The Blessings of the Animals: A Novel - By Katrina Kittle Page 0,62
me awake as I bounced.
The second landing was on my side.
I heard the crack. Felt the pop, like an internal flashbulb going off.
Chapter Nineteen
I FELT PAIN LIKE I’D NEVER KNOWN BEFORE, NOT EVEN GIVING birth.
Moonshot snuffled the length of my body, then brought his muzzle to my face.
It hurts. My shoulder throbbed. Bone ground deep within me. My helmet’s strap chafed my neck. Thirst cottoned my mouth.
Okay. Think. My phone. On the kitchen counter. Shit. Shit.
There was a landline in the barn.
I tried to visualize myself getting up, walking the distance to the gate, crawling through. I managed to move only my right arm, though, before I gave up. It hurts it hurts it hurts.
After more time had passed (ten minutes? two hours?) I tried to sit up. The alternative was to stay here until Gabriella returned this evening. It couldn’t have been much past 9 a.m. now.
There was water in the barn. And the phone. Phone and water. Phone and water. My mantra. Eventually, I used my right arm to push against the ground to raise myself to sitting.
Unbearable. I looked at the barn. Might as well be on Mount Everest. I slid back to the ground.
Max trotted into the arena, whined, sniffed me all over, and curled up against my back.
When I heard knocking on wood, joy surged through me: Someone is here! Vijay? But it was Muriel, climbing the fence. She crossed the arena to me, her tiny hooves scritch-scritch-scritch-ing in the sand. She looked me over, then paced like a little old lady wringing her hands.
How could I have been so stupid? When had I eaten last? Eaten for real?
Vijay would spend the night here tonight. When would he arrive? Lunch? Late afternoon?
Your life isn’t falling apart. It’s about to fall together.
Falling. That seemed to be the key word. It hurts it hurts it hurts.
Moonshot lowered his head to mine, and his reins slid down his neck, catching on one ear.
Scritch-scritch-scritch. Back and forth, back and forth, Muriel paced.
What would stupid baby Binky do if he knew I was lying here? I tried to shove that image away; I didn’t want his help. Bullshit. I’d take anyone’s help right now. Hell, even Zayna’s.
AFTER WHAT FELT LIKE AN HOUR, THIRST PROMPTED ME TO attempt sitting again. I shut my eyes, psyching myself up for the effort. When I opened them—step one—Gerald perched before me, his one front paw curled under. He mewed as if he’d been waiting for me to wake up. He touched his nose to my eyelids, forehead, and lips as if trying to taste what had befallen here.
This time I made it to my knees, thinking I might crawl, but when I tried to put weight on my hands, waves of pain ripped through my torso. A low, deep grinding sensation made my vision darken. I slumped to the ground again, this time on my right side, facing away from the sun.
From this new view, I saw that the far side of the arena held a broad strip of lush grass. Moonshot was opting to stand near me rather than graze.
Don’t panic. If nothing else, Gabriella would come home. 6 p.m. Maybe earlier.
Max sat up and barked, then bounded off. That’s right, boy. Be like Lassie. Go get help.
Think of something else. I imagined myself boarding a plane. Going to visit Vijay in New York. I pictured the choreographed way the flight attendants mimed pulling those yellow oxygen masks over their heads. The way they’d say, in an almost admonishing tone, that you must secure your own mask first before attempting to help anyone else.
An image of Bobby holding out a spoon appeared to me.
Oh. Those oxygen masks. You had to put your own on first. You couldn’t rescue anyone until you’d rescued yourself.
An image of my heartbroken daughter appeared to me.
Oh.
Max returned, still barking. I hoped. I waited. But no one materialized.
It’s okay. I wasn’t going to die. My daughter wouldn’t return to find my body in the arena. The panic was near, though, circling like sharks. Scritch-scritch-scritch.
I craved water enough to try to shuffle on my knees. Nausea rolled over me, so I slid back to the sand and concentrated on Lamaze breathing. I can’t throw up. Who knew how many hours I had before I’d be discovered? If I got dehydrated and went into shock, I really could die.
Stop thinking like that. You’re not going to die. You’ve obviously broken something.