Kind of Cursed Read online

  I sip at every stop light and tell my myself each one feels better than the last. The trouble with that is I’m a terrible liar. Even I don’t believe me.

  “Dr. Delacroix, you look like sh—” David Webber, our nineteen-year-old vet tech clamps his mouth shut. His eyes bug. “Sorry. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” I say the words, but they’re little more than air. I clear my throat, wince, and try again. “I’m fine. Just a cold.”

  His brow goes up while his chin goes down. “You sure about that?”

  I ignore him and walk over to the kennels. “How’s Leopold?” The two-year-old black lab mix looks up at me glassy-eyed. He’s in the middle of treatment for heartworms, and his owner brought him in, lethargic and vomiting yesterday. He probably threw a worm from too much activity. We put him in the ICU cage for a few hours yesterday, gave him twenty-five milligrams of Acepromazine to calm him down, and kept him overnight.

  “A little wobbly on his feet this morning, but I walked him, and he peed, drank water, and ate all his breakfast.”

  “Can’t ask for better than that,” I say, opening the kennel door. Leopold picks up his head and blinks sleepily at me. “That Ace is pretty potent, isn’t it buddy?” I actually envy the big guy. A sedative and the prospect of being trapped in bed sounds pretty good right now.

  Fat chance of that.

  As if he’s rubbing it in, Leopold gives a spectacular yawn, and his tongue curls up like an upside-down question mark. I check his vitals. Heart rate, respiration, gum color, and then just rub his side for a few minutes.

  “Call Mr. Mouton and tell him Leopold can go home today, but I recommend a half dose of Acepromazine every twelve hours for the next week,” I detail. “I’d like for him to come in Tuesday or Wednesday for a recheck.”

  I close the kennel door, note my orders on Leopold’s chart, and let Hailey, who’s filling in for Kath, know I’m ready for our first appointment. And the day rolls on.

  At one o’clock David catches me asleep at Dr. Loftin’s desk, my forehead pillowed under my hands. I sit up too fast and the room spins a little.

  “You should go home, Dr. D,” he says gently. “Hailey and I can cancel the rest of the appointments for today.”

  I shake my head, and then wince, regretting it. “I’m good.” I just meant to sit down for a minute during our lunch break. Looks like a minute turned into thirty. “Who’s up next?”

  By three, I can’t drink any more coffee or my stomach will turn inside out. I’ve switched to the lemon ginger tea Kath keeps in the break room, but my throat feels like I’m swallowing flaming arrows one after another.

  Ellen Degeneres comes in at four with an abscess. Not Ellen Degeneres the comedian. I may not be feeling well, but I’m not hallucinating. This Ellen is a cat. One who has recently had her ass kicked. Judging by the swelling on the dorsal aspect of Ellen Degeneres’s shoulder, it happened in the last couple of days. It’s not foul yet, so we should be able to get away with a good irrigation and a course of antibiotics.

  Point of fact, cats are not good patients.

  Ellen Degeneres is no exception. David wraps her in a towel and gently holds her head down on the exam table so neither of us gets bitten.

  Another point of fact. A cat bite is serious business. If a cat bites your finger, and you don’t treat it IMMEDIATELY, you can kiss that finger goodbye.

  Ellen Degeneres hisses as I shave the area around her puncture wound.

  Mrs. Hartley, her owner, gasps. “I had no idea it was that bad.”

  “Puncture wounds don’t bleed much,” I say to reassure. “You got her in early. I don’t think she’ll need surgery.”

  “Surgery?!” Mrs. Hartley wails. I don’t look up. Instead, I just try to move quickly. Ellen Degeneres’s hisses have turned into yowls as I irrigate the abscess with sterile saline.

  By the time I give her an injection of Metacam to help with inflammation and prescribe the Clavamox, Ellen Degeneres is growling at me from inside her crate, and David is frowning at me.

  “You okay, Dr. D?”

  The floor beneath my feet rolls. It reminds me of being on the deck of the Eloise II, and I think of my parents.

  Mrs. Hartley, who’s only a little younger than Mom, puts her hands on my cheeks. “Child, you’re burning up with fever.”

  I try to step away from her touch and bump into the exam table. I want to tell her I’m fine, but I’m supposed to be a medical professional. “I’m probably contagious,” I say instead. She drops her hands.

  I lean against the wall. I hear David tell Mrs. Hartley that Hailey can check her out and someone will call tomorrow to follow up on Ellen Degeneres. But honestly, I’m not sure if he really says that or if I think he should say it. They leave.

  David comes back with my purse and keys. Hailey walks in behind him.

  I frown. “Who’s next?”

  “No one’s next,” David says.

  I look at the clock. It’s only four-twenty. We should have three more appointments before we close.

  “Dr. Loftin said to cancel the others and close up,” he explains.

  I blink. “He called?”

  David and Hailey exchange a look that reminds me of the twins. Co-conspirators, I think. Hailey looks back at me.

  “I called Kath. She called Dr. Loftin. He called and told us to cancel.”

  Mutiny. I think I’ve only thought the word, but by the look on both their faces, I might have said it out loud.

  “Can I give you a ride home, Dr. D?” David asks.

  Too many thoughts are coming at me to process. No more appointments? They called Kath? Dr. Loftin closed the clinic without even talking to me? I swallow to stall for time, but it’s like drinking a Molotov cocktail.

  The thought makes me laugh. “Drinking a Molotov cocktail,” I say, giggling.

  And then David is escorting me out the back door of the clinic. I’m arguing—or I think I’m arguing—about how I can drive myself home. I’m a veterinarian, for Christ’s sake, as if this has any relevance.

  It’s just a sore throat.

  I don’t argue long, mostly because I fall asleep before we even reach Ambassador Caffery Parkway. I can’t really help it. Right now, life is just better with my eyes closed.

  When I hear Clarence’s bark, I startle awake. I open my eyes to see him sniffing my vet tech from the open car door. We’re parked in the driveway. It’s nearly dark.

  “Easy, boy,” David says, sliding out of the vehicle and letting my Great Pyrenees sniff his knuckles. Clarence recognizes him from the days he comes with me to the office and licks David’s hand in greeting.

  “Who are you?” Luc’s voice cuts through the dark, and he stalks out of the shadowed garage. I have the urge to call him on that harsh tone of his, but I’m just so tired.

  The driver’s side door closes. Male voices seesaw just outside of the car. And then Mattie is standing in the open passenger door.

  “Millie, what’s wrong?”

  Her worried look sends a shot of adrenaline through my veins. I sit up straight. “Nothing. I’m fine.” But my voice is scratchy, my sinuses congested. “Just a sore throat.”

  “You should be in bed.” She reaches across me and undoes my seatbelt. “C’mon.”

  “But—” I look over at the two men on the other side of my car, each giving the other suspicious stares.

  “Hailey’s on her way,” David says. “One of us can stay—”

  Luc shakes his head. “I’ll stay.”

  What the hell?

  “C’mon.” Mattie tugs me out of the car as another set of headlights swings onto the driveway. I look over to see Hailey’s blue Kia. She must be here to give David a ride back. They didn’t need to go to all that trouble.

  “No one’s staying,” I say in as clear a voice as I can manage. It sounds like a rusty swing set. “I’m fine.”

  Hailey kills the Kia’s engine and pokes her head out the window. “What’s the plan?” she a
sks.

  It’s cold out here. I’m shivering already, and I just want to lie down, but I have to hold it together long enough for all of them to see this fuss is not necessary.

  “The plan is everyone goes home. I go to bed,” I say. “All I need is a good night’s rest.”

  “You sure Dr. D?” David asks.

  “I’m sure. Thanks for the ride, but I’m fine.” I force myself to meet his, Hailey’s, and Luc’s eyes in turn. “I’m home now. It’s all good. The rest of you should go home, too.”

  I turn to walk away. I hope it looks like this is the end of the discussion, but really, I just need to get inside. I need my bed.

  “Goodnight, Doc,” Hailey calls.

  “Feel better, Dr. D,” David says.

  “I have some cleanup to finish,” Luc mutters.

  I manage a goodnight and climb the steps into the kitchen with Mattie and Clarence at my heels.

  “Can I get you something?” she asks, the familiar fretting tone in her voice.

  “Where are the boys?”

  “Upstairs. I was practicing before my lesson when I saw that guy drive up in your car.”

  It’s Tuesday. Mattie has her lesson. The boys are home. Am I forgetting anyone? No. What am I forgetting?

  It’s too hard to think. My head is pounding. I’m thirsty, but my throat is on fire. I need to lie down. The twins and Emmett are home. That’s all that really matters. I head upstairs but Mattie follows me. She fires question after question at me, but I can’t answer just yet.

  I reach my room and see exactly what I need. Bed. Even as I crawl across its welcoming surface, I know there’s something I’m forgetting. Something else I should be doing, but I can’t even.

  Just a few minutes...

  Chapter Seventeen

  LUC

  I lied.

  I told Millie I was staying to clean up. I’m not. I finished that twenty minutes ago. I was just killing time until she got home so I could see her before I left.

  She has worked until five this week. I’m not used to it. I like it better when she comes home at noon. In the last few weeks, I’ve rearranged my routine so that I’m at the other job sites early to be here when she is.

  It’s the best part of my day.

  And now that she’s home, looking like someone who’s escaped the ICU, I don’t want to leave. Not until I know she’s okay.

  I head back inside after Millie’s coworkers are gone and close the door against the night. I hear steps descending the stairs, and I look up to see Mattie.

  “How is she?” I ask.

  Millie’s sister gives me a look of surprise. “I think she’s asleep already. She must be really sick.”

  The urge to go up and look in on her is one I have to check with no small amount of restraint. I’ve never been upstairs. I don’t belong there. But, right now, it’s the only place I want to be.

  I should just go and come back first thing in the morning. The only problem is I can’t seem to make myself leave.

  Mattie heads straight back for the piano where she picks up with her practice. I slink back to the kitchen because that’s my territory. I look around for something to do, but any progress I could make would require the table saw or nail gun, and I don’t want to wake Millie.

  Not to mention, Mattie might kill me if I interrupt her piano time.

  I’m about to park myself on a tool chest and answer emails when I hear footsteps thundering down the stairs. Harry.

  With a great thwack! he lands at the foot of the stairs. “Millie?” he hollers.

  I’m across the house in seconds. “Hey, hey, hey,” I hoarse whisper, almost charging him. Harry steps back, eyes wide.

  “Luc, what the hell—”

  “Millie’s asleep upstairs. She’s sick.”

  He blinks and his brows lower. “Well, did she say when she’d be getting dinner?”

  I suppress a growl. Hanging around Alex has reminded me that fourteen-year-olds are pretty selfish. They don’t really mean it. They aren’t trying to be burros. They just haven’t figured out yet that not everything is about them.

  “No, she didn’t.” I look at my watch. It’s barely five-thirty. “Do you usually eat this early?”

  Harry shrugs. “Around six. I’m starved.”

  I know from the time I’ve spent under this roof, Harry is either eating or hungry at all times. Just like Alex. Another trait of fourteen-year-old boys.

  “Millie looked pretty bad. What do you want for dinner? I can get it for you.”

  His lowered brows leap. “You’d do that?”

  I grin. Harry’s a good kid, even if he is a little self-absorbed. “Yeah. That’s easy.”

  “Aw-right,” he says with a chuckle. “Cane’s. Always.”

  The piano playing stops. Mattie turns on the bench. “We should get Chick-Fil-A,” she says to her brother.

  He scowls. “No. Cane’s. Millie said we could have it tonight because we had Chinese delivery last night.”

  This I remember. Millie looked worn out when she made that call. I had asked her if she was okay, and she’d blown me off. I should have been paying more attention.

  “Sorry, Mattie. Sounds like it’s Cane’s,” I tell her. Then I turn to her brother. “What do y’all usually get?”

  He points to himself. “I get the Caniac Combo. Emmett gets the Three Finger Combo, and Mattie gets the Sandwich Combo.”

  I look at Mattie to confirm this. She pulls a face but nods.

  “What about Millie?”

  “She doesn’t like Cane’s. She usually gets something else,” Mattie explains.

  “Like what?”

  Mattie’s face goes blank. I turn to Harry.

  “Well, don’t look at me,” he mutters.

  I roll my eyes. “What about drinks?”

  “Cokes. All three of us,” Harry says with confidence.

  I look back to Mattie to confirm. She bites her bottom lip. It’s such a Millie gesture I almost grin.

  “What?”

  Her gaze shifts to her twin brother and she winces. “Millie usually makes us get waters.”

  “Then water it is,” I say, starting to get a better idea of just how hard it is to be Millie Delacroix. Shit, it’s got to be like walking a tightrope with these three. Give in on the fast food chicken. Hold the line on the sodas. Put up with their disagreements. Put what she wants aside.

  Harry gives Mattie an ugly glare before turning to me. “Look, Luc, you can get us soft drinks this once. Millie’s sick. She won’t care,” he argues. Admirably, I might add.

  “Nice try, Harry.” I glance at my watch again. Mrs. Chen will be here any second for Mattie’s lesson. I jog to the front door and open it. Her white minivan is pulling into the driveway.

  Damn, I’m good.

  Now she won’t ring the doorbell, Clarence won’t bark, and Millie can keep sleeping.

  I go through a checklist in my head of what I’ve seen Millie doing each night before I leave. I turn back to the twins.

  “Harry, go upstairs and quietly tell Emmett he needs to quietly take a bath, and then you quietly feed Clarence.” Harry opens his mouth, presumably to argue, but I adopt the tone I take with my workers. No nonsense AF. “No one is to wake up Millie. Are we clear?”

  Harry ducks his head. “Yes, sir.”

  Behind him at the piano, Mattie, eyes wide, just nods really fast.

  While I wait in the drive-thru line at Raisin’ Cane’s Chicken Fingers, I open the Waitr app on my phone and place an order for me and Millie at La Pagua. It may not be what she usually gets, but a dinner of deep-fried chicken strips, crinkle-cut fries, coleslaw and Texas toast is not what she’s going to want, and I don’t blame her.

  I mean, it smells great, but it’s the kind of meal that would have Gym top my Daily Three for a whole week.

  And if I’m being honest with myself, I haven’t been attending to my priorities the way I should the last few days. After Saturday’s soccer game, I told my
self I’d go out with Cesar, flirt with some girls at Red’s, open up to the possibility of finding someone to take Millie off my mind.

  It’s what I should be doing. But hell if I want to.

  Sure, I’d go to Legend’s with Cesar to drink a few beers and watch a Saints game, but the thought of clubbing, of checking out someone who isn’t Millie just holds no interest for me.

  By the time I get back to the Delacroix’s, Mattie’s piano lesson is wrapping up, and all three kids—even Mattie—descend on the fast food like vultures. They don’t seem too surprised when I tell them to eat at the table, so my guess is this is a family rule that Millie enforces.

  Ten minutes later, Waitr arrives, and I come back from the front door to find all three of Millie’s siblings piled on the sectional in front of Gortimer Gibbons. The table is still littered with gaping Styrofoam containers, plastic tubs of dipping sauce, chicken finger crumbs.

  That’s not gonna fly.

  “Hey.” The edge in my voice makes all three look up. My hands are full of takeout bags, so I point to the table with my chin. “Is that how you leave a table?”

  They twist around and take in the table behind them. Mattie gets up first, but her brothers are quick to follow.

  It shouldn’t piss me off, but it does. Because if they leave shit like that all the time, then there’s just one person in this house picking up everything. I remember my first day here. The mess in the kitchen. Is it like that every meal? Every day.

  “Hey guys,” I say, keeping my voice as level as possible, but I’ll admit, it still might be a little scary. “From now on, you clear your place. Don’t leave it for your sister to do. That’s not cool.”

  All three of them nod.

  “You’re right,” Harry says.

  “Yeah,” Mattie says.

  “We’ll be better, Luc,” Emmett says, looking up at me like a stray puppy. “We promise.”

  I snort a laugh. Maybe they’re just blowing smoke, but it works. “I’m going to check on Millie.” I turn and head for the stairs.