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“She’ll stop pacing when she’s — ”
Van was too agitated to listen. “In fact, dogs and humans are close. I read about it. I’ve been reading allaboutit.Iknewadisasterlikethiswouldhappen.”
“Van, we don’t have any reason to think anything will go wrong.”
“Well, it could, and you don’t know anything about the dolt who’s filling in for your vet. Damn. I don’t know a good vet whose arm I can twist at this hour, either. But wait! I do know an obstetrician. He’s on the top ten list in the country.”
“Van, don’t be ridiculous.”
“Where’s my cell phone? No, no, don’t worry. It’ll be okay. He’s a friend. And he owes me.”
“Enough to deliver puppies instead of babies? Your phone is over there somewhere. But what did you do for him that you could possibly think he would — ”
“He needed seed money for his free clinic. I gave it to him. The bastard demanded I let him tell people I did, put it in his ads and everything. I had to let him. It helped him pry loose more money.”
Van stopped talking and threw his full attention into finding his cell phone. The landline was on the table beside the sofa, but only his cell phone would have the home phone number of one of the top ten obstetricians in the country.
He started looking under everything that could possiblyhidehiscellphone.Hismethodwastomove things from here to there, fast and furiously.
Mary beat a strategic retreat to a corner of her cluttered, comfortable living room.
Vanup-endedthecushionsonthecouchandthrew them away too. Into her corner. Mary dodged. She’d picked the wrong corner to take refuge in. She crept toward the cushionless couch. He was probably finished there. It should be safe.
Oops,maybenot.Vanreachedblindlyforthethick, soft quilt draped over the back of the couch. They kept the comforter in easy reach there, ready to snuggle under when they turned off the heat and built up the fire.
The quilt cartwheeled its way to the corner Mary hadvacated.Shemightbesafestinthecenterofthe room, free to duck, dodge, and run in any direction.
She got there just in time. Van started throwing magazines. She needed the room to maneuver into escape. The half dozen issues of Scienti cAm-eriacdnAcarried a bit too much heft and came a little too close for comfort.
Then she dodged the first of a dozen books. She wished they kept a tidier house. He’d be finding fewer things his cell phone might hide under. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so enthusiastic in introducing her man to messy living.
“Van, take it easy there, will you?”
He stopped and looked over to her side of the room, where she was surrounded by debris that had started on his side of the room.
“Why am I trying to find my cell phone?” he asked wildly.
“Well — uh — ”
“I’ll just find his number on your laptop there.”“Oh no you don’t, buster. Put that down. Softly. No throwing.”
“Oh.” He looked at the computer in his hands as though he’d forgotten why he had picked it up. “Check your pockets. You usually keep your cell phone on you.”
“Oh.” He reached into both front pockets on his jeans at once. “Got it.”
No, he didn’t have it. He pulled it so hard out of his pocket that it flew out of his hand as though jet-propelled.
He stretched and reached in a maneuver worthy of a pro football player, except that players were usually trying to catch things thrown by the other guys, not by themselves. But he caught it. Touchdown, Mary thought, or maybe she didn’t have the terminology right. Or, on second thought, maybe she had it very right, at least about the down partofthetouchdown,becauseVan’sfollow-through wasn’t as successful as his flying catch had been. He snared the phone, but he also tripped on one of the cushions he had thrown.
The phone soared off again, but this time Mary snatched it out of the air. “Stay where you are. Stay right down there. You’re safer on the floor until your hands dnAyour legs stop shaking, or until we clear out the obstacle course you’ve created here. Who do you want to call?”
“Weebler.” Van’s voice was quivering too. “His name is Joseph Weebler.”
Mary found the number and dialed it. Van wasn’t in any state to accomplish that task either. When the phone started ringing, she handed it over.
“Oh, hi, Dolores, it’s Van. How are you? Great, I’m doing great. Is Joe there?” Van paused. “Joe, there you are. Yeah, golf, we should do that, maybe next week. But right now, I’ve got an emergency here. You can? The patient’s name. You want … Guinevere. Well, that’s the thing. She doesn’t have a last name. Uh, she’s a dog.”
Van held the phone away from his ear, just in case, but it was only the silence that bellowed.
