Part 3
The treatment team moved Scout to the intensive care room while Claire and Ethan watched through two panes of glass.
A technician placed a tube through Scout’s mouth and secured it with white gauze behind his head. The ventilator began with a soft mechanical sigh. Scout’s chest rose, paused, then lowered.
Claire counted six breaths before she understood that none of them belonged to him.
Dr. Ortiz adjusted the settings and watched the monitor. “His oxygen level is improving.”
“Can he hear us?” Claire asked.
“He’s sedated, but hearing may still be present. You can speak to him once we have everything stable.”
“Does the machine hurt?”
“No. The tube would be uncomfortable if he were awake, so we’re keeping him asleep.”
Ethan stood beside Claire with Scout’s collar in his pocket. The brass tag clicked softly against his keys whenever he moved.
A receptionist brought them coffee they did not drink. At four in the morning, the waiting room television showed a home renovation program with the captions turned on. Onscreen, a smiling couple chose between two shades of white paint while Claire watched the ICU door.
She could not stop seeing the tick in the specimen cup.
“I should’ve checked him after the trail,” she said.
Ethan rubbed both hands over his face. “So should I.”
“You told me the flea-and-tick medicine meant he was covered.”
“I said it lowered the risk.”
“You said he was fine.”
“I thought he was.”
Claire turned toward him. “You always think everything is fine until it isn’t.”
The words were larger than Scout and older than the week they had just lived through. Ethan seemed to recognize that, because he did not answer immediately.
“What are we talking about now?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
She looked away.
Ethan sat in the chair opposite her. “You’ve been angry with me since I signed that form.”
“I watched you do it.”
“Because you handed it to me.”
“I handed you a clipboard. I didn’t tell you to agree.”
“You told me not to let him suffocate.”
“That wasn’t permission to give up.”
His expression changed. “You think that’s what I did?”
“I think you looked calmer than I felt.”
“I was trying to hold the room together.”
“Nobody asked you to.”
“You did. Every time you looked at me instead of the doctor, you asked me to.”
Claire opened her mouth, then stopped.
Ethan took Scout’s collar from his pocket and placed it on the chair between them.
“I took him into the hallway because I didn’t want you to see me lose it,” he said. “I sat on the floor with him for ten minutes. I asked him to give me anything—a bark, a bite, one of those ridiculous growls he makes at the vacuum.”
Claire’s anger faltered.
“He couldn’t lift his head,” Ethan continued. “He could barely breathe. When I signed, I wasn’t choosing a life without him. I was choosing not to make him pay for how much I wanted him to stay.”
The automatic doors opened as someone entered with an injured beagle wrapped in a blanket. A technician hurried past them, and the waiting room settled again.
Claire picked up the collar. The leather was warm from Ethan’s pocket.
“I thought you were ready,” she said.
“I wasn’t.”
“I wasn’t either.”
“I know.”
At 5:30, they were allowed into the ICU.
Scout lay on a padded table beneath a warming blanket. Tubes and wires ran from his body to machines on both sides. His shaved neck looked narrow without the thick fur, and the bare patch behind his ear exposed the small red mark where the tick had been.
Claire sat beside him.
“Hey, Scout,” she whispered. “You found the one place nobody checked.”
The ventilator delivered another measured breath.
Ethan rested his hand beside Scout’s paw without touching it. “You always did like hiding things.”
Claire glanced at him.
“The gardening glove,” he said. “Your blue slipper. The remote.”
“He didn’t hide the remote. You left it under the couch.”
“Scout and I agreed not to discuss that.”
For the first time in three days, a laugh escaped her. It ended quickly, but it changed the shape of her breathing.
Dr. Ortiz entered and examined the monitors.
“His blood pressure is stable,” she said. “His oxygen level is much better on the ventilator. The next thing we’re watching for is evidence that his muscles are beginning to respond again.”
“How will you know?” Ethan asked.
“We’ll reduce the sedation periodically. We’ll check reflexes, muscle tone, and whether he initiates breaths between the machine’s cycles.”
Claire looked at Scout’s still body. “What happens if he doesn’t?”
“We keep supporting him as long as his other systems remain stable and there is a reasonable chance of recovery. If his condition changes, we talk again.”
The words were honest enough to frighten her.
Throughout the morning, they took turns sitting beside Scout. Ethan went home once to shower and returned with Claire’s phone charger, two clean shirts, and the sock Scout had stolen from him.
“You brought that?”
“He likes it.”
“It smells terrible.”
“That’s why he likes it.”
The technician placed the sock near Scout’s front paw, beyond the tubing.
At noon, Dr. Ortiz reduced the sedative. Scout’s eyelids fluttered. His pupils tracked the beam of her penlight, and one ear moved when a metal tray struck the counter.
She pressed between his back toes.
Nothing happened.
Claire held her breath.
Dr. Ortiz tried again, using slightly more pressure.
Scout’s toes curled.
“Was that a reflex?” Ethan asked.
“Possibly.”
Scout’s heart rate rose when Claire said his name. Dr. Ortiz watched the monitor, then lowered the ventilator’s mandatory rate.
The machine waited.
For one second, nothing moved.
Then Scout’s chest lifted before the ventilator delivered its next cycle.
Dr. Ortiz leaned closer to the screen.
The machine waited again.
Scout drew another breath on his own…
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