It's bitterly cold as I stand outside the sliding glass doors of the New York hosptial. Times like this I wish I smoked or had some other kind of vice to lean on. I'm reduced to feeling the cold wind whisper my dark hair across my face and wiping my runny nose on the back of my leather glove. I huddle in my green wool jacket, now matted and stained.
"There wasn't anything you could do." I hear his gentle, sweet voice tell me. Sirens in the distance and traffic noise bleed into his conversation. "We brought him here, they are going to help him."
I stomp my foot. Not against the cold, but against fustration. I hate this! I hate being like this. I hate it more that he sees me like this. Helpless tears clot in my eyes and I can't help them from falling. I want them to stop and I want to stop feeling like this.
"Lu?" he asks, his fingers reaching up and tucking my free flowing hair behind my ear. "There wasn't anything you could've done. It was an accident."
"It was a stupid accident! It should have never happened!" I cried, hugging myself closer.
"I know, honey, but we did everything we could. Maybe we should go." he said, taking my elbow.
"I...I can't..." I stammer, looking into his liquid brown eyes. "I can't leave him alone. He can't die alone. It's Christmas Eve, Howie."
"The people here will take care of him." Howie said, his own voice choking.
"It's wrong Howie. No one should die alone on Christmas Eve. Not even him." I cry. "Please stay Howie. Please stay with me."
I know he has better places to go. He flew me all the way to New York from Seattle to spend a magical holiday with him in the city that never sleeps. We were making our way across town when it happened. Another fashionable couple on their way about town. This wasn't suppose to happen and it certainly wasn't suppose to happen to us.
I suddenly realize I've probably ruined his Christmas. Who am I to drag him through this? I go to apologize, because I don't want him to suffer because of me. I don't want to be the reason his Christmas memories are full of this kind of sadness.
"No, no. I'll stay." he smiles. "Just don't cry any more okay?"
He pulls off his gloves and cups my cold, wet cheeks in his hands and brings me toward him for a kiss. I hang on to him and he keeps me solidly in his arms. For a brief moment, I know nothing of the outside world except his kiss. He looks down at me and wipes my face. I try to look away, but he turns my face back at him.
"I guess you can't promise not to cry." he smiles gently. I shake my head 'no'. I can't promise.
"Mr. Dorough? Ms. Scrittore?" another voice intrudes. We turn to face the huddled figure in the white lab coat. "Could you both come with me?"
"Is he okay?" Howie gasps.
"Could you just come with me?" the young intern said, hopping against the cold.
Howie takes my hand and we race inside after the intern. He leads us through winding white tiled hall ways, past machines and technicians. He takes us to the very end of the ward, where he leads us into a room with several contained beds.
"He's right over there!" the intern points to the farest sleeping area.
I beat Howie racing to the gate. I kneel down and look in to hear a strong thumping of the little black puppy's tail against the stainless steel kennel.
"Look, Howie! He's okay!" I laughed, sticking my fingers in his cage for him to lick me.
"Oh my god!" Howie laughs, kneeling beside me, reaching his own fingers in. "It's amazing!"
It is amazing. We had watched helplessly as he had run aimlessly in and out of traffic on the busy street we were on. He finally made a wrong turn, ending up under the powerful hooves of a horse in front of a horse drawn carriage. His little body churned under the sharp hooves of the horse, only to get one final thump from the carriage wheel itself.
I had raced to his aid, such is my habit. I forced the carriage owner to move the carriage so I could retrieve his little broken body from the now frozen pavement. I held him close to the beautiful wool coat Howie had given to me just this morning.
Howie hailed a cab and we took him to New York's emergency animal hosptial for care. They were pretty sure he would die and I was determined to see him through it as I had my own animals at home. No one so small and so innocent should be left to die alone with no understanding, no warmth to call his own.
Who would imagine?!
I eagerly open the kennel and he scrambles to get up, but I can see that both of his back legs are in casts. A tube runs over his head and down his nose, but he's otherwise happy to see us. Howie plops down on the cold tile floor in his beautiful tuxedo and takes the puppy in his lap. The dog settles down nicely in the cradle of his legs, drapping his head wearily on Howie's thigh.
We all become quiet and I can't see Howie's face when he speaks.
"I guess Santa's not the only one coming tonight." he sighs.
"Howie?"
"I guess God sent an angel to look after this little guy." Howie says quietly.
I reach and touch Howie's silky head. Yes, even the heathen in me believes that when I look at him. Howie looks up at me and smiles. Neither one of us is watching as the puppy begins to grow restless. With one rather large bodily sound, Howie is sitting with a lapful of doggie vomit.
We all squeal and erupt with laughter, the intern taking the puppy from Howie as he gets up to wipe himself up. I take him to the sink where I dampen some paper towels and try to clean him up. He's laughing too hard to stand still, but I'm able to get most of it off of him.
"What's so funny?" I laugh as I wash and dry my hands.
"I was thinking, earlier, you know? What if he did live? You'd probably take him home with all those other dogs you rescue." he chuckled.
"Yeah, so?" I smiled.
"Then you'd probably want to keep him and..."
"Yeah, so?" I chuckle crossing my arms to watch him begin to laugh again.
"And then you'd have to give him a name..." Howie laughed.
"Yeah, so?" I said, beginning to laugh with him.
"Well, with a blech like that you know what we'd have to name him." Howie said, his laughter rising.
"Howard Dorough, you are evil!" I laugh with him.
"I mean, it's perfect!" Howie laughed, finally calming enough to finish what he was saying. "Of course we'd tell the other one we named him after the saint, but you have to confess, Nick is the perfect name for that little man over there."
"You want me to name him after Nick Carter?" I asked in disbelief.
"Well, that'll be our little secret!" he laughed.
It was our little secret. As the puppy grew and became healthy under Mama Dorough's watchful gaze, he came to be known simply as Saint. Howie and I often referred to him as our other Saint Nick, but never when the other Nick was around.