The Wonder of Lost Causes by Nick Trout

Author:Nick Trout
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2019-03-14T16:00:00+00:00

35

Jasper

DEBBIE, MY NURSE, comes racing into the room.

“You okay? Your heart monitor went crazy.”

I’m still not able to speak.

“It’s fine,” says Mom, turning her face away from me because she knows I know she’s wiping away a tear. “He just got a little excited.”

Best I can do is nod and grin.

Brilliant.

36

Kate

I WILL MY mind to wallow and bask in it, to permanently ink the image of my son flashing the biggest smile of his life. I’m not thinking straight and it feels amazing and totally worth it and a big fat tear gets away from me and I can’t help but laugh because inside my head I’m screaming at the top of my lungs, In your face, CF.

I hate the word epiphany. Being the victim of a Road to Damascus experience suggests everything that went before was wrong, fatally flawed, and misguided. Sure, I’m vulnerable, the way this place gets to me, but the truth is something has been stirring for a while. Does it coincide with the arrival of this dog? I’m reluctant to give him that much credit, but maybe. He turns up and now a part of me feels like I’m the one wandering through life, that I’m the real stray. No question, Whistler has disturbed the sediment of our lives. The bigger question is, why risk his influence on my son?

I rarely tell people what I do for a living. It’s a green light to be tyrannized about the merits of vaccines, raw diets, and how best to treat niggling skin disorders. Yet occasionally friends with pets will ask end-of-life questions—how far should I go, what would you do if this were your dog? I give them variations on the same answer every time—your choice should allow you to look back, beyond the end, and see the vast real estate of happier times. Perhaps this policy shift with regard to Whistler means I’m finally listening to myself. Maybe this stranger in the kitchen—can’t believe I never got her name—unnerved me. Or maybe Cassie, that nurse in the garden, scared me into making a commitment. Whatever the reason, the universe appears determined to put this dog and this boy together. Who am I to interfere?

“I’ll call work, right now.” I pick up my phone and the disproportionate thrill revamping Jasper’s face nails down the lid of my coffin a little tighter. “Hi, it’s Dr. Blunt, who’s this?”

“Stacy,” says a meek voice.

“Oh, hi, Stacy,” I say, having no idea who this can be, probably some high school volunteer. “Is Burt around?” Easier to deal with Burt than Martha. “I need to talk to him about Whistler.”

“Who?”

“Big black dog, lots of scars.”

Jasper hangs on my every word, done with the distraction of Nickelodeon.

“I know the one. Hang on.”

Minutes pass, and then too many minutes, and what starts out as frustration quickly escalates into uncomfortable apprehension.

“Something’s not right,” says Stacy, sounding as though she might be about to burst into tears. “Burt’s been walking the dogs and . . . like .

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