For a hot second, I thought about suggesting that Summer and I could do this without Holly. That she could fly home to Rosie. This would reduce conflict on all fronts, with the sanctuary and between Holly and me, and get her home for Rosie and Katie.

I rejected that thought almost before it was fully formed. It was clear Holly thought I had ruined our friendship. That I somehow hadn’t been a sufficient friend, hadn’t defended her from Mike, hadn’t made amends. There was no way she would believe my motivations were pure, because in fact they weren’t entirely. This was what I did where conflict was concerned: pacify, pander, and comply. Holly and I had to get to the finish line together.

“Also, I’m not like you guys. I have to eat. I’m going to find some dinner,” said Holly.

With that, I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.

When I woke, my back stiff from the unforgiving chair, it was twilight, the room was empty, and I had the strongest urge to see Peanut. And, I suppose by proxy, Katie. There were texts on my phone from Maddie.

MADDIE: Mom, I can’t decide if the kids like or hate me

Where are you? I need help with a scholarship letter

Another text minutes later read,

You’re probably napping but I love Boulder. Can I go to college here?

And then the last one that said,

Can I take a gap year?

Each text was like notes in a frantic song moving toward a crescendo. I could feel Maddie’s insecurity about the kids, her desire for the right future, and uncertainty about what decisions would get her there. I thought about what to text back, but there were no short, meaningful sentences that would calm her or direct her future. If I even tried, she’d be either annoyed or have already moved on to another perceived issue. It all caused me the usual parent anxiety but also made me happy. I was not totally out of sight, out of mind.

Plus, I was no expert on how to make a life work. What would I say? What would Katie’s lesson be? Put your heart and soul into something and get cancer anyway?

A buzzing text from BDREW read: Do you have dog news?

There it was, that stab of feel good when a text from Drew appeared. I was rapidly becoming a test case for phone addiction and endorphin release.

ME: Yes. The Great Pyrenees has landed!

BDREW: Excellent! So, what’s your ETA?

Was he asking because he wanted to see me or because he was so invested in Katie that he wanted to ease her wait? Or both? Or just the latter? Most likely the latter. Ugh.

ME: He’s sick. Her ex did not take care of him. I told Katie we’d be home in a few more days.

BDREW: She’s pretty down. She got discharged but her WBCs spiked. She’s being readmitted. PS. This is not privileged information. She texted me this.

A frisson of fear shot through me. High white blood cell counts are the bane of all those admitted to the hospital. WBCs could mean so many things, from a dangerous infection or illness to stress. With Katie, though, it could be the worst news possible.

ME: Do you know something else?

BDREW: No. But we both wish you were here.

ME: I wish I were there too.

I waited to see if there was more. I thought about how wise it was to involve a stranger in all this. But I wanted to involve this particular stranger more deeply. And that made me feel guilty and opportunistic. My feelings were a water board of torture.

BDREW: You’re a comforting person.

ME: I am? I’m not.

BDREW: Yes. Katie says you are her most loyal friend.

I felt the heat of confusion thinking about those two talking about me. I picked at something crusty on my leggings.

ME: She means so much to me.

I wished I’d taken a picture of Drew, creepy as that would have been. I would like to see his face. Be reminded that he was the right person to ask for help. That I had done it for the high-road reasons and not because I thought he was attractive. I wished I could see his expression while he texted me. Was it soft? Amused? Friendly?

BDREW: Send a photo of you and Peanut, okay?

ME: To Katie?

BDREW: No, to me.

And literally, it was like the crowd watching a home run on a baseball field went wild in my head. And that wildness felt like a mixed-up bag of possibility—but of what? Joy? Loss? Fear? Love? “Good God,” I said as I walked out the door. “Sammie, you are a wreck.”

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.”