Kat left the clinic somewhat dazed, the dog in one arm, a bag bulging with bandage material and dog-training brochures in the other. She put Tye down on the front passenger seat and started the car, but the dog scooted over and climbed into her lap, wedging himself underneath the steering wheel.
As a toddler, Sara had hit phases where she wouldn’t let Kat move more than a foot away without throwing a fit, and the clinginess had made Kat feel hemmed in. This puppy was claiming her in the same way, but this time it felt good. Maybe the difference was that this time, Kat was the one who needed something to cling to. Perhaps this was why Sara liked being around animals so much.
“Okay, okay,” Kat laughed. “Hold still. Don’t make me wreck.” Oh good. Talking out loud now to two dogs instead of one.
Once back at the house, Kat let Juni out and sat in the rocker on the porch while she leafed through the puppy brochures. The dogs played in the clearing. Juni occasionally looked at Kat as if asking what she’d done to deserve such a boisterous companion, but she treated Tye gently, only nudging him away when he tried to chew on her ears.
It was after four when Scott and Lily walked up. Scott stopped in sight of the cottage, gave a wave, and turned back. Kat had to give him credit for escorting his daughter, but she wasn’t disappointed to see him go. He had been rude and dismissive of her concerns about the stolen bowl, and his skepticism still rankled.
Lily ignored her father’s departure and rushed forward to pet Tye. “Wow. He looks great.”
She started rolling tennis balls to the pup and tossing them to Juni, all three of them appearing delighted with the simple activity. Kat kept a watchful eye, and eventually Tye burned off much of his puppy-energy. He flopped to the ground at the foot of the steps, the wrap around his neck loose and sagging from all the roughhousing.
Kat sighed, went inside, and got the bandage materials. She had hoped to avoid that awful wound a bit longer.
“I wish I had a dog.” Lily’s voice bordered on a whine.
She had said it about thirty times. Maybe forty. The cards hadn’t been dealt right—Lily wanted dogs and Kat didn’t.
“Okay, dog lover, come over here and give me a hand.”
They sat on the wooden steps with Tye in Lily’s lap, the ointment, pads, gauze, scissors, and blue vet wrap lined up in a neat row. Juni stretched out at their feet and watched the preparations with interest.
Lily scratched Tye behind his ears, and he gazed at her with the doggy version of pure bliss. “He’s better now that he’s not gross and bloody and covered in ticks. And he’s pretty smart.”
Lily had been trying to teach him to sit. Tye wagged his tail and pricked his ears at each command, but Kat hadn’t noticed any evidence of overwhelming brilliance. She unwrapped the layers of the old bandage and exposed the raw neck wound, which hadn’t improved any in the few hours since she’d seen it last.
“Yuck.” Lily scrunched up her face and leaned as far backward as possible.
Yuck, indeed. The wrappings smelled like medicine, not blood, but the scent still set Kat’s heart racing. She reached up and touched her pendant. She could do this. She set the used bandage down on the step behind her. “Hang on to his head, and I’ll try to spread this ointment.”
The two of them focused intently on Tye, but they hadn’t made much progress when Juni got to her feet, barked once, and trotted across the yard, her tail wagging. Kat looked up. Malcolm and Nirav had walked up the road.
“Good afternoon.” Malcolm bent to pat Juni on the head and then came over to the porch. “We’ve come to apologize.”
“Apologize?” Kat set down the bandage she was holding. “Whatever for?” She had been trying to figure out how best to thank Malcom for his kindness in giving them a ride the day before. An apology from him was nowhere on her radar.
Lily looked interested. Tye sat, content, on Lily’s lap, his neck still unbandaged.
Malcolm spoke a few words to Nirav, and after a moment, the boy stepped forward, his head hanging, his eyes fixed on his shoes, the smiles and laughter Kat had seen the previous day nowhere in sight.
In Nirav’s right hand, held with great care, as if it might shatter at any moment, was the missing bowl.
Kat struggled to understand. “You found it?”
Malcolm shook his head. “We didn’t find it, exactly.”
Again he spoke to the boy, his tone impressively gentle.
Nirav answered with a few words in the same language, and then he came closer, his eyes still cast down.
“I am saying very sorry. I not good to take. Not mine.” He spoke the words with great concentration, as if he had practiced them. He held the bowl out to Kat, and only then looked directly at her. His mouth was drawn tight with effort. “Mama had like this.”
Kat inhaled sharply, and her chest clamped down hard. A small boy, not a burglar or a lurking maniac.
She belatedly reached out to take the offered bowl, and only then saw that red, puckered skin covered the boy’s left hand and arm, visible today because he wore short sleeves. The skin looked fragile, more like opaque plastic wrap than actual skin. The muscle of the arm was withered. It must have been a horrible burn.
Kat turned the bowl in her hands, the surface cool and smooth. She looked back up at Malcolm.
“He really is sorry.” Malcolm met her gaze head on. “He saw the bowl when he was playing with Juni yesterday, and he slipped it into his day pack because it reminded him of one his mother had.” He glanced at the bowl. “When I saw him with it, I thought it belonged to our cottage. It wasn’t until you told me yours was missing that I started asking questions.”
Throughout this explanation, Nirav’s eyes never left the bowl in Kat’s hands, but he listened carefully. He appeared to understand what Malcolm said, nodding agreement at all the right moments.
“Nirav lived pretty much on his own for a long time in Islamabad, and he was used to taking anything that had been abandoned or thrown away. This is his first week in the States. He’s still learning the rules.” Nirav glanced up at his father, and Malcolm gave the boy’s shoulder a reassuring pat.
Kat pictured this fragile-looking boy, alone on the streets of a strange city, and the image shifted to become Sara at that age, equally lost and alone. Unbearable. The world treated the defenseless with cruel indifference. She gave the boy what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “Nirav, thank you very much.”
Lily had been staring at Nirav’s burn. “What happened to his arm?”
Kat bit back her instinct to admonish her. At least Lily hadn’t asked Malcolm about his face.
Malcolm looked from the bowl to Nirav and seemed to decide some sort of answer was necessary. “Nirav was traveling with his family from western Pakistan into the capital when their train derailed. There was a fire, and his parents were killed.”
He reached up and touched his own scar without seeming to realize he was doing so.
She had thought these two were an unusual pair, but they had this in common—both were survivors. That’s what she had been called these past three years—a cancer survivor—but the term never seemed to fit. You survived a storm or a battle, events that had a distinct ending, but when the fight kept going, you were simply a combatant.
Kat turned the bowl in her hands. Too much trouble over such a small thing. “Thank you for explaining.” She wasn’t sure what to do. She would be happy to give the bowl back to Nirav if he valued it so much, but she didn’t want to undermine Malcolm’s efforts.
Nirav was looking around now with a little more confidence, and he caught sight of Tye, who still sat in Lily’s lap, waiting for his new bandage. He had seen the dog wrapped in Kat’s arms the day before, but the extent of his neck injury had been much less obvious then. Nirav looked now at the dog’s wound, and his face tightened, his brow furrowed. He tugged on Malcolm’s hand. “Papa, dog has hurt. Dog …” He paused, struggled for the next word, and then gave a frustrated snort and rushed on in his own languag
e. He pointed to the dog and gestured to his own throat, obviously upset.
“It’s better now,” Kat said. “The rope collar did the damage, but now that it’s off, his neck should heal.”
Nirav looked puzzled, and Malcolm translated.
The boy came forward to pat Tye on the head. He spoke to the dog, and then to Kat, then turned to Malcolm and waited for him to translate.
Malcolm let out a breath that traveled from deep down. “I have so much to learn. He told the dog that the person who did this has brought very bad karma upon himself, and he assured the dog he is now cared for. And he’s telling you that your bhuta daya—I think it means compassion toward an animal—marks your divine quality.” He ruffled Nirav’s hair and gave him an approving nod—one of those tough-guy equivalents of a hug. Nirav beamed.
Kat had to swallow twice before she could speak. “Thank you.” Those two words didn’t convey the breadth of what she wanted to say, the sense of honor his words granted her, but Nirav responded with a brilliant smile and turned back to the dog. Juni, apparently feeling neglected, chose that moment to drop a tennis ball at Nirav’s feet, and he picked it up with a surprised look.
Lily promptly handed Tye to Kat and stood up. “Come on, Nirav.” She waved toward the Lab. “This is Juni. Juni. And that’s a ball. Ball.”
“Juni.” Nirav had already met the dog, but he appeared eager to practice. “Ball.” He held up the tennis ball.
“You got it.”
Nirav looked at Malcolm and waited for his nod, then followed Lily into the yard. The two started throwing the ball for Juni, and Lily chattered on with their game, naming things in English at a bewildering pace.
Malcolm gestured toward the lineup of bandage materials. “You’ve lost your extra pair of hands. I’m no medic, but would you like some help? Nirav was excited to meet Lily yesterday. If you don’t mind, I know he’d enjoy a few minutes to play.”
“Thanks, I’d love some help.” Kat settled Tye more firmly in her lap. “I’m in over my head with this puppy.”
Malcolm knelt, gave Tye a pat, and spoke to him in the same quiet tone he’d used with Nirav. He tackled the bandage job with an air of confidence. The raw gash on the dog’s neck didn’t seem to bother him in the least.
Not a medic, but someone who knew a lot about wounds and bandages. Kat resisted the urge to glance up at his scar. “So Nirav had no family after losing his parents?”
Malcolm nodded as he finished a neat layer of gauze and picked up the vet wrap.
“As a Hindu in a Muslim country, and with his arm as it is, he didn’t have much chance of adoption. The Hindus in western Pakistan, where Nirav’s from, got cut off from India when British India was partitioned, trapped by a line on the map. There’s still a lot of persecution.” He shook his head. “Anyway, when I worked near the orphanage on assignment, Nirav saw my scar and came and took my hand. He wouldn’t let go.”
Malcolm looked toward his son, and his composed expression slipped for an instant to reveal a complicated mix of compassion, pain, and contentment. The flash of naked emotion vanished, veiled once again, before Kat could fully sort it out. “That was a year and a half ago. I’ve been fighting paperwork and court approvals ever since, but it’s official now. Nirav is my son.”
Each time he said those words, my son, Kat was struck by the proud delight in his voice. If she said Sara is my daughter, she hoped the same joy would be obvious.
Kat sat quietly for a moment, thinking through it all. “A new son. You mentioned challenges yesterday. That’s a big challenge for anyone.”
“It’s the little things I’m finding difficult. When we were in Islamabad, there was no issue finding vegetarian food, but now we’re back here, and I’m learning to cook all over again. I have to figure out schools and clothes and a thousand other details. Need to think about all sorts of things differently.”
Malcolm had spoken carefully, as if his sentences were new and rarely shared. A restful person. Not like Scott, with his casual disdain of anything she said. More like Jim, thoughtful and kind. A Benvolio, not a Brutus. Kat wasn’t looking for anything romantic, that was for sure, but she couldn’t deny it was nice to feel a connection to someone new.
“Looks to me like you’re doing fine,” Kat said. “I always knew my daughter would change my life, but no one ever warned me she would change who I was. Children have a way of cutting to the heart of things.” And sometimes slicing into it as well.
Malcolm finished the bandage—as neat a job as the vet’s version—and Kat leaned forward to set Tye on the ground. Her necklace tumbled from inside her blouse and swung forward. Tye bounded off to join Juni and the children, and Kat straightened. She grasped the chain of the necklace to slip the pendant back against her skin, and the smooth polished surface caught the sunlight.
“That’s unusual,” Malcolm said. “What is it?”
Kat usually answered that question in only a few words, but Malcolm seemed genuinely interested. It felt right, somehow, to share this story, to reach out. There was so little time left to do so. She slipped the long chain over her head and handed it to him. “It’s petrified wood—stone now, not wood, but if you look closely, you can still make out the annular rings.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it. Where did it come from?”
Kat grimaced at the memory. “When I was fourteen, my parents took me to visit the Petrified Forest National Park out in Arizona. I couldn’t wait to get there. I held the map. I counted down every mile. I had built up this fantastic expectation of a forest turned to stone, a forest exactly like a living one. Trees with trunks, branches, leaves, all of it, standing like a grove. Magic, like a frozen scene from a fairy tale.” Malcolm handed the necklace back, and Kat ran her thumb over its cool surface. “We got to the park, and I was devastated. There’s no standing forest there, just a bunch of broken logs on the ground. Random chunks of wood mineralized into stone. My mother felt so bad, she bought me the necklace.”
“Those kinds of disappointments hit hard. A nice reminder of family, anyway.”
“Something like that.”
Kat put the necklace back on. Her mother hadn’t actually felt bad, but it was an easier explanation than the full truth. Stay tough, like this stone, her mother had said when she gave it to her. Her face had been tense and flushed with embarrassment, mortified that her daughter had let herself sob in public. Stay tough. At first, Kat wore it simply to remind herself. Over time, it had become a talisman, a source of comfort and strength when life got hard. She’d promised herself she’d be a better mother than that to her own daughter, and she’d succeeded.
The necklace had a second meaning. Don’t believe in fairy tales. A much harder lesson to learn, but she’d accepted its truth. Her doctors had been straight with her. Once breast cancer spread like hers, there was no cure, only an ongoing battle. Her doctors supplied the ammunition, but she was the soldier, and her body was the battleground. The goal was remission, a furlough marked by constant vigilance, the enemy always poised and present, waiting.
Happily-ever-after was the fairy tale Sara believed in. Kat knew better. She wished there was some way she could make it easier for her daughter.
She motioned for Malcolm to join her on the porch steps. Sit by my side and let the world slip. She would have to get a second chair for the porch if she kept having so many visitors.
Malcolm sat, and his eyes found Nirav. “I never expected to have a family.” His original formal manner had evaporated, and he spoke more to himself than to Kat. “A son. All this sudden responsibility. I resisted at first, but I finally decided to embrace what life handed me, even though it wasn’t what I was seeking.”
Kat debated whether to leave it there. But Malcolm was a true survivor. “What do you do when life forces something into your hands that you don’t want?”
Malcolm looked at her, his face grave. “You embrace that, too. As well as you can.” He looked away, as if his thoughts were elsewher
e. His hand moved up to his scar again. “If it weren’t for this scar, Nirav never would have sought me out. Think what I would have missed. That alone is reason enough to accept it.”
Acceptance. That’s what Malcolm had that she didn’t. Kat had fought her cancer, fought hard. But she’d also fought the support of friends by walling them out. Fought her own peace, not just with mirror tricks, but with pretend-it’s-not-real mind games. For the first time, Kat wondered what she might have missed by hiding as she had.
She had talked to only a handful of people over the years about her cancer. Conversations with Sara were how-are-you-feeling updates, with plenty of emphasis on medical details—neutral, unemotional, safe. Much easier than admitting the turbulence that rocked them both.
When he was alive, conversations with Jim had been pep talks, encouragement offered against the challenging backdrop of the significant changes to Kat’s body, her nonexistent sex drive—the curse of her estrogen-blocking drug—and the shifts in their relationship to accommodate both.
Even conversations with a few close friends skirted around uncomfortable issues with a fixed determination to pretend nothing was wrong. It had been easier that way, less likely to cut to the bone.
All these people meant well, but none had faced anything similar. Her doctor had recommended a cancer support group, but she’d avoided that, thinking don’t dwell on it, move on. Perhaps that, too, had been a mistake. Kat longed to talk with someone who wasn’t invested but understood.
Malcolm sat leaning back, his elbows propped on the step behind him and his long legs outstretched. On the surface, he looked as relaxed as a house cat soaking up the sun, but his body hummed with compressed energy, like a spring coiled under pressure and barely restrained, ready to explode at any instant. A panther, not a house cat, but sympathetic and kind.
She cleared her throat. “You heard what my daughter and I said yesterday. When you and Nirav were sitting at the overlook.” She made it a flat statement, not a question.
The corners of Malcolm’s eyes crinkled for a moment, as if a smile waited somewhere. “Sort of hard to miss. Yes, I heard.”
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