The Blessings of the Animals: A Novel - By Katrina Kittle Page 0,57

was still a little gimpy but certainly mobile, and I wasn’t going to ride him for real. I slipped onto the saddle for fifteen seconds, then slid off.

Head tossing. Teeth gnashing. But he stood still.

I did it three more times before I made Gabriella stop studying and went to bed.

My mother’s words kept me awake.

The cats had been quiet that night, and 2 a.m. was long before their usual witching hour. It was even too early for Max to follow me to the barn. Without lifting his head, he tapped the end of his tail twice before he shut his eyes again.

I wasn’t on my guard. My mind was full of the Passier, those bite marks, our trail ride conversation. I opened the door and out rushed the three-legged cat.

“Gerald!” I called. I stepped into the dark. “Gerald, c’mere! Come back.”

I grabbed the flashlight from the back porch, but Gerald was long gone. I called and called and shone the light into bushes, the pile of wood that was once my shed, and the flower bed of the slouching St. Francis. In the barn, Biscuit grunted in mild protest at the disturbance, and Moonshot paced fretfully outside. I walked through the back pasture, rustling up nothing but three deer who rose and galloped away with my pulse.

Maybe . . . maybe the riskiest thing in the world would be to try to fix things. Part of me felt heavy at that thought, as if my bones had taken on more weight. What would it feel like for everyone to know all that crap that had passed between Bobby and me—the “dirty laundry,” as Mom had called it—and to try to forge ahead, all exposed like that?

Wouldn’t it be worth it to present Gabriella with a model like that?

What if the greatest adventure in the world was to do this right? To do it well? In this day and age—this time period in which I found myself alive on this planet—maybe we would be the boldest, bravest explorers if we tried to repair a marriage instead of throwing one away?

IN THE MORNING, I SADDLED MOONSHOT AGAIN AND SAT ON him before searching the pasture for Gerald. The tuna I’d set out for him was gone, but the footprints around it looked like raccoon, not cat. I scanned the horizon. I’d grown fond of that raggedy cat, with his broad, lionlike nose. How would he fare out there with only three legs?

After work, I searched for him again. Gingersnap, in the meantime, lorded over the house, positively swaggering everywhere she went.

I was about to get on Moonshot again that evening, when I saw Bobby’s car come up our drive. I grudgingly gave him credit for finally showing up.

I couldn’t help but gasp at the punch in my stomach of the puppy tumbling out of the car after Bobby. A floppy Boxer clambered on too-big paws beside my husband as they walked down to meet me at the barn. I wanted the puppy to steel my fickle heart against Bobby’s betrayal, but when the puppy toppled into a somersault at the slightest nudge from Max, then looked up with its tongue poking from the side of its underbite, I didn’t have a chance.

I knelt to pet the ungainly baby, who climbed onto my thighs and covered my neck with slobbery kisses.

When I looked up, Bobby was smiling. God, he’s beautiful. At his smile, my heart stuttered, then gunned with adrenaline. That was a fear rush. Why was I afraid? Because I couldn’t stop thinking of my mom’s words, of that stitched-up saddle. Could we be repaired?

“This is Zuzu.” Bobby’s eyes were bright, his expression sheepish.

Zuzu? I hid my face, ducking away from her bubblegum tongue. That name was ours, that was our private joke. Watching It’s a Wonderful Life was one of the few Christmas traditions Bobby didn’t just tolerate but actually enjoyed. We could quote dialogue from the entire film. When good news happened, we were as likely to exclaim, “Zuzu’s petals!” as “Congratulations.”

You can’t call her that! I wanted to snap as I let the puppy lick my face. That name belongs to our marriage, it doesn’t belong to Zayna. I felt like some kind of store open for Zayna to stroll through and select what she wanted. I’ll take this, and this, and this . . . until my shelves were bare.

When I was able, I looked up at Bobby.

He shrugged. “I know. I—” He opened his hands, as if