CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I DO, BUT I DIDN’T

Outside the cabin in the dry evening air, I released the pressure in my back with a tall stretch. Just ahead and down a short drive, I saw the white horse corral and fence equipped with electrical wires. A handful of horses grazed inside a grassy field. I heard the click of a door opening to my left. A woman in the cabin escorted a sleek fawn-colored pit bull out to pee. She waved gaily and disappeared back inside, shutting her door with another click. Neither Summer nor Holly were anywhere in sight. I pocketed my cell phone and stepped closer to the fencing.

I didn’t have the keys to the camper. I was hungry, and I wasn’t sure how I’d get to the top of the canyon to see Peanut and Moose. The two dogs were a couple in my mind now, a couple of one—fused. Like Holly and Rosie. Like Katie and me. Together, forever-after.

The possibility of forever-after being terribly close for Katie. The thought of going up against cancer again made me feel exactly how I felt trying to do a pull-up for the President’s Fitness Challenge in middle school. Shaky, hanging in limbo, and unfit.

Losing Katie would feel like touching the electric fence, a nasty current that would stay with me forever. I took in the wide green of the grass, the mountain range, and the flawless darkening blue sky. My feelings of powerlessness made larger with the wide sky, tears pricked my eyes, and my cheekbones were wet.

A nut-brown horse in the field, his coat blurry with softness, ears tall and tight against his head, stopped chewing and stared at me. His stare was such a horsey look of curiosity. It was as if he were saying, What exactly is happening over there?

I tried to define it for that horse and myself. It wasn’t sadness I felt. It was, if I had to put a name on it, verklempt —choked with such a chopped salad of unnamable emotions that the fiber of it all felt stuck in my throat.

With grand, deliberate purpose, the brown beauty stepped toward me as if in a procession. One hoof forward, knee high, evenly paced and stately, he kicked up dirt on his way.

I froze. I always wanted to be the kind of person loved by animals. Like that dog in Japan who, after his owner died, hung out at his train stop for years after. But as much as I acted like a Try Hard where being a best friend was concerned, I was also a Try Hard with animals. Dogs put up with my efforts to connect with them out of sheer doggie pity, but cats would have nothing to do with me. Their disdain when I called out to them was unmistakable.

When the powerful animal arrived in front of me, he turned his head and stretched it through the fence. His big globe of an eye, like a satellite, turned to meet mine. I remembered hearing that you shouldn’t pet a horse on their face. They preferred to be touched on their neck, but I had the feeling that this horse wanted me to touch his nose.

Slowly, I let him smell my hand.

“I don’t want to startle you,” came a male voice to my right.

I pulled my hand from the soft black muzzle. Griff the veterinarian stood next to me. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what the rules are. He seemed so intent. It felt rude to not touch him.” The horse stayed in place, waiting.

“You’re fine. Don’t feed him, though.”

I was aware that my face was wet with tears, and I was sure I had that bedraggled look I get when I cry . . . a red pinched nose, rheumy eyes, and patchy pink skin under my chin. I wiped my face with my shirtsleeve. “I don’t know why I’m crying.” Why did crying in public feel shameful?

“This place knocks the tears loose from everyone,” he said with a sympathetic head tilt. “There’s something about horses. This one’s name is Tony. He’s a fan favorite.”

“I’ve never been a horse girl.” I reoffered my hand to Tony, and he nuzzled my fist. “Not like my neighbor Jessica, who spouted horse facts nonstop on the way to soccer games when we were kids. Let’s see if I remember any.” I opened my hand and the horse let me cup his cheek. “You can tell if a horse is cold by feeling his ears. And a baby horse can run right after they’re born.”

“Excellent! Any others?” Griff’s open face, so happy to find a horse enthusiast.

“Not that I can recall. It’s been a while.”

“Here’s one for you. Horses can read your intent. Tony didn’t come to comfort you. He came to your side because your energy wasn’t predatory, and so he got curious. He came to say, Who dis? ” Griff seemed to be trying to comfort me.

“Well, Tony, I’m Sam, and I mean you no harm.” His soft, warm cheek fit into the curve of my hand. “I kind of wish he came to comfort me. Or he came because he knew I was a good person.”

“Oh, he knows. Horses are very careful.”

“I’m not a big crier. I’m a worried mess about my sick friend.” I put my hand on the bridge of the horse’s nose; there was nothing soft about the bony ridge between Tony’s eyes. “The scale of this space is overwhelming. How could this sanctuary be here, and I’m only now discovering it? I wish my friend could see this place.” I promised myself I would bring Katie here, and my heart seemed to skip a sad beat.

“This is the kind of place you either know about or you don’t. Once you see it, you can’t unsee it. That’s what it was like for me.” Griff had changed from his professional veterinarian clothes to jeans, Australian boots, and a stretched-out navy T-shirt with Yankees on it. His expression was relaxed interest with a wash of familiarity. He spoke as if we were already friends. “My name is Griffin. First and last name, by the way.”

“You mean it’s always been Griffin?”

“No, my name is Griffin Griffin. My parents thought it was adorable, and also maybe they hated me.”

“Dr. Griffin Griffin?” I forced myself not to laugh.

“Dr. Griffin Griffin. Thank you for not laughing right away.”

“Can I laugh later in my cabin when you’re not around?”

“Absolutely, I expect most people do.” He shrugged. “I don’t know what my parents were thinking. By the time people started making fun of me when I was a kid, I’d lost my parents. I never got any answers.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that.” This was another moment in my life where a cliché was the only thing I could think to say and was inadequate.

“It wasn’t awesome, but there was no more laughing at the orphan boy with the odd name.” Griff swiped at a fly near his chin. “It was so long ago.”

There was a comfortable moment when neither of us spoke, then Griff said, “I was visiting a sick pig and saw you here. I came over to see if you’d like to visit Peanut, maybe get something to eat.”

“I would. Both. I’m starving.” I peered at his face and wondered if this was what his life was like. Working all day, talking with volunteers, possibly finding people who would donate money and help sustain the sanctuary.

“I can take you into Kanab, or we can see Peanut and eat leftovers from lunch. We have a vegan chef on-site and whatever is uneaten from the cafeteria gets delivered to the clinic. You know, in case we have an all-night emergency and need something to eat.”

“Let’s go to the clinic. I might not have enough energy to go find food, eat it, and then visit Peanut. Maybe if I spend more time with him, he’ll get better faster. You know, like when they hug babies in the hospital.”

“Dogs heal so fast. He’ll be ready.” He took a red bandana from the back pocket of his Levi’s and like a stoic cowboy in a movie, gestured for me to wipe the tears from my face. It was startling to have this kindness from a stranger.

I followed Griff to the staff room within the clinic, and he opened the refrigerator. “It looks like we have cold sesame and peanut noodles.” He moved a container to the right. His broad shoulders obstructed my view. “We also have fruit and gazpacho on the one hand, and two beers on the other.”

“Wow, I was expecting far less appetizing or healthy. I lose my appetite when I’m super stressed and I keep forgetting to eat. This is such a nice thing for the volunteers who don’t have any place to go.”

He looked puzzled but kind. “The cook is amazing. I’ve never eaten so well as after moving here.”

“Is that right?”

“I’m a single guy. I ate a lot of frozen pizza. What can I say?”

I smiled and distractedly thought about Maddie and our dinners. Happy affairs where she’d chat about simply everything. Once, her class had watched a documentary about how Chinese labor helped build the transcontinental railway, and she got up and acted some of the parts out. The memory of Maddie’s sunny face, her happy chatter, her call out to me, “Mom, mom, mom!” if I wasn’t fully focused. I might have been living for my daughter, but you’d never convince me that it wasn’t all worth it. My heart swelled and deflated in equal measure, the bellows that lived in my chest, the love that fueled my heart.

“I guess pizza is in my future too,” I said as much to him as to myself, and I felt a stab of loneliness for my future without Maddie at home. Possibly without Katie—and as quickly as it had appeared, I shoved that thought out of my brain. I would not bring that to fruition by considering it. I would not. “My kid is lactose intolerant and won’t eat anything but chicken. But she’s graduating and leaving soon.”

“Oh, you’re married.” I saw his eyes dart to my empty ring finger, and he gave me another unreadable expression.

“Widowed. When my daughter was an infant. I was a single mom.”

Griff nodded, handed me an open beer, and I took a long swallow. I felt the cool liquid slide all the way down my throat. I pulled out a folding chair at a table with a few empty coffee mugs that held the orange Best Friends logo. I took pride in clarifying my singledom by saying I was widowed. Despite my quiet single life, I had not been divorced, had not been given up on. I had not been at fault.

“I’m sorry. That must have been very hard.”

“At this point it’s my history and my reality.” I speared a clump of noodles with the plastic fork he’d given me. The cold noodles tasted like the best thing I’d ever eaten. I also felt the effects of the alcohol, which seemed impossibly fast and unfair.

“I’m a widower too.”

“You are? I don’t know many other widows. It’s rare. I’m so sorry.”

“Well, you know. It’s an unusual place to be in the world. People don’t know what to do with us, do they? They can’t blame us for being single, they definitely pity us, and then there’s this romantic notion surrounding it. A kind of Heathcliff-on-the-moors thing when he was lovelorn, before he got filled with rage.”

“Exactly!” I said with such vigor that a piece of noodle flew out of my mouth and landed on the table between us. I wiped my mouth and the table quickly, embarrassed.

Griffin Griffin laughed. He’d nicked himself shaving, and there was a small scab he touched with his fingertips when he talked. “If you’re keeping score, I’m an orphan and a widower.”

“Oh Lord. Yes, you are,” I said, enjoying this banter even with the tick-tick-ticking of lost minutes and our delayed arrival back home. I tried to focus on the moment instead of my time-urgent worry.

“If I become an amputee, I could be my own joke. An orphan, a widower, and an amputee stagger into a bar.”

“Or an action movie: Orphan, Widow, Cripple, Spy .”

“Cripple? You’re calling me a cripple?” Griff said good-naturedly.

“No,” I said laughing, “I’m not. You aren’t an amputee. Did you forget?”

“Oh yeah. Well, it’s something to look forward to.”

I covered my mouth. “I’m sorry. You just told me you lost your wife, and I made a joke.”

“You were provoked. If you can’t joke with someone else who’s widowed, who can you joke with?” His eyes were wide and bright, and he had a swipe of oil on his lower lip.

In a mom moment, I brushed a bit of green onion off the side of his mouth.

“Thanks.” Without breaking eye contact, he licked his lips and his thumb. And that’s when I figured out what was happening. Slow as a sloth, my mind crawled out of its ditch at the side of the road and clawed into the oncoming traffic of emotion. This man, this Griffin Griffin, was flirting with me. And my brain crept from surprise to astonishment to a five-alarm fire bell.

In a movie the two widowed people would fall into each other and apologize in the morning. But I wasn’t drunk; nor had I shaved my legs or anything else for that matter for too many years, which might have been a funny thing to consider at that moment, but old habits die hard. I could be under anesthesia and know the status of my body hair.

The larger barrier, besides my very low attractiveness and self-esteem, and my slowness to interpret mating signals, was, I realized spectacularly, Drew. For the first time in ages and ages, I was thinking of a man in a romantic way and was hoping he was thinking of me.

And there was something else. I’d often suspected if anyone—anyone —ever showed interest in me again, I’d be so desperate for attention I’d fall on my back like a submissive Labrador. But no. Look at me! I was considering two attractive men and choosing one over the other. I mean, fake choosing because I did not have confirmation that anyone was truly interested in me. But if I was reading the room, and I think I was, I had options. Thrilled was the only way to describe what I was feeling in that moment.

Back to reality. I could only imagine what I looked like. I had wriggled into a pair of black leggings and running shoes in the back of the camper. Thank God I’d swiped some deodorant on. I took another swig of beer, smoothed my V-neck T-shirt, and straightened the small gold chain I always wore around my neck. Maddie wore the same one, with a tiny gold bumblebee charm on it. My phone buzzed with an incoming text.

“What are you thinking about? Your expression is all over the place.”

“It is?” I said.

“You would make a terrible con artist.”

“That’s fine, because I don’t often get pulled into the long con. The grifter life.” I tried a sideways peace sign to show how hip I was, and he shook his head. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and read Drew’s text.

BDREW: Yoo-hoo!

ME: Is Katie okay?

To Griff, I said, “This is my friend who is watching over Katie, Peanut’s mom. He promised to keep us all informed because our Katie will only say she is fine.”

“Carry on.” Griff gestured amicably to my phone.

BDREW: I’m with her. She’s sleeping now. Maybe call her in the morning.

ME: Has something changed since earlier?

I held my breath, my heart rate elevating.

BDREW: She’s feeling terrible about sending you guys to get Peanut.

Drew was with Katie right now. Sitting next to her bed. She was telling him her feelings about our friendship. I felt flush with satisfaction that I’d asked him for help, but I wanted to be the one with Katie. At the same time, I wanted to have Drew’s concern focused on my face, because apparently I was a greedy jerk.

ME: Drew. What else? Can I call you?

“Is everything okay? You don’t look happy,” Griff said quietly.

“I’m not sure. I think my friend isn’t doing that well, but I’m not getting enough information to know for sure.” I waited for the bouncing dots to turn into information, and I felt my vision telescope.

“Go ahead and call if you need to. I’ll give you some privacy,” said Griffin.

BDREW: I just left her. I have to meet a resident. But I can text.

I stood abruptly, wanting something to do. Something concrete. “Can I see Peanut? Get a photo. Maybe with me in it too?”

“Sure.” He stood, and his folding chair screeched against the floor. I followed him to Peanut’s room. “Today was his last day in isolation, so you can even pet him.”

“Thank God. We can leave soon.”

ME: I’m going to send a photo of me and Peanut.

BDREW: Good idea.

Griff unlocked the door to Peanut and Moose’s room, and the two dogs opened their eyes. Peanut angled his front paws in a comical parody of a human stretch. Griff crouched, and Moose stood and bumped his head against Griff’s knee.

“Hey, boy,” he said as he scratched the dog’s ears. “How’s your pal doing?”

Peanut stood slowly and moved in for some love. The dog hit Griff’s face with his long, pink, taffy-like tongue without effort. Griff wiped his mouth. “Peanut always hits me right between the lips. His aim is grossly good.”

I knelt down, and Peanut seemed to recognize me. He knocked me into the door with full doggie weight and enthusiasm. I let the dog lick my hands and bump his head against my shoulder. The noodles and beer in my stomach flip-flopped, and I wished I hadn’t eaten.

“Careful, Peanut.” Griff stood and pulled Peanut by his collar just enough to contain him. “You’re going to get slimed. He has a lot of saliva.”

I was about to stand, but Moose rolled onto my lap. I took him in my arms. Peanut, out of respect for his friend, sat on his haunches and retracted his tongue. He looked like a very intelligent anthropology student observing another culture. Their two bodies pressed against mine made a warm body blanket that ramped up my desire to get this luxury home to Katie.

“Hey, Moose. You want to come home with us? Meet my friend Katie?” I touched his sleek fur, like that of a baby seal. “I’d bet cash money that any saliva dropped onto this guy’s fur beads up and rolls right off.” I handed Griff my phone and said, “Take a picture, and I’ll send it to my friends.” I scooted over to Peanut, and all three of us smiled at the camera, my attempt at joy the shakiest of all. “Wait!” I grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around us to hide the worst areas of Peanut’s shaved fur and pink skin.

“You look like a small manger scene,” Griff said and aimed the phone. He examined the picture and said, “Look how cute you all are!”

I peered at our faces on the screen. Peanut had the radiant white-toothed smile of the Great Pyrenees. Moose looked anxious but happy.

“Wow, I should wear dogs and a blanket more often.” Something about that picture lit a fire in me.

I sent it to Drew, and to Katie so she’d see it when she woke.

BDREW: Wow. Nice. When will you get here?

ME: We leave tomorrow or the next day with Peanut. I’m talking to the vet right now.

“Griff. You’ve got to get us out of here. We’ve got to go.” It was Holly.

Clenching my teeth, I pulled up her number and texted: You’re right. We’ve got to go.

BDREW: Atta girl.