The car was only parked in the next block, but the load was heavy and my arms were aching even before I got to the corner. As I was about to cross the street, I heard someone call my name. It was Malcolm Kelly.
“Here! Let me take those,” he said, relieving me of my burden before I could protest. “Good grief. Are you feeding every stray in the neighborhood?”
“Almost,” I said, then explained about my unexpected guests. “Are you on your lunch hour? I was just about to drive to the hospital. Something is wrong with Mildred’s eye.”
“I haven’t taken a lunch hour in thirty-six years. But I’m not in the office today. Actually,” he said, his smile fading, “I’ve retired, sold the hospital. The new vet, Laura Carey, took over this week. You’ll like her.”
“Retired?” I clicked the remote to unlock the car. “Why didn’t you say anything the last time I came in?”
“I didn’t want to tell anyone until the papers were signed. And part of me was hoping for a reprieve. Selling the hospital was my wife’s idea, not mine. Well, maybe it was her lawyer’s idea.” He shrugged, as if it didn’t matter one way or the other. “Anyway, it’s done.
“Barbara wanted a divorce. The judge ruled that she was entitled to half the business. I couldn’t afford to buy her out and so . . .” He shrugged again.
“Oh, Malcolm. I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”
I opened the back door and Malcolm hefted the dog food onto the seat, then straightened up and rubbed his lower back.
“I’m fine. I was going to have to retire eventually. Maybe it’s for the best. Barbara moved out once before, after our youngest went to college. I convinced her to give it another chance, went to counseling and all that. For a time it seemed like things were better, but she said she just doesn’t like being married. She wants a life of her own, she says. She’s training to be a Pilates teacher. Wants to open a studio. But I’m fine,” he assured me once again. “And I wish her well. Or well enough.”
He smiled a little. “My biggest problem right now is finding ways to keep myself busy. I’ve reconnected with some old friends from my college days,” he said. “That’s what I was doing this afternoon, having lunch with some of the Romeos.”
“Romeos?”
“R.O.M.E.O.—Retired Old Men Eating Out.”
I laughed. Malcolm rolled his eyes.
“Believe me, it’s just as bad as it sounds,” he said. “The two main topics of conversation were golf and Viagra.”
“I thought Scotsmen liked golf.”
“I don’t dislike it,” Malcolm said. “But I’m not quite ready to turn it into my reason for living. I’m glad I ran into you. I’ve been thinking—maybe I could do a little volunteer vet work with the pet rescue?”
“Oh, Malcolm! Would you? Medical bills are one of our biggest expenses.”
“And still will be,” he said. “Without surgery and lab equipment, I won’t be able to do much beyond the basics. Dr. Carey is an excellent vet, but with school loans to pay off, she can’t afford to offer discounts. Maybe I can help balance out the costs a bit.”
“Malcolm, that would be great. Thank you so much.”
“Not at all. You’re saving me from spending my golden years trying to tap a little ball into a cup.” He shuddered with pretended horror and I laughed. Malcolm always had a good sense of humor.
He walked to the back of the car and peered through the hatch window at the pet crates. “Now, then, which of these wee doggies is Mildred? Oh, I see. The one with her left eye closed.” He winced. “That looks sore. But I don’t see any seeping or signs of infection. Could be a scratched cornea. Would you like me to take a peek?”
“Would you, please?”
I pressed another button to open the hatch. All of the dogs got immediately to their feet, wiggling and barking in excitement.
“I know, I know,” I said. “We’re not going for a walk yet, gang. Malcolm is just going to check out poor Mildred’s eye. Then we’ll head home and have a good romp in the yard. Okay?”
With so many years of experience handling rescue dogs, I’m always careful to make sure the animals in my care are under control, especially when we’re anywhere near a road, and today was no exception. However, I didn’t realize that the locking mechanism on one of the crates was damaged.
Mildred, just over a year old, was still a bouncing ball of unbridled energy. As I tried to reach through the bars of the crate to get hold of her collar and clip on her leash, she lunged forward, slamming into the door and snapping open the broken lock. When she bolted through the door, I was knocked backward onto the pavement. Malcolm threw himself between the dog and the street, quickly scooping Mildred into his arms.
“Oh, you naughty brute,” he scolded as Mildred licked his face. “You could have gotten yourself killed. Come now, back into the crate. I’ll follow Nan to the house and check you there. It’ll be safer for everyone. Don’t you think so—?”
Malcolm turned around to ask his question and gasped when he saw me sprawled on the pavement. The pain was terrible. Moving quickly, Malcolm popped Mildred back into her crate, closed the hatch, and knelt down beside me.
“Where does it hurt?”
“Everywhere. But mostly—” I tried to sit up and winced in pain.
“Don’t move,” Malcolm ordered. He conducted a quick examination, paying particular attention to my neck and limbs, then pulled out his phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling 911. You’ll be fine,”
