“It’s such a long story.” I pinched the space between my eyes on the bridge of my nose. “Is there any place I can get a cup of coffee?”

He gestured for me to follow him and led me through the center of the clinic, talking about how important coffee was to the running of the sanctuary. When he stopped and filled me in on details, it seemed as if he was holding eye contact a fraction too long. Not too long in a yucky way. I noticed it because men never did this with me, and by never I meant negative-integer never.

I spent my days parenting in the way parenting was for this generation: too much chauffeuring, contributing to fundraisers, traveling to games, discussing AP classes and grade points. Too much of everything. But you couldn’t try to leave that treadmill, try to halt the hiring of a British soccer coach for eighth graders, or try dissuading your child from joining another club. You couldn’t try to smell the roses, gather enough energy to observe the gaze of a man, or the next thing you knew, your kid would get left behind and you, as the parent, would be more of an outsider than ever.

Who was I kidding? I’d loved being buried in Maddie’s life. If you were busy with your kid, you couldn’t look too deeply at anything. You couldn’t get into anything you couldn’t get out of.

Griff stopped and handed me a coffee mug that said, Got a problem? Get a dog.

“Listen. Thank you for everything. I’m just so grateful.”

He nodded and said, “Drink up. Then let’s get you a ride back to the visitors’ center with one of our staff. You can take a tour. See what we’re about. There are cabins near the entrance. They’re not always full. If you’re lucky, you can stay there. There’s also Kanab. Lots of hotels. Then we’ll talk about how to best get you two prepared for the rest of your journey.”

I nodded, so grateful again. “So three or four days?”

“Maybe . . .”

“Do not say another word,” I said, feeling another tide of anxiety. “Holly is going to kill us.”

While waiting for the volunteer transport to take me down the canyon, I hit Katie’s number and held the phone for a FaceTime call. She answered in seconds, and her friendly face came into view.

“Guess who I’m with!” I said, and I turned so Katie could see me and Peanut through the Plexiglas, in the small rectangle of the phone. “Don’t worry. He looks weird because they gave him a major haircut, but here he is! Peanut!”

“Hiiii!” Katie said, her face beaming. “Peanutty, hi, baby. Hi, hon!”

I looked over my shoulder, and Peanut lifted his planet-size head, dropped his tongue, and batted his tail in recognition of the love of his life. While Peanut looked the worse for wear, Katie appeared exhausted. Shades of purplish rings circled her eyes, and she looked somehow thinner than the few days before. I didn’t want her to see my concerned face, which I knew showed my pain, so I took myself out of the FaceTime image and let Peanut and Katie make eye contact.

“Who’s a good boy?” Noticing Moose, she said, “Are you making friends? Peanut-so-friendly. Did you make a friend?” She crooned and fussed, and I swung the phone back around to me.

“That’s Moose. He’s Peanut’s BFF. Both dogs have had a time of it.”

I explained where we were and how we’d gotten to Utah, knowing Drew had in some way filled her in on some of it. I left out distressing details and complicating factors like Summer, the Shaman Shamansky, and the mange diagnosis while adding details about Moose.

“Best Friends Animal Sanctuary. I’ve heard of that place. I’m sorry, Sam. I didn’t think this would be so complicated.”

“It’s not, honey. The weather has been great, so driving is not a problem. We have Peanut. Should be just a few days more,” I said, fudging.

“And Holly?” She rubbed her eyes.

“Oh, you know. She’s fine. Bossy. The usual.” Pivoting the conversation, I said, “Drew said you went home. That’s good news!” Katie wore a sweatshirt that read, I’m sorry I’m late I didn’t want to come instead of a hospital gown. The gray fabric mimicked her pallor, and I wanted to walk with her to a window. See the sun brighten her skin.

“Yeah. You know how it is. I’m going in tomorrow. They’re starting me on a precautionary regimen of hydration and meds.”

“Precautionary meds? Because of the blood work?” I asked. She rubbed her face again, and I wished I were there to take her hand. “You look tired.” I wanted to sob and tell her I didn’t want her to have to go through this again. I visualized cancer as a yoke around her shoulders, one that I could throw off and dead lift into a ditch. Instead, I wrangled my fear and frustration and focused on this phone call, on Katie.

“Is Drew helpful?” I was ashamed that part of that question was for me. What did Katie think of him? What did Katie think of him for me?

“Oh, he’s great!” She looked me in the digital eye. “He texts me, had chicken soup delivered from Whole Foods. He says he keeps in touch with you. Said that you were a good friend to have.”

Friend, I thought. Friend Zone is what Maddie called it. If you were interested in someone romantically after years of wandering in a love desert, the Friend Zone is not the zone you wanted to be in.

I wanted to hear more about Drew. I wanted to sit cross-legged on her couch with a glass of wine and talk like we did in college about boys. But that’s not why I called. Also, what would I say? Drew and I didn’t know each other.

“You’re eating, then?” I said instead of Are you and Drew falling for each other?

Katie nodded, which usually meant she was eating but not enough to merit an audible and firm yes. “I’ll be better when you guys get here. Peanut can lie on my bed. You can pluck my eyebrows. It’ll all be good.”

“So you’re going to need the whole thing again?” I couldn’t bear to say chemotherapy, treatment, months of hospital visits, but I did feel a bit like I was rolling up my sleeves, planting my feet for a boxing match I’d fought before and won. A bell sounded twice in my brain, Round two.

“Gosh no, we don’t know that yet.” She brightened and sat up straight. “No. I just can’t wait to see you and Peanut. I feel better already knowing you are on the way.”

Another person might have felt relief, but I knew better. When Katie said, Gosh no, it could mean anything. So, I let myself teeter-totter between relief and dread. But what to say? What could I say that conveyed to Katie, I’m afraid, but I’m here and will always be here, without fully acknowledging other terrible options?

A woman with a volunteer T-shirt approached me and smiled. She pointed to the door. “Katie, my ride’s here. She’s bringing me to the admin desk for us to get a room here.”

“Okay. Love you!” She waved but didn’t sign off.

I met her eyes, and after a beat I said, “Go Badgers.”

“Go Badgers,” she said with that crooked grin, and it was a good thing she signed off because my eyes filled to the brim with tears.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I COULDN’T BE ME WITHOUT THEE

On the short ride from the clinic down the canyon to the visitors’ center, I kept my eyes open for Holly. I learned from the driver that Best Friends Animal Sanctuary was not a free-range gaggle, as I’d imagined. No, the animals were counted, housed, and cared for in boroughs named Dog Town, Cat World, Parrot Garden, and others. It was so organized and the mission so clear; I wanted to move in and be a part of such certainty. I wanted to drop my own rollaway next to Peanut and Moose and stay, mange be damned.

After I waved goodbye to the vet technician, who could have gone on for days with facts about Best Friends, I saw Summer strolling away from one of the animal neighborhoods in the lower part of the sanctuary. Summer’s T-shirt had been tied around her tight middle, and a light sweat shone on her skin. Red dust collected around the rubber soles of her white sandals. She waved the second she saw me.

“Girl, this place is bananas,” she said. “I just got done walking a five-hundred-pound pig named Trixie. It’s a job, I tell you. You have to drop food, and they follow you. Defeats the purpose, if you ask me, but who am I to judge a pig’s exercise motivations? You do you, Trixie. Whatever works.” She brushed her hands on her skirt. “I signed us up to volunteer in the Bunny House and the Parrot Garden tomorrow. Dog Town was booked, but maybe if we sweet-talk someone, we can get in there. I know you’re allergic to cats, so I didn’t even look to see if there were openings there.”

“How do you know I’m allergic to cats?”

She gave me a look and drew a circle around my face in the air. “Duh, just look at you.”

I wasn’t going to try to figure out how she sensed I’d had a mild cat allergy ever since my childhood cat died from kidney failure—not enough to keep me away from cats, though. I didn’t have it in me to figure out the universe right then.

“Where’s Holly?”

“No idea. Grab your bag. I was also able to book us into a cabin. Holly can sleep in the camper and keep her crabby poison to herself. She can shower in our place—that’s fine—but that’s it.”