Nora sensed that the stories about Einstein had so completely won the vet Over
that, if he did spot the tattoo and knew what it meant, he might conceivably put
it out of his mind and might let them go in peace once Einstein was recovered.
If Einstein recovered.
But as they were gathering up the dishes, Keene said, “Sam, I’ve been wondering
why your wife calls you ‘Travis.’
They were prepared for this. Since assuming new identities, they had decided
that it was easier and safer for Nora to continue calling him Travis, rather
than trying to use Sam all the time and then, at some crucial moment, slipping
up. They could claim that Travis was a nickname she’d given him, that the origin
was a private joke; with winks at each other and foolish grins, they could imply
there was something sexual about it, something much too embarrassing to explain
further. That was how they handled Keene’s question, but they were in no mood to
wink and grin foolishly with any conviction, so Nora was not sure they carried
it off. In fact she thought their nervous and inept performance might increase
Keene’s suspicions if he had any.
Just before afternoon office hours were to begin, Keene received a call from his
assistant, who’d had a headache when she had gone to lunch, and who now reported
that the headache had been complicated by an upset stomach. The vet was left to
handle his patients alone, so Travis quickly volunteered his and Nora’s
services.
“We’ve got no veterinary training, of course. But we can handle any manual labor
involved.”
“Sure, “Nora agreed, “and between us we’ve got one pretty good brain. We could
do just about anything else you showed us how to do.”
They spent the afternoon restraining recalcitrant cats and dogs and parrots and
all sorts of other animals while Jim Keene treated them. There were bandages to
be laid out, medicines to be retrieved from the cabinets, instruments to be
washed and sterilized, fees to be collected and receipts written. Some pets,
afflicted with vomiting and diarrhea, left messes to be cleaned up, but Travis
and Nora tended to those unpleasantnesses as uncomplainingly and unhesitatingly
as they performed other tasks.
They had two motives, the first of which was that, by assisting Keene, they had
a chance to be in the surgery with Einstein throughout the afternoon. Between
chores, they stole a few moments to pet the retriever, speak a few encouraging
words to him, and reassure themselves that he was getting no worse. The downside
of being around Einstein continuously was that they could see, to their dismay,
that he did not seem to be getting any better, either.
Their other purpose was to further ingratiate themselves with the vet, to give
him a reason to be beholden to them, so he would not reconsider his decision to
allow them to stay the night.
The patient load was far greater than usual, Keene said, and they were not able
to close the office until after six o’clock. Weariness—and the labor they
shared—generated a warm feeling of camaraderie. As they made and ate dinner
together, Jim Keene entertained them with a treasure of amusing animal stories
culled from his experiences, and they were almost as comfortable and friendly as
they would have been if they had known the vet for months instead of less than
one day.
Keene prepared the guest bedroom for them, and provided a few blankets with
which to make a crude bed on the floor of the surgery. Travis and Nora would
sleep in the real bed in shifts, each spending half the night on the floor with
Einstein.
Travis had the first shift, from ten o’clock until three in the morning. Only
one light was left on in the far corner of the surgery, and Travis alternately
sat and stretched out on the piled blankets in the shadows where Einstein lay.
Sometimes, Einstein slept, and the sound of his breathing was more normal, less
frightening. But sometimes he was awake, and his respiration was horribly
labored, and he whimpered in pain and—Travis somehow knew—in fear. When Einstein
was awake, Travis talked to him, reminiscing about experiences they had shared,