Page 40 of Full Contact

“You noticed the change,” I said. “We’re going now.”

She looked at me, then nodded and reached into the bed for Peaches.

“The blanket,” Trier said from the phone. “The gray one. She’ll want—“

“It will be under her,” Anna said. She’d lined the carrier with it.

Peaches let herself be lifted. She barely stirred. Anna lowered her onto the blanket while I held the carrier steady. Peaches turned once, slowly, and lay down facing the door of the carrier.

I lifted the carrier. Anna shouldered her bag.

“Folder,” I said, taking it. “Medication’s in your bag. Charger.” I pulled the one from the outlet by the couch and pocketed it. “Trier—anything in the folder that isn’t current?”

“The insurance card is the old one. The new one’s photographed in the shared album. Anna has access.”

“Me too, now.”

“Yes.”

“I have it,” Anna said.

“Then we’re set.” I walked to the door and held it open. Anna went through first with the phone. “Lights?”

“Leave the lamp on,” Trier said.

I locked the door behind us. In the elevator, Anna held the screen where he could see the carrier, and none of us said anything on the way down.

I belted the carrier into the back seat, and Anna got in beside it. She held the phone against the mesh so Trier could see inside.

“Straight down, then left on Fullerton,” she said to me. “It’s faster this time of night.”

I pulled out. Behind me, Trier was talking to Peaches. “You’re doing fine, sweetheart. Anna’s right there.” His voice stayed low and steady.

The streets were nearly empty. Every light we hit turned red anyway and stayed that way longer than daytime physics allowed. I kept both hands on the wheel.

Trier spoke louder, speaking to Anna. “Are her eyes open?”

She adjusted the phone. “Open. She’s watching the streetlights go by.”

“She likes that.”

A few blocks on, he started again. “Anna, when you said a few bites at dinner, was that before or after she—“ He stopped.

“It’s in your notes,” I said. “I’m bringing them with us.”

I took the left on Fullerton. Halfway through the turn, a small, irritated sound came from the back seat, somewhere between a meow and a faint yowl.

“Complaint received,” I said.

“She’ll want it in writing,” Trier said.

In the mirror, I watched Anna smile at the carrier.

The emergency hospital came up on the right, a low building with its entrance lit and two cars in the lot. I pulled under the canopy and stopped.

“Go,” I told Anna. “I’ll park and bring the bags.”

She was already unbuckling the carrier. I walked around and lifted it out for her. She took the handle in one hand and the phone in the other. Trier was still on the screen, talking to his cat.