The Blessings of the Animals: A Novel - By Katrina Kittle Page 0,55

is convince yourself you’re in love. Not real love, either, but ridiculous besotted infatuation. The kind that’s so predictable it’s become a cliché—the midlife crisis, the trophy wife. My therapist said you typically fall in love with something missing in yourself, not in your spouse.”

I couldn’t help but wonder what Bobby was missing that he saw in Zayna. What was he missing that he couldn’t find in me?

“I was missing a sense of purpose,” Mom said. “I didn’t like who I’d become at competitions. I didn’t like who your father had become. I didn’t like our coach. I didn’t like how we treated our horses. I didn’t like the stress, the anxiety, the—”

“You are Dad’s coach.”

“I am, now.”

“But.” I tried to take all this in. I remembered other coaches, vaguely. Way back when Davy and I played or napped in a giant dog crate while Mom and Dad competed at shows.

She looked up at the sky, then returned her gaze to mine. “I convinced myself I was in love with someone else. It swept me away, consumed me—don’t worry, I won’t go into detail—but I wasn’t in love with that man. Not like I love your father. I was in love with what he did.”

We watched the water in that hypnotic way one might stare at a fire. I thought of the many male coaches her age who could have been her lover, but I already knew—in spite of all she’d revealed today—that my demure, private mother would never tell me his name.

Eventually, Cantata crossed the creek and climbed the opposite bank. She chose a path wandering up a rolling hill and we let her, Biscuit and I following behind. We moseyed along in single file for about fifteen minutes. When the path widened, I squeezed my calves against Biscuit’s sides. He picked up a lazy jog and we caught up to Mom, our boots nearly touching.

I listened to the creak of the saddles, the occasional clink of a horseshoe on a stone, the whisk of the horses’ tails. I wanted to tell her I was sorry, but I didn’t know words that would include my regret for all of it. All the misunderstandings, all the lost opportunity, all the pain and distance. How I’d judged her. What a bitch I’d been.

I reached out to her. Mom saw the gesture and reached to meet my hand with her own. We held hands between horses until Cantata stepped sideways to avoid a puddle, tugging us apart.

LATER, BACK IN THE BARN, WE UNTACKED THE HORSES AND hosed them off. Sweaty foam had gathered between their legs and along their necks. Finally spring.

“How did you mend it?” I asked. “The marriage?” I ran the hose over Cantata’s back, watching her coat change from white to gunmetal gray.

Mom stopped scrubbing the mare’s neck. “We just decided to. We said if we were going to end it, we had to earn our way out. We had to pick up every single stone and look beneath it for a solution. We vowed we weren’t walking away until we’d exhausted every possible option.”

I hosed the mare’s tail. “How do you even begin, though? What did you do?”

“Talked. Fought. Cried. It was hard, Camden. The hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

The hardest thing she’s ever done? My mother didn’t say those words lightly.

I thought again of the accident.

I thought of my father’s face, freckled with mud. I saw the burgundy blood bubbling in one nostril. I heard my mother saying, “Just move. Just open your eyes. Show me you’re all right.”

I thought of how it took a crawling century of a week for my mother to get that wish.

That day was among my favorite being-married memories—that is, up until the clipped, British announcement that Cleveland Anderson was “unseated at the Broken Bridge.” Our whole family was present at the Kentucky Horse Park for the Rolex Kentucky Three Day Event. Crisp but sunny weather. My husband holding my hand. My funny daughter teasing us. Eating funnel cake and onion blossoms. Walking the miles of the cross-country course, Bobby animated, asking me questions about the sport and its confusing rules.

Bobby, Gabby, and I had waited for more than an hour to stake out perfect bleacher seats at the series of water jumps. The Davids were farther behind on the course, at the Broken Bridge. The water complex and the Bridge promised to be the most spectacular jumps of the day. Mom would be zipping to strategic places on the course in