“Winston!” I shout, my gaze darting from one corner of the rec room to the other.

At last, when I flick on the fluorescent light in the unfinished section of the basement, I find him under a table by the storage shelves. He’s curled up, sleeping, still wearing the white plastic cone around his neck. Normally, he would be on his feet by now, tail wagging, but tonight, he’s not responding.

I run to him and drop to my knees on the cement floor. He doesn’t open his eyes.

I place my fingers under his nose to check his airways, and I touch his belly. He’s still breathing, but he feels feverish.

“Winston!” I shout.

He opens his eyes at last and blinks a few times, but he still doesn’t lift his head.

“What’s wrong, baby?” I ask in a gentler voice. “You don’t feel so good?”

I roll him gently onto his back to check his incision. There’s redness and swelling around the stitches, which, together with the fever, is a clear sign of infection.

“Shit.” I blame myself for being so distracted over the past twenty-four hours. I should have made sure someone was keeping a closer eye on him today.

Stroking his silky fur, I bend down to kiss his cheek.

I can’t lose this dog.

“I’m going to call the vet,” I tell him. “You stay right here. I’ll be back.”

I rush upstairs to get my cell phone, which has the vet’s number listed in my contacts. Mom and Carla watch me with alarm as I skid past the dinner table.

“Is he okay?” Carla asks.

“His incision is infected.” I pick up my phone and scroll through my list of contacts. “I’m calling the vet right now.”

As soon as I find Dr. Payne’s number, I hit the call button and run back down to the basement.

The receptionist answers. “Oceanview Animal Hospital. Ruby speaking.”

“Hi, Ruby. This is Abbie MacIntyre. Winston’s mom.”

“Oh yes,” she cheerfully replies. “How’s he doing?”

“Not good, actually.” I speak calmly and give her the information she needs. “His incision is infected, and he has a fever.”

“Oh dear,” she replies. “Stay on the line. I’ll connect you with Dr. Payne.”

There’s a click, followed by elevator music. I pace around the chilly basement corridor, chewing my thumbnail while I wait for him to answer.

“Hello, Abbie?”

“Yes. I’m here.”

“What’s going on?”

I kneel next to Winston, sit back on my heels, and pat him. “I went out for a while this afternoon, and I just got home to find Winston asleep and lethargic. He has a fever, and his incision is showing signs of infection.”

“Is he conscious?” Dr. Payne asks.

“Yes, but lethargic. He opened his eyes when I shouted his name, but he barely lifted his head. He’s very weak.”

Before giving Dr. Payne a chance to reply, I begin to ramble. “Please, you have to help me. We can’t lose him, not after everything we’ve been through. Seriously, I need him to be okay.”

“Don’t worry, Abbie. Can you bring him in right now?” Dr. Payne asks.

I quickly consider the logistics. “I’ll have to carry him to the car. My son’s not here, but I’m sure I can get my sister to help me.”

“No, no . . . don’t do that,” Dr. Payne replies. “Just stay put. Don’t move him. I’ll come over.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s no problem. Tell me your address?”

I give it to him, and he promises to be here in ten minutes.

Dr. Payne arrives wearing jeans and a sweatshirt and carrying an old-fashioned-looking black leather doctor’s bag.

I show him downstairs to the basement, and he follows me to where Winston is curled up under the table. Dr. Payne kneels beside him and lays a hand on his belly. “Hey, buddy, how are you doing?”

Winston’s eyes open at the sound of Dr. Payne’s voice, and his nose twitches as he sniffs the air. I hope he’s not frightened.

Dr. Payne pulls a penlight out of his bag and uses it to examine Winston’s incision. He then withdraws a stethoscope and listens to his heart. He presses on his belly to check for pain or swelling.

Dr. Payne looks up at me. “There’s definitely some infection around the incision, and you’re right—he has a fever. I’m going to give him some antibiotics, but I’d like to take him to the clinic for the night, maybe cut a couple of stitches to let the wound drain, do some blood work and an x-ray, and keep an eye on him. Is that okay with you?”

“Of course,” I reply, even though I can’t bear the thought of being separated from him again. “I just don’t want him to be uncomfortable or in pain. Please don’t let him suffer.”

I realize I’m preparing myself for the worst. It seems impossible to think positive thoughts when everything good in my life has fallen straight into the crapper over the past few days. I’m not sure how much more I can take.

Dr. Payne frowns at me with concern. “Are you okay, Abbie?”

Suddenly, the room is spinning. There’s a tingling in my head that mutates into a heavy fog. I feel an overwhelming desire to close my eyes.

The next thing I know, I’m on the floor, blinking up at Dr. Payne, who is leaning over me, cradling my head in his hand. “Just relax. Take a few deep breaths.”

I stare up at him, confused. “Oh God. Did I just pass out?”

“Yes, you fainted.”

He must have caught me on the way down.

“This is so embarrassing.” I move to sit up, but I’m feeling weak and groggy, so I lay my head back down on the cement floor. “How long was I out?”

“Not long. About ten seconds.” He listens to my heart with his stethoscope and watches my face intently. “Your heart’s beating pretty fast, Abbie,” he tells me. “But you probably already know that.”

“Yes. I think . . . maybe it was a panic attack.”

“Have you ever had one before? Have you ever fainted?”

I shake my head. “No, but it’s been a rough few days. I seem to be falling down a lot lately. I collapsed in the ER when Alan was . . .” I can’t finish the sentence. “And I didn’t eat much today.”

Only then do I realize that Winston is no longer curled up under the table. He’s sitting up, leaning over the top of my head. I tip my head back to look up at him, and he bends forward and licks my eyelids. I laugh and cup his big, furry, coned head in my hands. Thank heavens he’s strong enough to move.

“Good boy,” I say. “I’m glad one of us is feeling better. You gave me a good scare.”

My heart rate settles, and I manage to sit up. Winston lowers himself to the floor and rests his chin on his paws.

Dr. Payne pats him on the back. “I’d still like to take him overnight, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course.”

With Dr. Payne’s help, I rise to my feet. He cups my elbow with his hand and doesn’t let go.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” he asks.

“I’m fine.”

He hesitates. “You should probably get checked out, just to make sure. You’ve been through a lot, Abbie. I think you should see your doctor.”

I know he’s right, but I can’t think about that right now. I’m worried about Winston, and I’m still reeling over what I learned about Alan today.

Dr. Payne finally lets go of my arm and turns to Winston. “What do you say, buddy? Do you think you can walk to the limo?”

“That sounds fancy.”

The corner of Dr. Payne’s mouth curls up in a small grin. “Even with the animals, limo usually gets a better reaction than ambulance.”

Either way, Winston shows no interest in getting to his feet.

“I’ll get his leash,” I say. “That usually starts his tail wagging.”

I run upstairs, but when I return, Winston is lying on his side again, eyes closed, and Dr. Payne is listening to his heart with the stethoscope.

My anxiety returns. “Is he doing okay?”

Dr. Payne removes the ear tips and drapes the instrument around his neck. “He’s the same.”

I squat down and hook the leash onto Winston’s collar, but he doesn’t even lift his head.

“I’ll carry him,” Dr. Payne says. “Would you mind getting my bag?”

“Not at all.” I pick it up, then stand back to give him room. He gently scoops Winston into his arms and carries him up the stairs.

Seeing Winston like this breaks my heart. He’s so weak in the vet’s arms.

We reach the kitchen, and Mom and Carla rise from the table.

“Is he okay?” Carla asks.

“I don’t know,” I reply. “He’s pretty weak. Dr. Payne is taking him back to the clinic for the night.”

I lead Dr. Payne to the front door. It’s below freezing outside, and I can see my breath on the air as we make our way to the van. The interior is equipped with oxygen, a folded-down gurney, a backboard, a large wire cage, and first aid supplies.

Dr. Payne strains to lay Winston down on the carpeted floor. Then he climbs into the back and moves him into the cage that’s bolted to the side wall. He closes the door and secures the latch.

Winston lies unresponsive, which causes a knot to form in my stomach.

“Mind if I come with you?” I ask Dr. Payne as he hops out and shuts the double doors. “You said your clinic was closed for the day. Your technicians must be gone. You might need some help?”

He stares at me for a moment, unsure.

I continue to plead my case. “Listen . . . I just really need to be with him right now. This has been the worst day of my life, which is saying a lot, and I know I won’t be able to relax if I stay here. I’ll be thinking about him the whole time and trying to resist calling you every ten seconds.”