Just Add Water (1) by Jinx Schwartz Read Free Book Online

I’m
ninety-nine percent sure. We’ll get a second opinion, though. I hope it proves
me wrong.”
    I chugged my wine. Got another.
Craig waited. I morphed into All Business Bitch.  
    “Where do we get the second
opinion? And if you’re right, what are our options?” I caught myself before
asking for the bottom line.
    Craig sighed again. “For the other
medical input we go to the University of California at Davis. My alma mater. If
they agree with my diagnosis, we have to make a decision. We can amputate his
leg and try radiation treatments, or we could let the disease run its course
and keep him comfortable.”
    “Not acceptable.” And if you sigh again, you leviathan, I’ll
cut your heart out with this wine glass.
    “Hetta, we aren’t in a board
meeting here,” Craig said gently as he took me in his arms.
    I dissolved into tears, and Craig
held me until RJ, not liking the looks of a dogless huddle, poked his nose
between us. I kissed his hairy face—RJ’s, not Craig’s—and blubbered, “Amputate?
Radiation? That’s it?”
    “Maybe not. That’s why I’d like to
take him up to U.C. Davis. Maybe they can offer some better ideas.”
    “Jesus, it wouldn’t be hard. When
do we leave?”
    “Tomorrow morning. I’ve already set
up an appointment for ten.”
     
    * *
*
     
    During the somber ride back to
Oakland late Friday night, even RJ seemed to sense the doom and gloom pervading
his humans. He’d had a trying day of strangers taking blood, x-rays, and being
generally intrusive. The jury was in, the verdict read, and a death sentence
passed. RJ had maybe nine months on death row if I agreed to amputation of the
leg. Less than six if we did nothing.
    An hour into the drive, I reached a
decision. “I can’t see subjecting him to surgery unless it’ll save his life.”
    “I think that’s a wise decision,”
Craig said, keeping his eyes glued to the road.
    “You mean I finally, for once in my
entire life, make a wise personal decision and it dooms my dog to a painful
death?”
    “Hetta, this isn’t your fault. It’s
not all that unusual for a dog to develop cancer in a bone break, especially
one as severe as his was. Most people would have put him down right after that
truck hit him, but you spent a fortune on orthopedic surgery.”
    For years I’d referred to RJ as the
three thousand dollar dog, my bionic bow-wow. Now it wasn’t the least bit
funny.
    “Craig, I want my money back.”
     
    * * *
     
    Jan, whom we’d called en route,
waited in my-oh-so chic, oval living room. A fire roared in the turn of the
century, hand sculpted, granite fireplace. The lights of several Bay Area
cities glittered through plant framed casement windows. Years of renovation,
poring over House Beautiful and Architectural Digest, and hounding
salvage yards and estate sales had paid off. Chez RJ was as pleasant to the eye
as it was to live in.
    It normally gave me a moment’s
pride and pleasure when I walked through the front door, but tonight all I
could think of was one day coming home to find it empty. No wagging tail, no
joyful barks.
    Craig joined us for fettuccini
Alfredo à la Jan and the Nieman Marcus takeout deli, then yawned and said he
was going to turn in early, but I knew better. He would work at his office into
the wee hours to make up for his lost day at U.C. Davis. Jan and I took our
wine to the hot tub deck off my third floor bedroom.
    “Thanks for making dinner,” I told
Jan, not even giving her a hard time for buying exorbitantly priced pasta at
Needless Markup.
    “You are very welcome. Hetta, that
Craig is a saint,” Jan said. Steam rose from her shoulders as she pushed
herself up from the one hundred three degree water into the cool evening air.
We had turned off the jets and were adrift in the hot, still water while taking
in the view. The lights of the Golden Gate, Bay, and San Mateo bridges
glittered like necklaces spanning the throat, waist and ankle of the Bay. A
full moon bathed us in its