“Your brother has done so much to keep this family’s name respectable,” she said, her voice dropping into a whisper. “We all have to make sacrifices for Gage because his work is important.”
“My savings are for Kobe’s school, Mom.”
“Kobe is eight years old, Lauren, and he has plenty of time for school,” she said, her voice sighing again. “You are being incredibly small-minded about a simple signature.”
She hung up before I could answer.
By Monday morning, the cold wind off the Mississippi river had brought the first real frost of the season. The glass doors of the North Loop Veterinary Hospital were fogged with the breath of three waiting dogs when I unlocked the lobby at seven-thirty.
A golden retriever named Barnaby was whining by the scale while his owner tried to untangle two different leashes. I took the clipboard from the counter and stepped forward to help.
“We have you down for the dental cleaning today, Mrs. Gable,” I said, checking the digital chart on the iPad. “The procedure requires general anesthesia, so we will need to confirm the fasting protocol was followed.”
