They shoot each other a worried look. At last, Ross says, “Sure. Take your time.”
The two of them retreat into the house and I wander around to the back, memories unspooling with every step. I spot Trojan and Copenhagen in their paddock, the two horses looking happy and healthy. Ross worked a small miracle there.
At the sound of hooves, I turn and there’s Carrot-top, braying in excitement, so thrilled to see me. He eagerly gobbles up the mints I brought especially for him and I spend the next couple of minutes kicking a ball around while he excitedly chases it.
After I finish playing with Carrot-top, I seek out Nugget and brush the old blind horse until his coat shines. The moment I finish brushing him, he snorts and walks away to roll in the hay. My half-smile widens into a full grin.
I’m fine, I tell myself as I stand in the pale sun and watch Nugget dirty his coat. I’m holding myself together.
And then Saba comes up behind me and licks my hand, and I’m undone. Undone by a furtive, commiserating lick from a German Shepherd who doesn’t like me much, but who no doubt misses Kane as much as I do.
Dropping to my knees, I wrap my arms around Saba’s thick furry neck and cry. I cry because I want impossible things. I want Kane at my side. I want a body without a ticking time bomb inside it.
A picture of Kane laps at the shore of my mind. It’s always my last image of him: his tired profile, gray eyes dark with regret, lines of self-condemnation etched on his handsome face.
In the bleak aftermath of that night, after Kane disappeared and after the police carted Marius away, I received only one message from Kane:
We need to let things settle down. Give me time.
Pain slices through my chest whenever I think of that message. How much time does he need? A year? Two years? Five? If I can forgive him for kidnapping me, why can’t he forgive himself? What is really keeping him away—his remorse or my damaged gene?
What did he say to me?Your genetic risk factor doesn’t scare me.
Well, it sure as heck scares me. It’s been a long, rough journey as I’ve tried to come to terms with the fact that I have a higher-than-average chance of contracting a spinal degenerative disease. At first, I wallowed in self-pity. It took me a while to realize it’s pointless to dread something I might never get, particularly since I’m already thirty-three years old.
After the wallowing, I jumped to the other extreme, filling my days with exhausting activities so my lonely evenings wouldn’t be filled with thoughts of Kane and the future.
Now I’ve reached a place where I’m learning to live for the moment, not taking a single minute for granted. Immersing myself in starting a finishing school for underprivileged young girls has also helped me heal. When you’re focused on others, it doesn’t leave much room to obsess about yourself.
Saba whines and a pair of scuffed, dusty boots enters my field of vision.
“Ross and I are worried,” Mel says. “You’ve been outside for a long time.” When she sees my tear-stained face, her eyes widen. “Oh, Amy, are you okay?”
I stand, rubbing my eyes. “I don’t know. Some days I am. Other days, not so much.”
Other days I can barely breathe for the pain.
Mel places a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Come inside.”
“Can I see the cats first?” I ask. “The ones my dad donated to the sanctuary.”
Just mentioning my father stirs up a confusing jumble of emotions. Love. Disappointment. Anger. Sadness. Gone is thecloseness we always shared. Our relationship is bruised and taking a long time to recover. Maybe it will never fully recover.
A week after Kane disappeared, I insisted my father show me his lab. Walking around the place, I couldn’t tear my gaze away from cage after cage of crippled cats. Staring at these poor creatures, whose spines were surgically severed and who could only get around by dragging their hind legs behind them, it was easy to see why Kane’s anger had been so provoked.
Weeks of arguments with my father followed that visit. I insisted that I wouldn’t be the excuse he used to continue with this kind of research. He seemed to finally comprehend that any healthy future relationship with his daughter hinged on him surrendering the cats to a sanctuary so they could live out the rest of their days surrounded by love.
“Of course you can see the cats,” Mel says with a smile. “They’re doing well.”
I follow Mel to their enclosure. Right away, I see that Mel’s assessment is accurate. They look so much better, fatter and friskier, than when I last saw them.
“You know,” Mel tells me casually, “we received quite a large financial donation following their arrival.”
“My father making amends the only way he knows how.”
“That was my guess.” She hesitates, appearing to choose her words with care. “What’s happening with your father’s research?”
“We’ve had quite a few...conversations about ethical research. He’s looking at new ways of restoring complex motor behavior, without using animals.”
