Pistol?"
"Doing good. Pistol's lame, of course, but he's happy, out in the pasture."
More conversation followed, along pleasant, innocuous lines. I made no more attempts to talk about my problems. Lonny and I had never dealt with these kinds of issues very well when we were together; why had I imagined it would be different now?
I managed to end the conversation on a positive note, sincerely wishing Lonny well, and promising to call soon. I hung up the phone knowing how fond of him I still was, and sure that he'd always be a part of my life. At the same time, another part of my mind acknowledged how much I had wished this call was from Blue Winter. And yet another part just plain didn't care much at all, about anything.
I finished pulling my boots and socks off and got up and poured myself a glass of wine. Sitting back down on the couch, I thought sadly that it was true that I missed Lonny. I missed the security and comfort of my life with him, and in many ways I still loved him. But there was no going back.
NINE
I drove to work the next morning on automatic pilot, trying to put my thoughts and emotions on hold and devote all my energy to getting done what needed to be done. It was a struggle. But my heart did lift a little when I drove into the office parking lot.
There it was, the new sign that had been put up only a month ago. SANTA CRUZ EQUINE PRACTICE. DR. JIM LEONARD AND DR. GAIL MCCARTHY. My boss had made me a partner in the firm. I was on the sign, after working here for almost seven years.
It was a good feeling, in the midst of a lot of difficult ones. Jim was not an easy man to work for, but I'd achieved a decent professional relationship with him, and along the way, earned his respect, or so I thought. Given his demanding, perfectionist tendencies and the short history most of his junior vets had enjoyed, I was proud of what I'd done.
I was less proud five minutes later as I stood in Jim's office discussing Linda Howard's mare. Knowing Jim's habit of coming into work an hour early, the woman had called him at seven o'clock sharp, and he had, in the ensuing hour, been out to see her mare and come back.
"That mare had a fractured splint bone, not a bowed tendon, Gail. And she needs surgery to remove a bone chip."
I stared at Jim wearily. He was, no doubt, right. Jim was a virtual wizard with equine lamenesses, what those in the trade called a "good leg man." His knowledge was almost intuitive; Jim could look at a lame horse and know instinctively what was wrong with it, though sometimes it was difficult for him to explain exactly how he knew. Long years of experience in treating horses had created a backlog of useful mental images that Jim could access at will. Having many fewer practicing years under my belt, I was at a distinct disadvantage when it came to diagnosing more obscure problems, or correctly interpreting delicate nuances.
"How did you know?" I asked him.
"It's subtle," he said charitably. "When you saw the mare she was probably so swollen that it was hard to tell. But once she'd been wrapped for twenty-four hours and the swelling was down, I could feel that the tendon was fine, and it was easy to palpate a big lump on the inside of her cannon bone." Jim shrugged. "It was an understandable mistake."
"I see. I'll bet Linda Howard didn't say anything nice about me."
Jim said nothing.
"She likes you," I said. "She was pretty unhappy when she couldn't get you out yesterday."
Jim still said nothing. I knew that he knew that some of our clients preferred him to an extreme degree. There was little either of us could do about it. But I hadn't done the office any favors by making a mistake with an already hostile client.
I sighed. "Sorry," I said.
"It was a tricky one." Jim didn't sound particularly upset. "I could have made the same mistake if I'd seen her first."
"Thanks," I said. But I was pretty sure that, in fact, he would not have. Jim wasn't often wrong. I'd learned an incredible amount
"Doing good. Pistol's lame, of course, but he's happy, out in the pasture."
More conversation followed, along pleasant, innocuous lines. I made no more attempts to talk about my problems. Lonny and I had never dealt with these kinds of issues very well when we were together; why had I imagined it would be different now?
I managed to end the conversation on a positive note, sincerely wishing Lonny well, and promising to call soon. I hung up the phone knowing how fond of him I still was, and sure that he'd always be a part of my life. At the same time, another part of my mind acknowledged how much I had wished this call was from Blue Winter. And yet another part just plain didn't care much at all, about anything.
I finished pulling my boots and socks off and got up and poured myself a glass of wine. Sitting back down on the couch, I thought sadly that it was true that I missed Lonny. I missed the security and comfort of my life with him, and in many ways I still loved him. But there was no going back.
NINE
I drove to work the next morning on automatic pilot, trying to put my thoughts and emotions on hold and devote all my energy to getting done what needed to be done. It was a struggle. But my heart did lift a little when I drove into the office parking lot.
There it was, the new sign that had been put up only a month ago. SANTA CRUZ EQUINE PRACTICE. DR. JIM LEONARD AND DR. GAIL MCCARTHY. My boss had made me a partner in the firm. I was on the sign, after working here for almost seven years.
It was a good feeling, in the midst of a lot of difficult ones. Jim was not an easy man to work for, but I'd achieved a decent professional relationship with him, and along the way, earned his respect, or so I thought. Given his demanding, perfectionist tendencies and the short history most of his junior vets had enjoyed, I was proud of what I'd done.
I was less proud five minutes later as I stood in Jim's office discussing Linda Howard's mare. Knowing Jim's habit of coming into work an hour early, the woman had called him at seven o'clock sharp, and he had, in the ensuing hour, been out to see her mare and come back.
"That mare had a fractured splint bone, not a bowed tendon, Gail. And she needs surgery to remove a bone chip."
I stared at Jim wearily. He was, no doubt, right. Jim was a virtual wizard with equine lamenesses, what those in the trade called a "good leg man." His knowledge was almost intuitive; Jim could look at a lame horse and know instinctively what was wrong with it, though sometimes it was difficult for him to explain exactly how he knew. Long years of experience in treating horses had created a backlog of useful mental images that Jim could access at will. Having many fewer practicing years under my belt, I was at a distinct disadvantage when it came to diagnosing more obscure problems, or correctly interpreting delicate nuances.
"How did you know?" I asked him.
"It's subtle," he said charitably. "When you saw the mare she was probably so swollen that it was hard to tell. But once she'd been wrapped for twenty-four hours and the swelling was down, I could feel that the tendon was fine, and it was easy to palpate a big lump on the inside of her cannon bone." Jim shrugged. "It was an understandable mistake."
"I see. I'll bet Linda Howard didn't say anything nice about me."
Jim said nothing.
"She likes you," I said. "She was pretty unhappy when she couldn't get you out yesterday."
Jim still said nothing. I knew that he knew that some of our clients preferred him to an extreme degree. There was little either of us could do about it. But I hadn't done the office any favors by making a mistake with an already hostile client.
I sighed. "Sorry," I said.
"It was a tricky one." Jim didn't sound particularly upset. "I could have made the same mistake if I'd seen her first."
"Thanks," I said. But I was pretty sure that, in fact, he would not have. Jim wasn't often wrong. I'd learned an incredible amount
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