When Happily Ever After Ends (6 page)

“Absolutely.”

“Shall we meet in the lobby at seven-thirty?”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Madeline smiled kindly at Shannon. “It was good to meet you. Betty talks about you all the time.”

“She seems really nice,” Shannon observed when they were again alone.

“Yes, she’s an amazing lady. Her husband and three children were killed when their private plane crashed about fourteen years ago.”

Shannon gasped, “That’s awful.”

“I first met her at a bridge party right after Hugh died. We were both lonely. We became friendly at the time, but then lost touch.”

“You said she works here.”

“Yes, I ran into her when I started my volunteer work here last winter. She’d gone back to school to train to be a counselor. We’ve renewed our friendship.”

“School? But she’s old.” Shannon clamped her hand over her mouth, embarrassed.

“Goodness, your brain doesn’t dry up with age,” Grandmother teased. “She works for a new hospital program for people who are terminally ill. She helps the patient and families cope with their feelings.”

Shannon grimaced slightly. “Well, I guess someone has to do it.”

“I’m sure she’s quite good. It’s been encouraging
to see how she’s managed to overcome such tragedy in her own life and help others.” Grandmother looked at her watch. “I’ve got a meeting with several board members in five minutes. Shall I call a taxi for you?”

“I’m supposed to wait in the lobby for Mom. She’s picking me up in fifteen minutes.” At the doorway, Shannon hugged her grandmother. “Thanks for lunch.”

“Thanks for coming. It was good to spend time with you, dear. I feel better knowing you’re going to the Nashville horse show with your father. I know watching you perform will make him happy.”

Shannon made her way back down the hall toward the elevator. She rode up to the lobby and chose a seat near the door so that she’d see her mother the moment she pulled into the circular driveway.

She saw her grandmother’s friend, Madeline, pushing a patient in a wheelchair and waved. She thought about Madeline’s loss. It gave her the creeps, and made her shiver. She stepped outside into the warm sunlight to wait for her mom. For some reason, the hospital had left her cold.

   Shannon couldn’t find stamps for the Pony Club newsletter anywhere. She’d promised her mom she’d ride Black up to the post office on Lookout Mountain that afternoon to mail them.

She decided to look in her father’s desk in his study. Shannon knocked on the closed door, when no one answered, she entered, She’d never liked this
room. It was dark and somber with walls painted deep hunter green and the furniture and woodwork stained a dark brown. These days, her father kept the blinds and curtain closed around the clock. By comparison, the rest of the house was light and airy. “I like it this way,” her father explained. “It’s my cocoon. It makes me feel comfortable and safe.”

She flipped on the light. The room looked neat and orderly, more so than she could ever remember. The pillows were carefully arranged on the navy-blue leather sofa, the bookshelves were organized and tidy with every book erect. The usual clutter of horse and riding magazines were stacked in magazine file holders. She wondered if her mother had sneaked in and cleaned up the place, but couldn’t imagine why. The room was Dad’s, and he hated to have anybody mess around with it.

Shannon went to the desk. Documents were neatly stacked. There were several insurance policies and a file dated for last year’s tax return. Careful not to disturb the papers, she opened the top drawer and rummaged for a roll of stamps. She spied a note in her father’s handwriting. It appeared scrawled, not neat and steady like his usual penmanship. A sense of guilt made her glance about the room. She was alone. She lifted the note and read,

Shannon felt chilling goose bumps all over. She reread the note. Was her daddy lonely? Didn’t she and Mom make him happy? What did he want to be freed from? She considered taking the note and showing it to her mother, but just as quickly rejected the idea. “That’s what you get for snooping, Shannon Campbell,” she said to herself. Who knows how long that note has been lying in that drawer? Or what its purpose was?

Shannon grabbed the stamps and slammed the drawer shut. She refused to think about the dumb note. Her father had probably forgotten he’d even written it. She took a deep breath to calm down, then crossed the room, turned off the light, and retreated into the sunlight in the kitchen.

“What do you mean you’re not coming with us? You
always
go with us! Daddy, you’ve got to come.” Shannon stood in the kitchen confronting her father.

Her mother put her hand on Shannon’s shoulder to quiet her. “Paul, we’re leaving for Nashville at six tomorrow morning, and you’re just now mentioning that you don’t want to come? Why didn’t you say something earlier in the week?”

“Don’t act like it’s the end of the world.” Paul Campbell’s voice sounded conciliatory.

“But Daddy!” Shannon cried.

“Sweetheart, I have things I have to do. I can’t get away for the whole day tomorrow.”

“What things?” his wife asked. “You said all the bookwork was caught up.”

“Things are in order, but not finished.”

Shannon felt utterly confused. For the past week her father had been frenetically active. He’d cleaned out his file drawers, organized closets, fixed the broken steps on the back porch deck, replaced the rotted split rails in the fence across the front of their property, and helped Zack repair the lawn tractor so that
he could mow the western pastures. He’d eaten supper with them every night and even watched TV with Shannon several evenings. He seemed more happy and content than he had in months. So much so that Shannon had been convinced that his depressed mood had passed, just as her mother had told her it would. But now, to announce that he wasn’t going to the meet when she’d been counting on him to be there was an unwelcome surprise. “What if Black gives me problems?” she asked.

“He won’t. He’s a fine horse and you’re an excellent horsewoman. Besides, your mother will be there with you.”

Shannon fell silent, out of arguments. Her mother still pleaded. “I really don’t understand, Paul. You know how much we count on your being there. I’ve got five girls participating in this show and I need your help.”

“You’re a strong, fine, capable woman, Kathleen. You don’t need me.”

Shannon’s mother released a heavy sigh. “It’s obvious we aren’t going to change your mind tonight. It’s late and we’ve got to get up at five in order to roll by six. Let’s sleep on it and maybe tomorrow you’ll change your mind.”

“No, I can’t come. But I’ll help you load Black in the van. And I’ll make you a thermos of coffee, with a pinch of cinnamon the way you like it.”

“All right,” his wife replied. “We won’t make you come this time, but next time—”

“I’ll be going. Next time will be different.”

Shannon wasn’t satisfied, but she went to bed. The next morning she woke to the smell of cinnamon-spiked coffee and frying bacon. Her father fixed breakfast, talked cheerfully, and seemed in fantastically good spirits, though he still refused to go with them. As they loaded riding habits, gear, and two coolers into the station wagon, the morning was dark and starless with only a slight trace of gray in the eastern sky.

Shannon made sure Black had feed in the trailer before leading him up the ramp and securing him. He nuzzled her pocket and she offered him a piece of carrot. The horse seemed eager, as if he knew it was a show day. She stroked his neck and kissed his velvety muzzle. “Let’s win big, okay?” she whispered. Maybe then her dad would be sorry he hadn’t been with them to see it.

“Are we ready?” her mother asked her husband.

“Yes. We’re ready. Perfectly ready,” he answered cryptically. His smile was wistful as he toyed with Shannon’s silky hair. “You’re going to do just fine, honey. Both of you are.” He glanced toward his wife.

“You act like we’re going away for a week,” Shannon said, stifling a yawn. “We’ll be back tonight, Daddy.”

“Shannon’s right, Paul,” her mother said. “I expect to be home around midnight, so don’t wait up if you’re tired.”

He hugged them both. His arms tightened around Shannon and he whispered, “Bye, baby.”

She felt her irritation over his not coming evaporate and assured him, “I’ll win big for you.”

Shannon and her mother climbed into the wagon, and her mother carefully inched the car and horse trailer up the drive. Shannon looked in the side mirror and saw her father standing in the kitchen doorway. She saw him raise his hand and wave as they drove off. She watched until his body became a speck against the morning light.

   “Wow! Is this show neat or what?” Heather craned her neck to see each of the five rings from atop her horse as she spoke.

“Much bigger than last year,” Shannon said, twisting slightly in her saddle to observe all the rings. Advanced jumping was being held in one ring, in another were beginners with three-foot fences, in a third equitation for intermediates, and in a fourth the youngest riders were putting their ponies through walk-trot equitation judging.

“Look at that little guy,” Heather said, pointing to a boy who was maybe five, sitting rigidly on a dappled gray pony.

Shannon giggled and teased, “Cute kid. I saw him watching you and Fantasia earlier.”

Heather rolled her eyes. “Do you suppose he has a big brother around here?”

“You have a one-track mind!”

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re the one who’s got Zack’s undivided attention.”

“We went riding together,
once
. Anyway, Daddy’s kept him so busy lately I’ve hardly seen him.”

“Still, he barely notices anyone except you.”

“I think he does notice, but he’s really shy.”

Just then Shannon’s mother approached. “Shannon, I’ve got to coach Tammy through her walk-trot event and Melanie is supposed to show in the pony ring. Since I can’t be in two places at once, I need your help. Can you supervise Melanie for me?”

“Sure, Mom.” Shannon clucked to Black and directed him over to the children’s grass ring where eleven-year-old Melanie was biting her fingernails. “Are you ready?” Shannon asked brightly, remembering when she’d been a beginner. Melanie’s parents paid for lessons and for all entry fees but rarely attended the Pony Club events. Shannon felt sorry for her and thought about how lucky she’d been that her father had always been standing by, cheering for her.

“I—I guess so,” Melanie said. “What if Mesquite won’t obey me?”

Shannon dismounted and patted Melanie’s pony, checking the cinch on the saddle. The image of her father’s hands sprang into her mind’s eye. He had big hands, square shaped, with strong, blunt fingers. They were powerful, able to control a wild, unbroken horse. They were gentle, able to calm and soothe a crying child. She remembered the time she’d taken a spill during a meet. A tender warmth swept through her as she recalled the way he’d comforted
her, stroking and reassuring her with his large, strong hands.

She shook her head to clear away the poignant memory and told Melanie, “You know what to do. Let him know who’s the boss. Be firm when you give a direction with your heels or the reins. Don’t be indecisive. A horse can feel it if a rider’s uncertain.” She smiled to herself because she sounded so much like her father.

“My stomach’s full of butterflies,” Melanie moaned.

“Go ahead, they’re calling your class,” Shannon said giving Mesquite a firm pat on his rump. “You’ll be great. I’ll stand here by the fence so you can see me as you complete each circuit.” She kept her promise, and when Melanie and Mesquite performed well, she felt proud. She knew her father would have been proud of her and her role as teacher. She found herself wishing again that he’d come with them.

Even though Melanie and her horse bobbled some moves, after it was over, Melanie came away with a white ribbon for fifth place. Her eyes danced as she fluttered the ribbon in Shannon’s face. “I won! I won!”

Shannon laughed and shook Melanie’s hand, recalling the first ribbon she’d won. Her father had taken plenty of photos and acted as if she’d won a million dollar lottery. Of course, that was when she’d been a skinny little kid whose headgear flopped down over her eyes. She pictured him sitting home alone
and hoped that he hadn’t fallen into another blue mood.

By the time the sun was setting, the Scotland Yard Pony Club had collected a boxful of colored ribbons, the majority of them blue. On the way home, Shannon and her mother discussed the events. “Black did well, especially since it was his first big show,” her mother said.

“He’d have done better if Daddy had been with us. Next time, I want to enter him in the advanced jumper events.”

“We’ll set up a more rigorous training schedule tomorrow. Now that your dad’s feeling better, you can work more consistently. The Knoxville show’s next month.”