I Asked For Vet Bills He Offered Ten Million novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: A Very Nice Woman

Camille brings a warm loaf and a typed statement, Lacey corrects every word that was not exactly what happened, and Silvan appears at the fence at midnight asking what she signed.

On Tuesday morning, a woman I had never met rang my doorbell holding a warm loaf of brown butter bread.

She was honey-blonde, in a soft gray cardigan, and she had a very bright smile.

"Lacey? I'm Camille. I'm so sorry to just show up."

I knew the face from the clip on my phone, so I nearly closed the door.

"Please," she said. "I wanted to bring you something that wasn't an apology from him."

She held out the loaf.

It was still warm through the towel. It smelled like real butter.

I let her in.

Truffle trotted into the hall, saw her, and ran straight back to his bed.

"He's shy," I said.

"Of course he is. Poor angel."

She set the loaf on my counter and looked around my kitchen.

"I love this. A real working kitchen. I'm a huge fan of your channel."

"Thank you."

"I mean it. Your laminated dough episode got me through a breakup."

I should have asked which one. I was too busy being flattered.

She poured two cups of coffee from my own pot without asking, and I didn't mind.

Then her eyes landed on my fridge.

"Is that real?"

"It's a check."

"For ten million dollars?" She put a hand to her chest.

"He actually did it. He once bought me a car so I would stop asking where he'd been."

"I didn't cash it."

"Of course you didn't." She said it warmly. "You're the first person I've ever met who wouldn't."

She sat down at my table and took a folder out of her bag.

"I don't want to pressure you. But Silvan won't write anything down, and I think somebody should. For Truffle."

"For Truffle?"

"A statement. Just what happened. In case he has trouble later. Dogs can have trouble later."

She slid a typed page across the table.

It said STATEMENT OF WITNESS at the top.

My name, my address and my phone number were already printed in a neat block.

Below that it described Truffle as a twenty-one-month-old Cavalier King Charles spaniel.

I never asked how she knew his age.

I figured she had read my blog.

I picked up a pen and read the first paragraph.

"On Sunday, the Doberman known as Gerald attacked my dog."

"Gerald did not attack," I said.

"Hon, just fix whatever you like."

I crossed out the word and wrote: stood over him.

She watched me with her chin on her hand.

The second line said, "My dog was terrified."

"He was lying still," I said. "I'm not sure about terrified."

"Of course. Write it how it was."

I wrote: lay still, then blinked.

The third line said, "My dog has been traumatized."

I crossed it out.

"The next morning he ate a treat off the vet's floor," I wrote. "The vet's name is on the receipt."

Camille's smile stayed exactly where it was.

"It's a very honest statement," she said.

"It's exactly what happened. I can't put my name on anything else."

"No, no. That's what makes you so good."

She tapped the page.

"Just sign at the bottom, and I'll take care of the rest."

"I'd like to keep it."

"Sure. Think about it."

She finished her coffee and stood, and then she crouched in my hall and held out a hand to Truffle.

Truffle stayed in his bed and watched her.

"Gerry always did that to people too," she said. "He picks his favorites."

"It's Gerald."

"Is it?" she said brightly. "I forgot. I called him Gerry for years."

She left me her card and the loaf.

Before she reached the curb, she posted a picture of my gate on her story.

I read the caption in the window.

"Visiting my new friend Lacey. So much love in this little house."

By ten o'clock that night I had eaten half the loaf.

It was the best brown butter bread I had ever tasted, which made me furious.

At midnight I took Truffle out to the yard for the last time.

The gate was latched. I had tied the latch down with a hair elastic.

Someone was standing on the other side of it.

Silvan Waverley stood there in a gray sweatshirt with Gerald sitting beside him.

The camera on Gerald's collar blinked a small red light.

"Don't scream," Silvan whispered.

"I wasn't going to."

"Did she come here? Today?"

"How did you know?"

He held up his phone. It showed my gate under her caption.

"Did she give you anything to sign?"

"She gave me a loaf."

"Lacey."

"And a statement. I corrected it."

He closed his eyes.

"Please tell me you corrected it to no."

"I corrected it to what happened," I said.

He opened his eyes and looked at me for a long time.

"That," he said, "is the problem."

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