I look left and right on the quiet stretch of road before my eyes are drawn back to the stop sign I just came from.
Could Joanna help? She’s a nurse, and right now that’s better than nothing. I start walking back in the direction of her house. And when I know I can move faster without falling, I pick up my speed until I’m jogging.
I make it up her porch, then bang my boot against the door since I can’t knock with my hand without dropping the dog that feels a lot heavier than it was a few seconds ago.
The main door opens, and then she’s standing there – a sight for sore eyes. Her dark hair is pulled up all cute and messy, and she’s wearing a pink, spaghetti strap satin top and matching shorts. For a second, I’m so distracted by her beauty that I forget why I’m here. Then her eyes widen, and she slaps a hand over her gaping mouth in horror.
God, she must think I’m a monster for hurting an innocent animal.
“Please help her,” I say through the glass door.
Joanna finally unlocks and pushes the glass door open for me to come inside.
“Phillip…what happened?”
“I hit her with my bike,” I admit. “She ran right in front of me. I tried to stop. I swear I did!”
“Oh no. That’s awful! Are you okay?” she asks, searching my face. “You’re bleeding.” Her fingers swipe my cheek and come away with a pink tint.
“I think it’s all her blood, not mine,” I explain. “Please, Joanna. Can you save her? You have to help her!”
“I-I don’t know anything about how to care for dogs. I’m so sorry, Phillip. You need to take her to a vet.”
“How…where do I go?” I ask her, my voice frantic. “My bike’s down…”
“Come on,” she says, grabbing her purse from behind the door. “We’ll find a vet that’s open all night.”
“Thank you,” I tell her as I turn and hurry out, down the front porch stairs and to the passenger side of her car.
Joanna opens the door for me to slip inside and then hurries around to the driver seat as if she understands and appreciates the urgency of the situation.
I cannot let this dog die. I just can’t.
Chapter Nine
Joanna
The instant I saw Fiasco’s face on the other side of my door, I was relieved that he came back. Then I saw the hurt animal in his arms and realized it wasn’t a social call. He showed up on my doorstep because he needed medical help.
I drive us to the closest vet that I think is open all night. There are three cars in the parking lot and the light is still on, which I take as a good sign.
Phillip doesn’t say anything. He just jumps out, shutting the passenger door with his backside and hurries to the door with the dog in his arms. As soon as I turn my car off, I join him, opening the vet’s door to let him inside.
He frantically explains what happened to the woman behind the desk who shows him into an exam room.
“Lay her down gently here, and I’ll go get the vet,” the woman instructs him.
Phillip does what she asks, and then he moves up to stroke the dirty brown and white head, telling her, “I’m so sorry, girl. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
I know that no one would want to hurt an animal, but it looks like Phillip is more distraught than even I would be, like he hit a person instead of a dog. He is absolutely frantic and obviously blames himself.
A man in a wrinkled, white dress shirt and blue tie rushes into the room. I assume he’s the vet when he starts asking us questions while examining the dog. “Is he yours?”
“He?” Phillip says.
“He’s a male, and since you didn’t know, that likely answers my question.”
“He ran out in front of me,” Phillip explains. “I hit the brakes on my bike and tried to stop.”
“There’s no collar,” the vet notices. “Probably a stray. I’ll need to get some x-rays, and they’re not cheap. Are you willing to take on the expense, or should we put him out of his misery?”
“Put him…” Phillip starts in a questioning tone.
“Put him to sleep, yes. That’s the humane thing to do if he has internal injuries or multiple broken legs.”
“No! You have to fix him!” Phillip exclaims. “He can’t die because I hurt him!”
“It was an accident, Phillip,” I say when I step up next to him and lay a hand on his arm, noticing the pink flesh for the first time. He’s got road rash that must hurt something awful on top of still healing bullet wounds, but he’s more worried about the dog.
The vet looks from me to him and then back to me again. His eyes lower from my face to my chest, which is when I realize for the first time that I’m only wearing my thin satin pajamas and nothing else. Oh, and it’s very, very cold in here thanks to the air conditioning. Well, there’s nothing I can do now except take a step to the right so that I’m partially hidden behind Phillip’s massive body and pull my purse around to hide the left side.
Clearing his throat, the vet goes on to tell us, “I can’t even give you an estimate on the cost, not until I know more about the extent of the injuries. And I’m sorry, but our office policy for situations like this is to request a thousand dollar down payment to go toward the treatment expenses. If it’s more, we’ll ask before treating. If there’s anything remaining at the end of treatment, it will be refunded, of course.”
“A thousand dollars?” Phillip asks, eyes wide in shock.
“X-rays aren’t cheap for dogs or people,” the vet says. “He’ll
