Compassion Fatigue

By Emily Carrington

Peter Campbell, a deaf man who teaches sign language classes, believes no one would ever love a bisexual man. When his new veterinarian, Dr. Abe Yoshida, shows him he’s wrong, Peter is left with the monumental task of coming out to his teenage daughter. Can his growing love for Abe give him the courage he needs?

The holidays are the worst time for Dr. Abe. He recently lost a patient, and the circumstances leave him struggling under a burden of guilt. Adding to his depression, as the COVID-19 pandemic worsens, he finds himself the victim of anti-Asian hate crimes. Then he meets Peter, a compassionate, partially in the closet bisexual man. Will Abe let love heal his heart, or will suicide’s sour music bewitch his soul?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Changeling Press
• Release date: Jul 23, 2021

Book preview

Chapter One

I’m sorry, Mr. McCormick, Abe said as he gently closed the beagle’s eyes. A knot of tension settled itself in his breastbone and Dr. Abe Yoshida fought against the closing of his throat. He hated losing an animal. This beagle, Betsy, had battled the cancer with every last ounce of her strength. She had deserved so much more.

Mr. McCormick stared down at his dead hunting dog. He said nothing for a long time but his face was working.

Finally, he looked up at Abe, and the doctor had to take a step back as the hatred in the man’s eyes registered. You killed her, he whispered. Then he repeated it, louder, You killed her. How could you?

She passed quickly, Abe said gently. She felt no pain.

Why couldn’t you have saved her?

This was not the time to remind Chuck McCormick that he, McCormick, had chosen to forego the cancer treatment for Betsy, the chemotherapy. You told me you and Penny decided it was time. Betsy was in a lot of pain.

You just said she died without pain. McCormick’s hands were fisted and his face was red.

There was no pain from the injection, Abe explained. She went peacefully.

McCormick was silent for several seconds, his head bowed again. Then he looked up and the hatred in his gaze had been replaced by grief. I guess that’s over. He wiped a meaty forearm across his eyes. Can I take her home and bury her?

I thought you both decided on cremation, Abe answered.

She’s my dog and I’m taking her home now, McCormick snapped.

Abe held up his hands. All right, he said soothingly. Do you want me to get something to wrap her in? He added, Then your wife won’t have to see.

McCormick nodded. Yeah, that would be good.

He didn’t say thank you, but under the circumstances Abe understood. Do you want me to tell Penny? he asked.

No… no. I’ll do it.

Abe wanted to put an arm around the bigger man but knew it would be taken wrong, either because McCormick would see it as sympathy or because of the little triangle in Abe’s ear. He went out to get a blanket to wrap Betsy in. Once the door was closed, he allowed tears to fall.

* * *

Peter rested his hand on top of the cat carrier in which his tom, Tracks, was confined. He could feel the little cloth-sided prison shake as Tracks either fought to get comfortable or struggled to escape. Probably it was the latter. Content to go on car rides in his small house, sitting still usually ticked Tracks off.

Peter wondered idly how much noise his tom was making. He’d learned long ago to accept that there were some things he couldn’t change, and not being able to hear his friend was one of them. He might have taken Tracks out of his carrier if not for the prominent sign displayed in the reception area: Please Keep All Cats in Their Carriers. And, underneath, in smaller print: This is for their safety.

So, even though he was pretty sure the puppy across the way wouldn’t hurt Tracks, Peter acknowledged that a more aggressive dog might come in at any moment. Besides, this was his first trip to this veterinarian’s office. He did not want to tick anyone off right out of the gate.

He glanced at the puppy again, noting the way it was sniffing enthusiastically at everything it could reach. The girl holding the leash was probably about Peter’s daughter’s age, although she was dressed more like a boy than a girl. Her hair was short, and she only wore one earring.

He noted the coat the puppy wore and realized it was a special dog. That was a working vest, or rather a vest for a puppy in training.

Glancing at the proud father, Peter noticed the man’s white cane. He was blind. He sat with one hand holding the sign of his disability and the other hand, his left, resting on his knee. He was handsome. Behind the dark glasses, his face was broad, meant for smiles. Peter felt a familiar stirring in his groin, which he blamed on nearly two years of celibacy.

Then he saw the gold band on the third finger of the blind man’s left hand.

Well, he thought, that’s just as well. He’s blind and I’m deaf. What could we possibly have to say to one another? How would we even communicate?

There were text messages of course but that was no way to have a romantic relationship. Besides, he reminded himself, he’s married. He’s off-limits.

Someone bumped into him, and Peter looked away from the father and daughter. The waiting room was practically deserted, so he assumed the bump had been deliberate. He readied himself with a smile and a raised eyebrow.

A clipboard was thrust at him by an impatient-looking woman, the same one who’d been sitting behind the reception desk when he’d signed in. Even though he looked up quickly to catch any lip movements, all he caught was fill out before she turned away.

Hadn’t he handed her a card explaining that he was deaf? He was pretty sure he had. It was automatic when entering a doctor’s office of any kind. Squashing his irritation, he began to fill out the form.

When he was about halfway done, someone poked his toe with their own.

He glanced up, cursing silently. There were much more appropriate ways to get a deaf person’s attention.

It was the receptionist again. She pointed at him and then at the door, where another person stood.

He got up, smiled his thanks even though he didn’t feel grateful at all, and went to the person in the doorway. His smile turned apologetic as he held up the half-finished form. To his surprise, she clumsily signed, You can fill out the rest while waiting for Dr. Yoshida.

His smile was genuine now.

Walking backward, taking little glances over her shoulder, she signed, Follow me please.

Maybe his student had been right about this place. She’d promised him a vet who could sign.

When they were in a small examining room, she signed, I’m Candace.

He signed, Peter Campbell.

She frowned and fumbled with her fingers. Peter…

He finger-spelled his last name more slowly and then added, Pleased to meet you.

She nodded, smiling a little self-consciously it seemed to him. She took out a pad of paper and wrote quickly. I’m sorry, he read when she handed it over. I’m still learning.

He made a circle with his forefinger and thumb.

She wrote again. Dr. Yoshida will be in soon. I’ll let you finish that form. Feel free to let your cat out so he can explore.

She left and Peter, feeling better than he had since entering the veterinarian’s office, let Tracks out to investigate this strange new world. He was just as glad Candace hadn’t tried to take Tracks out on her own. The older cat was loving but weird around strangers.

He settled back and filled out the rest of the form.

* * *

Well, so that hadn’t gone as well as Abe had hoped. Penny McCormick, his receptionist and Chuck McCormick’s wife, hadn’t broken down when Abe brought her into his office to see if she wanted to go home early. She’d screamed at him that he should have treated Betsy no matter what her husband decreed.

He’d thought she was on board with letting Nature take her course. Now, sitting with his eyes closed in his blessedly empty office, he realized she might have been deluding herself as to the severity of Betsy’s condition. He’d originally, upon first meeting Penny, thought she wouldn’t say boo to a goose. But she’d shown herself to be vocal and to know what she wanted. As one of his older clients would have said, she was full of piss and vinegar.

He opened his eyes and picked up the statue his sister had given him when he graduated with his vet’s license. It was a three-part 3D wooden puzzle, easily assembled, that showed a dog, a cat, and a bird. He hugged it to him and let a tear fall.

Someone knocked on his door and Abe set the puzzle down. He wiped at his eyes and called, Come in.

It was Candace Delaney, his newest intern. She babysat for his niece sometimes and knew a little sign language. Dr. Abe, she said, giving his name the Japanese pronunciation: a-bay, Peter Campbell is waiting for you. She spoke quietly.

Maybe she’d heard the way Mrs. McCormick had screamed at him, calling him an incompetent faggot. Probably she had. I’ll be right there, he said, standing up. He liked that she called him Dr. Abe. Only a couple of the other technicians