The Patron Saint of Lost Dogs: A Novel by Nick Trout Read Free Book Online Page B

about right. What Lewis was misreading was my look of irritation. Yet again, Cobb would go out of his way to provide you with a good home, befriend a lost soul, so long as you had four legs.
    “Take my advice,” says Lewis, “when it comes to Frieda and finding a rescue center, you’d best stay outside of a thirty-mile radius from Eden Falls.”
    Good idea, everybody knows everybody in this town. “You know, I’m pretty sure the owner was lying about her urination problem.”
    I catch the distressed look on Lewis’s face.
    “Act fast, young man. Your good conscience will not save you from the disciplinary committee of the Vermont State Veterinary Board.”
    “Uh-huh,” I manage.
    “How’s the charming Ethel Silverman?” Lewis takes a sip from his cup, but it does nothing to hide his smile.
    “Fabulous. Where’s your computer?”
    “You’ll find what you need in that cabinet, over there.” Lewis gestures with his eyes.
    I open the doors. There are three shelves on each side containing neatly organized textbooks, periodicals, and magazines. I’m paralyzed. “Bedside Manor doesn’t have a computer?”
    I hear a page being turned, a pause, and then, “Nope.”
    My hands are still attached to the door handles. “No Wi-Fi, no Internet, no Google, nothing.” I must remember to call Verizon and hook up some broadband for my laptop.
    “What d’you mean, nothing? There are gold standard tomes in there.”
    I notice a sheet of paper taped to the inside of the cabinet’s door. The blue ink of the neat copperplate may have faded over time, but I instantly recognize my mother’s handwriting and begin reading a detailed outline of her filing system, followed by a plea to keep things tidy. Visualizing this order, this discipline, I feel an instant sensation of reassurance. It’s soothing, but at the same time heavy.
    I consult Mom’s guide, reach in, and remove a textbook entitled Veterinary Dermatology . “I think Mrs. Silverman pretty much hates my guts.”
    “Of course she does,” Lewis says in a quieter voice. “Ethel can be a cantankerous old bird on her best days. Finds something bad to say about everyone.”
    This remark stops me in my tracks. “Really,” I say, turning to face him. “Does she know who I am?”
    “No idea,” says Lewis, swallowing his final mouthful of coffee. “Nice job with the beard, by the way.”
    I huff, wanting to let him know that life was easier without the need for facial grooming. Shaving is supposed to turn me into someone I never wanted to be.
    “Did she recognize you?” asks Lewis.
    “If she did she never said.”
    Lewis puts his mug down. “When were you last in Eden Falls?”
    It’s a tough question, not least because it points out a brazen and damning fact—I never returned for Bobby Cobb’s funeral. “Fourteen years ago, three weeks before my mother died. But I didn’t come back to Bedside Manor. I was at the hospital in Patton the whole time.”
    I can see her sitting up in bed, a red bandanna almost bright against her pale skin. She was joking, upbeat, and eager to get home. Together, we reviewed her blood work. She was in remission. She was going to be fine. This was never going to be my last visit.
    Lewis fingers the handle of the mug. “And before that?”
    “Not sure,” I lie, knowing exactly when it was. “It might have been the summer before my sophomore year of high school.”
    Lewis does this thing with his mouth, a chipped upper incisor worrying his lower lip. I’ve noticed this when he gets serious. “Was that when you moved down south?”
    “Let’s just say I was sent.”
    “You make it sound like you were deported.”
    I bite my tongue and choose my words carefully. “Mom never wanted me to go away. Cobb had the final word. He swore it was all about my education. Run-down regional high school versus an elite private school. Free tuition sealed the deal, thanks to my aunt Rachel.”
    “Your mom’s sister, right?”
    I nod.