The Blessings of the Animals_A Novel

CHAPTER Eighteen

IT TERRIFIED ME, THIS NEW DESPERATION, THIS NEW HUNGER. I had to know if Bobby and I could—or should—save our marriage.
Did I want to?
I had already struggled with this question. Did I truly miss Bobby? Or did I miss the idea of Bobby?
I thought of my fierce, wounded daughter.
I thought of that tattered saddle and had to know.
I dropped Vijay off at his parents’ house; I didn’t go inside. He usually alternated every other night with our house when he was in town, a tradition we’d kept even when we’d both been married, but I was glad to be alone this night. At my own house, I didn’t even bother to go through the motions of getting in bed. I wandered the pasture calling for Gerald. I scratched Moonshot’s tail. As the sun rose, I tried to talk myself out of it.
Vijay was right. Bobby doesn’t deserve this. Don’t call.
But I did.
I flipped open my cell phone and dialed his number. He answered on the third ring, his voice grumbly with sleep. I looked at the microwave clock. Oops. It was three minutes before seven.
After an excruciating, babbling start, I said, “I need to ask you something. Can we meet in person?”
“Uh . . . okay. When?”
“Now?”
He paused. He coughed. He agreed to meet me at the Second Street Market downtown.
WE SAT OUTSIDE AT A PICNIC TABLE, WHERE BOBBY GREETED me with “Gabby’s right, Cam. You’re too thin.”
But thin enough? I sensed his impatience, his irritation—what was this burning question I had?—but I didn’t know how to begin. I was desperate for a sign of some kind.
As I took a deep breath, I felt real fear, this sense of do NOT do this. Bobby watched me, expectant. I asked, “Do you want to work on our marriage?”
I swear I could hear a woman breathing a hundred yards away. Bobby’s panic hung in the air, a palpable thing.
Each second of silence burned in my chest, scalded my face. Which answer would be worse?
“I . . . I wouldn’t even know how to begin,” he finally said, fidgeting with the cross at his neck.
“That’s not what I asked you.” My voice was harsh in my attempt to cover my shakiness. “I asked if you wanted to try to work on it.”
He opened his hands. “I . . . I just . . . I don’t think that would be fair to you, Cam.”
“I didn’t ask you that.” My own voice frightened me. “I asked if you wanted to work on it before we say we’re done.”
He rubbed his face with his hands. In that gesture I saw the answer: no. No, he didn’t want to work on this. I saw the weariness.
He didn’t want to try.
I was an idiot.
“Your answer is no,” I stated.
He nodded.
“All right,” I whispered, suddenly feeling I might crumble into ash. I looked into those espresso eyes and girlish lashes and wondered how I hadn’t seen what was so obviously there. How I couldn’t see he didn’t love me.
Dizziness careened through me as I stood. Bobby reached out, as if he feared I’d fall. “Cam?”
I cleared my throat. “What did you do to fix it?”
He crinkled his brow.
“What did you try? I know you didn’t talk to me, you didn’t share what you were feeling, but were there things I didn’t see that you attempted?”
He shoved his hands into his pockets, the SPQR tattoo sliding into view under his T-shirt sleeve.
“Please tell me you tried something. Anything. That you didn’t just quit.”
The signs were all around me, but I had to let him reject me again to know for sure?
“I had to know. Thanks for coming.” I walked back to my truck, lightheaded and wobbly.
To exit, I had to drive past the picnic tables and when I did, Bobby was still there.
Zayna sat beside him.
Zayna wearing a soccer jersey I’d bought for Bobby when we’d last been in Rome.
He’d brought her with him? Had she been watching our conversation?
Zayna ran a hand over Bobby’s back and leaned her head on his shoulder.
Bobby turned, lifted her chin with his hand and kissed her on the mouth.
And when they parted from the kiss, of course, of course, Bobby saw me. The goddamn red truck was so conspicuous. Our eyes met. I turned my head and drove away.
By the time I was on the highway, my cell phone buzzed. Bobby. I opened it, then shut it, cutting him off. In seconds, he called back. He called three times on my way home. Each time, I hung up on him. At home, I left my phone on the kitchen counter. It kept buzzing like an angry hornet.
I stormed my way through my late morning feed. Unforgivable that I’d left the animals hungry for that. I slammed doors, hurled grain into boxes, and tossed the empty cans, relishing the racket. Why had I called? Why had I allowed myself to be hurt again?
Were they laughing at me? Was Zayna asking, She called you for what?
I saddled Moonshot again. I put on my helmet and led him to the outdoor arena.
The gliding motion of his walk soothed me. With each fluid stride, my pulse slowed to normal.
He lifted his ears and looked at something to our left. When I turned my head to see, a wave of dizziness prickled through my skull. A glimpse of orange in the weeds. Was it Gerald? I blinked against the faint white sparkles and they retreated to my peripheral vision. Before I could focus, Moonshot picked up a trot. We probably shouldn’t do that yet . . . but it felt so flowing, so forward. I indulged in it for a moment, then closed my hands in half-halts to ask him back down. He slowed but didn’t walk. Another wave of dizziness. The white sparkles crowded my vision. Okay. Time to be serious. More aggressive half-halts on the inside rein. He turned sharply. The arena slanted. I dropped the reins and grabbed his mane to keep myself seated. I looked down but could barely see my hands through the narrowing tunnel of my vision.
Another sharp turn. I was sliding. Shit. I kicked my feet free of the stirrups and tried to dismount, but the ground didn’t meet my feet like I thought it would.
Spinning. An image of outer space. Which way was up?
My left shoulder found the ground first. Surprise as well as pain jolted 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.