Page 26 of Holding On

Chapter Six

Travis Russo

The morning is not going well.

It began with taking the Water Falcon out and putting down the smallest dog in the world, a minuscule teacup terrier. The owners, a lesbian couple, sobbed and held each other, and I felt so sorry for them. The cabin was covered with pictures of Elsa, named for the lioness in Born Free. The little thing weighed nothing. Because they were determined to bring her back to Boston, I had to pack her body in dry ice in the smallest container we had available.

The women, both in their fifties, with stringy muscles, lithe frames, and a capable air, were left entirely undone. They waited only minutes after my departure to rev their yacht. I think the wake of their boat was made entirely of tears.

I sped back to the bay, not enjoying the wind in my hair or the colors of the water. I couldn’t hear the gulls. As much as I try to tell myself it’s part of my job, I hate it. I really do. Yes, it’s for the best. Yes, it matters that I do it humanely. But it always leaves me gutted. Even the wild animals I had to put down out on the retreat at Tufts was hard. And we all had to act like it didn’t matter. It sucked.

Now, I’m back at the clinic in surgery, looking for a benign tumor, and it’s all going sideways.

Mr. Ferguson, a man with a low brow, an equally low voice, and a perpetually frowning face brought in his Sasha on a short leash. Sasha has a benign tumor near her intestines and is here to have it removed.

She’s another very large slaphappy lab-Bernese mountain dog mixed with something else, who slobbered and grinned and licked our hands when she first came in.

She’s as happy-go-lucky as Mr. Ferguson is dour.

“When should I pick her up?” he had asked, voice gravelly.

I decided to try to match her demeanor, not his. “She should be out of anesthesia and ready to go home around four today.” I realized in two seconds that I should have kept my mouth shut.

He’d shot a glance at me and then leaned toward my sister. “What’s he here for?”

Claire was über-matter-of-fact. “Well, as you know, we have an intern in the summer, and this is our intern.”

“Has he been to school, then?”

“Yes, I’m in my final year at Tufts,” I said and tried hard not to look at Claire.

“I’m just asking. Sometimes these interns don’t get paid. Is she paying you?”

I laughed. “I’m staying here rent free. I think that’s enough.”

“Not enough to live on. She should be paying your food too,” he said, and he’d shaken my hand.

I had placed Mr. Ferguson’s accent as mid-state, not Mid-Coast. “Are you from up by Orno?”

“Aye.” His furrowed brow became even more pronounced. “Are you from around here?

“He’s my brother,” Claire had said.

That did it. I think he was overwhelmed with embarrassment. He couldn’t depart fast enough. When he’d shut the door, I think Mr. Ferguson just wanted to pretend he didn’t know us.

Now that Sasha is prepped and sedated, I’m not too sure what to do.

“You make the first incision.”

The sweat begins. “I can’t.”

“You’ve never opened before?”

I shake my head. “No. the only time I could make it to the lab was at night, and I wasn’t going there after dark.”

“Why not? It’s open till midnight. You should have gone in there and practiced. Start taking advantage of that.”

I look at her. “Some guy following you across the parking lot, maybe not keeping enough distance between the two of you, would be enough to keep you from going for a few days, right?”