Brittany gave an adorable little huff of happiness and closed her eyes.
Felicity’s hands were still hovering in the air as if she were about to play the piano when Cooper returned.
Cooper glanced at her, then the dog, then back to Felicity again. “That’ll teach you to feed her. You’re stuck with her now. Brit’s anyone’s for a bit of ham.”
She’d seen that? “Well, I wasn’t going to eat it all,” Felicity muttered. “Seemed wasteful to throw it away. Now I’m stuck with a canine parasite.”
“Seems like it.” Cooper’s gaze was speculative. “You know, you don’t have to keep her on your lap if you don’t want her there. Just give her a push, and she’ll go back to her seat.”
“Right.” Felicity did as instructed, and Brittany, remarkably, squeezed into the back. And once again, the dog lay her muzzle on Felicity’s shoulder.
She sighed inwardly. “Must you?” she muttered to the animal.
“Apparently you’re the chosen one now.”
“Just my luck,” Felicity said under her breath.
Cooper eyed her speculatively. But all she said was, “All right, let’s get going.” She suddenly laughed as she started the engine. “My God, your face when you realized where my hand was about to go. Priceless.”
“Yes, well, for some reason I’m not immune to the sight of someone shoving their hand up a dog’s backside.”
“I suppose. If it makes you feel better, it’s the job vets hate second worst of all.”
Felicity paused. “If that’s only second worst, what’s the worst job?”
“Don’t ask that, Felicity.” Cooper’s expression was grim. She thumped her foot on the gas pedal.
* * *
The rest of their time together blurred as Felicity silently observed Cooper interacting with the homeless and their pets. She was confident, calm, and comforting, even when, as happened at least once, she got cursed at by clients who weren’t in the best of states.
Felicity had a renewed respect for her, and she couldn’t get what had been left unsaid out of her mind. Sometimes, some awful times, Cooper had to put animals down. That would be the worst thing for a vet.
Felicity doubted very much she could do that, ever. She could understand the necessity, but she was too weak herself. Just as well she didn’t own a pet, then. She’d be useless at being strong when they needed her most. Why did they have to be so tempting, though? She’d probably only be able to hold out a week more, maybe two, before she completely fell for Loki, the cutest little tree defiler.
Felicity forced that disturbing thought from her head and raised something that had been bothering her.
“Can I ask you something?” Felicity began. “About Norma, the first client we saw today. She’s homeless, yet she also has an iPhone. How can she be begging for money when she has a fancy phone? Is she scamming people?”
Cooper sighed. “I hate that question. Can I ask you something? If that phone was given to her by a loved one to keep in touch because they’re worried about her, is that okay with you?”
“I—” Felicity frowned. “Yes?”
“If she got it from her last employer and was then made redundant but allowed to keep it, is that okay with you?”
“Yes, of course.”
“So why don’t you just assume that’s what happened and move on?”
“Is it?”
“Why does it matter to you?”
It just did. Felicity wasn’t sure why.
“You’re focused on it maybe because you think homeless people shouldn’t have anything nice or it means they’re scamming people. She should sell her phone for food or accommodation if she’s so hard up, right? Why is a phone seen as an essential to everyone except the homeless? A phone lets her talk to family for her own mental health and well-being, and it can help her get a job. This is her most precious possession, and yet so many people think she doesn’t deserve it. Worse, some people think the poor should be punished for being in their situation, and owning nothing good ever is part of that view.”
“I didn’t say that. I don’t want anyone punished for being in a bad situation.”
“But they don’t deserve a phone, same as everyone else? You know what society’s dirtiest secret is? How close we all are to being Norma or Carl.”
“I’d never let myself get into that situation.” Never. The thought turned her stomach.
“You think Norma and Carl didn’t think that once, too? Most homeless are homeless because they’ve experienced major trauma in their lives.” Sadness crossed Cooper’s face. “That can include unemployment, mental or physical health crises, addiction, disability, losing their home, being a victim of violence, and family breakdown.” She ticked the items off rapidly as though she had reeled the list off far too many times to far too many ignorant people. “Can you stop trauma happening to you? Are you that impressive?”
“You think I’m impressive?” Felicity asked, surprised.
Cooper rolled her eyes. “Talk about missing the point.”
Felicity bit her lip. Oh, she got the point. She just didn’t see it as relevant. She’d find a way out, if it was her.
I’d never let that be me.
Besides, Cooper was wrong. The people she’d seen today weren’t like her at all. They were mainly older, a few teens, often minorities, many veterans, a lot with disabilities, and basically not her in any way, shape, or form.
The thought was a profound relief.
“Last stop for the day,” Cooper announced, breaking into her thoughts. “A head’s up. This client, Kristie, is a bit…prickly. Try not to bite back, hmm?”
