The Miracle Strip by Nancy Bartholomew

stomach turn over and my skin prickled. I couldn’t do that to her.
    â€œLet me take her to a vet,” I said, backing off a little.
    The man looked up at me and I saw his eyes were a clear, strong gray. He looked like I’d somehow disappointed him or, worse, let Fluffy down.
    â€œYou can do that,” he said slowly, “but then she’d be stuck with this hook in her foot for another hour or so, and her paw would probably be bleeding longer.”
    I looked at Fluffy. She was whimpering, her eyes liquid with pain.
    â€œAll right,” I said. “What do I do?”
    â€œWhat’s your name?” he asked.
    â€œSierra Lavotini,” I said, my voice shaking.
    â€œSierra, you can do this,” he said, his voice reassuring. “It happens all the time to fishermen. She’ll feel better as soon as it’s over.”
    I wasn’t so sure.
    â€œWith one motion,” he said, “push the barb through and out. Then pull the rest of the hook through. I’ll hold her as still as I can.” Fluffy, sensing something was about to happen, struggled against the man whose name I’d never asked.
    â€œEasy, sweetheart,” the man cooed. “Go, Sierra,” he said, his tone changing to a no-nonsense command.
    â€œEasy, Fluff,” I breathed, and reached for her paw. Behind me I could hear shuffling feet and the intake of a collective breath. We had drawn a small crowd of Bahia Mar’s patrons, all queued up like rubberneckers at a car accident, unable to pass and unwilling to look away.
    Fluffy looked at me, her eyes trusting and full of the pain from the fish hook. I tried to find the switch I use in emergencies, the one that shuts down the emotions and makes me feel removed from the situation. Fluffy was my baby. No, I couldn’t think like that. I grasped her paw firmly.
    â€œI love you, Fluffy,” I whispered. Then I took a sharp breath, held it, and pushed the barb through Fluffy’s little paw. She screamed again, and tears poured down my face.
    â€œEasy, Sierra,” my helper cautioned. “Take this.” He handed me a clean white handkerchief from his back pocket. “Wrap it around her paw, tight, so it stems the blood flow, but not too tight.”
    I wound the handkerchief around Fluffy’s tender paw and took her from the man’s lap. Fluffy was only whimpering now, no longer screaming. The man leaned over and carefully picked up the bloody hook, examining it.
    â€œIt looks pretty new,” he said. “Probably made a clean wound, but you never know. Now’s the time to get on to the vet. There’s an emergency clinic out on Tamiami Trail. You can walk right in with her.”
    â€œThank you,” I said, my voice shaky.
    â€œYou’d better get going,” he said, the gray eyes watching. “I’ll help you get her to the car. I think you can manage to get her there by yourself, if she’ll lie still for you.”
    â€œOh, I’m not alone,” I said, turning to look for Raydean. She was gone. The people who had stood watching were wandering away, sensing that Fluffy was going to be all right and embarrassed to be caught openly gaping.
    â€œWell, she was right here,” I said, bewildered. This was not what I needed. We had to get Fluffy to the emergency clinic.
    â€œWhat does she look like?” my companion asked.
    As the onlookers scattered, I saw Raydean sitting alone on a bench at the end of the dock, leaning forward. She had her head in her hands, rocking.
    â€œThere she is,” I said, starting to move forward.
    â€œYour mother?” he asked.
    â€œNo, a friend of mine. We came down looking for another friend of mine. She used to live here. Denise Curtis—er, Corvase. You don’t know her, do you?”
    The man thought for a moment. “Denise Corvase,” he murmured. He shook his head. “Can’t seem to place her. Friend of yours, you