A Gentle Rain (40 page)

The publicity wrangler said World Sports Network wanted to show the barrel racing girls in sexy clothes, not a bunch of boring horse owners.

"Are you concerned about Estrela's owners being `boring," Karen shot back, "or is it that they don't fit World Sports Network's butt-andperky image? Are you afraid they'll drool or pick their noses? I assure you, they have far more charm and class than the average Neanderthal who tunes into World Sports Network fare such as `Hot Women of Basketball' or `Party Girls of College Teams."'

This little battle went on two or three days, while a bunch of photographers sat i i the shade by the Little Hatchawatchee drinking iced tea and staring at Gator. Then the publicity wrangler got a can from her boss at the network, and it seems he'd gotten calls from a couple of the program sponsors. Big corporations. Somehow they'd heard about the ranch and the people who worked there; they'd heard how Joey, Lily and the others saved Estrela from being turned into dog food. They wanted that story, not pictures of Karen in a bikini.

"All right, you win. We're going for the sentimental angle," the publicity wrangler told Karen and me.

I swear, she worked the system and the system worked for us, every time.

Chaper 2 3

Ben

For the first time in their lives, my ranch crew were stars. They got their pictures made, they got videotaped while they worked, they got interviewed. Joey posed in his wheelchair next to Estrela and she bent her scarred face down and nuzzled his cheek. That picture made the feature pages of a bunch of newspapers across the South and went around the world on the Internet.

My baby brother was thrilled. The memories would carry him a long way. I tried not to think about this maybe being the last great fun of his life.

"Let's get a picture of Karen with her adopted parents," a photographer said one day.

Karen stopped cold. "What do you mean?"

"Mac and Lily. The people you live with. They smile at everything you do. It's like they've adopted you."

After a strange few seconds, where she looked like she might cry, she nodded.

Glen called. "My brother is on the front page of the Jacksonville paper, posing with Lily, that vicious mare, and Karen Johnson. Didn't I deserve to be informed about this ridiculous barrel-racing contest?"

"I figured you wouldn't mind. `Course, if Estrela wins, Mac'll get a split of the million. Everybody gets equal shares."

"That deranged, worthless mare cannot possibly win. This is a bizarre scheme of Karen Johnson's. I don't like it. This will humiliate my brother."

"Oh? From what I see, he's happier than he's ever been in his life. See, Glen, he don't need to be the best of the best. He don't have to win in order to be happy. Him and Lily, they're just glad to get a chance at bein' treated like regular people. That's all they've ever wanted. To be took seriously."

"I appreciate your advocacy for the mentally challenged. I really do. But he's my brother and I know what's best for him."

"All right. Drive on over and visit. See how well he's doin' for yourself."

"I'll bide my time. Just as long as Karen Johnson leaves by fall."

"I told you that's her choice."

"Don't do anything to dissuade her."

He was already too late in that regard, but I didn't say so.

Kara

Where else to hold the pre-race send-off than at Roadkill?

It was a wonderful party. The mermaids came, many of the northern Florida ranchers came, plus Bettie and Woodrow, Tom D. and his wife, our Fountain Springs' neighbors, horse show people, Cracker Horse enthusiasts, and representatives from the Seminole tribe. It was an amazing community.

Ben and I danced a samba but tamed it down from the first time. Too many eyes were on us. Even so, we ended in each others' arms, smiling. The band began playing a country-western song as if embarrassed, and the crowd filled in around us, grinning and slapping our backs. We didn't notice. We didn't even move.

We caught our breaths, smoked a symbolic cigarette, and tried not to look too obviously enamored. A second later I became aware of Miriam sliding up to us. Her scratchy drawl burst against our eardrums. "Ben. They musta seen all the stories about you and Karen in the news. I warned you way back when. Didn't I?"

He looked in the direction of her rigid forefinger. I followed his lead.

Four unhappy women watched us.

I had a bad feeling they weren't strangers.

Ben

Joey and Rhubarb snored under Joey's Star Wars sheets, and Grub dozed on my lap, but I hadn't slept at all. I kept going over the Roadkill wreck.

I had done wrong to four of my best friends, and I knew it. I should've told `em about Karen from the first day. I knew then that my life had taken a turn. And I should've told Karen about them.

They were hurt, and they were mad. All I could say was, "Don't blame Karen, blame me."

They did.

Karen had true class. As they were leavin', she walked outside with them. I don't know what was said, but damned if she didn't end up tradin' hugs with each of them.

I'll say one thing for myself. I pick out women who respect themselves and respect other women. I felt like a dog, but that was one bright spot. When we all got back to the ranch Karen shook her head at me when I tried to say something. She went straight to Mac and Lily's trailer.

Tap, tap, tap.

Possum was our night watchman. He was tappin' a knuckle on Joey's window pane. It was three a.m. I squinted out. Possum peered in. In the faint shine of Joey's Star Trek starship night light, he looked even weirder than he was. Long nose, small eyes, twitchy mouth.

I waved him away.

Tap tap tap. I pretended to sleep. Possum came to Joey's window sometimes just to tap out a hello in Possum code. I always waved at him and then he'd go back to the main barn. Usually, all he wanted was a wave from me. I didn't want to get out of the recliner to talk at three a.m.

Tap tap tap.

Aw, to hell with it. I got up from the recliner, my bones like an old man's, and made my way to the window. I opened it just a crack so the air conditioning wouldn't get out. Joey's heart needed the chill. "What's up, Possum?"

He pointed toward the barn. "Karen is talking to Estrela. They're outside in the ring. I'm worried. Horses need lots of sleep. Otherwise, they suffer from nightmares. Can you come tell Karen to stop talking so Estrela can go to bed?"

Kara

Estrela and I walked the barrel racing pattern in the dark. We'd completed about a dozen circuits already, shuffling along in the sandy loam, side-by-side. Stars glimmered in the hot summer sky; a slight breeze ruffled the oaks. Their moss moved gently, like feather boas around the necks of nodding women.

I watched my bare feet and her dark hooves kick up sand in the beam of a small flashlight. The cuffs of my pajama bottoms flopped merrily, like clown pants. The pajamas had been a gift from Mac and Lily. Like everything in their favorite decor, the pajamas bore a bright yellow daisy pattern.

"Paula is an office manager for a group of doctors in Tallahassee," I told Estrela. "And Suzie teaches seventh grade at a public school in Gainesville."

Estrela blew out as if amazed that I'd already catalogued so many details about Ben's other women.

"Cathy is a loan manager at the Sun Farm branch in Ocala," I went on. "And Rhonda is an account rep for a soft drink company. All four are divorced. All four are raising children, alone. All four are hardworking, likable, sensible women. We made peace with each other. They told me something changed about Ben even before I arrived. That he was moody and withdrawn in a way they'd never seen, before. They told me something's tormenting him, but he won't say what. They're worried about him. They told me to take care of him."

Estrela blew out again, as if dismayed by my graceful acceptance of Ben's multiple sex partners. "Oh, don't think I'm not a messy pit of possessive misery right now," I told her brokenly. "I've always been the poster girl for safe sex. Responsible sex. Monogamous sex. But what's worse: a man who sticks to a small group of women for years at a time, or a man who plays the field with a series of strangers? Paula and the others said I must be special, that his feelings for me obviously threw him off balance. They say it's not like him to deceive them. Or to deceive himself."

We walked in silence for a few minutes, starting the barrel pattern again. We headed for the first barrel, which gave off a reflective orange sheen in the darkness. "I assume he thinks I'm more like them than not. I'd be honored to be one of their tribe. I want to believe that I'm hardworking, just like them, and that I have substance, and that I could be a good mother, single, if need be.

"But here's the thing, Estrela. I'm not like them. Look at the lied of women he's comfortable with. They're not rich. They're not in positions of power. They're his equals. That's the kind of woman he wants.

"Nothing I can say to him is likely to convince him that he and I are equals, too. I can't give all the money away and pretend I really am Karen Johnson. Mother and Dad left me an enormous fortune so I could do something good with it, just as they tried to. I can't ignore that. I can't keep hiding who I am. I've been deluding myself about having a future with Ben."

Estrela nudged the barrels with her nose as we pivoted around them, disdainful but accepting. "You see?" I said wearily. "Life isn't about knocking the barrels over. It's about dealing with them as you reach each one. We're making progress in our therapy."

I wiped my eyes as we headed for the second barrel. No crying. Crying was pointless. "And I've been deluding myself that Mac and Lily will ever want to acknowledge me. They're obviously not interested in dredging up the past. I don't want to confront them, demand answers from them, and shame or belittle them."

We reached the third barrel again. Estrela circled it without touching even the rim. "Good girl!" My voice was raw. "We have to make peace with the obstacles we can't knock down. Admit that they're part of a pattern we didn't design and can't always alter. We don't make all the rules."

We walked to the gate. I led her back to her stall, to her soft bed of wood shavings. She had come to terms with the unchanging markers in the contest, the guideposts that could not be knocked over, but merely circled.

And so had I.

Ben

I walked up as Karen left the barn. We just stood there without saying anything, looking at each other in the moth-speckled glow of a security light.

"Just say what you need to say to me," I told her. "I did everybody wrong, I lanow. I didn't think things through. If I had thought any of this through, I would have told them about you way back when. I didn't see you coming."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"It is."

"I was upset when I met them, I admit it, but I'm okay, now. I like them. I just ... don't want to be Number Five in the rotation."

"That's over with. It was over before you set foot in my life."

"Why did you stop seeing them?"

"I had a lot on my mind. You know, women aren't the only ones who get headaches, sometimes."

"They're worried about you."

"I know."

"Will you tell me what caused the `headache?"'

"It's something I need to handle on my own for a while longer. You got enough to worry about, with this barrel race and all. Leave it be, awright? I promise you, I'll tell you soon."

"Ben ... are you sick? Something physically wrong-"

"Oh, hell, no. No. I'm sorry. Didn't mean to put that in your head. It's nothiig about me. And it's not money worries. I just can't bring myself to say anymore than that right now. Not to you or anybody else." I gave her a tired smile. "If good luck feeds on itself, then so does bad luck. Best not to give it any clues."

Silence. I watched her eyes go sadder. "I can't insist that you trust me when I have so much to tell you about myself that I'm not quite ready to share."

"Good poiit. Let's make a deal. After the barrel race, you tell me and I'll tell you. Okay?"

She swallowed tears, smiled and nodded. "Okay."

I wanted to reach for her, but despite all evidence from the night's foul-up, I'm smart enough to know when a woman needs to back off for awhile.

I walked her to the bridge. We said our goodnights without touching. I stood there watching until she got to Mac and Lily's trailer. They'd got out of bed and turned on the front light for her. She paused at the base of their front steps, among all their daisy ornaments, looking back at me.

She looked like the saddest person in the world.

Next only to me.

It was two days before Labor Day Weekend. Two days until the Million Dollar Ride-off There was a wall between me and Karen, but it had windows. Windows of opportunity. I wasn't giving up.

Still, my heart stopped when I walked into the kitchen one afternoon and she wasn't there. No heat, no good smells, no hustle and bustle as Karen commanded the dinner prep. Everything was neat, clean, and quiet. Empty. A sleepy lizard peered at me from the window sill.