Golden Filly Collection Two (88 page)
S
o he’s not coming home for Thanksgiving?”
“I was just as shocked as you. Maybe we should have asked him before we talked with Ms. Wainwright.” Marge curled her feet up under her on the sofa. “I just never dreamed he wouldn’t be as excited as we are.”
“I think—no, I
know
Dad would think this is a great idea.” Trish snuggled back in her father’s recliner.
“Yep, that’s one of the hard things for me. All those years we gave what we could when we didn’t have much, and now that we have plenty of money, he’s not here to enjoy giving it away.” Marge leaned her head back on the cushions. “I’m not looking forward to the holidays at all. Every time I think of mailing Christmas cards or putting up the tree, I see a big hole where your dad should be.” She reached over and snagged a tissue out of the box by her rocking chair.
Trish huddled deeper into the recliner. Her mother’s thoughts matched her own. “At least Thanksgiving will be fun. Even if David bugged out.” Her words sounded brave, but inside, she could feel the yawning chasm. Would their family never be whole again?
When she woke up the next morning, an idea flashed into her mind. Trish threw back the covers and leaped from the bed. “Mom!” She charged down the hall, nearly crashing into her mother.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just had a great idea.”
“Yeah, well, you scared me half to death.”
Trish couldn’t stop jumping up and down. “Mom, listen. What if we go to visit Gram and Gramps for Christmas? That would sure be different—Christmas in Florida. We’ve never been there for Christmas. What do you think?” Her words tripped over each other and came out with a whoosh.
“But who would take care of everything here?”
“Patrick and Brad. We could hire more help if they need it. We wouldn’t have to be gone long, a couple of days. Beaches, warm sun, and if Gram doesn’t want to cook, we’ll buy dinner. You think David will like the idea?”
“We’d better check with him before I call Mother.” Marge gave Trish a hug. “I think you came up with a winner this time, Tee.”
Within two days, all the arrangements were made, with David agreeing it was a great idea. Marge’s parents were totally floored but thrilled.
Trish went into finals week feeling as if someone had turned her treadmill up to racing speed when she wasn’t looking. On Friday night she and Doug went out for pizza to celebrate with Rhonda and Jason.
“I have something else to cheer about.” Trish held up her tall glass of Diet Coke. “The Jerk hasn’t called or anything since he sent the roses. Maybe he fell off the face of the earth or something.” They all clanked their glasses together.
Or maybe God is answering your prayers for him,
her nagger whispered in her ear. He sure liked to say “I told you so.” Trish ignored the voice and teased Jason about the basketball team. The Prairie High boys’ team had never gone to the state tournament, while the girls had gone nearly every year.
“This season will be different,” Jason promised. “You wait and see. With Doug guarding and me at center, we will show them all.” The two guys slapped high fives. “After all, that is why I come to your school, to win at basketball.”
“And here I thought you came to meet me.” Rhonda pulled a sad face.
“That is how you say ‘the frosting on the cookie.’” He reached over and draped a long arm across her shoulders.
“On the cake.” Trish sucked on her straw.
“What?” Jason looked around. “Do they serve cake here?”
“No, Wollensvaldt. You messed up the saying again. It’s ‘frosting on the cake,’ not a cookie.” Rhonda shook her head, her red hair flying and her grin making them all laugh.
“Oh. I will learn.” He wagged a long, bony finger at all of them. “But you watch. Prairie will go to state.”
How will I find time to go to the games?
Trish thought, stirring her drink with her straw.
Doug’s already talking about me being there, like it’s important to him. Men sure can complicate your life.
She thought of that again on Saturday when Rob Garcia, one of the apprentice jockeys, cut her off in the third race, nearly causing an accident.
“Dumb punk kid,” she muttered to Genie Stokes when they walked back to the jockey room, neither one of them making it into the money.
“Trish, he’s older than you are,” Genie leaned close to say, “and been racing longer. He just wants out of apprenticeship so bad he’ll do anything to win.”
“Well, it didn’t do him any good. He got called for recklessness. I’d hate to be near him with my car if he drives like he rides.” Trish dumped her stuff on top of her bag. “I think I’ll let Dr. Dan over there work on my back. I have two races to sit out.” She left Genie and crossed the room to where the resident chiropractor was working over one of the other jockeys on his table.
“Sure, give me fifteen minutes,” the gray-haired man replied. “Why don’t you go take a hot shower to soften those muscles while you wait.”
Trish did as he suggested and let the water wash away her resentment of the offending jockey.
By the time Dr. Dan was finished with her, she felt both relaxed and recharged.
She met Brad and Patrick in the spoke-wheel-shaped saddling paddock. Crowds lined the railings to watch the preparations. Gatesby wasn’t happy. His laid-back ears when Trish entered the stall said it all.
“What’s the matter with him?” Trish stayed out of nip range.
“Got up on the wrong side of the stall, I think.” Brad held the gelding’s head while Patrick adjusted the throat strap.
“Glad you’ve got him and not me,” Genie said from the stall next to them.
“Thanks.” Trish took a solid hold on the bit shank and rubbed Gatesby up around the ears and down his cheek. “You ready to run, you silly horse?” Instead of pricking his ears forward as he usually did when Trish talked to him, Gatesby laid them back again.
“I been thinkin’ mayhap I should scratch him.” Patrick checked the girth and the wide white band that went over the saddle.
“It’s up to you,” Trish said, all the while her hands keeping up their soothing rhythm.
“Riders up.” The call crackled over the sound system.
“Just watch ’im, lass.” Patrick tossed her into the saddle. “And watch out for Garcia. He’s riding again in this one.” He smoothed a hand down the gelding’s shoulder. “Don’t be afraid to use the whip on Gatesby here. You got to keep his attention.”
Brad and Patrick both walked her out to the pony riders, one on each side of the fractious gelding. “Watch ’im.” Patrick cautioned the young woman riding a palomino. The bugle called the field of eight out onto the track, gray in the drizzle and fog.
“Have a good one, Trish,” a voice called from the sidelines.
Trish looked up in time to catch a flashing smile from Taylor Win-throp. She waved back. She hadn’t seen him lately. Would he ask her to go for drinks again? Would she go?
Gatesby snorted and crow-hopped, reminding her to pay attention to one thing—him.
“Watch out for him,” one of the handlers reminded the others at the starting gate. “He bit me bad last time.” It took three tries to get Gatesby into the starting gate. Finally two handlers got behind him and literally pushed him in.
Trish could feel the heat rising up her neck. Today even a blush felt good. “You—you—” Trish couldn’t think of a name bad enough to call the horse without cussing him out. Instead, she switched from scolding him to soothing him with the singsong croon that usually worked.
Gatesby stamped his feet and switched his tail. With the gates all shut, Trish settled in for the start. Finally, Gatesby’s ears pricked forward. She could feel him settle on his haunches.
The gun! The clang of the gates and they were off.
Gatesby decided he wanted the lead. He drove past the other horses as if they were still in the starting gates. With a three-length lead coming out of the first turn, Trish tightened her reins. But it was like trying to stop a freight train with a leash.
Down the backstretch and into the turn. She checked over her shoulder to see the field a furlong behind. Down the stretch she let him go. Gatesby was still picking up speed when he crossed the wire.
It was into the turn again before Gatesby paid much attention. “Fella, you can get up on the wrong side of the bed any race day if this is what you can run like. Wait till Anderson hears about this. Sure sorry he’s away on a business trip.”
“Just went along for the ride, didja?” Patrick’s blue eyes twinkled up at her.
“And to think you almost scratched him.” Trish stroked Gatesby’s arched neck. “He coulda gone for another quarter or maybe a half mile. And I felt like using the whip was getting him in the gate. What a brat!”
Taylor was waiting for her. “Good race.”
“Thanks.” Trish signed a program for a man next to Taylor.
“You feel like a cup of hot chocolate?”
“I wish. I’m up in the next two. Sorry. Maybe another time?”
“You’re on.”
Now why did I say that?
Trish shook her head.
Do I really want to get to know him? Do I need another man in my life?
She shook her head again. “Men!”
But Taylor wasn’t around when she finally exited the jockey room after the last race of the day. Trish wasn’t sure if she was happy or sad. Actually, all she wanted was home and a long hot bath.
Thanksgiving Day turned out to be all that Trish could hope for and more. They fed over three hundred people and sent leftovers home with their guests. The students handed out 398 coats and 602 blankets, besides another fifty-some sleeping bags.
“I’ve never seen so many turkeys in my life.” Marge joined Trish with her friends all crashed at one of the tables.
“If I never peel a potato again it will be far too soon.” Rhonda studied the bandage on one finger. “Do you realize that ten of us peeled potatoes for three hours?”
“Be glad you weren’t carving the birds.” Doug was stretched out flat on one of the benches. “And I thought hoisting hay bales was hard work.” He laid a hand across his forehead. “Someone want to carry me out to the truck?”
“So much for big, strong basketball players.” Rhonda pointed at Jason, sacked out on another bench. “What a bunch of wimps.” She got to her feet and took only two steps before flinching. “Let’s go home before I crash too.”
Christmas bore down on them like a runaway team. Finding presents for the men in Trish’s life wasn’t easy. All David really wanted were more shorts and T-shirts. One did
not
find shorts, tanks, and tees in Vancouver or Portland in December, so she gave him a gift certificate. She finally decided on a coffee-table book on the history of Thoroughbred horse racing for Red. The pictures were stunning, so Trish bought one for Patrick, then went back for another for her and her mom. She wanted one on their coffee table too.
It took two shopping trips before she found the perfect sweater for Doug. Since they weren’t really going together—only all the kids at Prairie thought so—she debated on buying him a gift at all, but then he
was
one of her good friends. Rhonda bought a similar one for Jason.
Trish and Marge spent one evening buying gifts for the family they’d adopted off the Christmas tree at church. With seven kids and the father out of work, this family was hurting badly. After buying the groceries on the list, they included another ham and a fifty-dollar gift certificate for the grocery store. Trish made stockings for each of the kids and tucked a twenty-dollar bill in the toe of each furry red gift.
When they dropped their stack off at church, the entryway was nearly full of gifts. The youth group had volunteered to deliver all the presents on Saturday.
“Wish I could help.” Trish stood beside Pastor Ron, their youth minister.
“I think you already did your share.” He looked over his shoulder at the monstrous pile in the corner. “Did you leave anything at the toy store?”
Trish grinned up at him. “A little. But it sure was fun. Now I know how parents must feel when they’re buying dolls and stuff for their kids.”
“I hate to ask this, but we have one family that wasn’t adopted.”
“No sweat.” Trish took the slip of paper from him. “We’ll take care of it.” She glanced down at the paper. What did you buy for a grandfather in a wheelchair? The two grandkids he was raising would be easy.
