Ashley looks across the room as the door opens. 

“Oh. Hello.” Harrison greets her soberly, then turns his attention to a now-full pot of fresh coffee. He pours himself a cup, pausing before he returns the pot to the coffee maker. “Do you want some?” 

“No, thank you.” Ashley declines politely.  He must have really liked my cookies. There is a sentence that described Harrison perfectly, that makes Ashley give the nervous laugh reserved for something too true when she remembers it. Harrison is what happens when you stop believing in intelligent people. Jay told her that.

Harrison mixes sugar in his coffee, but no creamer, keeping the beverage as black as his soul. He leans against the counter, content to stay on the opposite side of the room from her. He almost says goodbye when she gets up and silently leaves the room.

Ashley walks toward her office, a little sorry that she couldn’t stay in that rare moment when Harrison might have held a conversation. But she wasn’t quite settled. Her hearing especially is sensitive as she picks up two distinct voices in the lobby. Her ears automatically try to swivel and catch the sound but scrape against the ranger hat imprisoning them. She winces, tucking them back into place and making sure they’re covered by her frizzy curls. The vet finishes just in time as a boy runs into the hall. He knocks erratically on one of the office doors-- Jay’s office. 

I should go. She should stay far away from the commotion, from the whirlwind of emotions that surround a close call. She’s not ready yet, though she’ll have to be. Five minutes until my appointment. 

But Ashley can’t decide, standing in place as a woman walks quietly down the hall. There’s a heaviness to her as she holds a small dog close to her chest. The vet only catches a glimpse of a curly tan coat as Mrs. Williams steps past. 

I should check on Ollie. He’s going to be a mess again if the dog doesn’t make it. Someone should be there for him. She knows what her choice is- it’s not much of a choice, for her- but she stands still a little longer, until the office door opens and mother and son disappear inside.

She’s too late. Ollie is already struggling to take slow breaths, hands pressed against his desk. He glances at her as she walks up.

“The dog didn’t make it. She knows but her son doesn’t.” He explains quietly.

“Take it easy, kid. That’s a hard story.” Ashley isn’t sure what else to say. Awkwardly, she pats his hand.

It takes every fiber of her being to stay still as he stands and hugs her, leaning across the desk. “Sweetie.” The word has no warning in it at all and is completely ineffectual. The soft part of her crumbles and she gives him a few moments while the rational part of her screams. “Okay, sweetie,” Gently, she starts to move his hands back. This is the worst time, kid. 

“Thank you-- sorry.” Ollie lets go quickly, turning bright pink. 

Now is when you walk back to your office. Instead she says, “I’ll stay out here until my appointment arrives.” Dammit Ash. 

He just nods, still rather embarrassed.

With a deep breath, she takes a few steps away and scans the lobby. She’s looking for a labrador retriever. Though the breed doesn’t define the dog, most labs in her experience were all energy and no sense. Hopefully the limp she needs to look at is just a sprain.

Preoccupied with various treatment scenarios playing in her head, she doesn’t notice the severity of the situation until the shouting starts.

“So, veterinarians have taken to overbooking! How disgraceful!” A woman with the build and bellow of a Viking looms over the reception desk. Her petite daughter stands behind, holding a plastic pink carrier only suitable for a hamster, or perhaps a chinchilla.

“I’m sorry ma'am! It just wasn’t in the computer!” Ollie squeaks, his eyes darting between the client and the computer screen that holds no answers for him.

So, Jay’s 4:00 was always too good to be true. She looks at the situation with pity. The kid is on his own with this one; there’s nothing she can do. Her own client should be here any minute now. But his eyes meet hers. With a nod, she gives the only thing she has:

“Would you like to reschedule? There’s-- There’s a 1:00 tomorrow.” 

He hastily moves to invent the appointment, right over where her lunch break usually is.

“No! We have already rescheduled twice now, which you would know if you had any competency.” Her voice thunders with indignation. Then, a piercing gleam in her eye, she pulls the Client Trump Card: “Someone must uphold our appointment right now, or we will never come here again.” 

She doesn’t know. Ashley glances back at the closed office door with a mourning family behind it. She doesn’t know. Typical. It’s a typical, normal, ordinary day. It’s still too much. The realization hits her like glass shattering in slow motion. The existence she spent an entire year willing into being crumbles; the exhausting reality remains.

“Ma’am, calm down.” Her voice is winter wind. The vet puts a hand on the woman’s arm as she speaks and their eyes meet. Strange power flickers in her eyes.

Every dog in the room sits at attention, the cats hiss, and every smaller creature cowers.

“What did you--” Ollie barely utters. She merely puts a finger to her lips. Then she turns, her soft smile heavy on her face, “I think your mommy is very tired. Why don’t the two of you sit down?” 

The little girl stops rocking idly back and forth on her heels and looks up, bewildered that her mother really stopped shouting. “Okay.” She says quietly. Walking into the lobby, she sets her carrier on one seat and climbs into the one beside it.

“Go sit down.” Ashley murmurs and the client, eyes glassy, complies.

She turns to find Ollie staring at her. There’s a look of disbelief on his face, though he’s more hurt than scared. 

"Are you really?”

“Yes.”

“How long?"

“A little before you came here, about a year ago.” She answers honestly. She’s too tired for anything else. She’s so tired. “I won’t ask you to do anything. I’m going.” 

“But-- Dr. Winters--” 

She smiles bittersweetly, touched that the impossibility of her ever leaving is greater than the impossibility of her staying. 

“I hope people believe you when you say you didn’t know. I really do.”