Page 95 of Hold the Pickle
“I feel like a rescue is no way to make a living. They are always under-funded shoestring operations.”
He nods. “I’d say let’s cross that bridge when we come to it. First, figure out what it takes. Then we’ll figure out a way to do it better.”
“You’d do that for me?”
“If it will save you from our uncle.”
Pumpkin crawls next to my leg and curls up. I absently pet her head. “I guess I could volunteer for the rescue here. I already know them since I used to foster. Maybe they’d let me work in the office.”
“Perfect. Give them a call.” He stands up. “Now let me be uncle to your brood while you get ready to head into town. I have some kittens to spoil at the pet store.”
I slowly uncurl my legs to avoid disturbing Pumpkin.
He’s right. If I’m stuck here, I should work my connections. Would I let Axel fund a rescue?
As I run a brush through my hair, I wonder if that’s necessary. Maybe once I see the inside, I can figure out how to make this work.
32
DALTON
Is this long-distance thing working?
I don’t know how to tell. It’s been two weeks. I’ve had a hell of a schedule, so the phone calls and texts have been fewer.
Are we fizzling?
I hope not.
I’m alone in the cafeteria. Fitz has another surgery assist. She’s winning the race on racking up time with her specialty.
Harrington knew going in that he wanted orthopedics, and he’s setting a femur at the moment. Dude got all giddy about a broken bone. Unlike the patient, I’m sure.
The line of windows let in the bright sunshine of a glorious fall day. There was the tiniest nip this morning when I got in my Jeep. My first California winter is coming. Not that it will be a big change in temperature. That’s the glory of SoCal.
I stick my spoon in my empty soup cup. I shouldn’t have bought lunch from the line, but lately I’ve been unmotivated to meal prep and bring my own. Mom found another job, averting a total disaster, but I still had to intervene with her apartment since she wouldn’t get her first paycheck in time.
I press the heel of my hand into my eye. It’s all such a grind. The texts and rare phone calls when my days off line up with Nadia’s free time aren’t enough to stave off the loneliness and drudgery.
At least, not today.
My phone buzzes. I’m almost glad to have a reason to go back to the ER. Better than sitting here brooding.
But the message says, “Visitor at the main desk.”
For a second, my heart leaps, thinking it might be Nadia. She never came here before. Did she want to surprise me?
But it can’t be. She texted a photo of the snow-capped mountains this morning. And she was heading to a rescue later to volunteer. Her first day.
She wouldn’t fake all that.
Mom is on the other side of the country waiting tables. Hopefully.
Everyone else I know in LA is on shift with me.
I drop my cup in the trash and stride quickly through the rotunda to the dome of the main entrance. The visitor’s desk is a huge round counter with two attendants and a security guard.
Quite a few people stand around it, but no one I recognize. Maybe this is random. A salesperson. Someone trying to recruit me. I don’t know. I’ll get rid of them.
