“Youareup to it, Joel. You proved that tonight.”
“This was one night, Cal. That’s nothing compared to doing it again full time.”
I know I shouldn’t push it—I know that. But I want Joel to see what I see: his huge talent and tender heart, the warm, kind core of him.
“Joel, what you did tonight—”
“Any vet would have done what I did tonight.”
I look down, scuffing strawberry-scented foam with my hand. “Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Downplay everything, say you’re not a proper vet.”
“Because I’m not one. I haven’t practiced for nearly four years.”
“But you’re so great with animals.”
“You have to be more than that, Cal.”
“Why did you really leave?”
There’s a pause filled only with the popping of bubbles, like abandoned champagne at the end of a pretty crap party.
“Joel?”
“I made a huge mistake, Callie, and I didn’t think I deserved to be a vet anymore. Okay?”
“No, it’s not okay,” I say softly. “You’ve never told me.”
“I’m sorry. But I find it hard to talk about.”
“Please tell me.”
He eases his hand from mine, works invisible putty with his fingers. “What do you want to know?”
“I want to know what happened.”
The darkness of his eyes seems to deepen somehow. “I made a mistake, and the consequences were... as bad as you can imagine.”
“What was the mistake?”
Eventually he tells me he was distracted at work. He was on part-time hours back then, a way to try to claw back some sanity as he was going through a rough patch following several unsettling dreams. He was constantly hungover and sleep-deprived, neglecting to exercise or take care of himself, arriving at work exhausted.
“I had one client, Greg. He suffered from depression, and his dog was his life. He used to talk to me when he came in. I just listened. I think it helped him a bit. He told me he’d been on the brink of suicide more than once, but the thought of what would happen to the dog had stopped him. Sometimes that dog was literally Greg’s sole reason for living.”
Saying nothing, I just listen.
“Anyway, Greg brought the dog in one day—he had diarrhea, some lethargy. I was sure it was nothing to worry about, but I should have done more. I should have followed up, run some blood tests, but I just sent him away, told Greg to keep an eye on him and bring him back if he got worse.”
“That sounds...”Reasonable, I want to say.Entirely reasonable.But, really, what do I know?
“Looking back, I know I made him feel he was wasting my time. I remember being short with him. Not intentionally, but... I was no better than the GP I saw at uni. I did the same to Greg as that doctor did to me.”
“What happened?” My voice is featherweight.
“Well, he brought the dog back a week later, by which point there was nothing I could do. His liver was already failing, and it was my fault. I’d missed the crucial symptoms.”
