Chapter 53
AMY
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“Wake up!” Kane yells, banging on my bedroom door. “We have a full day ahead.”
My eyes snap open and I blink in shock. It’s still dark! I burrow my face in the pillow. “Go away.”
“You want me to come in there?”
“Okay, okay, I’m getting up,” I grumble, then I spoil it with a groan as I sit up and my muscles rebel in protest.
A chuckle echoes through the door. “Hard work catching up to you?”
“Your conscience caught up to you yet?” I mutter beneath my breath.
I rummage inside the wardrobe, pull out a T-shirt and denim shorts, and get dressed, hoping Kane will be gone by the time I emerge from my room. He is. Although the door to my room is left unlocked at night, I soon discovered all the exit doors have security gates, which they lock at night.
I limp to the bathroom. I thought I was reasonably fit, but it seems choreographed moves in an air-conditioned studio in no way prepares you for the pure physical demands involved in the daily work schedule of an animal sanctuary.
Yesterday passed in a back-breaking blur of chores. Whatever job I did around the sanctuary, I noticed Kane made certain there was always someone hovering close by.
One of my first tasks was to scatter corn kernels to the chickens.
As soon as I entered their enclosure, the birds came flapping eagerly toward me, their eyes fixed on the bucket I clutched to my chest. I steeled myself not to run in the face of their unrelenting advance, but when their pointy little beaks got too close to the open-toed sandals I borrowed from Mel I couldn’t help throwing the bucket down and retreating with a shriek, much to Kane’s amusement and Nolene’s contemptuous snort.
Whenever I annoyed Kane—a regular occurrence, it seemed—he would put me to work scouring a water trough or lugging buckets of grain to the various enclosures.
If I balked at a chore, Kane only had to offer me the option of returning to my room.
Even scrubbing a towering pile of feed bowls was preferable to being locked up inside with nothing to do.
What also kept me going yesterday was the nagging feeling that Kane and Nolene were waiting for me to give up.
They watched me closely, as if expecting me at any moment to burst into tears or do something that would reinforce their low opinion of me.
And even though I shouldn’t care what two animal-obsessed criminals thought of me, the hard truth was, I did care.
I was determined to give neither Kane nor Nolene the satisfaction of seeing me give up, so I fed the animals when I was told to, fought the impulse to gag when I cleaned out their enclosures, and clamped down on the rough side of my tongue when Nolene berated me for mixing up the feeds.
By five o’clock on Sunday, I was so tired I could barely speak.
My clothes were soiled with animal hair, paw prints, and who knew what else.
Scrapes and bruises covered my arms and legs, and my back ached from the constant lifting and bending.
Kane took one look at me and ordered me inside.
I used the last of my strength to stagger into the shower.
Too tired to make it to dinner, I collapsed face down on the bed, only vaguely aware that a short time later Kane came into my room to switch on my night light, leave a glass of water and an ibuprofen on my bedside table, and cover me with a blanket.
It confuses me when he’s kind like that, as though I’m catching a glimpse of another man behind the kidnapper, a man who stirs a soft, fluttery feeling inside me. I’m not sure I want any softening toward him.
Coming out of yesterday’s memory, I brush my teeth and make my way to the kitchen. Kane, Ross, and Mel are gathered around the kitchen island, drinking smoothies.
Saba is sitting on his haunches at Kane’s feet. The moment I enter the kitchen he turns his massive head and fixes his black eyes unblinkingly on me. His stare says, Stay away from Kane and I won’t rip your throat out.
You can have him, I communicate silently to the protective dog.
“Morning,” Mel says, sliding a glass over to me. “Drink up. You’re going to need the energy boost.”
“Thanks.” I take a sip, tasting the creaminess of bananas.
Mel’s gaze flicks to my hair. I remember how taken aback they were when they first glimpsed the drastic haircut and color change, the disapproval tightening Ross’s jaw as he stared at Kane. I’m riding on the hope Ross will intervene if Kane or Nolene try to harm me.
As if I summoned the she-devil, Nolene enters the kitchen in a tank top and cycling shorts, her short, dark hair still damp from a shower, Zorro mask in place. She spares me a curt glance, dismissing me with an irritated thinning of her lips and accepts a glass of smoothie from Mel.
Over the last day or so, I’ve noticed a definite change in Nolene. Whenever I have to interact with her, she comes across colder and even more resentful than usual. I don’t know what’s going on, but I sense it’s not good.
I sip my drink and listen as the four of them discuss what’s to be done today, a seemingly endless cycle of meds, feeding, cleaning, and repairs.
My thoughts drift. If I was home right now, what would I be doing?
Without a doubt, I’d be sleeping in. Once I woke up, it would take me a while to get ready, it always did.
Then I’d shop, maybe visit a friend or attend a charity function or fashion launch.
In the evening, I’d pop to the gym and probably eat out.
It’s a life that seems so far away.
And so empty.
I suck in air, stunned by the thought. Where did that come from?
And what do I want to call it—a traitorous thought or a spark of insight?
I force myself to open that disquieting door.
I’m thirty-three years old, and what do I have to show for all those years?
I’m single, childless, career-less, and directionless.
Before I can explore that revelation further, an awful banging noise outside causes me to choke on a mouthful of smoothie. Recovering, I sputter out, “What is that noise?”
“It’s Carrot-top banging his feed bucket on the gate,” Ross explains with a grin. “He does it if we’re late with his breakfast.”
I can’t help laughing. Feeling an unexpected rush of affection for the cheeky donkey, I run my fingers through my hair, still acclimatizing myself to the short cut.
I catch Kane staring at me. And Nolene staring at Kane.
I can’t read Kane’s expression, but there’s a look of such pain and longing in Nolene’s eyes that my pulse spikes.
If it isn’t Saba, it’s Nolene. What is it about this man?
Before he leaves to complete his chores, Kane takes me aside. “I don’t want you skipping dinner again,” he says. “You need to keep your strength up.”
I nod dutifully. You’re right, my nod says. I’ll need my strength to escape.
While I remain with Mel to help with the cleaning and never-ending piles of laundry, Kane and Ross spend most of the morning conducting routine check-ups and doctoring any sick animals.
Kane seems especially skilled with the special needs animals.
His endless patience with them is surprising since he has so little patience with me.
After lunch, Kane takes me to a shady spot outside the stables. He rummages in a tack box and pulls out a brush. “I want you to groom Nugget.”
Nugget, I soon find out, is an old blind horse Ross rescued after finding him wandering alone on a deserted road. He’s a beautiful-looking horse, I acknowledge silently, admiring his dark brown coat and white legs and muzzle. He’s also huge and powerful. And I’m to groom him?
“I don’t think so,” I say.
Kane lifts an eyebrow. “Funny, I didn’t ask.”
After showing me how it’s done, Kane hands me the brush and steps back to observe. At first, I’m nervous being so close to such an intimidating animal, but Nugget stands so docilely under my ministrations, seeming to love being brushed, that my fear soon recedes.
After a couple of minutes, Ross and Mel join Kane to watch me brush Nugget.
I frown. Isn’t there enough work at the sanctuary?
Why are the three of them standing around to observe me groom a horse for the first time?
Turning my back on them, unable to shrug off the sensation this is some sort of test, I brush Nugget’s coat until it gleams.
At last, Kane says, “Okay, that should do it.”
I breathe out a sigh of relief. My arms are aching. I stand next to Mel to admire my handiwork. Tossing his head, Nugget gives a snort and I watch in horror as the horse rolls in the dirt, destroying all my hard work.
“No!” I wail.
Kane and Ross roar with laughter, slapping each other on the back.
A wry grin skims Mel’s lips. “I’m afraid Nugget always does that,” she explains. “He loves being brushed so he’ll roll in the dirt in order to get you to brush him again.”
My mouth falls open. I’m so angry it takes several seconds before I can respond. “It took me ages to brush him! What a waste of time!”
Mel plucks the brush out of my hand before I can throw it at Kane. She gives me a leveling stare. “Amy, we see so much suffering and death here at the sanctuary we need to create opportunities to laugh, whether at ourselves or one another. If we don’t, this work would be unbearable.”
“But it was such a waste of time,” I repeat, still disgruntled.
“Not for Nugget,” Mel replies. “You gave him pleasure and he’s had so very little of it in his life.” She touches my arm. “Here at the sanctuary, we’re all on the receiving end of a practical joke at one time or another. It’s not a bad thing to learn to laugh at yourself.”
I battle the remnants of my anger, hearing Mel’s pointed words, understanding them, but unable to fully shrug off a sense of unfairness.
“If it helps,” Mel says, keeping her voice low, “think of it like a club. One that, uh, Jill is not a part of.”
It does help, I think, remembering Nolene feeding the pigs earlier.