with no purpose in life other than trying to drown themselves.”
“Yeah!” my compadres cheered, toasting each other and high-fiving. I smiled. “Callie, we’re going over to Whoop & Holler,” Mitch Jenkins called. “Drop by later if you get a chance.”
“Anything’s possible,” I said. I watched fondly as the eight or nine Rats jostled their way out of the bar, then glanced over at Ian, who was watching as well. “They’re really a fun bunch,” I said.
“Rowing club?” he asked.
“Drinking club, more like it, but yes. They go whitewater kayaking a few times a month, go drinking a few times a week. In October, they hold this funny little regatta.” I took a sip of water. “They love my grandfather. It’s a little cultish, actually.” Mark was a member of the River Rats, though in name only. I wondered if Muriel would join. I sure hoped not.
Ian nodded, then picked up one of the leather-bound menus. Not much of a talker, this guy. We perused our menus in silence, though I kept darting looks across the table. The whole grumpy Russian thing was really starting to grow on me.
“So, Ian, why don’t we get started?” I said once we’d ordered. “I figured we’d do a Web site, and there’d be a section called ‘About Dr. McFarland,’ which is pretty standard. So.” I slid my laptop out of its case and popped it open. “Tell me about yourself.”
“I went to New York University for undergrad, Tufts for veterinary school,” he said.
“Yes, I read your diplomas. What else?”
“I did research on joint degeneration and taught at UVM before taking over for Dr. Kumar.”
I typed a few lines. “Okay, well, how about some personal stuff?”
His eyes grew wary. “What do you want to know?”
“Well, for starters, why did you move to our fair state?”
He looked at his place setting, then adjusted his fork a millimeter. “I liked New England. And Laura was from Boston.”
Ah, Laura. I was deeply interested in Laura. “Did you guys live in Vermont when you were married?” I asked. Do you still talk? Do you still love her? Did she break your heart?
“Yes. Burlington.” He took a breath—clearly, this was not how he’d choose to spend an evening—but he forged onward. “But I spent one summer in Georgebury when I was a kid.”
“Really?” The idea that Ian had been nearby was utterly thrilling.
He nodded. “I stayed with my uncle.”
“Who is he?” I asked. “Maybe I know him.”
“Carl Villny. My mother’s brother. He died about ten years ago.”
Villny. A Russian name, if I wasn’t mistaken. Suppressing a smile (Was your uncle a Soviet mole, perchance?), I shook my head. “Nope, doesn’t ring a bell.” I paused. “So you liked it up here, and after your divorce, you moved back?”
He nodded.
I waited for more. Smiled firmly. It worked.
“Right,” he said. “Um … I moved a lot when I was a kid, as I told you. My, um … my mother is a doctor, and she works in a lot of third world countries.” He paused. “I think we moved fifteen, twenty times. I lived all over.”
“Holy guacamole,” I said. “Now that is an unconventional childhood!”
“Yes.” He adjusted his cutlery again. “Don’t put that on the Web site.”
“Why?”
“It’s not relevant.” His jaw looked a little knotty.
“Well, here’s the thing, Ian,” I said. “If people feel they know you a little, they’ll trust you more.”
He shifted. “Right. But don’t put that on the Web site.”
I shrugged. “All right. Well, why do you love animals?”
He narrowed his eyes. “That’s kind of a vapid question, don’t you think?”
I gritted my teeth. “Not to your clients, Dr. McFarland! Can you please scrape up an answer?”
He sighed. Looked at the table. Looked back at me. “They’re loyal. Next question?”
My turn to heave a sigh. “Here. Why don’t I just put my laptop away and you can pretend I’m your sister and we’re just having a chat, okay?”
“No.”
“Why?” I demanded. “If you want me to do this for you, you’re going to have to help.”
“I can’t pretend you’re my sister.”
It might’ve been a cute line, if, for example, it had been said by someone else. But in Ian’s case, the meaning was quite literal. Rolling my eyes, I put the laptop away and gave up for the moment.
Our server brought us dinner—trout almondine for me, with this little stack of green beans and a risotto that smelled like heaven; grilled salmon and mashed potatoes for Ian. We ate in silence for a moment or two.
“Here’s what we can do,” I said. “If you don’t want to talk about yourself that much, we’ll just say you spent a summer here as a kid, fell in love with Vermont, were so excited when the chance came to move here permanently. We’ll put up a really great picture of you and Angie, the smokin’ hottie vet and his best girl.” This got a small smile. Hello! That little flash was quite … delicious. However, I was in professional mode and barely noticed (snort). “And then we’ll ask for pictures of your clients and their pets. We’ll have to get releases, but that won’t be a problem. We’ll have a section called ‘Ask Dr. McFarland,’ where people can write in asking why Rover chews Mommy’s best shoes, and you can answer in a friendly and approachable tone.” I paused, took another bite of the delicious trout. “With me so far?”
“Yes,” he said.
“I also think you should hold a pet fair,” I said, warming to my subject.
“What’s a pet fair?” he asked.
“It’ll be like an open house at your practice. People bring their pets, you give away dog and cat and gerbil treats, maybe have a trainer there to give out tips.”
“That sounds good,” he said.
“And one of those agility courses. Bowie would rock that,” I said. “Maybe Noah could rig up a little cart, and Bowie could pull … nah, insurance issues, forget that. Oh! You could have a pet psychic, too!”
“I don’t believe in pet psychics,” Ian said.
“That doesn’t matter. It’ll be fun. Maybe we could get a state trooper to come with one of the K-9 dogs. We could do animal tattoos for the kiddies, face painting, have
