The Blessings of the Animals_A Novel

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.
What about you, Cam? Were you happy?
Stuck there, shivering, then sweating, I was desert-mouthed and riding waves of bone-grinding pain. Hunger growled in my belly. I’d known better. It had been willful, self-destructive. I’d known that grief and anxiety would push my metabolism soaring even if I ate properly, which I hadn’t.
Had I really believed if I got thin enough, Bobby would return to feed me?
MOONSHOT WOKE ME, MUZZLING ALL ALONG MY BODY, HIS long whiskers tickling. The reins fell forward off his head, dragging on the ground. Please, don’t get a hoof stuck in that loop.
The sharks bumped against me. My breath was shallow, my pulse too fast. I shivered.
Gerald resettled himself inches from my face, peering at me with his pale-green eyes. He’d spent days in a trap and he’d survived, I reminded myself. He began to purr. I knew cats purred not only in pleasure but also in times of stress and pain. Cats will purr in labor. He stared into my eyes and purred with ridiculous volume. I began to breathe in rhythm with the purrs. I entered into the purring, imagining it spreading warmth through me, radiating comfort through my torso. The sharks became peripheral and then faded as I concentrated on purring, like meditation.
Like prayer.
I don’t know how long we purred together, Gerald and I. I lost myself in it until Max barked and ran away again. Muriel climbed the fence crying her bizarre shout. Gerald kept looking at me as if we were playing a game of Concentration. His purring never faltered. I tried to focus on him, not wanting to get my hopes up, but I was distracted.
When Max returned alone again, I closed my eyes and moaned. Gerald touched my cheek with his one giant boxing-glove paw, claws concealed, Hey, pay attention.
Max sat behind me, barking, the sound stabbing me. Moonshot whinnied. Biscuit answered. I tried to shush them, the sand gritty against my teeth. My head throbbed with Max’s barking. Moonshot whinnied again. Shut up, everyone. How much time had passed?
Gerald dashed away, out of sight. Oh, God. Oh, no. What would I do without him? Max kept barking. “Shut up,” I begged in a cracked old-lady voice.
“You talking to me?”
Gabby knelt before me in her suit, her face pale but resolute. “I called nine-one-one, Mom. When I first saw you. I looked up here when I heard Max barking.”
Lassie. “Fell off. Broke something. Hurts to move.”
“Oh, Mom. Mommy. What can I do? You’re shivering. I’ll go get a blanket.”
“Yes, blanket. And water. But, first, could you put Moonshot back in his paddock?”
She’d kicked off her shoes and was barefoot in hose. She reached for his dragging reins. He lowered his head, standing still as she ran the stirrups up the leathers, but he balked when she tried to lead him away. “I . . . I don’t think he wants to leave you.”
My lips cracked as I smiled. “Okay. Just untack him.”
She did, then returned with Biscuit’s purple horse blanket. She draped me in dusty warmth and gave me sips from a water bottle. Heaven. “Could you take my helmet off, babe?”
She unsnapped my helmet and slid it off my head without moving me. Ah, blessed relief.
I heard the sirens in the distance. The worst was over.
But when Max barked and took off running, Gabby shouted, “We’re up here, Dad!”