Mom: Her stomach is really red, and she hasn’t touched her food.
Me: I’ll be home in twenty. I’ll try Jenna.
Mom: Thanks, Marcus.
I snapped my phone on the mount and dialed Jenna, pulling onto the highway and heading to the station. She didn’t answer, so I hung up and tried again. This time she did, and I could hear the stress in her voice, hating that I interrupted whatever she was doing.
“Hey, what’s up. Your mom called too, but we’re having a little crisis here.”
“Sorry to bug you, but Mom thinks something’s off with Phoebe. Says she’s not eating, and her stomach is red.”
I made a left-hand turn, checking the time and calculating how many miles there were between the station and me.
“Okay. I haven’t had a chance to look at my messages. Did she say anything else?”
An image of Jenna pushing her glasses on her head and rubbing the bridge of her nose flashed in front of my eyes as I drove, probably pacing in whatever room in the clinic she was in.
“No, but she sounded concerned, and if she already called you, it has me worried.”
“Right, I understand. I’ll grab some supplies and head home as soon as things are handled here. If you beat me there, take a picture of her incision and thank Bev for the plants and kitten-sitting.”
“Will do. See you soon.”
“Okay, bye.”
She hung up without another word, and I felt like an ass for not asking what was going on that had her ignoring our calls, but Mom texted again asking if I was close, and I pushed my speed higher, making it to the station in eight minutes flat.
“Holy shit, Mom. Her incision,” I said, picking up Phoebe and bringing her to the kitchen table where the light was better. She felt hot and gave out a meek little squeak in my arms as I pushed aside a pile of mail and laid her down. “When did this start?”
“It was like night and day, Marcus. I kept that stupid cone off her when I’d been here, and I guess she’s been licking the incision. At lunch, I noticed she didn’t follow me in the kitchen, demanding part of my BLT, and she didn’t want to play and fussed when I picked her up. I started looking up her symptoms on the internet, and I think this is my fault. I should never have taken her cone off.”
I looked closer at her stomach, and sure enough, the incision was puffy and red.
Shit.
“Mom—”
“I’m so sorry. I’ll stay, everything should be fine. I think all she needs is a drug called, hang on, I looked it up.”
Mom was getting worked up and frazzled, and I hated it for her. I’d been just as slack with that damn cone as she had. Phoebe had a neck the size of a damn thimble, and no matter how many times I put the cone on, she wiggled free. Jenna could fix this. Fix Phoebe.
“Mom. She’ll be fine. Jenna’s on the way back with supplies. You head on home. I didn’t use that stupid cone either. She probably spent all night licking her incision. This is no one’s fault.”
“But—”
Mom put her head in her hands, and I leaned forward and put one arm around her, pressing my lips to the top of her head. “This wasn’t your fault, and it’s been a long day. Here, I’ll walk you out.”
She nodded her head and gathered her things, following me down into the foyer. Phoebe stayed cradled in one hand, and I hated how warm she felt, but I tried to stay calm, not wanting to worry Mom any more than she already was.
“I’ll text you later with an update, don’t worry, and Jenna says thank you for the plants and for watching her.”
“She’s so good for you, Marcus.”
Yeah, Mom. I agree.
“Hmm,” I responded, not wanting to give her ammunition either way.
She waved as she pulled away, and I watched her drive down the road. Then, I hightailed it back to the kitchen, opening the freezer for a bag of frozen vegetables. I went to the bathroom and got a thick towel, putting the vegetables between the folded layers, and laying Phoebe on top. Her blue eyes were at least alert, so I grabbed a spoon and an opened jar of baby food from the pantry, offering her a little.
