Holly stood next to Cole as Chance walked around the clinic noting the instruments, X-ray machines and microscopes. Two additional rooms were fully set up to conduct a surgical operation, and there was a separate smaller space for patients recovering from surgery. The kennel area for boarding was at the end of the hall, clearly marked by a sign on the closed door. “This is nice, Holly,” he said, glancing around. “Calico Springs has needed a vet for a long time. You always said you were going to get your license and build a clinic. You’re the one who should be proud.”
“I had a lot of help. Kevin Grady is co-owner. I couldn’t have pulled this off without him. He is a licensed vet who has wanted his own clinic for years. It worked out that I had the building, and in exchange for the use of, I could work under his supervision for my last two years of clinical instruction—the hands-on experience diagnosing and treating. And your brothers helped a lot with a loan for the equipment. But yeah, I’m glad it worked out. The hours are long, the work is hard at times, but it’s fulfilling.”
His eyes found hers. “I couldn’t have said it better.” A silent understanding passed between them. Chance felt the same way about the life he’d chosen.
His expression turned serious. “I’m sorry about Jason,” he said, referring to Holly’s older brother, who’d been killed in Iraq. “He was a great guy.”
She nodded and glanced down, suddenly uncomfortable. “There are some days I forget he’s gone. I’ll pick up the phone to call him then realize...he isn’t there.”
Chance and Jason had been best friends since fourth grade when Chance’s mother had finally won the battle for her sons to grow up in a normal environment, pulled them out of boarding school and enrolled them in the local public school. The two had hit it off immediately and remained best friends until the day Jason died. Holly imagined when Chance received the news that Jason had been killed it had been hard for him to take. Chance was closer to Jason than his own brothers.
“Listen, you’re tired. I’ll be here a while. We’re gonna head out but I’ll catch you tomorrow.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
Chance nodded. “Absolutely.”
“And you...” Holly pointed at Cole. “You are so mean for not telling me Chance was home.” She scooted over to give him a sisterly hug. “But I guess we love you anyway.”
He just chuckled. With one last look at Holly, Chance followed Cole out the door.
Rather than drive, Holly took the footpath that extended from the clinic through the trees, over an old wooden footbridge that spanned Otter Creek and on a few yards farther to her small house. Chance is really home. He’d made it through how many deployments? She could only imagine. And he looked good. Better than good. It had been so many years. What had he done all that time? Fight wars? Dodge bullets? Probably accomplished feats that even if he could talk about them, she wouldn’t fully comprehend. Things she was no doubt better off not knowing.
She picked up her pace. Amanda Stiller, her good friend for many years and her temporary babysitter, might be anxious to go to her own home unless she’d become engrossed in something on television. At fourteen months, baby Emma could be a handful, and Holly was anxious to relieve Amanda.
But Amanda was a TV junkie and Holly had a satellite dish with some three hundred channels to keep Amanda occupied, so it was a good arrangement. Amanda often preferred to crash on her sofa instead of making the drive into town, especially now that she was in between jobs. She was an RN specializing in surgical care, and the local hospital had been forced to lay off half of its medical staff, but assurances had been given they would be recalled as soon as budget demands were met. Amanda saw it as an opportunity to catch up on her second job: being a couch potato.
Holly stepped through the back door and heard the sound of one of Amanda’s favorite shows. The background music foretold something bad was about to happen. Seconds later there was a gunshot. A woman screamed and another began to sob. This was Friday night. So that meant Amanda was watching You Can’t Hide. Good grief.
“Who died?” Holly asked as she dropped her bag into a chair.
“That old witch, Ms. Latham. She got shot.”
“Again? Are you sure it isn’t a rerun?”
“It’s not.”
“I wonder who did it this time.” Holly tried to contain the sarcasm. The fictional character had been shot, stabbed, choked and drowned more times than Holly could count and she didn’t regularly watch the show. Amanda and half the town were more than willing to bring her up to speed on who had done what, then ask if she had a guess who was behind it.