High Hurdles (27 page)

Chapter
•
2

“Have you nothing to say?”

DJ looked from her mother’s hand to her eyes and up at Robert. “I . . . I . . .” She cleared her throat. What was she supposed to say? Hurrah and congratulations? This was her life they were planning so glibly! “I . . . ah . . . that’s great.” Even to her ears, the response sounded weak.

“I know this comes as a surprise to you.”

Yeah, you could say that. About a hundred times over.

Robert’s deep voice drew DJ’s attention back from her mindless study of the ring to his face. The two lines that cut between his straight eyebrows looked deeper than they had the moment before. His gray eyes had darkened.

“I better get something to eat so I can get started on my homework.”
Ask ’em when the wedding will be, bozo
. DJ headed for the kitchen.
Why would Mom take his ring if she didn’t want to marry him, yo-yo brain?
DJ felt as though she had another person in her head, arguing her mother’s case.

I’d have a father. Someone else to boss me around. And if Mom married Robert, those two human dynamos would be here all the time.
DJ shuddered. The five-year-old twin boys, Bobby and Billy, would make St. Peter wish for a new assignment. Her smile at the thought felt stiff, like a pair of shoes left out in the rain and then dried too quickly.

She dished up food from all four take-out containers and stuck the plate in the microwave. How come two minutes of waiting for the microwave timer to beep and two minutes in the show-ring passed at such different rates of speed?

Carrying her plate up to her room, DJ stopped in the family room. “Does Gran know yet?”

Lindy shook her head. “We hoped you’d be happy for us, DJ.”

“Oh, I am.” DJ started up the stairs. “I am.” She hurried upstairs, half worried they might chase her and shake the truth out of her. She was proud of herself for not slamming the door to her room. But then, she wasn’t mad—was she?

She sat on the edge of the bed shoveling food into her mouth as if that could shut out the thought. Beef with broccoli, sweet-and-sour prawns, egg foo yong, chicken chow mein—it all tasted the same. She set the plate on her desk and cracked open her fortune cookie.
Great money is coming into your life
.

She read it again. Wouldn’t that be incredible? Money she needed in spades. Money for a new saddle and a horse trailer would be nice—and, of course, a new truck to haul the trailer with. She let the piece of pink paper flutter into her wastebasket. So much for the wisdom of fortune cookies.

She nibbled one half. Stale. She spit it into the wastebasket and tossed in the other half behind it.
There should be a law against giving out stale fortune cookies, let alone stale fortunes
.

She crossed to the window and looked out at the yard she and Gran had worked so hard over. The roses wore their October finery, blooming again after a slowdown in the heat of summer. Pink and red begonias lined the bed at the back of the yard. Carrots rose their feathery plumes in front of the squash, and pumpkins sent tendrils snaking everywhere.

I suppose I could have fun carving jack-o’-lanterns with Bobby and Billy. The Double Bs
. They and Robert and Lindy always laughed whenever she called them by the name she had given them.

DJ pushed away from the window, full of memories, and slumped into the chair in front of her desk. “Like they really care what I think. Grown-ups don’t consider kids at all when they make changes in their lives.” She hung her head in her hands. If only she could call Amy, or better yet, Gran. But Gran wasn’t home, and Amy’s mother had a rule against phone calls after eight.

Could this be defined as an emergency? DJ shook her head, defeat setting around her shoulders like a lead cape. Opening her algebra book to the assigned page, she began her homework. “If x equals blank and y is twenty-four, what is . . .” DJ snapped her pencil in two. What did it matter? She slammed the book shut and stuffed it into her backpack.

Taking out her drawing pad and number-three charcoal pencil, she crossed to the bed and made a nest against the headboard with her pillows. Finally, with the pad propped on her knees, she closed her eyes. That way, it was easier to picture Major.

After a few moments of concentration, she began drawing. Five minutes later, she tore off the first sheet. The sketch looked more like a camel. The next one closely resembled an okapi. She dumped the pad onto the floor before she wasted any more paper.

Once in bed, comforted by her Mickey Mouse nightshirt, she tried to pray. Gran had always said to pray when you were stuck—it was even better if you prayed before you got stuck in the first place. But then, Gran found it easy to ask God for things. He really answered her.

DJ thumped her pillows into submission and turned onto her side.

“God, help! I don’t want a new father—I don’t even know the one I’ve got. Please, please,
please
don’t let Mom and Robert get married. Mom and I . . . we . . . well, we’re just starting to get along as it is. What am I gonna do now?” She waited. There was no answer. She heard footsteps coming up the stairs, so she shut off the light and rolled onto her side to face the wall.

“DJ?” Mom tapped at the closed door. When there was only silence, her feet padded down the hall to her own room.

DJ heard her mother’s bedroom door click shut. Lindy was a strong believer in privacy, both for herself and her daughter. Right now, the daughter felt . . . DJ tried to figure out how she felt.

Lost
seemed as good a word as any.

“Close your mouth, Ames, you’ll catch flies.”

“But you say your mother and Robert—?” Amy stopped, heedless of the students milling around them. She ignored the one who bumped into her and kept her attention riveted on DJ.

“Bummer, huh?” DJ kicked her sneakers against the curb.

“Well, maybe not.”

“Where’s your head, girl? I’m counting on you to help me break this fast romance into a thousand pieces.”

“What does Gran say?”

DJ kicked again. “I don’t know. I haven’t talked with her. She was gone last night.” She raised her head. “There’s the bell. We’ll have to discuss this later. Try to come up with a really creative idea in the meantime. A plan—you know, the kind that’s so good they’ll think they thought of it.”

“Right.” Amy’s groan rose clear from her ankles. “You know what happens to our good ideas.”

“Not this time. This time I’m desperate.” DJ slung her backpack over one shoulder and headed for the doorway.

“When aren’t you?” Amy had to take three strides to DJ’s two.

“But this time . . . this time could mean the difference between . . .” DJ wrinkled her brow. Life and death sounded too—well,
normal
would do for lack of a better word. She skidded into her homeroom just as the final bell rang.

The house smelled empty, the same lonely smell that greeted DJ every day now. Would she never stop missing Gran? As she climbed the stairs to her room, she remembered the way fresh-baked cookie perfume had floated out to the street to greet her. If Gran had been too involved in painting to bake, a familiar turpentine and oil scent had said she was hard at work. The easel set up in the corner of the family room had always exhibited the artwork for the latest children’s book Gran was illustrating, the stereo playing one of Gran’s “uplifting” tapes.

So many times, DJ had teased Gran about her music when they both knew DJ enjoyed listening to the contemporary Christian singers as much as her grandmother.

DJ reminded herself that Gran lived only a mile and a half away and she could drop in to experience all those things if she wanted to. Frequently she did—but only after her work at the Academy and only on nights when her mother said she’d be home late.

DJ did her usual quick-change routine and clattered back down the stairs, leaving the memories behind. The answering machine winked its red eye at her. She pushed the play button to hear her mother’s voice. “Please be ready to go to dinner by 7:15. We will be going someplace nice, so make sure you are presentable.”

DJ read between the lines. Presentable meant “take a shower so you don’t smell like horse.” But who did the “we” refer to? Would it be just the two of them? The entire family? Was Robert coming? The tone said her mother had a long way to go before she would be happy with her one and only daughter.

If DJ was going to be clean and dressed by 7:15, she’d better hit warp speed right about now. She grabbed a soda and an apple from the refrigerator, a food bar from the cupboard, and stuck her cereal bowl and glass from that morning in the dishwasher. No sense adding fuel to her mother’s fire. Everything had better be put away.

DJ rushed out the door and hopped onto her bike. “Put a move on it,” she called as she coasted past Amy. “Her highness called and said to be ready tonight for dinner out.”

“Well, at least she won’t yell at you while you’re in public.” Amy pedaled up beside her friend.

“Hope not. She read somewhere that restaurants are perfect for having heavy discussions—people are on their best behavior.” DJ alternately munched and sipped as she pedaled until they reached the steep part of the hill where she needed two hands to steer. “You come up with any great ideas?”

“For what?”

“Getting this wedding canceled, of course. What did you think I meant?”

“DJ, I hate to remind you, but all our great ideas flop, remember?” Amy halted at the stop sign. “Besides, Robert is a nice man. And personally, I think having a father around is the best.”

“Yeah, but you’ve got a good one.”

“I know. Anyway, I think you should let nature take its course.”

“Nature what? Are you out of your mind?” DJ skidded in the loose gravel, then dismounted. They both parked their bikes in the shade of the long barn containing four rows of stalls. DJ finished her soda in a gulp and dropped the can in a recycling barrel as they trotted across the dusty parking lot to the office. Once inside the dim interior, they looked up at the roster, a shiny white board with names and duties written in erasable marker.

“Yuck.” Amy pointed at the name Tony Andrada. Recently relocated from the South, Tony had already made a name for himself as one of the most disliked student workers at the Academy. He gave a new and deeper meaning to the term
redneck
.

“Well, at least I don’t have to work with him. James was bad enough.”

Together they turned and entered Bridget’s office. A stack of bills, invoices, magazines, and advertisements teetered on the edge of the desk, nearly hiding the woman working at a pullout board.

“Just do not sneeze in here, and I will remain calm.” Bridget looked up from glaring at a ledger. “Is either one of you skilled enough on a computer to enter all this information for me so I can finally get organized?”

Both girls shook their heads. “Sorry.”

“Me too. Oh, DJ, Angie’s mother called. Angie had another bad asthma attack last night, and they kept her overnight at the hospital. She will not be here for her lesson today.”

“Fiddle.” DJ rubbed a finger over the scar from a childhood burn on her right palm. “She’s the best rider of the group, and the one with real natural talent. If only she didn’t have to miss so much.”