Carolyn McSparren - Over His Head

“I have enough drama in my life, guys, without coming home to more.”

Lancelot looked up at the sound of her voice. Poddy and Otto ignored her.

Then perhaps sensing her mood, Poddy climbed into her lap, walked around in a circle, collapsed and began to knead her thigh. She scratched his ears. “The Calhouns brought their mastiff in with a flipped gut after lunch. If they’d brought him in this morning, we’d have had a better chance to save him. Dr. Mac and I worked on him for two hours, but we had to remove so much necrotic tissue I doubt he’ll survive the night.”

Otto decided to get in on the act. He hopped up, rolled over beside her and lay on his back like a baby. She scratched his tummy. “Guess who got to tell the Calhouns? Moi, of course. God forbid we let Dr. Mac get near clients he thinks are negligent. If he slugged somebody, he might break his hands, not to mention getting arrested for assault.”

She heard Lancelot struggle to his feet. A moment later his nose butted her hand. “No, you cannot get up on the bed,” she said. But she scratched him nonetheless. “I only have two hands, guys. I can’t pet all three of you at once.”

Lancelot’s black nose disappeared once more as he sank onto the rug.

“We did do a successful cesarean on an English bulldog,” she said. “I got to give some good news. Four healthy pups.”

Poddy yawned. He undoubtedly saw no reason to celebrate the advent of more canines into the world.

She lay back on her pillows. Blessed, blessed silence.

The bang of metal crashing against metal brought her bolt upright.

A moment later the doorbell rang.

As she got up to answer it, the telephone beside her bed shrilled.

“JUST A MINUTE,” Nancy shouted at the door as she reached for the telephone. “Mayfield,” she answered.

“Nancy,” said Mabel, the evening receptionist at Creature Comfort, “we’ve got an emergency. Mac’s on his way. He asked me to call you.”

“What kind of emergency?” she stuck her finger in her other ear to block out the impatient ringing of the doorbell. “I just walked in the door.” She glanced down at the full glass of wine with longing. No alcohol if she had to go back to surgery. “Is it the mastiff?”

“Worse. The Marshall’s Jack Russell. Some idiot let a pit bull out. He got into the Marshall’s yard.”

“Oh, Lord.” The throbbing over Nancy’s right eye intensified. “How bad?”

“He’s alive, but he’s going to need emergency surgery.”

“I’ll be there in forty minutes unless I run into a Statie with his radar on.”

“Drive carefully. I’ll get things ready.”

“Thanks, Mabel.” Nancy hung up and turned to the door. “All right, all right, dammit, I’m coming!” She yanked it open. Mr. No-Eyes stood on the front porch behind a tall, skinny, teenage boy whose head was nearly bald. He looked half sulky, half terrified. “What?” she snapped.

The man thrust the boy forward. “Tell her.”

She heard Lancelot behind her, stepped out onto the front porch and slammed the door shut. “Tell me what?”

“I kind of, you know, backed into your car.”

“You what?” Nancy pushed past the pair and down her front steps. Her Durango had been shoved four feet closer to her front porch by the hippo-size Suburban hard up against its rump. Over its rump, actually. Nancy ran to her car. Her rear bumper was dented, the right taillight lay in shards, and her right rear tire was flat. “What on earth happened?”

“My son, here, decided to move the Surburban into our driveway.” His voice was quiet, but she could almost feel the man’s rage.

“Yeah, I guess I hit Reverse,” the kid said. “It wasn’t my fault.”

“It was the fault of a malevolent universe?” his father growled. “Of course it was your fault.”

“Look,” Nancy said, “I don’t give two hoots if it was the fault of a parallel universe.”

“This unfortunate creature is Jason Wainwright, my son.”

“Big whoop,” Nancy said. “Look, you. I need my car now, right this minute. I have an emergency. I have to go back to the clinic right now.”

“You’re a nurse?”

“I’m a veterinary surgical assistant. I’ve got to get back to help save a dog that just got mauled by a pit bull. And I’m wasting time.” She grabbed Jason’s sleeve. “Come on. You and your daddy are going to drive me to the clinic, wait for me if it takes all night and drive me home, or I swear to God I’ll have you locked up for driving without a valid Tennessee driver’s license.”

Jason stared at her openmouthed. “Can you do that?”

“If you two don’t get your rear ends in gear, you bet I can.”

“I can’t leave my two younger children on their own,” Wainwright said.

“Can’t your wife look after them?”

“I don’t have a wife.”

“Then bring them. Now!” She strode toward the Suburban.

“Jason, go get your brother and sister while I move the car.”

“Da-a-ad,” Jason whined.

“Do it now. Fast.” Then he shrugged. “Remember, pizza at a mall.”

WHILE JASON ROUNDED up his siblings, Tim carefully backed the Suburban out. It didn’t have a scratch. The damage to the Durango’s bumper didn’t look too bad, but until the light and tire were replaced, and until a mechanic checked the car out thoroughly, she couldn’t drive it.

“If it needs bodywork, I could be without a car for a couple of weeks,” Nancy said. She stood watching him with her hands on her hips.

He glanced over his shoulder at her. “I’m sure my insurance agent will pay for a rental. I’m truly sorry about this. Jason isn’t usually so mutton-headed.”

Nancy raised an eyebrow. She suspected she had yet to plumb the depths of Jason’s mutton-headedness. “Does he have any sort of driver’s license?”

“Illinois Learner’s permit. He’s fifteen. He’s not supposed to drive without an adult.”

God help the world’s drivers when this kid turned sixteen.

A pubescent vampiress slouched across the road toward them. She was trailed by what looked like a relatively normal small boy. With Nancy’s luck, he’d be a kleptomaniac or a Peeping-Tom.

Wainwright started to introduce her to his brood.

“Can we skip all that? Unless you want to be personally responsible for the death of a Jack Russell terrier.”

To his credit, Wainwright took her directions down the side roads without question and drove fast and competently. Not fast enough, of course, but then a supersonic jet wouldn’t have been fast enough. In the back seat, Jason sulked in a corner, and in front of him in the middle seat, his sister bobbed to the music in her headphones. Wainwright had introduced her as Angie. The blond kid was Eddy. He hadn’t said a word.

Nancy pulled the sun visor down to cut out the glare from the westering sun, and caught his image in the visor mirror. He was staring at her.

He doesn’t blink. Creepy.

“Down there,” she said. “Drive through the wrought-iron gate into the parking lot outside the front doors.”

TIM HAD BARELY BROUGHT the truck to a halt when Nancy jumped out, ran up the front stairs and shoved through the glass doors into the lighted reception area. He saw her speak to the woman behind a tall reception desk, then disappear through a side door.

“Can we go find some pizza now?” Angie asked. “I’m starving.”

“Stay here.” Tim started to climb out of the driver’s seat. With a glance at Jason, he reached down and took the keys out of the ignition.

“How do you know I can’t hot-wire it?” Jason asked.

“If you can, don’t.” He took the front stairs of the clinic two at a time.