The Blessings of the Animals: A Novel - By Katrina Kittle Page 0,68

in the slow, unhurried way my current condition required.

I’D MISSED A SCHEDULED APPOINTMENT WITH ANOTHER attorney because of the accident. I’d called to explain, had apologized, and then had been amazed to discover I was talking to the lawyer herself, not a secretary. The woman answered her own phone. That seemed promising.

Sue Ellen Lippincott looked like she could be my grandmother. Her office was a cozy house, not at all like the slick attorneys’ office I’d visited downtown.

Davy took half a personal day and drove me there. I spotted three different cats—one who sprawled on the lawyer’s desk, belly up. Yes, this was the attorney for me.

Sue Ellen made me a cup of tea, then asked me about what had happened with Bobby. I realized I was tired of talking about it. Finally. That felt good.

“I want this divorce to be as clean as possible. I don’t want to screw him over; I just want to protect my daughter and keep my farm.”

She instructed me to make a list of our belongings and draw up a list of how I’d like to divide them. “You have to list everything. Anything of real value we’ll need to discuss.”

It felt wrong to move through the house, in my stiff, careful gait, filling a notebook with our possessions. Is this what a marriage came down to? Accumulated stuff?

The kitchen stopped me. All the pots and pans, the gadgets, the cookware, the spatulas and spoons should be Bobby’s, right? But . . . without him in the house, I would have to cook.

I realized I wanted to. I’d wanted to all along.

Once, Bobby had come into the kitchen as I was pouring pasta into a colander, but instead of saying thanks he’d snapped that the pasta was ruined. The colander had no legs, so, temporarily, the pasta sat in its own water until it drained. What the hell was the big deal? It had been sitting in its own water seconds before on top of the stove, but Bobby threw it out.

He’d often taken knives from me in a condescending manner, as if I were a child. He’d added more salt or spices to anything I’d put on the stove. It’d always been good natured—“Oh, Cami can’t boil water,” that sort of thing . . . and it was true that twice I’d put broccoli in a steamer with no water beneath it, filling the house with the smell of char and ruining two good copper pans. We’d laughed about it, but now I felt insulted. I realized I’d been insulted at the time but had stuffed it down, because, as Gabby had pointed out, that had been easier.

Those memories made me list quite a few items from the kitchen I’d like to keep.

In the bedroom, I came across my wedding band and slid it on. How much would it be worth? The ring, with its four tiny sapphires and diamond, had belonged to his great-grandparents. They’d been named Roberto and Carmella, so inside the ring, our own initials, R & C, were already engraved, along with the words Amore per sempre.

When I tried to take it off, it stuck, and I had a moment of panic before I managed, with some flaming in my ribs from the effort, to pull it off.

I TOOK TO MAKING MY TURTLELIKE WAY DOWN TO THE BARN in the mornings to sit in the barn lot. I’d bring a cup of coffee to watch the sun rise and the horses wake. Gerald always followed me, then sat on my feet. I noticed spiderwebs bejeweled with dew, deer rising from sleep in the far reaches of the pasture, and a mockingbird who surveyed the start of each day from our weathervane. One morning, six fat rabbits grazed on the hillside while Max lay at my side. “Some dog,” I scolded.

I tried to be present with an open heart as the bones in my torso knitted and healed.

I prayed for the ability to forgive.

I began to find it. When I played with a twig and watched Gerald leap and twist to catch it—marveling at his agility in spite of his missing leg—I felt sorry for Bobby. He wasn’t happy. Even with his little adoring waitress lover and their perfect puppy.

Most mornings I did wake up happy. This was enough—this goat trotting to greet me, tickling my legs with her beard.

This was enough—this gorgeous, wounded horse who’d protected me.

This was enough—my sleepy daughter sweeping the barn aisle. This amazing person in