Golden Filly Collection Two (16 page)
T
rish was boxed in again. She felt like screaming in frustration. Gatesby had broken well from the gate, but here they were on the final turn and she had nowhere to go. If she dropped back they’d be clipped by the horses behind.
Finally the horse on the outside dropped off the pace. Gatesby burst through the hole, but it was too late. They finished fourth.
“Sorry. That was hard to take,” Adam commiserated as they walked the gelding back to the barns.
“I shouldn’t have let it happen. I must have been asleep or something.” Trish slapped her whip against her boot. “Good thing Anderson didn’t come all the way from Portland to watch his horse.” She patted the gelding’s steamy neck. “You deserved better than that, fella.”
“Well, you can’t beat yourself up over it. Things will turn around. You’re too good a jockey for them not to.”
“I’m beginning to wonder.”
That evening there was a letter from Red. Trish still hadn’t answered the last two. She slumped down on the sofa so she could enjoy the night lights while she read. He’d won again.
Glad someone is winning.
And he missed her. She stared out the window, thinking,
Do I really miss him?
If you missed someone weren’t they in your thoughts—at least part of the time? Her thoughts seemed to be in a turmoil. Or was she thinking at all?
She toyed with the idea as she climbed the stairs to her room. She found a note on her bed from Martha.
“Help yourself to whatever you’d like to eat. We’ve gone to a friend’s for dinner.”
Trish smiled at the happy face drawn at the bottom of the page. If only she had more time to spend with Martha. They’d have to set a date and go out to lunch and do some shopping. Maybe get some school clothes.
She was too tired to go back downstairs for something to eat. Instead, she fell into bed and back to the blessed emptiness of sleep.
Trish only pulled a D on her first chemistry quiz. She felt as if she’d been kicked by a flying hoof. The rest of the lecture passed in a blur.
Throw if off
she ordered herself.
You can’t let this get you down.
But it did. It was one more failure to pile on to a load that was getting too heavy to bear.
Her mount the next afternoon swung wide on the turns and finished fourth.
“If I could just have kept him running straight, we’d have been in the money.” She slumped on a green wooden trunk in the office at the barns. “What is the matter with me?”
Adam looked up from his paper work. “I think you’re trying too hard. You talked about going home for a couple of days. Maybe you should; it might help.”
“I’d have to cancel a ride on Sunday.…Big deal, the owner would probably be glad to give it to someone who wins once in a while. What about the one for you on Saturday?”
“I’ll get someone; don’t worry.”
“If I skip my lab on Thursday…” She shook her head. “No. I’ll catch an early flight on Friday morning. Maybe David can pound some chemistry into my head on Saturday. If he’ll even talk to me, that is.”
“Trouble there too?” Adam leaned back in his green and gold director’s chair.
“Yeah. I haven’t been too faithful about writing and calling home.”
You haven’t been too faithful about anything,
her nagger jumped in.
Adam handed her a phone book. “Call the airline now. It’ll make you feel better.”
Thursday afternoon, Trish rode Bob Diego’s gelding to a place. They missed the win by a photo finish.
“You can’t complain about that,” Adam said as he snapped a lead shank on the gray’s halter. “You rode well and that was a tough field. Any horse could have been the winner.”
“I shoulda gone to the whip sooner. He could have done it.”
“Trish…”
“Well, I won with him before.”
“That was Portland. The horses here are faster. He did very well.”
Trish planned to study the next morning on the plane, but fell asleep. It was easier.
Trish saw Rhonda’s beaming face before she saw her mother’s as she walked up the ramp from the plane. From the looks of it, Rhonda was in her perpetual-motion mode. She threw her arms around Trish, backed off, then hugged her again.
“Wow! Look at your tan. You been laying out or what?”
“Just the arms and face. The rest of me’s white as ever. I don’t have any daylight hours to lay out, even though there’s a deck right off my bedroom. I’ve only been on it once.”
“My turn.” Marge laughed as she reached in for a hug. “I can tell I won’t get a word in edgewise this trip home. You have other luggage?”
“Nope, this is it.” Trish picked up her sports bag again. “I travel light when I can.”
“And you’re only staying till Monday,” Rhonda groaned. “Why is it my best friend is always in some other part of the country?”
“That’s the price of fame.” Marge led the way down the escalator and back up to the parking lot.
Trish stopped on the sidewalk to look at Mount Hood with its summer snow streaks. Mount St. Helens was just visible to the north. “No mountains in San Mateo. I feel like I’m really home.”
“Maybe someday we’ll go skiing again.” Rhonda turned to Trish and grinned. “Then, maybe not. Wait till you see—”
Marge stopped at a black-cherry-colored minivan and inserted her key in the lock. “What do you think?” She smiled at Trish.
“What a beauty! You didn’t tell me you bought a new car.”
“I wanted to surprise you.” Marge flipped the electric lock and opened the passenger doors. “Just toss your stuff in. You two can fight for the front seat.”
“What’d you do with the wagon?” Trish gave Rhonda a playful shove toward the front.
“I traded it in. Your father and I had looked at this one before, and our mechanic said the wagon needed work, so…” She slammed her door shut. “Here we are.”
Trish felt the old familiar pain at the mention of her father. When she walked into the house, it hit her like a load of rock, and she could hardly make it to her bedroom.
“Still hurts, huh?” Rhonda sat down on the edge of the bed and hugged a throw pillow to her chest.
Trish nodded. “Shows, huh? It’s not so bad when I’m away from home. But when I come back, and he’s not here—” She went to look out the window, her hands stuffed in the back pockets of her jeans. “I don’t know, Rhonda. Sometimes I wonder if the pain will ever go away.”
“Wish I could help, Trish.”
“I don’t think anyone can.” She stood at the window, silent for a few moments. “Let’s go see Miss Tee.”
Caesar met them at the door, tail thumping, and yipping with excitement.
“Where were you? You missed the car coming in. Some watchdog you are.” Trish bent over to tug on his fluffy mane and got a lightning-quick nose lick for her efforts. Then the dog put one white paw on Trish’s knee to balance himself and pawed the air with the other. Trish pulled his ears and knelt down to hug him.
“No dogs at the Finleys’ city home, though they have two Rottweilers on the ranch.” Trish stopped to look over the farm. She could see the horses in their paddocks beyond the barns. Patrick’s new mobile home looked settled in on the property. The base was covered with matching skirting, and there were newly planted shrubs and flowers to make it look homey.
The girls trotted on down the rise. Trish’s whistle was answered by a whinny from the paddock. Old Dan’l hadn’t forgotten her. But Spitfire’s shrill response was as absent as Hal’s voice.
Trish stopped in the tack room to grab a carrot out of the refrigerator, and broke it into pieces as she and Rhonda meandered past the stables and out the lane to the paddocks.
Miss Tee trotted up to the fence and stood still when Trish took hold of the halter. She munched her carrot and nosed Trish’s hand for more. Double Diamond and his dam did the same.
“Where’d you learn those manners?” Trish rubbed the filly’s ears and the crest of her mane. “You sure are getting to be a beauty.”
“She always has been. Remember what a cutey she was when she’d peek around her mother with the mare’s tail draped over her face?” Rhonda patted Double D. “This one’s pretty good-looking too.”
Dan’l nickered from the next paddock. The yearling and two mares joined him at the fence.
If only Spitfire were here.
Trish leaned her forehead against the filly’s.
“There’ll never be another horse like Spitfire.” She shook her head.
“You two had a pretty special relationship. I think he could read your mind and you his.”
“I know. You know what scares me?” The filly blew in her ear.
“What?”
“I can’t read my horses anymore. It’s like we’re not even on the same wavelength. You know how my dad used to say I had a special gift?” She closed her eyes. “It’s gone.”
“Oh, Trish, I…” Rhonda patted Trish’s shoulder.
“If I can’t race, I don’t know what I’ll do. Life just isn’t worth it.”
“Tricia Marie Evanston, don’t talk like that!” Rhonda’s temper flared like her red hair. “Things’ll get better again. I know they will.”
Double Diamond raced off at the sound of the raised voice. Miss Tee pulled against Trish’s restraining hand. Trish let her go. “I hope so.” She wandered over to pat Dan’l. “I sure hope so. It can’t get any worse.”
“Welcome home, lass,” Patrick called as they returned to the barn. “What do you think of the home stock?”
“They’re looking good, Patrick. And so are you. Your house is beautiful. You’ve been working hard.”
“Well, your mother’s done a lot of it. She sure has a green thumb. What’s this I hear about you losing your touch?”
“It’s true. I can’t bring in a winner for the life of me.” Trish and Rhonda flopped on a hay bale in front of the tack room.
“And she says life isn’t worth living.”
“Blabbermouth.” Trish elbowed her friend in the ribs.
“It’ll get better, lass, it will.” Patrick propped a leg on another bale and leaned his elbow on his knee. “What’s that saying?” He wrinkled his brow. “It’s always darkest before dawn?”
“Yeah, well, dawn better come pretty soon.” Trish levered herself to her feet. “You need me in the morning?”
“Nope. You’re on vacation; sleep in.”
David was about as friendly as a porcupine at the dinner table that night. He only answered when spoken to.
“What’s with him?” Trish questioned her mother as she helped clear the table.
“Why don’t you ask him?” Marge rinsed plates in the sink and loaded them into the dishwasher.
The thought of getting into an argument with David was more than Trish could handle. So much for having a chemistry coach.
Her mother had turned down the sheets, and Trish’s bed welcomed her. She watched the dancing tree branches make shadows on her wall before sleep claimed her.
“Okay, David, what is it?” she asked after breakfast the next morning.
David looked up from circling the rim of his coffee mug with a forefinger. “You really want to know?”
Trish nodded.
“Okay. You don’t call. You don’t write. If Mom didn’t talk with Martha, we wouldn’t know if you were dead or alive.” David set his mug down hard. “Even Red’s called here asking if you’re all right. What are we supposed to tell him?”
Trish’s sigh could be felt all the way to her toes. “I’m sorry.” She sucked in her bottom lip. “What can I say? You’re right.”
“I hear Mom crying at night. Losing Dad was bad enough; she shouldn’t have to cry about you too.”
A gray cloud settled around Trish’s shoulders and pressed her to her chair. “I’ll do better. I promise.”
David stared at her. “Is that all you’ve got to say?”
Trish nodded.
“I expected you to at least yell at me.” A tiny grin lifted one corner of his mouth. “I had all kinds of answers ready.”
Trish was speechless. She could hear her mother talking to Caesar out on the deck.
“The four musketeers are going for pizza and a movie this afternoon. How does that sound?”
Trish looked at her brother for the first time in a long time—really looked at him. The frown was gone from his forehead. Her brother, her friend, was back.
That afternoon at the Pizza Shack, Brad asked David, “When do you leave for Arizona?”
“End of August—assuming I’m accepted and all my records transfer.”