Seven
The ride from the Bandits game was one Tommy would never forget. And thank God for his paper route; the milk crate attached to the front of his bike to hold the papers was the perfect size to fit Artie in, whether he was standing on its edges during a glorious ride or rolled up in a ball like now. Tommy raced from the ballpark to the other side of town to Dr. Finney, the veterinarian he had been taking Artie to since he was a puppy.
Artie sat in the crate as Tommy quickly pedaled, glancing at Tommy with eyes that looked more worried about the boy steering the bicycle than the viewer they belonged to. The bandana that had looked so good on him before had become crooked and wrinkled.
Artie was still shaking and Tommy could tell he was becoming weaker by the way he rested his head on the edge of the crate.
Tommy pedaled as fast as he could. His friends were going to follow but Tommy couldn’t wait for them. The chains on his beat-up red bike clicked and clacked. Each time he pushed the pedals down he could feel his heart beat faster and faster.
Night was beginning to creep over the mellow evening and Dr. Finney’s office was about to close. As long as Tommy didn’t slow down, he still had a chance to make it there in time.
“Hang on, Art.”
Tommy and Artie whipped around the corner of Tessle Street on the red bike and into the veterinarian’s parking lot. Some of the security lights inside had already been turned on as the sky melted from beautiful pink hues to a smear of ominous dark purple.
Tommy scooped Artie up from the milk crate. He could feel a chill coming from the little guy as he shook in Tommy’s arms.
Tommy ran up the steps to the maroon-colored building, struggled to open the door with one hand while holding Artie, and finally got it to stay open by kicking his foot in the doorway and wedging it open.
“Is Dr. Finney here?” he yelled.
The waiting room was quiet and empty, save for the girl working behind the counter texting on her phone.
She jumped, startled. “What’s wrong?” she asked.