The Blessings of the Animals: A Novel - By Katrina Kittle Page 0,58

helpless.

He’d never shown the slightest interest in any of our animals, but his dopey grin made it clear—he was smitten. Well, well, well. Binky had a heart after all.

The puppy spilled from my kneeling thighs, then splayed on her back, exposing her round belly for Max’s inspection.

I stood, brushing my knees, shaking away the bit of dizziness as I rose upright.

Bobby frowned at me as I unfolded before him. What did I look like?

“I’m here to talk to Gabriella. Or to try to anyway.”

“I’m glad.” My own voice startled me with its warmth, its welcome.

He looked into my face, wary at first. Then gratitude softened his eyes.

Gabriella came out the back door. “Dad?”

She ran down the path to him. As they embraced—Max and the puppy stumbling around their feet—my own arms ached to touch Bobby. See? You forgave—you decided to, as my mother had said—just as Gabby did right before my eyes.

I watched them and thought, Maybe, just maybe . . . we could do this.

But not right now. This moment was not about me.

When the two of them left for dinner, I sat on Moonshot again. I touched my heels to his ribs and he stepped away from the mounting block. I let him walk across the barn lot, then closed my hands on the reins. He halted, and I slipped my feet free of the stirrups and slid off his back.

EARLY IN THE MORNING, AN E-MAIL FROM BOBBY SAT waiting.

It was so good for me to see Gabriella. She says you never sleep or eat. I thought you looked way too thin. You’ve been on my mind and if there’s anything I can do for you, please call me. I mean that. Love, Bobby.

My face broke out in a hot, scratchy flush. I read the e-mail again.

I’d been on his mind? Please call me? Love?

I walked down to the barn at dawn.

This time, I put on a helmet and rode Moonshot around the perimeter of the barn lot. His walk was classic thoroughbred, forward and gliding, his stride long and low.

If there’s anything I can do for you.

Love.

You’ve been on my mind.

Back in the house, Gabriella scrambled eggs. “If you did my morning feed again,” she said, “then the least I can do is feed you.”

“Oh, babe, that’s sweet.” I sat down to eat the eggs. See? See me eat? I’m fine, just fine. Why did you tell your father that?

But a small, shameful slice of me wondered, If I were thin enough, would he rescue me again?

Gabriella had a stack of printed-out Internet research beside her. Her suitcase stood by the door.

I turned over a few forkfuls of eggs. “Is this tournament one night? Or two?”

It shocked me to hear my mother and myself echoed in her sigh. “One,” she said. “We’ll be back tomorrow night. I wrote it down because you don’t remember anything anymore.”

I made a face at her. What if . . . what if when she returned, I could offer her some hope?

Don’t be stupid. Don’t call him. He walked away. You already know his answer.

When she left, I waved good-bye, then dumped my eggs in the disposal.

I WAS NEVER SO RELIEVED AS WHEN MY CELL RANG LATER at the clinic and I saw Vijay’s name appear. “If I were at the Dayton Airport at seven p.m., could you pick me up?” he asked.

“Yes!” I didn’t check a clock. I didn’t need to.

“Good, because I’m at La Guardia, on a plane, and finally about to take off.”

I wanted to fall to my knees and kiss the floor. He’d closed two e-mails lately with that line: “Haraka haraka haina baraka.” I needed to ask him what that meant.

I tried to dress with care, but my clothes all felt too big and slovenly. I chose a black V-neck sweater (those clavicles) and jeans I had to belt.

I stood in the Dayton airport, waiting for a lifeboat to be tossed to me.

Vijay strolled around the corner and out toward the baggage claim. I took in his lankiness, the sureness of the sweet, bowlegged gait I used to tease him for in high school. When he saw me, the flash of his white smile against his cinnamon skin made something dissolve within me.

He engulfed me in a hug and kissed my cheek, as he always did.

Once he’d collected his suitcase and we were in my truck, he said, “You’re too thin, Cam.”

He said it simply, a scientific observation. He was the only person who could say this