The Blessings of the Animals_A Novel

CHAPTER Twenty-Three

VIJAY CAME BACK AS OFTEN AS HE COULD DURING THAT long summer of my recovery, sometimes for little over twenty-four hours before flying back to New York (or on to Accra or Gaborone or Harare). There was safety in the fact that we couldn’t actually be lovers yet.
“Maybe we shouldn’t be each other’s rebounds,” I said. “That’s always a disaster.”
He played with the inside of my wrist. “I don’t think anything about us getting into bed together would be a disaster.”
“You’ve been my friend for so long,” I said to him. “What if we mess it up?”
“You worry too much,” Vijay said. “Why would we mess it up?”
“Promise, then. No matter what happens to us as a couple, we’ll stay best friends.”
“I promise.”
My ribs felt better much sooner than my doctor or the emergency team had predicted. I swore by the healing properties of fabulous kissing, the presence of horses, and the halva Shivani brought over (and that Vijay fed to me with his fingers).
GABRIELLA HAD ALWAYS LIKED VIJAY. HE’D OFTEN BEEN A guest in our home, so having him around wasn’t an unusual occurrence for her. We were discreet, and he slept in the guest room. When she saw us together, we were as comfortable as we’d always been. She milked his medical knowledge for all he was worth, drilling him on stem cell research, partial birth abortion, and AIDS policies.
“You like Vijay, don’t you?” she asked one morning as we both ate breakfast.
“Of course I like him. He’s been my best friend since I was six!”
“No, you know what I mean. You like him–like him, don’t you?”
No matter what I said, that splotchy blush spoke for me. “I think I do. Yes.”
I held my breath, but she grinned. “It’s obvious he likes you.”
“Likes me–likes me?”
“Hello? He worships you!”
I felt I was blushing even inside, so delectable was this thought. “Are you okay with that?”
“Of course!” she said. “You should be happy.”
I looked at her. “What about you? Tyler worships you. Shouldn’t you be happy?”
“You know what, Mom?” She stood up from the kitchen island and put her dishes in the dishwasher. “You think I broke up with Ty because of you and Dad. But maybe I broke up with him because we’ve been going out since sixth grade and I thought it was time to date someone else.”
Oh, I hated when she threw my own arguments back at me. I liked Tyler. I had not one single thing against Tyler except for the fact that for years my daughter’s love for him had given her tunnel vision about her options.
I should be rejoicing. I should feel relieved.
But I didn’t believe her.
DAVY BEGAN TO PICK ME UP IN THE MORNING AND DRIVE ME to work. I could at least do paperwork and diagnostics and let the vet techs and assistants do most of the manual labor. I wanted to relieve Aurora as much as possible, plus help the clinic bring in more money.
I especially liked letting Tyler assist me. He was excellent at knowing exactly how I could move and how I couldn’t.
As I listened to a puppy’s heart—a wriggling puppy Tyler held still for me—I looked at the blue shadows smudging Tyler’s eyes.
In between appointments, I asked him how he was doing.
“I just . . . I wish I knew what I’d done wrong. If she’d just tell me, then I could fix it.”
Since hugging him was physically impossible, I closed the exam room door and turned to him. “Tyler, you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“But I—”
“Did she say that?”
“No, no, she said it wasn’t me, it was her, but—”
“You know what I’ve learned? And don’t forget, I’m in your exact shoes.”
His cheeks pinked a bit.
“If someone says it’s not you, believe them.”
HELEN CALLED ME AT THE CLINIC. “YOUR MOONSHOT HAS a name. I have his papers in my hand. And guess what? I was right—there’s a Satan connection. His registered name is Devil May Care.”
I blinked. “Devil May Care? Is he— Sounds like he’s sired by Devil Made Me Do It.”
Devil Made Me Do It was a Kentucky Derby winner, currently the highest-paid stud in the country.
“He is,” Helen said. “This horse is valuable.”
I bristled. “I already knew that.”
“This is going to court. And it doesn’t look good.”
I started to protest, but Helen interrupted me. “There’s another sister who wants them. Ginger Avalon. She wasn’t involved in the—”
“What is her name?”
“I know, I know, it’s ridiculous. She sounds like a porn star. It’s like that game, where you use the name of your first pet and the name of the first street you lived on to find your porn name.”
“Please,” I said. “I can’t let a porn star take this horse.”
But Helen didn’t laugh. “The porn star wasn’t involved in the abuse. Cami, I’m on your side. You know I am. I’m just saying, friend, don’t get too attached.”
Too late.
Way too late.
THE IDEA OF MORE POTENTIAL LOSS MADE ME GET PITBULLISH about the farm when Bobby’s attorney pushed. I was not letting go.
The wedding ring finally came up. That ring was worth much more money than I’d known all those eighteen years I’d worn it. I’d had it appraised, nearly choking when the jeweler told me the high five-figure sum.
I already knew from Sue Ellen that legally I had to return the ring—it was a family heirloom. I assumed Bobby’s attorney had told him this, too, which is why one night at the farm visiting Gabriella, Bobby tentatively brought it up.
“That ring is worth a lot of money,” I said, “which is exactly what you’re asking me for right now, expecting me to give up my home.”
He never mentioned it again. I bought Bobby out of the farm, giving him half the equity in the place already. When I wrote the check and presented it to him, I knew he thought it was the ring’s money I was handing him. I let him believe that.
The day we divorced, the ring was still safely tucked away under piles of my underwear.
DO YOU KNOW HOW EASY IT IS TO GET DIVORCED? I HAD NO idea. Depressingly easy.
Everyone called while I was getting dressed (a process that still took twice as long as before my injury)—Vijay, Olive, Helen, my brother, my parents, Aurora—offering me support, volunteering to go with me to the courthouse.
I declined their offers but was filled with gratitude. As I headed into the court building, I turned off my phone. I’d do this alone, but I felt loved and surrounded walking in.
The hallway was packed with other couples ending their marriages. I couldn’t stop watching an older couple—they looked my parents’ age—who both read novels while they sat in the hall, as if they were in a doctor’s waiting room.
Before I knew it, we were “up.” A bailiff ordered everyone into lines and used such terms as “in the hole” and “on deck,” which made me think of horse shows and waiting your turn to jump. “Here we go,” my father always cheerfully said as he trotted from the “on deck” warm-up ring into the stadium. I thought it myself as we were ushered into the courtroom. Here we go.
It was such an assembly line, though, that we stood in the courtroom and watched two other couples divorce before we were moved—all of it carefully choreographed—to stand in front of the grandmotherly judge ourselves.
“Do you agree to the terms set forth here?” The judge peered over her turquoise bifocals.
“I do,” I said.
“I do,” Bobby said.
Our wedding vows in reverse.
We signed our names.
And that was that.
Our attorneys whisked us back into the hallway and told us to wait while they made copies of our divorce decree. When they returned, we all shook hands, and then we left, walking out the front door together, into a summer morning with a chicory-blue sky.
Bobby and I paused at the crosswalk, where we turned to each other. Bobby shoved his hands into his pockets and kicked at the sidewalk with his toe. He looks like a little boy, I thought. Binky.
The moment turned into another.
“Have a nice life.” I said it as kindly as I could, then I started walking. When I looked at my watch I was shocked to see the entire procedure had taken less than twenty minutes!
Once in the car, I began calling everyone, as I’d promised. Davy answered with “I can drive right over. I took a personal day, just in case.”
“Aw.” This touched me. “But it’s over. The whole thing was frighteningly efficient. Could’ve been a drive-through.”
Olive had wanted to meet me for breakfast. I had to call her and ask to move it a full forty minutes earlier. When I got to the café, it felt good to sit down; my ribs were throbbing.
I was sick of talking about the divorce. Rather than feeling bitter or sad, I wanted to look forward, so when Olive plopped into the chair across from me, I asked about her and Nick’s wedding plans and said, “Let me know if I can do anything for the big day, okay?”
Olive made that smoke-ring mouth. “Are you kidding me? You’re my maid of honor! I was yours and you’re gonna be mine. We’ve talked about that for years.”
I swallowed my latte too fast, burning my mouth. “B-but, I mean, now that Bobby and I—”
“This is not about my stupid-ass brother. This is about me. This is my day. This is how I always pictured it, and I’m not changing my mind just because my brother went insane.”
“I’ll actually get to be the maid of honor,” I joked.
Olive laughed. “That’s right! See, how perfect? No frumpy ol’ matron for you!”
I looked at her round cheeks, those long outrageous lashes, like her brother’s. What she was attempting was so hard. I wanted her to be happy. I wanted Olive and Nick to get it right. On the morning of my divorce, I wanted to be a part of this couple attempting to take it on. I swore I could almost hear sappy music in the background, or a scene from some grown-up version of Peter Pan—I do believe in marriage! I do believe in marriage! And the dying institution rallying to life like poor Tinker Bell’s light growing brighter and brighter.
Almost.
But I couldn’t shake that doubt that Gabriella might be right.