorrow or this weekend if she’s willing to give me a raincheck.”
“Okay, that’s fine,” he said. “She’s also onboard for the yard sale. She said she can come up first thing Monday to start sorting through.”
“Good, I appreciate that. You want the car and the truck?”
“Dang, Seth, don’t you want to try and sell them?”
“Nope. I just need them gone.”
“Okay, I’ll try to get them out of your way this weekend.” I heard him sigh. His voice went down a notch. “Have you had a chance to talk to the funeral home yet?”
“Just leaving there now,” I said as I started the car and pulled through the lot. “They are going to cremate her and dispose of the ashes.”
“You sure you don’t want a service and burial?”
“Positive.”
“Okay, well, it’s your call.”
“Yes, sir, it is.”
“Oh, Wilma says don’t forget to deal with your mama’s dog. I reckon Doc Bates’ office called here today asking what they should do with it. They need you to pick it up before five today if you can.”
“Fuck,” I sighed. “Okay, I’ll go there now.”
“Okay, son, sounds good. I’ll let Wilma know about dinner.”
“Thanks, Uncle Seth,” I said. “I appreciate it.”
I hung up the phone knowing that I would never go to Uncle Seth and Aunt Wilma’s for dinner. They were both decent people and they meant well, but they knew my old man beat the shit out of me growing up and never lifted a finger to get me the fuck out of there. They were no more family to me than the man in the moon.
I settled back and turned onto South Street. The vet’s office was just a few miles away. I remembered the location because Annabel used to drag me there to pet the dogs that were up for adoption every Saturday afternoon. Annabel loved dogs and cats. I always figured she’d end up working with them somehow, maybe become a dog walker or a groomer.
I hated to do it, but I was thinking I’d just have them put my mother’s dog down. It was probably an old mutt anyway, and I couldn’t take it with me. And God knows I didn’t want any part of anything that reminded me of her. I felt bad for the dog. It was just another victim left in the wake of Shane Mavic’s shitty life.
CHAPTER 11: Annabel
I had just finished giving Bootsie, the two-hundred-pound Mastiff, her annual shots and settled into my dinky little office to grab a Diet Coke and a protein bar for a late lunch when I heard the bell over the front door tinkle. That wasn’t unusual. As the only vet in town the bell tinkled constantly, so much so on some days that I’d threatened to rip the damn thing from its hanger. Then I remembered what old Doc Anderson once told me, “Every time that bell rings it’s money in the bank.”
To which I wisecracked, referring to the old movie, It’s A Wonderful Life, “Kind of like every time a bell rings an angel gets its wings?”
The old man rolled his eyes at me and shook his head. “Just try paying the light bill with angel’s wings.”
I took a deep breath and rubbed the tiredness from my eyes as I munched on the protein bar, which tasted a little like cardboard that had been dipped in unsweetened chocolate. I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nearly three and I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. No wonder my stomach was growling like a starving wolf. And my day wasn’t even close to being over.
It was a Friday, which meant we were open until seven to give folks time to pick up the dogs we “doggy daycared” during the week to make room for dogs that needed overnight boarding over the weekend. Mine was the only boarding facility in town and I could charge twenty bucks per dog per night. Multiply that times the ten boarding pens and I could rake in four to six-hundred bucks over the weekend. That would cover my light bill and then some. It was good money I couldn’t turn down. Plus, since I lived right upstairs it was not a big deal for me to come down to feed and water the boarders and let them out to run in the fenced-in play area a few times a day. It wasn’t like I had anything else to do—not like I had a life or anything.
I had popped the rest of the protein bar into my mouth and was washing it down with the water when I heard the voice of the man who had come in the door. My office was right off the lobby so I could hear everything that went on out front. I leaned forward in my chair and sat perfectly still for a moment, waiting for him to speak again. I literally froze at the sound of his voice, like a ghost from the past echoing in my ear. At first, I didn’t recognize it. It was a voice I’d heard before, but far back in my distant memory, like a whisper rumbling through a canyon in the middle of the night. Then it hit me. I knew who was standing in the lobby, but I could barely believe it.
I heard Wendy, the receptionist, ask, “What’s the name of your pet, sir?”
“Biscuit, and she’s not my pet,” he said, his voice deep and husky, much deeper than I re