The great cacophonous roar of the 7:30 rush buzzed through Sam’s body as he and his coworkers became thin stretched across espresso machines, breakfast sandwiches, and caffeine-deficient customers. He smacked the mocha bottle, but only a lone, lethargic drop fell into the frothy milk. With a groan, he tossed it into the empty trash but missed.

“Watch it!” His coworker snapped as he spun between the drip machine and the to-go rack.

“Drew!” Their manager poked her head in from the storage room. “Did you leave the trash bags in here? You can’t pile them in front of the door. Do it correctly.”

His coworker glanced up; anxious exhaustion flickered through his eyes. “But the rush-”

“I’ll take it out!” Sam stepped back from the espresso machine as his nerves hissed and head hummed. His manager shrugged and walked by, eager to upsell the month’s specials to a new customer. He put the unfinished latte on the bar and ran past the row of unfinished orders.

“Wait!” Drew reflexively grabbed the abandoned drink. “I need you on bar!”

But Sam had already gathered up the trash bags and pushed open the back exit. The anarchy numbed as the door closed with a strained clasp, sealing chaos in a tomb of cinder block, drywall, and cement. Sam breathed, first with his shoulders as the silence settled in his chest. The world faded, spread thin and dull, like sunlight through fog.

His body ached as he crossed the lot, trash bags in hand. The morning already felt like its own day, and he was ready to crawl into some forgotten place and sleep. Not a human sleep, but a sleep that only fairies could grant, a long sleep that settles anxious bones, soothes strained memories, and leaves the world and all its broken people behind.

He yawned; normal sleep would be good too. His dog, a small mutt from a local shelter, kept him up all night with an upset stomach. From 2:00 AM on, he cleaned up after her until the alarm screamed at 5:30 AM. Of course, someone had to call out today. He closed his eyes as he remembered the way her gray eyes tracked him when he left. Hated himself for that. He hated himself for a lot of things.

He needed to focus. The alley connected to a side street, which ran diagonally between two apartment complexes before it hooked over and joined the larger road. The coffee shop occupied the gutted frame of an old church, behind which the alley terminated in a small lot. A pile of wooden pallets filled one space, and his manager’s car sat in another. Across from the back door, against a gray building with no windows on its alley-facing side, was the dumpster.

Sam threw the bags onto the smelly heap. The first landed squatly atop yesterday’s stack, but the other caught a rusty edge and ruptured. Coffee grounds, half-eaten sandwiches glued together by heaps of cream cheese, and milk jugs spewed across the dumpster and spilled onto the pavement.

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. Three years ago, he would have exploded in a cascade of vulgarity so obscene it would have made sailors blush. Now, even frustration was something he didn’t care enough about or have the strength to express. He kneeled and collected the solids. His only consolation was that he didn’t have to rejoin the mayhem just yet.

He wiped his hands on the inside of his apron and checked his phone. His sister said she’d check on his dog after her night shift at the clinic, but so far, she hadn’t given him an update. His friends were either burgeoning business professionals in different time zones or still lived with their parents. Either way, he was always up before anyone else. With no notifications to delay him, he kicked a box beside the dumpster, hoping to see a snake or spider, but only a groggy orchestra of crickets, drunk from fairy sleep, dispersed into the stringlike weeds in the cracked cement. He sighed and trudged back to the door.

“Shit.” Sam pulled at his hair. He’d forgotten to shove the brick into the doorway. He banged his fist against the metal but knew no one would hear it over the bedlam within. With a final kick, he gave up and jugged through the lot and down the alley.

With each step down the side street, he imagined the verbal torment he’d endure upon his return. His coworkers were a batch of quick-tempered vipers with a punitive sense of fairness.

“Hey!”

He looked across the street. A small boy waved frantically. “We need help! Maggie is in trouble!”

Sam wavered. “I’m on the clock!” he called out, as if the six-year-old knew what that meant.

“She’s bleeding!” The boy wiggled from fright. “Please help her!”

“O-okay,” Sam ran across the pavement and followed the kid down a narrow alley flanked by brick walls and into the backyard of a corner row home. The ground sloped down to a basement door. Sam hoped his guide knew the address or street; if he had to call 9-1-1, he’d have to know where he was. A little girl, a year younger than the boy, sat against a dryer when they entered.

“I got help!” the boy said. The girl stared at Sam.

“I’m not a doctor.” Sam wondered why he thought they would care. He was an adult. At their age, adults were pillars of stability; that’s all they needed from him. He steadied his hands. “Are you Margie?”

“Maggie,” the girl’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Her name is Maggie!”

“In the living room!” the boy pointed at a skeleton staircase in the corner.

Sam walked towards the stairs calmly, desperate to convey composure to the children, who followed behind. If only there were another adult to do the same for him. The stairs led to the dining room. Sam’s heart rate doubled as he passed through into the living room adorned with artwork, bookshelves, and throw pillows, but no Maggie.

“Where is she?” His eyes bounced from the front door to the windows, but there was no sign of anyone coming or going.

The girl turned away and burst into tears.

“She’s next to the couch!” her brother said as he gave his sister a big hug.

Sam looked over the cushioned edge. A round cat, silver and gold with speckles of white, lay on its side in a pool of slimy fluid. Under its tail, the front half of a newborn kitten hung limp as the mother’s body convulsed. Nestled against a bunched-up blanket was another newborn, its eyes sealed shut and fur damp. A swirl of emotions overtook him. First came confusion, replaced swiftly by relief. It wasn’t a person; that was good. But what was he supposed to do? He was ready to call an ambulance when Maggie was a person. He could do that for a human, but what was the protocol for cats?

“Help her!” the girl cried.

“It’s going to be okay.” He opened his phone and called his sister.

Her voice sounded small through the car’s Bluetooth system. “Hey, I’m almost at your place. We were short-staffed again, and I couldn’t get out till twenty minutes ago.”

“Actually,” Sam glanced at the kids. “How do you deliver kittens?”

“What?”

“There’s a cat giving birth, and I think the kitten is stuck.”

“Aren’t you at the coffee shop?”

“I’m locked out—I’ve got this cat in front of me. Can you help me?”

His sister’s turn signal ticked on for a second. “I’m a human doctor,” she said.

“We are all mammals!” He put the phone on speaker and set it on the arm of the sofa as he squatted. “The mom still has contractions, but the baby isn’t moving.” The cat twitched and kicked its legs. “Wait, she’s pushing harder!” Sam lifted the cat’s tail. “It’s farther out now.”

“What the fuck do you expect me to do from here?”

Sam grabbed the phone. “There are kids here.”

“Where the hell are you?”

“I don’t know. Tell me what to do!”

“Okay, okay. Uhh—what’s going on now? Is the kitten out?”

“The mom is pushing again.”

“Is it responsive?”

“No? Oh-shit!” The cat jumped as the kitten fell onto the blanket. “It’s out, but it’s not moving.”

“It probably suffocated while being stuck.”

Sam lifted the little limp body off the blanket. “What should I do, then?”

“Nothing, it’s dead.”

“Do you speak that way to your patients?”

“This is a cat, Sam.”

“I can’t do nothing!” Sam glanced at the kids. The boy stood a few feet behind; his hands pulled on his shirt. The girl’s round face peered out from under the dinner table.

“Alright—alright!” His sister thought for a moment. “Ever do CPR on an infant?”

“Why would I have?”

“I don’t know what happens at that coffee shop. Listen—wait, cats don’t have lips—fuck. Okay, hold it in one hand and use the other to pinch its jaw so the mouth opens. Then gently but firmly rub its chest; repeat that.”

Sam followed her instructions, but the kitten remained motionless.

“It’s not working.” He failed to conceal the fright in his voice.

“What’s going on—who are you?”

A woman dressed like a runner, her hair in a high ponytail, stood in the front door.

“Maggie is having babies, but one is dead!” The boy jumped up and down as the girl sobbed.

“So sorry!” Sam leaped to his feet. “Your son! He was screaming. I thought someone was in trouble.” He looked down at the lifeless kitten in his hand. “This one didn’t make it, but there’s another.”

“Oh my—thank you.” Their mother took the boy’s arm and moved swiftly towards his sister. “You’re so kind, thanks for trying to help.” She glanced at her son. “Go get the vet’s number on the fridge.”

“I should’ve thought of that.” Sam sheepishly laid the kitten on the blanket and shuffled towards the door. “I have to get back to work—I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.” He stepped onto the front stoop.

“No, thank you so much. I’m sorry you got pulled into this.” She opened her phone as the boy returned with a sticky note.

Sam nodded and walked away

“Hello?” His sister’s voice sounded dull in his apron pocket.

“Oh—hey.” Sam retrieved his phone and walked down the sidewalk. “Their mom came home, so I left.”

His sister sighed. “What a day, I’m ten minutes away from your place. Mind if I take a nap while I’m there?”

“Sure thing. I gotta find my way back to work.” Sam stopped and looked behind him. “For a moment, I thought it might make it.”

“At least you tried to help. That’s all that matters. That’s what people expect.”

“Is that how you feel when you lose a patient?”

“It was a cat, not even yours.”

“I thought being there would do something.” Sam’s heart quickened. “Maybe if I had cared hard enough.” He crossed the road and looked around again. “Where am I?”

“You were only there for five minutes. The poor thing could’ve been stuck for thirty-plus. Things happen.”

“I guess.” He chuckled. “I tried to deliver a kitten today. How wild is that?”

“For you?” He could hear his sister smile as she spoke. “It’s pretty unexpected.” They laughed together as he walked.

“I’ll call you later,” Sam said. “I need to figure out which road to take.”

“Sounds good. Hope the day is chill, bye.”

Sam groaned as he imagined returned to work, if he ever got there. The roads were familiar, but how they returned to the ones he knew was a mystery. He could see the spire of the coffeehouse’s steeple above the row homes and figured any way he took would lead back to the main street, eventually. Destiny at work, he thought.

Editor: Shannon Hensley