I kept my face still. “Yes.”
He looked immediately regretful. “Sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” I said, because again, that was the line.
He shifted on his boots, clearing his throat. “Town’s been wondering what you’ll do next.”
Brooke’s pen paused over the chart. She didn’t look up. “The town should mind its business.”
He chuckled awkwardly. “That’d be a first.”
As we examined the dog, he kept sneaking glances at me, like I was an exhibit at a museum. When I knelt to palpate the shepherd’s leg, the dog leaned into me, trustful and heavy. I liked animals for that. They didn’t ask for explanations. They just decided whether you were safe.
Brooke leaned close to my ear while the man talked about feed and fences. “You okay?” she murmured.
“I’m working,” I whispered back.
“That’s not an answer,” Brooke said, but she didn’t push further.
By midmorning, I’d already done more nails, vaccines, and restraining holds than I could count. The clinic felt like aworld with rules that made sense. Injuries had causes. Symptoms had solutions. You did what you could. You didn’t negotiate with the universe.
The bell chimed again, and I looked up automatically. For a second, my breath stopped. Across the street through the clinic window, a large, dark SUV was parked near the café. The glass reflected sky and movement, making it hard to see, but I felt eyes on me anyway.
Brooke noticed my freeze. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” I said too fast.
Brooke turned and followed my gaze. Her posture shifted, subtle but immediate. Shoulders squaring. Jaw tightening.
“Do you know that vehicle?” “It just looks out of place here.”
Brooke’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe.”
The bell chimed again as a patient entered, and when I looked back out the window a minute later, the SUV was gone.
Brooke watched me for a beat. “You want to tell me what’s going on.”
“It’s nothing, really.”
Brooke’s expression didn’t soften. “You’re a terrible liar, Tessa.”
“I’m going to get coffee, do you want anything?” I asked, grabbing my purse.
The café was warm and loud in that contained way small towns get, where everyone knew each other’s names yet still talked like strangers might be listening.
The barista, Jenna, spotted me immediately. “Tessa,” she called.
I moved toward the counter. “Hi, Jenna.”
“Brooke finally got some help,” she said, already reaching for acup.
“Yeah.”
Jenna slid the coffee across. “On the house. First day back deserves it.”
“Thank you,” I said.
Her smile faltered just a little, like she was deciding whether to speak. Her fingers tapped the counter once.
