Page 42 of Full Contact

She wanted to tell the staff which food Peaches would be most likely to accept. I caught the tech as she passed our door, and Anna spoke with her. The tech took the carrier and blanket back to the treatment area so Peaches would have something familiar nearby.

On the screen, Trier rubbed a hand over his face. “Markel said to go. He’ll have my gear brought back with the team.”

“You booked it?”

“Nine forty, Boston time. I’ll leave once we know how she’s doing.” He lowered his hand and looked at me across the little screen.

“We’ll be here,” I said.

He nodded and plugged his phone in beside the hotel bed.

Anna slept sitting up for a stretch, chin on her chest, and woke whenever the corridor door swung. A tech looked in around four to say the fluids were going well and Peaches was resting. On the screen, Trier sat against the headboard with the lamp on. He closed his eyes for a few minutes, and I watched his chest rise and fall with each breath.

A little before six, the tech brought Peaches back for a visit while they waited on her results. There was a shaved patch on one foreleg, and she was making a thorough inspection of it. The tech set the open carrier on the table, and Peaches sat up inside it and looked out at all of us in turn.

“She’s perkier,” the tech said. “I’ll bring some food in. Let’s see if she’s more interested with you here.”

Perkier was the word. She had her head up. She was tracking the room again: door, counter, Anna, and Trier on the phone.

“There she is,” Trier said, and this time it sounded different.

“She’s looking at me like I’m in her way,” I said.

“You probably are.”

I moved the phone closer so he could see her face. “Now we get her eating,” I said.

“She’ll want the menu.”

Anna stood. “If she’s settled, I’m going to find the restroom. Two minutes.”

She left. I pulled my chair closer to the table and sat with the carrier at my elbow, the phone propped where Trier could see it. Peaches watched Anna’s exit, then turned and considered me.

She pushed her body forward and lay with her front paws on the table.

I offered my hand the way I’d watched Trier do it a dozen times. She sniffed my fingers. She pushed her cheek against them, slow and deliberate, and kept pushing until my knuckle was behind her ear.

When she edged farther out, I slid one hand under her chest and the other beneath her hindquarters. I brought her down onto my thighs with the blanket caught under her.

I expected her to reconsider. Instead she turned once, carefully, favoring the shaved leg, and settled against my stomach. Her back feet slid on the blanket. I moved my hand underneath so she could rest without balancing.

“Like that?” I asked Trier.

He looked at the screen for a moment before answering.

“Yes. She likes her back feet supported.”

She was warm through the blanket. I felt the small, steady stream of her breathing against the hairs on my forearm. I sat very still.

Anna came back and stopped beside the chair.

“Well,” she said.

“She came out on her own,” I said.

“I can see that.” She looked at the arrangement. “She only lets Trier and me settle her like that. Especially when she doesn’t feel well.”

I looked down at the orange head under my hand. I’d been learning her preferences since we’d started planning the series.