Page 100 of Until Joy

“The idea of the shot is always worse than the actual shot. It's like being afraid of monsters under the bed when there's really just dust bunnies. Do you know what I mean?”

Tyler looked up at his dad. “You showed me there weren’t any monsters.”

“I sure did.” His dad smiled down at him.

“Did the shots hurt you?” he asked me. He was serious as hell.

“A little. For about two seconds. But then I felt proud because I was taking care of my body, just like you're taking care of Buster.”

“Buster's brave,” Tyler said quietly.

“I can tell. Look at how calm he is. He trusts you to make good decisions for him.”

Tyler looked down at his puppy, who was now chewing on his shirt sleeve with obvious delight.

“Will you stay with us when he gets his shot?” the boy asked me.

I glanced at the father, who nodded gratefully.

“Absolutely. Your dad and I will both be right there with you and Buster.”

When it was their turn, Tyler walked into the exam room with his shoulders back and his chin up, carrying Buster like a woman would carry her newborn. The shot took less than five seconds, and Buster barely noticed because he was too busy trying to reach the treat July was holding.

“See?” I ruffled Tyler's hair as we walked back to the waiting room. “Buster's already forgotten about it.”

“Thanks, man.” Tyler's dad shook my hand. “I've been dreading this all week.”

From the corner of my eye, I caught Joy, Kayan, and July watching the entire interaction with expressions that ranged from amused to impressed. Joy's smile was soft and warm and kind.

Kayan leaned against the reception desk with a theatrical sigh. “Graham Wallace, animal whisperer and child therapist. Is there anything you can't do?”

“Furniture shopping, apparently,” July added with a grin.

“Very funny,” I snarked.

The morning continued in a blur of nervous pet owners, escaped animals, and crying children. By noon, I'd helped wrangle three cats, two ferrets, and one particularly determined escape-artist rabbit. My respect for the veterinary staff had increased exponentially.

“I need to go out to my car,” Kayan announced during a brief lull. “My phone charger died, and I've got a backup in the glove compartment.”

She returned five minutes later with her face pale and a manila envelope clutched in her hand.

“Graham.” Her voice cut through the waiting room chatter. “You need to see this.”

The envelope was addressed to Joy in the same cursive we'd seen before. My stomach dropped as Kayan handed it over, her hands shaking.

“Where did you find this?”

“Under my windshield wiper.” Kayan's hands shook slightly. “Someone put it there while we were working.”

I took the envelope from Kayan's trembling hand. “July, can Joy and I use your office?”

July looked from the envelope to Joy's ashen face and nodded immediately. “Of course.”

I guided Joy through the maze of pet carriers and concerned owners, my hand on the small of her back. July followed, closing the office door behind us.

“I want to open this without you seeing what's inside first,” I said.

“No.” Joy's voice was firm despite the fear in her eyes. “Whatever it is, we face it together.”