The Horse Whisperer

'Yes, I guess that's what it is,' she said. 'But I don't know what to do about it.'

'Don't do anything,' cried Melvin. 'The kid'll soon get exhausted. Next caller…'

A

The kitchen was how Robert had left it. Cupboard doors hung open and on the table stood the two unpacked grocery bags. Some ice cream in one of them had melted and leaked and was dripping off the table into a small pink lake on the floor. The red light was flashing on the answering machine, showing there were messages. But A

Upstairs, packing a bag for Robert and herself, she felt oddly robotic, as if her every action were programmed. She supposed the numbness had something to do with shock or maybe it was some kind of denial.

It was certainly true that when she first saw Grace after the operation, the sight was so alien, so extreme, that she couldn't take it in. She had been almost jealous of the pain it wrought so palpably in Robert. She had seen the way his eyes kept roving over Grace's body, siphoning agony from every intrusion the doctors had made. But A

A

The bathroom was full of steam when she stepped out of the shower. She wiped the towel across the mirror, only partly clearing it, then dried herself before it, watching the smeared, liquid image of a creature that didn't seem to be her. She had always liked her body, though it was fuller and bigger-breasted than the sylphs who strutted the style pages of her magazine. But the blurred mirror was giving her back a distorted, pink abstraction of herself, like a Francis Bacon painting, and A

Grace's room was just as she must have left it the previous morning. The long T-shirt she wore as a nightdress was lying on the end of the unmade bed. There was a pair of jeans on the floor and A

'Mom, I'm sorry,' she said, putting her arms around her. 'But you know you can't sew.'

'I can too,' A

'Well, maybe you can. But not as good as Elsa.'

'Not as well as Elsa, you mean.' A

'Hey Mom, whatever. Like, you know, really.'

A

She went over to the desk by the window and packed Grace's Walkman and the box of tapes she always took on trips. The doctor had said they should try playing music to her. There were two framed photographs on the desk. One was of the three of them on a boat. Grace was in the middle with her arms around both their shoulders and all of them were laughing. It had been taken five years ago in Cape Cod; one of the happiest vacations they'd ever had. A

She had no idea if Pilgrim was still alive. All she knew was from a message Mrs Dyer had left yesterday evening at the hospital, that he'd been taken to the vet's place in Chatham and was to be transferred to Cornell. Now, looking at him in this picture, A

A pale light was already coming in through the tall windows in the hall. A

Outside, only a few yards from where she stood, was a group of whitetail deer. They were standing completely still, staring back at her. Was it food they were after? She'd never seen them this close to the house before, even in the harshest of winters. What did it mean? She counted them. There were twelve, no, thirteen. One for each year of her daughter's life. A

There was a low, burgeoning whistle as the kettle started to boil. The deer heard it too and they turned as one and fled, their tails bouncing madly as they headed up past the pond to the woods. Christ almighty, thought A