“Bring him straight back,” she directed, leading us to an examination room.
I laid Scout on the metal table while Dr. Miller began her examination. Her hands moved efficiently, checking vitals, palpating the abdomen, looking into his eyes and mouth.
“How long has he been like this?” she asked.
“He started seeming off yesterday,” Ella said, keeping one arm around Nora. “No appetite, lethargic. But this afternoon he got much worse.”
Dr. Miller nodded, her expression giving nothing away. “I’m going to need to do some blood work and X-rays. It might be a while.”
“We’ll wait,” Ella said firmly.
The vet looked at Nora, then at Ella and me. “There’s a coffee shop across the street. Might be better for the little one. I’ll call you as soon as I have some answers.”
I hesitated, not wanting to leave Scout, but I could see Nora struggling to hold back tears, her small body rigid with the effort.
“Come on,” I said gently. “Let’s get something to drink while we wait.”
Outside, the evening air had turned cold, a sharp wind whistling down the main street. I zipped up my jacket and noticed Nora shivering beside me. Without thinking, I shrugged out of my coat and draped it over her shoulders. It swallowed her whole, the sleeves dangling well past her fingertips, but she clutched it gratefully.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
The coffee shop was warm and half-empty. We found a booth near the window where we could keep an eye on the vet clinic across the street. I ordered deli sandwiches and hot chocolate for all of us, adding an extra shot of espresso to my own.
Ella sat with her hands wrapped around her mug, staring out the window, the sandwich in front of her untouched. Her face was pale, lips pressed into a thin line. I knew that look—the one that said she was holding herself together by sheer force of will.
“Scout’s tough,” I said quietly. “He’ll pull through.”
She nodded but didn’t meet my eyes. “I keep thinking… what if it’s not an accident? What if—”
I laid my hand over hers, stopping the words. Nora was watching us, her eyes wide and worried above the rim of her mug.
“Hey, kiddo,” I said, turning to her as she took a bite of her food. “Did I ever tell you about the time my dog ate an entire Thanksgiving turkey?”
Nora shook her head, distracted from her mother’s unfinished sentence.
“Well, it was quite a sight. My mom had spent all day cooking this huge turkey to perfection. She set it on the counter to cool while we went to pick up my grandparents.” I leaned back, warming to the story. “And when we got home, there was Rusty, lying onthe kitchen floor looking like he’d swallowed a beach ball, and not a scrap of turkey left.”
Nora giggled, a slight, hesitant sound that eased some of the tension from Ella’s shoulders.
“What happened to him?” she asked.
“Oh, he was a sick dog for about two days. Couldn’t move from his bed. But then he bounced right back, good as new.” I smiled at the memory. “Dogs are resilient that way.”
Ella’s phone rang, cutting through the moment. She snatched it up, her knuckles white around the case.
“Dr. Miller,” she said, standing up. “Yes… I understand… We’ll be right there.”
I stood too, searching her face. “What is it?”
“She wants us to come back over. She didn’t say much, just that she had some results.” Ella was already gathering her purse, her movements jerky with anxiety.
We hurried back across the street, Nora between us, still wrapped in my oversized jacket. Dr. Miller met us in the reception area, her expression grave.
“Let’s talk in my office,” she said, leading us down a hallway.
Her office was small and cluttered with medical texts and framed photos of animals. She gestured for us to sit in the chairs facing her desk.
“Is Scout going to be okay?” Nora asked immediately.
