Six Months Ago
Flossie, one of the receptionists at Dr. Wexford’s clinic, was at her desk, hoof paused over the phone, a distressed look on her face. Her discomfiture was so apparent that Thomas, passing through, stopped and asked what was wrong.
“That event planner Gwen keeps calling for Dr. Wexford–he refuses to talk to her, and she won’t give up!” Flossie’s pitch steadily increased as she explained her dilemma.
Thomas sighed. Everyone seemed to be wrapped up in plans centered around next week’s reception at the university in honor of Dr. Wexford, who was receiving the prestigious Bannister Award. Dr. Wexford wanted a hoof in every last detail to make sure his preferences were catered to, which led to friction between the event staff and Wexford’s office.
“I’ll talk to her,” Thomas offered. He had worked with Gwen frequently through the years on conference-related matters, as her office frequently contracted for university events.
“Would you? That would be wonderful,” Flossie gushed. “She’s on line five.” She promptly turned her attention to something else on her desk.
Thomas continued down the hall and into his office, setting the phone on speaker mode so that he had two hooves to flip through the pile of mail on his desk. A supply catalog and internet services were the offerings today. Plus another ad from some foundation that was always hounding him with career opportunities…
“Dr. Fairfax, hi,” Gwen said after he answered, irritation evident in her voice. “I was trying to reach Dr. Wexford.”
“He’s not available,” Thomas said patiently. “Can I help?”
“If he won’t talk to me… fine.” Gwen sighed deeply. “I was just informed by the caterer that Dr. Wexford attempted to change the dessert order. He cannot do that! For Preuben chocolate cake, of all things!” she spat with distaste.
“Um… okay,” Thomas said. That didn’t sound terribly critical, hardly something to warrant such drama. “Whatever you think is best. I’m sure it’s fine.”
“It will be the lemon crème cake!” Gwen huffed. “If you could let Dr. Wexford know that he is NOT authorized to change any of our orders, I would appreciate it.”
“Of course. I understand,” Thomas said, wondering why this was even a topic that Wexford was involved in.
“Thanks, Dr. Fairfax. I wish everyone was as reasonable as you!” said Gwen before ending the call.
Hanging up, Thomas realized there was someone else in the room who had slipped in over the course of the conversation. It was his little sister, Elaine, herself an aspiring veterinarian.
“Oh, so I understand that you’re entrusted with the real life-and-death situations these days,” the white unicorn with blue hair said archly.
“Something like that,” Thomas said, embarrassed at being caught discussing such frivolous details. “It’s just this crazy reception; Wexford is micro-managing every detail… but what are you doing here?” He had an uneasy feeling that he had been ignoring her–not intentionally, but there were always other things needing his attention…
“Well, you haven’t been answering any of my messages,” Elaine said pointedly, “so I was just kind of wondering if you were still alive.”
“Oh… I’m sorry,” Thomas said vaguely, absentmindedly running a hoof through his mane. “I meant to reply, but…” He sighed. “Once this event is over, I’ll pay more attention. I promise.”
“Sounds like you need a vacation,” Elaine observed.
“Maybe next year, but for now… this summer is the conference in Opalton, and after that is the MVA Annual Meeting, and Steuben says…”
“No, you wouldn’t want to miss out on any of his reflected glory,” Elaine scoffed. “You know he only goes to those things to be seen at the exclusive dinner meetings he gets invited to.”
“It’s not like that,” Thomas defended his mentor. “It’s necessary for… building a network of connections… and… you know,” he finished lamely.
Elaine dismissed that with a roll of her eyes. “I never would have thought you’d turn out like this.”
Thomas frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Look at yourself! You’re an errand pony for that sleaze, Wexford,” Elaine said harshly.
“I don’t know what you have against him,” Thomas said in exasperation.
“You know he’s always hitting on mares,” Elaine declared, “and we can only guess what he gets up to in private.”
“Elaine!” Thomas was shocked that his sister could make such inferences. “He knows how to make conversation; that’s no crime,” he said briskly. “As for the rest, that is unfounded speculation.”
“Someday you’ll wake up and see…” Elaine trailed off.
“You’re still coming to the reception, right?” Thomas said, hoping to change the flow of conversation (though every topic in mind still seemed to lead back to Wexford). Elaine had been invited by virtue of being junior board representative for the award’s sponsor, the Mestruna Veterinary Association.
“I might. I doubt you’ll notice one way or the other,” Elaine said, looking at him through narrowed eyes. “Anyway, I need to go and see Dulcia. Speaking of which… you’d better not be working your wiles on her.” She gave her brother a piercing look. “She’s my friend, and I don’t want to deal with the inevitable fallout.”
“We work well together,” was all Thomas would admit to at the moment.
“Hmm,” Elaine said, looking skeptical. “Well, I’ll see you around, I guess.” She turned on her heel and left.
Thomas sighed. In what felt like another life, he and his sister had been close. Had it really been that long ago? He would make it up to her. But for now, he had to focus on this darn reception that was turning everything topsy-turvy.
He had put the dessert conversation firmly out of mind.
* * *
The day of the reception, Thomas was still considering his options in regard to what date to bring. He didn’t plan too far in advance for an event like this; the largely female staff of receptionists, secretaries, and technicians provided a ready pool of candidates. It was easiest to wait until the last minute and see who was available (and maybe it was vanity on his part, but it seemed the majority would make themselves available if given the opportunity to attend an event with the popular Dr. Fairfax).
Maybe Flossie would like to attend, Thomas considered. It would give her a chance to relax and enjoy the event after all the calls she had fielded. Actually– Thomas paused, frowning. Had he already talked to one of the girls about this the other day? He didn’t remember exactly who it had been, but he promptly dismissed the fear. Even if it had been discussed, he was certain that there were no concrete plans in place.
Thomas was about to leave his office when a pink mare with spring green hair slipped in, discreetly closing the door behind her. It shut with a poignant click.
“Here are the test results you asked for,” Dulcia said, her voice sultry. While she did have some papers in hoof, instead of delivering them, she wrapped her forelegs around his neck and drew him in for a kiss. The test results fluttered to the floor, forgotten.
Dulcia had a way with words like that.
The mare drew back. “Ready for the big night?” she asked, her eyes impossibly big and blue.
It must have been Dulcia he was thinking of. That made sense. “Yes,” Thomas said briskly, putting distance between them. This was pleasant, but he did have a schedule to keep. “Can you be ready to leave here at 6:30?”
If the abrupt change to business had jarred her, Dulcia didn’t give any indication. “Of course,” she simpered. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“Good, good,” Thomas murmured absentmindedly, retrieving the test results and brushing past Dulcia into the hallway.
* * *
“All set?” Thomas asked, greeting Dulcia with a brief kiss when they met at the back door at the appointed time.
Dulcia beamed. “Yes, let’s go!” But as they made their way out of the door, they ran into Larkspur, another technician.
“Thomas! Dulcia!” the golden yellow mare exclaimed, taken aback.
“Larkspur? What are you doing here?” Dulcia asked, edging closer to Thomas.
“I’m here,” Larkspur said stiffly with a glance at Thomas, “because Dr. Fairfax invited me to the reception tonight.”
“You’re mistaken. He asked me,” Dulcia said coolly, holding her date’s foreleg tightly.
Larkspur pinned Thomas with a sharp look. “What did you go and do that for?” she demanded. “You asked me yesterday.”
“Oh… did I?” Thomas asked uneasily. “I thought that was more of an… idea,” was the best explanation he could fabricate. “If nothing else came up.”
“Nothing else, like Dulcia?” Larkspur snapped.
“He obviously didn’t want to go with you, or he would have remembered,” Dulcia said snidely.
“What about you? You just attach yourself like a leech at the last minute,” spat Larkspur.
“As if he’d choose to go with a skank like you!” Dulcia scoffed.
“Look who’s talking, Miss ‘oh excuse me while I go put on another layer of mascara’!” Larkspur shot back.
“Ladies, please!” Thomas interjected.
“Stay out of this!” they responded in unison, glaring at each other.
“Well, I don’t care to go with you anyway, Dr. Fairfax,” Larkspur stated, turning to Thomas and ending the stalemate. “Playing the field is one thing, but you are on a whole different level. So you two have a good time, but watch out, Dulcia,” she warned, “he just might forget you and go off with another mare before the night is through.” Larkspur turned and stalked off into the street.
“What an unpleasant filly!” Dulcia sniffed. “I never did like her.” (From Thomas’ observations, the two mares were nearly inseparable whenever their shifts overlapped.)
“I’m sorry about that,” Thomas apologized, not sure what else to say.
“I’m sure she misunderstood the whole thing,” Dulcia said, willing to overlook the incident. “Shall we go?”
“Of course,” said Thomas.
* * *
The reception was being held at the Student Center on the grounds of New Pony University. The modern glass-walled building overlooked the campus pond, a native wetland habitat of extreme biodiversity that the school was inordinately proud of. Thomas and Dulcia entered the building and stopped at a check-in table inside the door.
“Ah, Dr. Fairfax.” It was Gwen, a peachy-orange mare with curling red hair. She handed him a lanyard with an attached name tag. “And… I’m sorry, your name is…?” She eyed Dulcia.
“Dulcia,” the mare supplied.
“I’m afraid I didn’t know you would be here, Dulcia, or I would have had a badge prepared,” said Gwen with a sharp look at Thomas. “That information is supposed to be supplied on the returned RSVP form.”
“An oversight,” Thomas apologized.
“Indeed,” Gwen begrudgingly agreed, hastily scrawling Dulcia’s name on a blank tag.
Waiters were bustling about setting up drink and hors d’oeuvres stations around the periphery of the atrium, where pre-banquet socializing would occur. A vague memory surfaced in Thomas’ mind, something to do with the food at tonight’s event that he had been responsible for, but he ultimately disregarded it as being unimportant. So, with Dulcia draped on his side, he made small talk with the other guests who were trickling in for pre-event cocktails.
“This is a bit dull, don’t you think?” Dulcia said as they walked away from a retired professor and his wife. “And we have time to kill.”
Thomas looked at her inquiringly. “What do you suggest?”
Laughing, she grabbed his hoof and pulled him down a side hallway. “There’s a hidden alcove down here. We can have some time alone.”
“Subtlety is not your strong suit,” Thomas said, amused. She was incorrigible.
Dulcia led him into a recess under the stairs and settled into his embrace. “The other girls warned me about you, you know.” She faced him and twirled a tendril of his mane.
“How so?” Thomas asked warily. He wasn’t accustomed to much conversation in situations like this.
“That you’re charming but noncommittal,” Dulcia stated, “browsing the selection like a butterfly among the flowers.”
“That’s unnecessarily poetic,” he protested, laughing nervously.
“Back when we were foals, you hardly had time for fillies… for me, at least,” she pouted. “What do you think of me, really?”
“You’re very talented,” Thomas said. The chat was getting far deeper than he was comfortable with. “Your technique of administering injections is unparalleled.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Dulcia said, caressing his face. “I know that, growing up, you only saw me as your kid sister’s playmate, but those days are behind us. What do you think of me, as a mare?”
“You’re lovely, you’re fun to be around, you… “ Thomas was grasping desperately at more virtues to placate her with.
“Do you care for me?” Dulcia asked point-blank.
“I mean… we’re friends, of course,” Thomas said stiffly, wanting to be anywhere but here.
“Do you prefer me to the other girls?” she demanded.
“Look, Dulcia, maybe this isn’t the best time to talk about this,” Thomas protested, extricating himself from her grasp.
“You don’t like to commit to one girl, I know.” Dulcia sighed, reaching out to recapture him but dropping her foreleg as if she had thought better of it. “But we get on well together, don’t we? What if–what if–”
“What?” Thomas asked, impatient to bring this to an end.
“I want to be your steady girlfriend!” Dulcia said in a rush.
Thomas shook his head. “I don’t think–”
“We could try it, for a month,” Dulcia spoke quickly over him. “If it’s not working, we’ll end things; I won’t make a fuss. But give me a chance! We could be happy together!”
“Listen, Dulcia…” Thomas searchd for the words. “You’re a wonderful mare, but…”
Getting her nerve back, Dulcia closed the distance between them, and kissed him. “Does that mean anything, anything at all?” she asked, drawing back.
“Yes, I like, uh, spending time with you, but…” Thomas couldn’t give her the answer she wanted. Wexford had told him to be on guard for this sort of theatrics–don’t let them get the upper hoof, he always said. Hold your ground. Keep your freedom. And Thomas really didn’t want to take the time to test an exclusive relationship.
“But I’m no better or worse than the others, is that it?” Dulcia said bitterly, turning away. “You’ll kiss me, but I might just as well be Larkspur or Flossie or–or–” Her voice cracked and she couldn’t continue.
“Maybe we should get back,” Thomas said, awkwardly ending the exchange. “It’s almost time for the ceremony to start.” Dulcia was uncharacteristically silent, but walked with him back to the gathering without complaint.
Wexford was fielding congratulations from a crowd of well-wishers; but, catching sight of Thomas, he disengaged from the group. He kept one mare close to his side as he ambled over to his employee.
“There you are, Thomas!” Wexford’s voice boomed out. “Quite the event, eh?” He lowered his voice. “I’d like you to meet one of my past interns, Dr. Cheryl Vandercorn,” he introduced the unicorn mare, who was burgundy with plum hair. “Very clever, went into research at Easton-Scott.”
“Very kind of you to say, Steuben,” Cheryl said, smiling prettily. Wexford always seemed to be on first-name basis with the mares.
“Dr. Fairfax here is a standout talent, much like yourself, my dear,” Wexford continued. “He’s my second-in-command at the clinic.”
“Ah-HEM!” said Dulcia, reminding them that she was there, too.
“Er, and this is, uh, Diane, one of my secretaries,” said Wexford, clearly disinterested.
“My name’s Dulcia,” said the mare, a petulant look on her face, “and I’m actually a veterinary technician.”
“How nice,” said Cheryl, but was clearly more interested in the stallion at Dulcia’s side. “Dr. Fairfax, you have quite the elite position with Steuben.”
“Yes, he’s been a great mentor,” Thomas said, but was far more interested in her story. “Easton-Scott, they’re doing some breakthrough work on bioengineered cephalopods,” he noted.
“Yes, that’s my project,” Cheryl said, smiling smugly. “We’re isolating some promising new enzymes with implications for both health and defense technology.”
“Really?” Thomas was impressed. “Are you still focusing on RNA editing to create more diverse protein arrays?”
“Indeed!” Cheryl beamed. “I can’t share all the details, you understand. But it is exciting!”
Wexford chuckled. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe the event planner is looking for me,” he said, bowing out of the conversation. “I think you young ponies have this under control.”
“The ceremony is starting soon. We should really take our seats,” Dulcia hinted, tugging at Thomas’ foreleg.
“Of course, you’re right,” Cheryl said, something akin to a smirk on her face as she eyed Thomas’ date.
“Will you sit with us, Dr. Vandercorn?” Thomas quickly invited.
“Oh, call me Cheryl, please. And I’d love to,” she said with a warm smile.
Dulcia scowled.
They took their seats at the banquet table, Thomas between the two mares, and before long the conversation ground to a halt as everyone turned their attention to the stage at the head of the room. The ceremony that followed was exactly as dull as anticipated. The chancellor gave his introduction, complete with a projected slideshow that detailed Dr. Wexford’s contributions to the field. Wexford then strolled onto stage and accepted his plaque as a matter of course. “I’m very pleased to accept this,” he stated with pride. “It’s gratifying to have one’s accomplishments recognized.” He had some other words in that vein to share, there was a closing round of applause, and then everyone turned their attention to dinner.
* * *
Cheryl was intelligent, witty, and beautiful to top it all off. She seemed very nearly perfect, and Thomas had very nearly forgotten that he had obligations to anyone else at the banquet.
“…but when we checked the security camera, it turned out our culprit was one of the octopi, leaving the aquarium and propelling himself down the hallway to hurl rotten oysters at my desk!” Cheryl was explaining. “Isn’t that amusing?”
“Hilarious,” said Thomas. He might have described it as closer to alarming, but what did he know? Thomas noticed his sister across the table, looking back and forth between him and Dulcia and frowning. He quickly averted his gaze.
As dessert was brought out, there was an outburst at the head of the table.
“There must be some mistake,” Dr. Wexford said, frowning down at his plate. “This is supposed to be Preuben chocolate cake.” His voice was loud and carried through the room. “What is this lemon nonsense?”
Thomas cringed. The memory of Gwen’s call came flooding back into mind. That was what he had forgotten. In his defense, it hadn’t sounded that important. He should probably say something, but felt rooted in place. Cheryl looked at him questioningly, noting his discomfiture.
“Oh my gosh, why does he always have to be such a blowhard!” Dulcia said, mostly under her breath. She was clearly out-of-sorts with Wexford for introducing her incorrectly.
“I’m very sorry, but this is what was ordered by Westcliffe Events,” the waiter was heard to say.
“Yes, THOSE ponies,” Wexford said, pounding his hoof on the table. “I will be having words with them. Gwen!” He flagged down the offending pony, who was standing near the doorway, consulting with a blue unicorn. Thomas felt a pang of guilt for putting Gwen in this position; but to be honest, he was more concerned about the dressing-down he would receive when his part was revealed. Wexford lowered his voice for his conversation with Gwen, but it was clear from facial expressions and body language that neither of them was happy. At the end, Gwen stalked off.
“That pony had the effrontery to blame you!” Steuben said, approaching Thomas afterwards. “You would never condone such a travesty.”
“No, of course not,” Thomas quickly agreed. What luck! He had gotten an easy way out. Wexford didn’t believe Gwen. Who was really hurt by allowing this version of the truth to persist? Gwen had already been talked to. Dr. Wexford had a short attention span and would soon forget about the dessert. There was really no sense in complicating this further by revealing Thomas’ involvement, which had been very little, really.
That’s what Thomas told himself, because it was easy, because it was the kind of little white lie that he had observed Dr. Wexford himself resort to countless times to save face.
“Lemon cake, indeed!” Wexford scoffed, not giving up on this pet topic of his. “You know how I feel about lemon… and chocolate.”
“I thought the lemon was nice,” Dulcia said peevishly.
“Yes, well, your judgment is lacking,” Dr. Wexford said, matter-of-factly and without animosity.
“Chocolate is a much more mature flavor,” Cheryl agreed with Wexford, casting a sidelong glance at Dulcia.
The pink mare rolled her eyes. “Excuse us a moment,” she snapped, pulling Thomas away behind a large potted plant.
“Dulcia!” Thomas protested, scandalized. “That was rude.”
“What are you doing? I’m your date! You’re playing me for a fool!” Dulcia seethed.
“We’re friends, Dulcia!” Thomas hissed. “I’m sorry I can’t offer you what you want, but that’s how it is.”
“You’ve been leading me on all this time!” she challenged.
“Leading you on! You’ve been chasing me!” he argued.
“Well, you certainly haven’t complained!” Dulcia huffed.
That was true. Thomas felt uncomfortable. “Listen, maybe I should just take you home–”
“Don’t bother–I’ll find my own way back.” With a final haughty look, Dulcia stalked off in high dudgeon.
Elaine had been heading in their direction when the tiff had occurred, and cast an exasperated look at her brother, changing course and going after her friend. Thomas was sure he was going to hear more about this later, but at the moment wasn’t concerned.
“Everything okay?” Cheryl asked when Thomas returned to her side.
“Oh–yeah, it’s fine. I’m sorry. She was just–well, she’s a little dramatic,” Thomas explained it away. “She’s fine.”
“I was going to ask if you wanted to go out for a drink,” Cheryl said coyly, “but maybe you have other things on your mind–”
“I’d love to,” he said with alacrity.
* * *
“My paper on morphological predation adaptations of Cirroteuthis muelleri is being published next month in Journal of Animal Science, and I’m corresponding author on another about DNA polymerase action in relation to cytokines in Histioteuthis cerasina that’s just been accepted by Ponyland Scientific,” Cheryl rattled off. She had introduced Thomas to her favorite pub a few blocks away, and they were having a great time. Thomas gestured to the bartender for another round of drinks.
“That’s very impressive,” Thomas said, honestly awed by the caliber of her work. Those were the top journals that every scientist vied to be featured in. “You’re a credit to your institution.”
“Yes, well, I do what I can,” she said nonchalantly. “I’m sorry that I can’t tell you more about my current project. Confidentiality agreements and all that.”
Thomas’ phone had been ringing on and off over the past half hour, but he had been trying to ignore it. Finally the nagging feeling was too much, and he looked at the screen. There were three missed calls from Elaine. She was just going to rail against him. But–if something really was wrong–
“What is it?” Thomas asked sharply upon answering.
“It’s Dulcia!” Elaine sounded hysterical. “She–she–” He heard her gulping down air, and she couldn’t continue.
“Calm down!” Thomas hissed, shrugging helplessly at Cheryl. “What happened?”
“She’s in the hospital!” Elaine cried out.
“What?” Thomas asked, dumbstruck. “What… happened?”
“Tryptophan–just to take the edge off,” Elaine sobbed. “I told her that was enough, but–she passed out–”
A chill ran down Thomas’ spine. He had no idea Dulcia (or Elaine, for that matter) had any connection with that illicit substance. “Okay, just–just stay calm,” he said, distressed. “Where are you? I’ll meet you.” He hung up and shook his head at Cheryl. “I’m afraid I have to go,” he said. “My sister’s friend was in an… accident.” He neglected to mention that it was also his date from earlier that evening.
“Oh, no!” Cheryl was appropriately dismayed. “Do you want me to go with you?”
“No, that’s fine. I think it’s better if I go alone,” Thomas said quietly.
“Of course, of course,” Cheryl murmured. “Listen, call me.” She hastily scrawled numbers on a napkin. “We can have dinner sometime.” With an encouraging smile, she sent him on his way.
* * *
“This is your fault!” Elaine nearly shouted as Thomas entered the hospital waiting room. “If you hadn’t been so self-absorbed–!” She choked-up. “You take what you want, and don’t care what you leave in your wake!” Her tone lowered when she realized the desk clerks were eyeing her cautiously.
“Elaine, what were you doing, messing with tryptophan?” Thomas demanded, taking her by the shoulders.
“It was Dulcia’s idea! I never touched it!” Elaine insisted. “She only did this because you ditched her at the party!” She sat down and crossed her forelegs, glaring at him.
“I–I didn’t know she would do this,” Thomas faltered. “You can’t blame me.”
“You ignored her the whole time and then sent her away!” Elaine was livid. “What would Mom think if she were here!”
Thomas winced. That was hitting low. “I offered to take her home,” he argued. “She refused.”
“Well, you should have tried harder!” Elaine snapped.
“How is she?” Thomas asked, taking a deep breath and setting aside pettiness.
“Still unconscious, but with the amount she took… they don’t know. They’ve administered activated charcoal to flush out the toxins. You’re such a jerk!” Elaine finished eloquently.
“Look, I’m here because you called me. Don’t bite my head off now,” Thomas maintained.
It was a long night waiting for news. Dulcia had family in the city, but they couldn’t be reached, so Elaine would not think of leaving her friend’s side. But once Dulcia’s condition had stabilized, Thomas convinced Elaine to go home and get some rest. There was nothing more they could do. Elaine followed him, but said hardly a word on the walk to her apartment.
Despite Thomas’ admonitions to his sister, he couldn’t sleep when he got home himself, with too many tangled thoughts running through his head. He caught barely enough troubled sleep to function in the morning. The garish light of day didn’t bring any peace; the news from Elaine on Dulcia’s condition was reassuring, but there were still many unknowns about the extent of the damage caused by the overdose. Thomas felt emotionally numb as he made his way to work.
At the clinic, Wexford gave Thomas a hearty greeting. “Well, did you and Cheryl have a pleasant evening?” he asked conversationally.
He must not have heard, Thomas realized. “Dulcia is in the hospital,” he said, looking somber.
“Oh, Clarabelle said there had been an incident with one of the fillies. A shame, but these things do happen,” Wexford said, waving that concern away. “She’ll be fine. She’s young.”
“She nearly died!” Thomas insisted. “Because of me! I hurt her feelings and treated her poorly and–”
“Nonsense.” Wexford was unflappably calm. “I could see that she was stifling you. You did what you had to.”
“Do you even know what condition she’s in?” Thomas snapped. “Do you even care?” Without waiting for an answer, he stormed off, no longer feeling at ease with Wexford’s laissez faire philosophy.
There was no peace to be had at work. All the support staff kept darting Thomas censorious looks. They were loyal to their own, and closed rank against him as rumors of his involvement spread. He felt like he was an object on display as they whispered amongst themselves, but what else did he deserve?
In the coming days, Dulcia’s condition improved, but it would be a long road to recovery. There was some lingering paralysis in her hooves that would require physical therapy, and even then…
Thomas thought Cheryl would be a welcome distraction, and they met for dinner the following week. But Thomas could barely focus on her banter about her research, and he wasn’t at peace until he had explained the identity of the injured friend and the extent of his involvement. Cheryl was a sympathetic listener and advised him not to blame himself. But that didn’t make him feel better.
As they stood outside her door at the end of the evening, Cheryl tried to kiss him, but Thomas turned aside, suddenly hesitant. “I’m sorry,” he laughed nervously. The close connection to Dulcia’s accident had tainted Cheryl by association. “I’m just… not in a place to start something right now.”
Cheryl squeezed his hoof. “I understand,” she said. “Friends?”
“Yeah. Friends,” he agreed.
* * *
In the days that followed, Thomas came to take a critical look at his life, and didn’t like what he saw. He thought back to what had drawn him to being a veterinarian in the first place–a desire to fix things, to save lives. That wasn’t his focus any more. It was public appearance, fame, and instant gratification. Wexford had influenced him far too much.
He needed to get back on track, and that necessitated a change.
A memory sprang unbidden to mind. There was a pretend play game he and his sister had often played called country vet. Neither of them had first-hoof experience with life in the country, but he and Elaine had spent countless hours roaming the family’s apartment and consulting with the stuffed animals and dolls that stood in for farmers, millers, milkmaids, and the like.
One evening, while Thomas was mulling over the memories of simpler times, his glance fell to some pieces of mail thoughtlessly tossed on the table, and the item on top caught his eye. It was a glossy postcard of a pastoral scene–farm buildings, green foliage, and rolling hills. Across the picture read bold text: “The Old Milk House Foundation for Economic Development is offering business grants to professionals like YOU! Be your own boss! You can’t afford NOT to take this opportunity! Call us today!”
It was probably a scam. He had been seeing similar mailings for months, and he had discarded the previous ones without a thought.
But now, Thomas couldn’t get it out of his mind.
The following week, he received a call from an unknown number. It was a female with an unfamiliar accent, who identified herself as Ms. Ravenwood with The Old Milk House Foundation.
“By now you’ll have received our mailings,” she said briskly. “I’d like to discuss the particulars of what a partnership with us could accomplish. For you, for society, for the world.”
And so the negotiations began.
* * *
Elaine had remained chilly toward her brother after Dulcia’s hospitalization, but when Thomas reached out some time later and invited her to lunch, she begrudgingly agreed.
In their younger days, Elaine had maintained a collection of plush cats; and whenever a gift was needed, or an apology extended, it had been a tradition to offer her a new one. Thomas hadn’t given her a new cat in quite some time.
Elaine reluctantly took the orange tabby kitten that he offered, but he could tell she was pleased by the sparkle in her eyes.
“How many dates did you stand up to make it here?” she asked bluntly.
Thomas ignored the dig, and instead launched into explaining the Foundation’s offer to move across the country to the opposite coast and open a clinic in the town of Misty Hollow.
“A country vet, huh?” Elaine looked skeptical. “I thought you’d turned your back on that idea long ago. Can you really walk away from all the fame and glory? Give up being Wexford’s pet?”
“Is that really all I am?” Thomas had realized that himself, but it was still lowering to realize that it was so apparent to others.
“Gosh, yes,” Elaine said. “Everyone knows it. They would hate you if you weren’t so naive. But–you have the potential to be more. To be your own pony.” She looked him earnestly in the eye.
“What if he’s already influenced me too much?” Thomas wondered aloud. “What if I can’t go back?”
“You have integrity,” Elaine said, “even if you’ve forgotten it.”
“Will you come and be my assistant in the country?” he asked cajolingly as they prepared to go their separate ways after the meal.
“Equal partners,” she countered. “Someone’s going to need to keep the saucy milkmaids in line. You never could see through their wiles.”
* * *
Ms. Ravenwood was persuasive. The offer she laid out was almost too good to be true, but ultimately Thomas agreed and papers were signed (electronically, as they never met face-to-face).
Thomas kept all these negotiations secret from his current boss, but eventually had to let Wexford in on his plans.
“What are you talking about? Is this a joke?” Wexford demanded, standing up from behind his desk. “You’d be a fool to carry through on what you’re outlining. Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I could have set you straight.”
“I’ve re-evaluated my life, and I need a change,” Thomas insisted. “And this contract is for three years, not the rest of my life.”
“This is a bad decision,” Wexford warned. “I can’t guarantee that your position will be waiting for you when you wake up and realize this is a mistake.”
“I can live with that,” Thomas said, closing the discussion.
* * *
Thomas was even more sure of his decision when, not long after, an interview with a former intern was published, claiming that Wexford had made inappropriate advances. The media storm that followed did serve to divert Wexford’s attention from Thomas’ imminent departure; the senior doctor had enough of his own troubles to focus on.
Is that the future that would have awaited him as Wexford’s protege, Thomas wondered as office gossip ran rampant regarding witnesses and lawsuits and settlements. It was just as well to be escaping that tempest.
Finally, it was Thomas’ last day of work.
Dr. Wexford stared at him from across his desk. “Well, this is it,” he said bluntly. “You haven’t changed your mind?” He didn’t wait for an answer, but continued, “I still think this is a terrible idea. I hope for your sake I’m wrong, but–”
“Are you really one to be counseling anyone on healthy life decisions?” Thomas pointed out.
“It wasn’t so long ago, you know, that you were playing the field yourself, availing yourself of fillies’ charms,” Dr. Wexford said, drawing himself up and regarding Thomas coolly. “And yet you look down your nose at me now? The allegations are false, and it could just as easily be you in this situation.”
Thomas’ blood ran cold. Wexford’s words were all too true. He felt, perhaps irrationally, that distancing himself geographically from his mentor would save him.
“You, too, may find yourself without friends when times get tough,” Wexford said with a wooden laugh. “Goodbye, Dr. Fairfax.”
Then Thomas was free.
Author’s notes: This is a bit of a longer episode than most. Thank you for reading! * Tryptophan is a real biochemical, but has some different physiological effects on equines (which is entirely fantasy). We’ll learn more about that later. * Dulcia was supposed to be an annoying one-off character, but alpha readers unexpectedly responded well to her, so we’ll see her again in the future. I have plans for her. * The Kingdom of Preubia is introduced in this chapter under the guise of Preuben chocolate cake (a confection that likely bears little resemblance to any native dishes of Preubia). I based the name on a mis-transcription of “Prussia” found in my genealogical notes. (A novice error, mistaking the ess-tsett for a B!)