“I’m glad I looked up when I did.”

Mara met his eyes.

“Thank you for stopping.”

There were larger words she wanted to offer, something equal to the space his braking had created.

But none seemed useful.

He accepted the simple ones.

“I’m glad you got him.”

Before leaving, he told her his name.

She repeated it, determined to remember.

The veterinary clinic smelled of disinfectant and damp towels.

Toby disliked it immediately.

Under other circumstances, Mara might have laughed at the offended look he gave her when she carried him through the door.

That afternoon, she was grateful for his opinion.

Grateful he had enough energy to object.

She explained what had happened, including the jolt when the cart stopped. The receptionist listened without interrupting and found them a place to wait.

Mara sat with Toby’s carrier against her legs.

Her knee had begun to throb.

She looked down at her hands. Thin red marks crossed her fingers where she had gripped the handle.

Across the room, someone’s dog sneezed.

Toby lifted his head.

Life was returning to its familiar scale, one small sound at a time.

When the veterinarian called them in, Mara stood too quickly.

Her hands shook again.

The examination was careful.

The veterinarian checked Toby’s legs and body, watched him walk, and asked questions about how the cart had stopped.

There were no obvious signs of injury.

Mara felt her shoulders lower for the first time since the parking lot.

She listened closely to the instructions about watching him at home and calling if anything changed.

Then she asked the question she had been holding back.

“Was he very frightened?”

The veterinarian looked at Toby, who was investigating the edge of a folded towel.

“Probably,” she said gently. “But he’s here with you now.”

Mara stroked the rough fur between his ears.

She had wanted a different answer.

An impossible answer, perhaps: that he had not understood, that the entire experience had passed through him without leaving anything behind.

But he had been afraid.

She had seen it.

What mattered now was what she did next.

At home, Toby went straight to his water bowl.

Then he checked the kitchen.

Then he returned to Mara, apparently ready to discuss the biscuits that had been forgotten.

She sat on the floor because her knee hurt and because she wanted to be at his height.

He placed a paw on her leg.

She gave him one biscuit.

He ate it with careful seriousness.

Outside, a vehicle passed along the street. Mara’s body tightened before she could stop it.

Toby looked toward the window, then back at her.

She breathed out.