Page 26 of Animal Tamer
We make it ten steps into the sun before he speaks. “Who hurt you?”
I stop walking and stare at the tamped-down grass between my boots.
“It's not—” I start. “It's nothing like that. It's nothing.”
“It's something.”
“My boss is an asshole. That's all.” I shut my eyes. Open them. “Sorry. That was… I shouldn't have?—”
“It's fine.”
Something about the expression on his face makes me open my mouth again.
“He overheard me telling our tech, Paige, about—” I gesture vaguely at the fairgrounds because I can't very well tell him my boss caught me gushing abouthim. “About yesterday. The animals. Coming back out today. And he—he lost it.”
Rowe narrows his eyes. “Lost it how?”
“Just…” I huff. It catches in my throat, and I have to clear it. “He said the practice can't afford for me to be out here. That a bone bruise on a primate's wrist doesn't warrant five follow-ups. That you're—” I stop, my eyes going wide. “It doesn't matter.”
“That we're what.”
It’s flat. It's not a question.
Me and my big mouth.
“It doesn't matter, Rowe.”
“That we're what,” he repeats. The tone of his voice lets me know that he's heard it all before.
“Transient scammers,” I say to the grass. “Quote unquote. A freak show that won't pay an invoice over thirty days. Said I should have told you to put an ice pack on Peanut and call a vet in the next town.”
Rowe doesn't say anything, and the silence hurts more with every passing second.
I start talking again because if I stop, I'll cry, and if I cry in front of him, I'll have to drive home and quit my job out of pure mortification.
“And the thing is that Iknowwhat the standard of care is. I know what I'm doing. I'm a good vet. I am agood vet. I've been a good vet forsix years. And he stood in the reception area and made me feel like a…” I wave my hand like I can grab the right words from the air. “Like a child who'd snuck off to play with the carnival kids when she was supposed to be doing chores.”
I stop. Close my mouth. Try to breathe through my nose like Paige made me do earlier.
Rowe is very still next to me.
“And the worst part,” I say, quieter, “the worst part is I corrected him. Once. I saidthey called us, sir, you took the call,you sent me. And the look on his face. Like I'd—” I shake my head. “I don't know why I'm telling you this. I'm sorry. This is—you don't need to?—”
“Wren.”
I look up.
He's not looking at the Big Top anymore. His sorrowful eyes are on me, and there's something behind them now. His cheekbones are sharper because of the way his jaw is set.
“What's his name.”
I blink. “What?”
“Your boss. What's his name.”
My stomach does a small uncertain flip. “Why?”
“I'd like to know,” he says too casually.
