They are doing everything by the book to find their lost dog. If only I could tell them Frieda had simply gone missing.
“Did she leave a number?”
Doris hands over the slip of paper, making no attempt to conceal her glee.
I take it, pull out my cell phone, and thumb to recent calls. It is the same number I called earlier. Charcoal suit man.
“If you’d prefer to know about every single call I’m more than happy to oblige. No skin off my nose.”
I consider. I’m sure she did make Doc Cobb’s life a whole lot easier, but then again, how many genuinely sick animals and how much business fell through the cracks? “Perhaps, for now, it would be best, okay?”
This seems as good a time as any to institute some crucial managerial changes. “Do you happen to have a Sharpie and two pieces of paper?”
Doris says nothing, pulls open a drawer below her desk, and hands over the marker and two sheets of A4.
In bold block capitals I write: New Hours: Now Open Saturday 9:00 AM to 5:00 PM .
“Here you go,” I say, handing it over. “Please tape this to the front door. I know it’s short notice, but I hope you’re available to help out.”
Doris takes the sheet of paper. “I’m available. But it’ll cost you. Time and a half.”
Wow, contract negotiations straight off the bat. “Fine,” I say, like I’ve got money to burn.
On the second sheet of paper I write: Payment in full is expected at the time of service .
“Hang this up in the waiting room. Somewhere everyone will see it.”
I’m treated to a slow single nod of acquiescence. “Will that be all?”
“Thank you, I’ll let you go. I’ve got some blood samples to package up. You think you could let FedEx know I’ve got a shipment?”
“Of course.”
I leave her standing there and head for the work area in the back. I don’t quite make it.
“It’s been quite a while, hasn’t it?”
I turn to face her. There’s that smile again. “I beg your pardon.”
“Since you were last here, in Eden Falls.”
Doris appears genuinely interested, but she’s not fooling me. I reckon Robert Cobb’s receptionist knows much more than she’s prepared to let on.
“Many, many years, Doris.”
“At least twenty,” she says.
“That’s how long you worked for him?”
“That’s right. A finer man you will not meet.”
She says this as though I never knew him. I’m betting Doris knows about the will and the unhappy details of my estrangement from this so-called fine man.
“Notice any changes in the place?” she asks.
“To be honest I haven’t had much of a chance to look around. But I will.”
Doris begins to nod, excessively, as though she can hardly wait to get where she wants to go with this line of questioning. I try again to reach the door. My hand makes it to the handle.
“I wonder if anyone will recognize you after all this time?”
I spin around, struggling to keep the tetchy edge from my voice. “What are you implying, Doris?”
Doris twists her lines and wrinkles and somehow produces a look approaching surprise. “Nothing, nothing at all. Only, I imagine you’ve lost some hair, gained a few pounds, and these days you talk with a bit of an accent. Plenty of folks might think you’re a complete stranger to town.”
My turn, but my surprise is genuine. I’ve become used to Lewis and his tactful dance around the subjects of Ruth Mills and Bobby Cobb. Clearly, Doris has a different approach. I straighten up and try to stand a little taller. (Hey, you sit in front of a microscope every day and see what it does to your posture.) Time to clarify my situation. “If someone recognizes me as the son of Robert Cobb, so be it.”
“Really? You think that’s best for the practice?”
My mouth hangs open.
“I mean, it’s bound to raise questions,” she says. “The name change, the no-show at your mother’s funeral, the no-show at your father’s funeral?”
She sounds as though she’s lamenting my shortcomings, like I
“Did she leave a number?”
Doris hands over the slip of paper, making no attempt to conceal her glee.
I take it, pull out my cell phone, and thumb to recent calls. It is the same number I called earlier. Charcoal suit man.
“If you’d prefer to know about every single call I’m more than happy to oblige. No skin off my nose.”
I consider. I’m sure she did make Doc Cobb’s life a whole lot easier, but then again, how many genuinely sick animals and how much business fell through the cracks? “Perhaps, for now, it would be best, okay?”
This seems as good a time as any to institute some crucial managerial changes. “Do you happen to have a Sharpie and two pieces of paper?”
Doris says nothing, pulls open a drawer below her desk, and hands over the marker and two sheets of A4.
In bold block capitals I write: New Hours: Now Open Saturday 9:00 AM to 5:00 PM .
“Here you go,” I say, handing it over. “Please tape this to the front door. I know it’s short notice, but I hope you’re available to help out.”
Doris takes the sheet of paper. “I’m available. But it’ll cost you. Time and a half.”
Wow, contract negotiations straight off the bat. “Fine,” I say, like I’ve got money to burn.
On the second sheet of paper I write: Payment in full is expected at the time of service .
“Hang this up in the waiting room. Somewhere everyone will see it.”
I’m treated to a slow single nod of acquiescence. “Will that be all?”
“Thank you, I’ll let you go. I’ve got some blood samples to package up. You think you could let FedEx know I’ve got a shipment?”
“Of course.”
I leave her standing there and head for the work area in the back. I don’t quite make it.
“It’s been quite a while, hasn’t it?”
I turn to face her. There’s that smile again. “I beg your pardon.”
“Since you were last here, in Eden Falls.”
Doris appears genuinely interested, but she’s not fooling me. I reckon Robert Cobb’s receptionist knows much more than she’s prepared to let on.
“Many, many years, Doris.”
“At least twenty,” she says.
“That’s how long you worked for him?”
“That’s right. A finer man you will not meet.”
She says this as though I never knew him. I’m betting Doris knows about the will and the unhappy details of my estrangement from this so-called fine man.
“Notice any changes in the place?” she asks.
“To be honest I haven’t had much of a chance to look around. But I will.”
Doris begins to nod, excessively, as though she can hardly wait to get where she wants to go with this line of questioning. I try again to reach the door. My hand makes it to the handle.
“I wonder if anyone will recognize you after all this time?”
I spin around, struggling to keep the tetchy edge from my voice. “What are you implying, Doris?”
Doris twists her lines and wrinkles and somehow produces a look approaching surprise. “Nothing, nothing at all. Only, I imagine you’ve lost some hair, gained a few pounds, and these days you talk with a bit of an accent. Plenty of folks might think you’re a complete stranger to town.”
My turn, but my surprise is genuine. I’ve become used to Lewis and his tactful dance around the subjects of Ruth Mills and Bobby Cobb. Clearly, Doris has a different approach. I straighten up and try to stand a little taller. (Hey, you sit in front of a microscope every day and see what it does to your posture.) Time to clarify my situation. “If someone recognizes me as the son of Robert Cobb, so be it.”
“Really? You think that’s best for the practice?”
My mouth hangs open.
“I mean, it’s bound to raise questions,” she says. “The name change, the no-show at your mother’s funeral, the no-show at your father’s funeral?”
She sounds as though she’s lamenting my shortcomings, like I
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