I step back, giving her space in case she explodes—a likely scenario given the color of her face. But she takes a deep breath, and her skin returns to her usual rosy pink.
“I’m pissed at me.” It’s quieter, smaller even, but no less impactful.
“Why, Stor? Tell me, I want to know. I deserve to know.”
Her nostrils flare as she shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to talk about it, and it’s in the past. But truly, Hendricks, I know you have a life, a family. You’re a vet like you always wanted to be, and . . . I’m happy for you.”
I’d believe her if it wasn’t for the sad smile on her face. I’m very tempted to let her stew, but my conscience gets the better of me.
“Not that you deserve it nor do I have to explain myself, but Birgitta is Max’s nanny. She’s neither my wife nor my girlfriend. And no, I haven’t fucked her.”
I have to admit the look of utter shock and embarrassment on Story’s face is one I’m enjoying. Story is rarely wrong.
Now that I have the floor, I’m debating whether to continue, but I honestly don’t know where to begin.
In front of me is the girl I used to share everything with, every secret, every good and bad day. But now I live a life she’s not part of, one that took me to hell and back, and it’s going to take more than a snatched five minutes on a Saturday morning to fill her in. Even withBirgitta watching Max for me.
She’s still staring at me, wearing the same expression she always did when her brain was running in circles. It’s not the first time I’ve wished I could literally read her mind.
But as is the case when you’re a single parent, reality smacks you in the face at the most inopportune times. The ringtone I have assigned for Birgitta buzzes in my pocket and I’m reminded of my priorities.
“Hey, sorry I’ll . . .” My voice cuts off as I take in the sound of my son wailing down the phone. “I’m on my way now.”
My gaze hasn’t left Story even though hers is fixed back on the ground. My gut twists with all the things I want to say to her. Instead, I leave with the only ones I can find.
“Sorry, I have to go. I’ll see you around, Stor.”
I sprint off without looking back, retracing my footsteps until I spot Birgitta outside The Beanery where I left her. Only she’s sitting on the pavement, cradling Max, one hand on his head, the other on his nose, trying to stem the blood pouring down his face.
“Da-da-daddy,” he wails as he sees me, his tiny chest heaving with wracking sobs as he holds his arms out to me.
“Oh buddy, what happened?” I ask.
“He ran out of the store and tripped, landing on his nose. The bleeding is slowing down.” Birgitta pulls back a paper napkin, and immediately another flow of blood pours from his nose.
It’s made worse because he’s crying so hard, and the blood, tears, and snot all mix. Taking a clean napkin from a pile next to Birgitta, I hold it to his nose andscoop him out of her arms into mine.
“It’s okay, Maxy. We’ll go to the surgery and get you all patched up, okay?”
He tries to nod, but I’m holding his nose, so all he lets out is a little grunt and a sniffle. My chest lurches from how brave he’s trying to be.
As I stand, I see Birgitta’s pale, beige hoodie is covered in blood. “I’m so sorry. Tell me where it came from, and I’ll get another one ordered for you.”
But she brushes me off with a wave of her hand. “Don’t worry about it. It happens. I should have caught him, but he came running out so fast.”
I throw her a smile because I know exactly what she means. While it’s admittedly on the worst end of his usual injuries, this isn’t the first accident Max has had. It won’t be the last. He’s a child who prefers sprinting as his mode of transport.
“C’mon, bud, let’s go,” I whisper to him. I turn to Birgitta and add, “See you back at the house.”
“Bye, Maxy.”
He gives a weak lift of his arm and drops his head on my shoulder. I carry him across the road and down the other side of the street until we reach The Valentine Vet, the surgery I took on as mine two years ago. It’s where I’ve wanted to work since I was ten years old.
Open Monday to Saturday for appointments, and Sundays for emergencies, there’s a small team of dedicated vets and vet nurses. Though I’m mostly out visiting the yards, seeing horses and farm animals, I still keep an office here that I use twice a week for a drop-in surgery, which is always busy. It’s good for community relations, and truthfully, I enjoy seeing the bunnies and hamsters just as much as birthing a cow.
When I push the door open with my feet, Glenda, my receptionist, who I inherited along with the rest of the staff, greets me. I honestly couldn’t run the place without her.
“Hendricks, we weren’t expecting . . . oh,OH. . . Max, what happened?”
