Page 125 of Hunt Me

She pulls a face and then points aggressively to her eyeballs. “Can you have a client who can’t see or hear you? How would that even work?”

“Bridgette, please don’t do this tonight. It’s been a long day.”

“But I have questions…”

“I don’t want to hear them right now.”

“Yeah, but…” She hesitates and then blurts, “How can he, you know, do anything? How can we talk to him? How can he even get here? Can he drive? Oh my god! How the fuck does he drive?”

I stare at her, sure that my eye is twitching. “I’m sure he’ll get here and communicate the same way he gets around and communicates with everyone else,” I tell her. “And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t drive himself.”

“But—”

“Bridgette. Listen to me carefully. Deafblind people exist. They move about society just fine. You must have heard about Helen Keller?—”

She bobs her head, her ponytail swinging back and forth. “Yeah, I saw a whole thing online a few months ago proving she faked?—”

“Nope,” I tell her, holding up a hand. “Nopity. Nope. Just…get back on the line and ask if he can be here in twenty minutes. I do want to go home eventually. And please stop believing all the weird shit you watch on the internet. I swear to god, socialmedia has ruined critical thinking, and I can’t take it anymore. I’m starting to lose my hair.”

Her cheeks darken. “I’m not trying to be mean. I was just…curious.”

“Well, to be honest, you are coming off a little rude.” She purses her lips in thought on that one. “Listen, just please stick around and check him and the dog in, and that’ll be the last thing I need from you today.”

I feel like a centenarian trapped in the body of a thirty-five-year-old man sometimes. My mother always said I had to grow into my old-man personality, and I’m starting to think she was right.

Turning away, I peel off my stinky coat and slip into a hoodie, hoping the new client won’t mind. I just cannot smell like the unmentionables for a second longer.

Sitting back in my seat, I close my eyes and take in a deep breath as I wait.

And wait.

And…

“Dr. Bel?”

I jolt and realize that I fell asleep for a split second. Shit. Blinking the fog out of my eyes, I look up to see Bridgette standing in my office doorway again. She looks slightly flustered but is managing to hold it together.

“He’s here. The one who can’t…” She points to her eyes and then her ears. I roll my eyes, but she carries on. “His name is Otto, and he’s with a guy who’s signing and talking for him. So that’s totally how he got hereandhow he is going to communicate with you.” I stare at her long and hard, but it’s lost on her. “Oh, and his dog is Cupcake. He’s a black Lab, about three years old, and his vitals are strong.”

I breathe out a sigh of relief. “Great. Take them to room one, and I’ll be right there.”

She bobs her head and shuts the door behind her, and a few moments later, I hear three sets of human feet and four little dog paws crossing the tile in front of my office. Bridgette’s voice is low, so I can’t make out what she’s saying, but eventually, it goes quiet.

Standing up, I stretch my back and prepare myself for the little knock she drops on my door to let me know the patient is ready.

Treating guide dogs isn’t new for me, though usually they have a specific vet they go to, so I don’t deal with them often. But I’ve had blind clients before.

And Deaf clients, especially since moving here. It’s the reason I’ve kept up on my ASL. Seeing the thriving community that’s well settled and very friendly has really kept me motivated.

But a Deafblind client is new, and I admit I’m a little nervous as I make my way across the hall and knock.

A moment later, a voice calls, “Come in!”

The first thing I see when I enter is the dog—huge for his breed, shaggy soft hair, lying with his chin on his paws. His breathing isn’t labored, and he gives me a little tongue-hanging puppy smile when he notices me. His tail wags across the floor as I approach.

On the left, holding the leash that is attached to his harness, is a very attractive man with ginger curls that look a bit windswept, freckles, and bright blue eyes that point slightly inward before drifting outward. He’s wearing a shirt that says The Deaf Chef with a food truck logo on the front.

Beside him is an equally—and more importantly, annoyingly—attractive man with a farmer’s tan, very dark hair, tied up in a bun, and equally dark eyes. He meets my gaze and smiles, then lifts his hand, and I see the redhead’s hand is over his.