“She’s so little. Fostering is hard,” she murmured against my shirt. “I didn’t expect to get this emotionally attached.”
“Occupational hazard of the foster mom,” I said.
Dr. Thompson returned a few minutes later with Cherry in her box. “I’ll send her bloodwork to be processed as soon as the lab opens. In the meantime, I gave her some extra fluids. The hospital in Burlington will be expecting your call once they open at eight.”
“So I just take her home for now?” Phoebe asked.
The vet nodded. “She’s best off resting at home with Violet and her siblings until her appointment at the hospital.”
We thanked her for her help and walked outside into the dimly lit parking lot. Around us, the woods were dark and quiet. I tucked Cherry’s box into Phoebe’s car and turned to her. “If you need anything, I’m only a phone call away.”
25
Phoebe
I sat alone in the exam room of the ironically named Cherry Street Veterinary Clinic in Burlington later that morning, waiting for Cherry and wishing Taylor were here with me. She was at work, although she’d told me she could probably leave early if I needed her.
I needed her, all right, and not just because Cherry was sick. Lately, I couldn’t seem to get enough of Taylor. The cabin was almost ready to rent, but I wasn’t ready to leave. I wanted to see things through for Violet and the puppies if I could. I’d done several financial consultations for local businesses over the last few weeks, and it had given me enough spending money to stay…for now.
Cherry’s bloodwork had indeed shown elevated liver enzymes, and now she was somewhere in back, undergoing an ultrasound to see what was going on with her liver. This was all so much more than I’d signed up for when I came to Vermont. I’d only wanted a place to hide for a little while, and here I was a month later, completely smitten with Taylor and awaiting medical news on a tiny foster puppy whose wellbeing had become unexpectedly important to me.
The door to the exam room opened, and the vet entered. He was a few years older than me, with blond hair and a friendly smile.
“Emmett Moore,” he said, extending a hand.
I stood and took it. “Phoebe Shaw.”
“Your foster puppy has had quite a rough day.” His expression was empathetic, which I appreciated, but the fact that Cherry wasn’t with him seemed like bad news.
“Is she all right?” I asked.
“The ultrasound showed a large mass on her liver,” he told me, and my stomach dipped. “I’d like to get her in for emergency surgery to remove it.”
“Oh, wow.” I swallowed. “Is it cancer?”
“We won’t know that until we biopsy the mass after it’s removed, but in a puppy her age, it’s probably benign. We see these types of tumors develop sometimes. It may have been growing undetected since birth, given the difficulties she’s had.”
“So you can do surgery on a puppy that little?” I asked, hoping it wasn’t a stupid question.
“Yes, we can. I know it’s hard to think about, but she’s in good hands, I promise.”
“Thanks,” I told him.
“When you bring a puppy named Cherry into the Cherry Street Veterinary Clinic, you know she’s going to get the star treatment.” He rested a hand briefly on my shoulder, and I smiled, grateful to him for putting me at ease. “Do you need me to talk to someone from the shelter to get authorization?”
Right. This was probably going to be expensive, and Cherry wasn’t mine. “I’ll call. You’d do the surgery today, if they approve it?”
Dr. Moore nodded. “I’ve got an opening this afternoon, and I’d like to get her right in if possible.”
“Okay. Is it all right if I sit in here to call the shelter and get authorization?”
“Sure thing,” he told me. “I’ll check back in a few minutes.”
I pulled my cell phone out of my purse and dialed Taylor.
“Hi,” she said when the line connected. “Any news on Cherry?”
“Yeah. She has a tumor growing on her liver, and they want to do emergency surgery right away.”
