she told Harry, gesturing to a great bear of a golden-haired retriever snoozing under her desk. ‘Maisie, this is Harry.’ She prodded Maisie with her toe and Maisie looked up in polite enquiry. Me? You mean me?
‘Maisie,’ the receptionist said sternly, as one might chide a recalcitrant employee. ‘Say hello to Harry.’
The dog rolled onto her back, stretched, sighed, then lumbered up, strode across the room, sat in front of Harry—and raised a paw.
Harry stared. The dog sat patiently, paw outstretched, until finally, tentatively, Harry took it. Jack noticed, with quiet surprise, that his nephew almost managed a smile. It wasn’t quite, but it was close.
‘Dr Kate is in the water, doing therapy,’ the receptionist told Jack as dog and boy shook hand and paw for the second time. ‘She should be finishing now. Would you like to pop down to the beach? Please don’t disturb them but if you stay beyond the high-water mark you’re welcome to watch.’
Jack would very much like to watch. Despite Harry’s instant relaxation—he was now solemnly shaking the big dog’s paw for the third time—Jack’s guard was still sky high.
Why was he here? His home was in Sydney. Harry’s home was in Sydney. What Harry needed was continued therapy for healing leg fractures and a decent child psychiatrist who’d finally crack his wall of traumatised silence.
But he’d found Harry some very good child psychiatrists, and none of them had made a dent in his misery. This was desperation. It had been his Aunt Helen’s idea, not his, but she had been prepared to relinquish Harry into Jack’s care if he agreed to bring him.
Was it worth the risk?
‘Would you like to go to the beach or stay here with Maisie?’ the receptionist was asking Harry, and Harry looked at Maisie and nodded. This was a miracle all on its own. He’d been limp since the car crash, simply doing what the adults around him ordered. Three months ago he’d been a normal seven-year-old, maybe a little cosseted, maybe a little intense, but secure and loved and happy. Now, without his parents, he was simply … lost.
‘You’re sure?’ Jack asked, and of course there was no response. But Harry was kneeling on the floor with the dog and the dog was edging sideways. Jack could see what she was doing. There was a ball, three feet away, and Maisie was looking at it with more than a canine hint.
Jack nudged it close and Maisie grabbed it and dropped it at Harry’s feet. Then she backed two feet away, crouching, quivering and staring straight at Harry with all the concentration a golden retriever could summon.
Harry stared at Maisie. Maisie stared at Harry. The whole room held its breath.
And then Harry very tentatively picked up the well-chewed ball—and tossed it about four feet.
Maisie pounced with dramatic flourish, reaching it before it hit the floor, but she wasn’t content with a simple retrieval. She whirled three times, tossed the ball upwards herself and caught it again—and then came back and dropped it at Harry’s feet again.
And, unbelievably, Harry giggled.
‘I’ll buy the dog,’ Jack muttered, and the receptionist grinned.
‘She’s not for sale. Kate values her above diamonds. Go and watch her if you like. Harry and Maisie are safe with me.’
They were. Jack watched the little boy a moment longer and felt himself relax, which was something he didn’t think he’d done once, not since his brother had died. The dog was taking care of Harry and the relief was immeasurable.
‘Go,’ the receptionist said gently, and her message was unmistakeable. It’s better if you’re not here. Let these two bond.
She was right. Harry didn’t need him; since the accident he hadn’t seemed to need anyone.
If one dog could make a difference …
He’d tried a puppy; he’d tried almost everything. But now … Whatever this crazy dolphin-mantra place was, this dog was breaking through.
Dr Jack Kincaid didn’t need to be told again.
He went.
It was time to leave the water; time for the reality of death to hit home. As wonderful as this place was, it was simply time out. Toby was dead. His mother now had to start facing a world without him.
Kate’s arm was around Amy’s waist as they made their way from the shallows. The world was waiting. Officialdom would move in and there was nothing Kate could do to protect Amy from it.
But at least she’d had this time. At least the week before Toby’s death hadn’t been filled with hospitals, drips, rush. Her dolphins had helped.
She turned for a moment as she reached the beach; they both did. Far out in the deep water, Hobble still seemed to be watching them. He was doing sweeping curves at the outer limits of the pool. At the far reaches of each curve he leaped from the water towards them, and then dived deep, again and again.
‘Thank you,’ Amy whispered toward him, and who knew if the dolphin could understand. But no matter what their level of understanding, the dolphins had helped ease one little boy’s passing.
Kate had more patients waiting. She needed to move on, but what had just happened had eased the pain around her own heart a little as well.
Jack walked over the ridge of sandbank just as the two women turned to walk up the beach. Two women and a child. The women were dressed in plain blue stinger suits. The child was in a wetsuit.
The child was dead.
Jack Kincaid had been a doctor long enough to sense it even as he saw it. The child was cradled in the shorter woman’s arms, the woman was sobbing, and every step they took spelled defeat.
What the …?
He broke into a run. If the child had gone underwater, it might not be too late. Why wasn’t anyone doing CPR? Had they tried and failed? In children there was sometimes success when all hope was lost. He had his phone out, hitting the emergency quick-dial, thinking paramedics, oxygen, help …
‘Don’t phone.’ The taller woman’s voice was a curt command, urgent enough to make him pause. The other woman was sinking to her knees, still cradling the child. ‘What the hell …?’
‘It’s okay.’
What sort of crazy was this? He reached them and he would have knelt by the child but the woman held him back.
‘I’m Dr Kate,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry you had to see this but, believe me, it’s okay.’
‘How can it be okay?’
‘Toby’s had cancer,’ she said, softly so as not to break into the other woman’s grief. She took his arm, drawing him away a little, giving woman and child space. ‘He’s had brain metastases. He was terminally ill. This afternoon he’s been playing with the dolphins, he had a seizure and he died. There was nothing we could do.’
‘Did you try?’ Jack demanded, incredulous. A seizure … He thought of all the things that could be done in a major city
