Golden Filly Collection One (33 page)
Trish cleared her throat. “Will you need me there?”
The three nodded.
“I’ll call you then,” Mrs. Smith finished. “Thank you for coming.”
The next afternoon Marge picked Trish up after school.
“How’s Dad?” Trish asked as she slid behind the wheel.
“Sleeping. The doctor gave him a new medication for the nausea, so he shouldn’t be so sick this time. He’s gained a couple of pounds—that was good news.”
Trish tried to concentrate on her driving. Surely the driver’s test wasn’t much different than a horse race. Her butterflies didn’t need to try anything new. The old antics stirred her up enough.
“You can do it.” Marge smiled through the open window after she’d slid out of the car.
The uniformed instructor who took her place looked as if a smile might shatter his face.
Maybe the frozen look is in for testing instructors.
Trish swallowed…hard. Her left hand refused to leave the wheel when the man told her to test the turn signals. At his second gruff order, her hand finally obeyed.
Trish relaxed as the driving got under way. She followed each instruction, but every time the man wrote something down, her butterflies did flips.
“You did just fine,” he said when she parked the car back at the station. He handed her the sheet. A big red 90 stood out at the top. “Now go inside to line B to have your picture taken, and pay your fee.” He almost smiled. But not quite.
Trish didn’t know if her feet were touching the ground or not. When she got back in the car, her grin told her success.
“Congratulations, Trish. I’m proud of you.” Marge reached across the seat to hug her daughter. “How about a banana split to celebrate?”
“You’re on!” She bounced on the seat and thumped the steering wheel.
I should run around the block. I am s-o-o excited.
Instead, she carefully checked both ways before pulling out on the street.
As soon as they arrived home, Trish called Rhonda. “You are talking to a
licensed
driver,” she said with a haughty note. Rhonda’s squeal matched the one stuck about mid-throat for Trish. “Gotta run,” she cut the conversation short. “Have to work the beasts.”
Her dad wasn’t in his recliner, but lay curled on his side in bed, asleep. The pan on the floor reminded Trish of how sick he could be. She tiptoed out without sharing her good news. This was life—since the cancer. Her dad wasn’t there to share her news, good or bad.
T
he weight bearing Trish down seemed even heavier on Wednesday. She hadn’t been able to concentrate the night before, so instead of acing her chemistry quiz, she flunked it. Even though the sun played hide-andseek with the scurrying clouds, she saw only gray. And rain.
Dumping her book bag on the chair at her desk, she looked around her bedroom. It seemed strange to see uncluttered carpet, undraped chairs, and a
made
bed. At least
one
thing in her life was going right. Not training horses in the morning gave her the extra few minutes to put things away.
Yeah, sure,
she responded to her nagger.
Be thankful for small favors.
Downstairs, her father asked from his seemingly permanent place in the recliner, “You got a minute, Tee?”
“Yeah,” Trish answered on her way to the kitchen. “Umm-mmm, smells good.” She sniffed the glorious aroma. “Wow, homemade rolls!”
Marge had just lifted the pan from a plate of caramel-cinnamon rolls. Trish scooped a golden glob of the gooey concoction from the waxed paper. “Whoa! That’s hot!”
Marge turned from the sink. “Pour some milk, and I’ll fix a plate of these for you and your dad. This should tempt his appetite.”
“Does mine. Where’s David?”
“Down at the barn, where else? He’s trying to get some training in for the yearlings. We think we have a buyer for one or two of them.”
Trish caught her glass before it cracked on the counter.
Selling the yearlings! Those are our investment for next year.
She swallowed the words before they could burst forth. Setting the glasses of milk and plate of rolls on a tray, she carried them into the living room.
“I know, Tee.” Hal had heard and knew she was upset. “But I don’t know what else to do.”
“You could let me race more!”
Hal closed his eyes. He shook his head. “I know, but…”
“Don’t say it.”
A tiny smile lifted the lines around his mouth. “All right, I won’t, but even if you’re racing four days a week, you can’t always count on a win. We can’t depend completely on what you make.”
“There’s the money from Anderson.”
“I know. That helps with the feed bill.” He took a bite of the cinnamon roll. “Ah, now this is good. Your mother sure knows how to bake.”
Trish huddled on the hearth. Today, even the glowing fire didn’t warm the chill of foreboding that seeped into her mind like fog tendrils in the pasture hollows when the sun goes down.
“Trish, you can’t carry the weight for all of us.” He pulled her card out of his Bible. “Eagle’s wings,” he mused. “I’ve loved this verse for so many years. And when the pain’s been at its worst, this promise lifts me up. God does what He promises, Tee. He gives us new strength for each day, but He won’t take care of tomorrow until it comes. And we can’t either.”
Trish nodded. “I guess so.”
“I don’t just guess, I
know
.” Hal patted her hand. “Now, eat your roll before it’s cold.” He wiped his mouth. “And thanks for the card. Finding this promise has meant the world to me.”
Trish sighed. She wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin on her knees. “It just seems crazy to keep me from racing when we need the money so badly.”
“We need
you
more.”
The phone rang. After a few minutes, Marge leaned around the door to the kitchen. “That was Mrs. Olson. Our meeting is being postponed until next Thursday.”
Trish wasn’t sure if she was happy or sad about the change. “After all, I don’t even know what the meeting is really about,” she confided to Caesar as he loped beside her to the stables. A sharp bark assured her that he was listening. “I sure don’t need anyone yakking about my grades again, or making a big deal of my falling asleep in class.”
“Hey, can you sleep over tomorrow night?” Trish asked Rhonda on the way to the cafeteria the next morning. “We’re trailering Firefly and Gatesby to the track right after school, then I need to gallop Spitfire and you could ride Final Command. I already asked my mom.”
“Don’t know why not. I’ll ask and call you tonight.”
“Maybe we could rent a movie.”
“What about me?” Brad thumped his hand on his chest. “All I do is work all the time. I
never
get invited to the parties.”
Trish and Rhonda rolled their eyes at each other. “You can bring the soft drinks.”
The horses loaded without a hitch. After David and Brad rolled out of the driveway, Trish and Rhonda galloped the two at home, fed all the stock, and still had time to play with Miss Tee.
Only twinges of I-wish-I-were-at-the-track nipped at Trish’s mind. If she were forced to admit it, the break felt good.
And the party felt better. For a party it was, as Hal teased Rhonda about her latest boyfriend, and
everyone
hassled Trish about
the
Doug Ramstead. Marge served hamburgers and French fries, with ice cream sundaes for dessert. By the time they brought in the popcorn, Trish felt as if she might pop.
Halfway through the movie, Rhonda had an attack of the giggles. Her face turned red and tears streamed down her face.
“It must be a v-v-virus,” Trish tried to talk around her own laughter.
“Knock it off, you two.” David threw a pillow at Rhonda.
“We can’t hear the movie!” Brad raised his hands in protest.
Trish was rolling on the floor. Rhonda thumped her feet. Neither of them could breathe.
“Don’t look at me!” Trish plumped the pillow on Rhonda’s head. “Or I’ll never stop.” Their laughter erupted again.
Trish took a deep breath. When she looked up at her dad, he winked at her. She lay on her back, staring up at the pine-board ceiling. Her stomach hurt from all the laughter. What a good feeling!
Later in her bedroom, Trish leaned over the side of her bed. Rhonda lay snug in a sleeping bag spread on foam cushions, her head propped on her hand. “We haven’t gone crazy like
that
in a long time.”
Trish shook her head. “Too long.”
They talked for a while longer, until Rhonda didn’t answer. Trish was too sleepy to prod her.
