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One
BREATHE, JUST BREATHE...
What had begun as a mind-numbing litany years before had become a mantra.In, out, in, out... Some moments were easy, others it was all Abby could do to sense the air inflating her lungs, filling them like a balloon until they pressed against her ribs from within, constricting her heart, holding it together.
Fatigue slowed the young dog running by her side, tongue lolling out, but smiling in that dog way: jaw dropped open, eyes bright, tail wagging. Dogs lived in the moment; no past, no future, only the wind whistling in their ears and the warm pavement beneath their paws.
Sometimes, Abby wished she could live the same way.
She’d adopted the lanky, tufted black pup three years before, weeks after her whole world had collapsed. Her mind shied away.Breathe...
Mostly Lab, a little Border Collie, and probably a smattering of who-knew-what-else, she was all soulful brown eyes and midnight black fur, with a delicate, pointed face and tall, twitching ears that followed every sound. Perhaps Abby shouldn’t have adopted the pup, the splintered pieces of her own life scattered, but the tag on the dog’s collar said it all:Abigail’s Genesis.
“C’mon Gen, one more lap.”
They passed the playground, the happy cries of children echoing the bright colors splashed across the verdant foliage beyond. The many-leafed palmettos with their squat, ringed trunks and drooping branches interspersed with madronas, oaks, and the occasional maple. On the right, the fishing dock extended over the muddy tidal flats, buzzing with the drone of a thousand mosquitos.
Abby wrinkled her nose at the tang of stale saltwater and the rotting scent of fish carcasses from the previous day. Gen lifted her own nose and inhaled deeply.
Farther along, the path looped, and they passed the observation tower children so loved to climb. The flat landscape—barely above sea level—gave them an uninterrupted view all the way to the Atlantic Ocean, along with the wide, lazy tidal flats, rivers, and swampy bayous that lay between.
The trail continued to curve, opening from a mere path to a dusty gravel road. Onward they ran, the dog zig-zagging her way around the many muddy puddles settling in hollows, turning the fine grit to clay and preventing the water from seeping back into the ground. Swinging wide to keep her paws dry, she tugged the leash in Abby’s fist, unbalancing her.
“Gen, that’s enough.” Abby’s breath came quick but steady, leaving enough air in her lungs for a gentle scolding when needed. The dog settled back into her stride, only turning her head now and again to sniff at the carpet of dead, brown leaves littering the roadway.
Overhead, the massive shade trees sifted shafts of morning sun through their leaves, dappling the ground, playing tricks of shadow and light. Abby had seen deer hiding in the underbrush here, even scared a few snakes off the road as they caught the first warmth of the day. Once, a small alligator had crossed over, sliding into an overflowing drainage ditch.
Not as exciting as the dolphins she’d seen walking Gen on The Battery, but since then, she’d kept Gen on a shorter leash when they ran together.
A low concrete wall ran up from the ground, then curved away, leading Abby and Gen back toward the playground.
A scream reverberated through the trees.
Not an excited, childlike shriek of joy or excitement, but a screech that forced a shot of adrenaline through Abby’s system—a cry of pain she recognized, and a response so ingrained she didn’t notice the way her chest constricted, or her palms grew sweaty.
Gen pulled ahead, dragging on her leash, urging Abby to go faster.
The scream faded away, but the echo of it lodged in Abby’s gut, nerves and tension and the unavoidable dictate torespond.
Abby took the last corner before the playground too sharply, her sneakers skidding out in the loose roadway, and she went to one knee. The gravel tore through her leggings, then the skin beneath. The heel of her hand, too, stung.
Gen was beside her in a moment, encouraging her. With a lick on the cheek, they took off again, the discomfort not forgotten but instead ignored, relegated to a part of Abby’s mind that, though rusty, had long practice holding such feelings.
Pain. Fear. Anger.
Bursting onto the playground, Abby assessed the scene in a single heartbeat: a child sitting on the ground beneath the monkey bars, knees bloody, dirt smeared across his high cheekbone, arm clutched across his chest, eyes wide and glassy with pain. He had brown hair, light eyes, and the kind of over-long, gawky limbs that suggested a middle school-aged growth spurt. Deep gouges in the wood chips showed where he had slid after falling.
Two girls watched from the platform above. The older one pointed to the boy.
“He tried to jump to the third bar and missed.”
Abby processed all of this in the few moments it took to slide to a stop beside him.
“My name’s Abby, and I’m here to help.”
The boy’s mouth hung open, head thrown back in a howl, but no sound came out.
More wood chips flew up as another adult skidded to his knees by the boy.