“I’m hanging in there.”

“We could start referring clients to the Davis Clinic.”

“I don’t want to lose clients just because Sellers left us in the lurch.” Dr. Sellers’s abrupt resignation still rankled. She’d trusted him. Bailing without warning was unprofessional at best, and she wasn’t feeling generous: it was a shit thing to do.

“And I don’t want you burning out. I’m cutting you back to weekends and Wednesdays for emergency services. That gives you three nights off.”

“I’m fine.” The words reminded her of Emilia, and she deflated in her chair. She wasn’t fine. She was exhausted and needed a break, even if it meant some of their clients switched to Davis Animal Clinic.

“It’s nonnegotiable. Tired doctors make mistakes.”

“I know. I just don’t understand why no one’s biting. Have you had any phone interviews?”

“A few, but the wrong personalities. We need someone willing to stay here for more than a year, and the job market for spouses is nonexistent unless they’re willing to commute to Portland.”

None of this was news. That was why Maine was called Vacationland. People came to visit, not to stay.

“Keep me posted.”

“I will.”

“And hold still.” Morgan snapped a picture of Danielle in her cat sweater and sent it to Danielle’s wife.

“Get out of my office, Donovan.”

Morgan found Stevie by a wilting bouquet of fruit and ornamental kale.

“I saved you a strawberry,” said Stevie.

“Thanks. Find anything else?”

“Brownies. Counter.”

Morgan peeled back a sheet of tinfoil to reveal a tray of homemade goodness. Perks of the job. At least on the road she and Stevie were not exposed to sugar and carbs all day long like the small animal staff. No wonder Lillian ran every day. She shoved a brownie into her mouth and accepted the last strawberry.

“Just kill me,” Lillian Lee said from behind them. She sank onto one of the stools at the table and rested her chin on her hand to stare mournfully at Morgan. A few strands of her black hair escaped her ponytail, and dog hair covered her clothes.

“What’s up?” Morgan asked Lillian.

“This dog’s pressures. They aren’t responding to anything, and the owners don’t want to go to optho, but they also don’t want to remove the eye.”

“Fruit?” Morgan gestured at a sagging cantaloupe.

“No thanks. Unless it’s soaked in vodka?”

“Sorry. But Danielle is making me take a few nights off, so I’ll buy you a drink later.”

“By buy me a drink I hope you mean bring me a beer while I turn to mush on the couch.”

“Deal.”

“Dr. Lee?” an assistant called from a treatment room.

“And here we go again.” Lillian slid off the stool, straightened her white coat, and strode out of the room.

“Think any of the leftovers in the fridge are still good?”

“No, I’ll buy us burgers on the way home,” said Morgan.

“Doctor bucks.” Stevie popped the cantaloupe into her mouth. “Burgers and beer for everyone queer.”