High Hurdles (29 page)

After a while, DJ asked, “How about feeding Bandit a treat?”

Silence. Then a soft, “All right.”

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a mutilated horse cookie. “Here. If you like, I’ll keep my hand right by yours.”

Andrew nodded. He held his hand out flat and watched DJ place the cookie on the palm. She put her hand under his and squatted down beside the boy. “Anytime you’re ready.”

She kept the other hand on Bandit’s halter just in case he moved too quickly. “Easy, Bandit. Go ahead, Andrew, talk to Bandit and tell him what you are going to do. Horses like to hear our voices.”

“B-Bandit. I have a c-cookie for you.” Andrew stepped closer and held the treat out just like DJ had shown him. Bandit opened his eyes, blinked, and lipped the goodie, his whiskers scraping the boy’s palm.

“He tickles.” Andrew’s grin could have lit the entire barn on a gray day. But just at that moment, Bandit stamped his foot and flicked his tail to chase a pesky fly.

Andrew leaped back, tripped over the bucket, and sprawled in the straw. He scrambled to his feet and was out of the stall before DJ had time to blink. She could hear him crying as he went.

“Bummer. Double bummer.” She untied the pony and picked up the brushes scattered in the fall.
Better luck next time—if there is a next time. Poor kid
.

Later when she told Mrs. Johnson about the conversation, the woman shook her head.

“I had no idea. Why, Andrew knows those things on television aren’t real. We’ve certainly talked about it often enough.”

DJ just looked at her.

“But that’s why he’s so afraid, huh?” Mrs. Johnson sighed. “Guess I better pay more attention—he’s such a sensitive child. Thanks, DJ.”

The rest of the day continued the downhill slide. Patches acted as though he’d been snacking on loco weed. DJ had to return to the basics of stop, start, walk, and jog. She refused to let him tear around the ring like he wanted. And Angie’s horse had to be worked again, too. The poor girl was still in the hospital.

“They are trying out a new routine,” Bridget said when DJ questioned her. “They are hoping it could stop some of the attacks.”

“I sure hope so.” DJ resolved to create a card for Angie that night. She knew how down she would feel if she were in that hospital bed.

Major behaved in his usual easygoing manner, but as dusk fell, DJ’s thoughts kept returning to what was waiting for her at home. After less than an hour of working Major, she finally put her horse away. It wasn’t his fault she couldn’t concentrate. It was a good thing tonight wasn’t a lesson night because DJ knew she would have been scolded. She was doing a pretty fair job of that herself.

You know better than this, DJ. Now concentrate. A true rider puts everything out of her mind but the horse and the jumps
. But the reminders didn’t help. Telling herself that all she had to do tonight was keep quiet didn’t help, either. Staying silent in a restaurant with Robert present was one thing. But one-on-one with her mother was something else entirely.

The clipped voice on the answering machine replayed itself in her head.
Tonight, we talk
.

Chapter
•
4

Her mother’s car sat in the driveway.

Thanks a bunch, God. Why didn’t you make her work late tonight? I hoped you were on my side
. DJ parked her bike by the driver’s side of the car and opened the door so she could push the garage opener. The garage door did its usual moaning and groaning routine on its way up. It would have been nice for it to be quiet this one time. Then maybe DJ could have sneaked in, parked her bike, and tiptoed up to her room without her mother knowing.

“Yeah, and maybe the sky will fall.” She grumbled at her bike when the kickstand didn’t go down on the first flip.

The back door squeaked when she opened it. Her boots sounded like hammers on the kitchen floor no matter how lightly she tried to step.

“I’m in the living room.”

Uh-oh. Trouble! DJ felt herself freeze. Here it came. She peered around the corner. Her mother sat in a corner of the sofa, her legs crossed over the middle cushion. She’d changed from her work suit into an emerald lounging outfit. A half-empty glass of sparkling water dripped moisture on the coaster protecting the oak end table.

Her mother had been home for some time.

“Come on in.”

“You want me to change first?” DJ knew the rules. Jeans scented with horse were not allowed in the living room.

“Of course.”

On the way upstairs, DJ tried to decipher her mother’s tone. Angry? She shucked off her jeans and tossed them into the hamper. Furious? Her T-shirt followed. Hurt? She grabbed a pair of shorts from the drawer and a clean T-shirt, this one with a leaping dolphin on the front. Gran had bought it for DJ on her honeymoon cruise.

If only Gran were here. Of course, she’d want me to apologize. But this isn’t my fault.

DJ could hear Gran’s voice as clearly as if she were right here in the room. “Any time you hurt someone else, you must ask forgiveness and apologize.” Then Gran would follow her pronouncement with a Bible verse. How could DJ argue with the Bible?

She reminded herself again that this whole mess wasn’t her fault. All she’d done was keep her mouth shut. Hadn’t she been told to do that a million times by now?

She entered the darkened room and took the wing chair across from her mother. Silence reigned. The light from a crystal lamp on an end table made a halo around Lindy’s head. Her mother appeared to be studying the painting on the wall, one of Gran’s.

DJ knew it by heart. Gran had painted it of DJ in the garden when her granddaughter was five and loved sniffing the roses, especially the pink ones. The picture had won an award at the county fair. The judge had said the painting had the luminescent quality of French Impressionism. DJ had been wearing a floppy straw hat and a polka-dot sunsuit that Gran had sewn for her granddaughter’s fifth birthday. Gran had kept the sunsuit, and DJ had proudly pinned the hat to her bedroom wall.

The silence between mother and daughter stretched like a rubber band pulled to its limit.

DJ sat on her fingers to keep from chewing her nails.
Just holler at me and get this over with,
she wanted to say.

“What are we going to do, Darla Jean?” Her mother’s voice held all the sadness of a wounded puppy.

“Mom, I didn’t murder anyone or anything.” The hoped-for light tone fell flatter than a flour tortilla.

Lindy looked across the space between them, a space that at that moment seemed to measure the width of the Pacific Ocean.

“Mom, it’s not my fault. All I did was . . .” The words trailed off. If only DJ could make like a slug and slime her way out of the room. Her thumbnail ached to be chewed on.

“No, it’s not your fault. But you hurt someone who doesn’t deserve to be hurt.”

DJ immediately knew who she meant. “Robert?”

“Yes.” Lindy kept her gaze trained on her daughter’s face.

If DJ concentrated on not chewing her fingernail, maybe she could make it through this tortured conversation.

“He had the silly idea that we would make a good family. He says he fell in love not only with me, but with you.” Each word dropped like a tear.

Why couldn’t they yell at each other like they usually did? DJ felt as if a giant hand was shoving her deep into the chair. “I . . . I’m sorry.”

“I know. I can tell. Sometimes sorry just isn’t enough.” Lindy leaned forward. “Listen to me carefully, Darla Jean. You keep saying you want me to treat you like an adult, that you are growing up. Well, I tried to do that, and you blew it. You blew it big time.” She sighed. “Robert says we’ll work this out in time. But I don’t know.” Her mother shook her head. “I just don’t know.”

DJ curled her feet under her and tried to disappear into the back of the chair. She couldn’t think of a thing to say.

She went to bed feeling like she’d kicked a floppy-eared puppy.

The next night, since her mother had to attend a graduate course, DJ waved good-bye to Amy and turned left toward Gran and Joe’s. She’d have dinner with them, then Joe would drive her home. If you could call the icebox she’d left behind home, that is. Even with the air-conditioner off, the temperature must have registered only thirty degrees. There had been no message from her mother.

DJ pedaled up to her grandmother’s new house. She and Joe had lived there little more than a month and already she could tell it was Gran’s house. Roses bloomed by the door, and a flowering bougainvillea vine painted the adjoining garage brilliant purple. Best of all, the smell of fresh chocolate chip cookies met DJ’s nostrils as she mounted the three concrete steps. Pots of pink begonias were in a race to outbloom one another on each step.

“Gran?”

“In here, darlin’.” All the years of living in California still hadn’t erased Gran’s soft Southern drawl. Like Gran’s gentle hands, the accent meant love in DJ’s mind. Her Gran always loved everyone, no matter what.

DJ followed her nose into the kitchen. “You have green paint on your chin,” she teased as she gave her grandmother a hug and snitched a cookie off the counter. She turned to greet the man sitting at the round table in the bay window overlooking the backyard. “Hi, Joe.” She grinned around the cookie-crumble greeting. “I was beginning to think you guys were never coming home.”

“Hi, yourself. Hand me one of those, will you? Melanie’s been keeping me on diet restrictions.” He tried to sound abused and failed miserably.

“After all we ate in New York, I shouldn’t be baking at all.” Gran slid the last cookies off the sheet and set it in the sink. She turned off the oven, arranged cookies on a plate, and brought it with her to the table. “Do you want anything to drink, DJ?”

DJ shook her head. “Might spoil my dinner.”

Gran laughed and poked DJ on the shoulder. “Fat chance. So, do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

Leave it to Gran to get right to the point.

“Nothing much. Major and I are getting better every day, and school—well, school is school.”

“Have you heard anything about your drawing yet?”

“Nope. In another couple of weeks. How come it takes so long to judge a bunch of drawings?”

“Depends on how many entries they had.” Gran took a bite of cookie and leveled one of her let’s-get-to-the-point looks at her granddaughter. “What else?”

“Well, Robert wants to marry Mom.”

“And . . .” the soft voice prompted.

“Do
you
think it’s a good idea?”

“Not my place to say.”

“Did you know about it?” DJ moved her gaze from Gran to Joe and back again.

“It seemed like a good possibility.” Joe joined the conversation.

“Why didn’t someone warn me?” DJ slumped in her chair. “I
hate
surprises.” She stuck one finger in her mouth and bit off the cuticle. With a guilty look at Gran, DJ picked up another cookie. “I have been doing better—about chewing my fingernails, that is.” She sighed. Gran was much too good at waiting for answers. “Gran, this thing between Robert and Mom isn’t my fault. All I did was—well, nothing.”

“That’s not like you.”

“I know. It drove Mom crazy. Me too, nearly. I wanted to yell at her.” DJ studied the bloody spot on her chewed cuticle. Nobody moved. No one said anything. “You should be proud of me for not losing my temper.”

“Are you?”

DJ grimaced and shook her head. “But think about this: My mother is having enough trouble taking care of me—what will she do with twin boys?” She looked up. “You could always come home.”

“I
am
home.” Gran smiled across the table at Joe and reached for his hand.

Joe leaned forward. “DJ, you didn’t ask for my opinion, but I’m going to give it to you anyway. Now, I might be prejudiced a bit, but my son Robert is a fine man.” He looked to Gran for agreement. At her nod, he continued. “You could do far worse for a father than him.” He leaned forward. “In fact, your life might be a lot easier.”

“With the Double Bs?” DJ’s look of horror made both adults laugh.

“They are a handful, I admit, but Robert makes them mind. And I know he cares deeply for your mother.”

“Don’t you think it’s time she had a man’s love in her life?” Gran stood and rested a hand on her granddaughter’s shoulder. “You need to do some praying about this.”

“I knew you’d say that.” DJ flopped back and crossed her arms over her chest. “And if I know you, you’re going to find me a Bible verse to learn, too. One I can’t even argue with. That’s just not fair.”

“Maybe it’s time you found your own verse.” Gran leaned against Joe’s solid shoulder. Her eyes twinkled, and the smile on her face made DJ yearn for the mornings she’d come down to the family room to find Gran in her chair, Bible on her lap and a ready smile for a sleepy girl. There had already been so much change in DJ’s life. How could she stand any more?

DJ propped her elbows on the table. “Maybe. Are we going to eat soon? I’m starved.”

“Not enough cookies?” Joe raised his hands in horror. “Melanie, quick! Feed the child.”

It still seemed so strange to hear Gran called by her first name. Everyone else called her Gran or Mother. DJ got to her feet. “You want me to help?”

By the time they finished off the meatloaf and baked potatoes, DJ knew she had to hurry to her homework. When she mentioned it to Joe, he rose to his feet right away.

“And here I thought we could have a relaxing evening, just the three of us. I found a couple of ads in a horse magazine about a cutting horse.” Joe took his jacket out of the hall closet as he spoke. “Maybe this weekend we can go look at a couple of them.”

“Where?” DJ set her dishes in the sink and wrapped an arm around her grandmother.

“Up by Redding. Melanie said she’d like to go. We could make a day of it.”

“We could leave after I’m done working at the Academy. I need to spend some extra time with Patches. He’s been a brat lately. Ever since Mrs. Johnson started riding him, he thinks he can get away with murder.” DJ dropped a kiss on Gran’s cheek. “Thanks for the yummy dinner. Maybe we could stop on the way at that gourmet olive place and get a couple of jars. Mom loves their spicy ones.”

“Buying your way back into her good graces?” Gran patted DJ’s cheek. “God will work this all out, you’ll see, darlin’.”

That night DJ didn’t have to worry about arguing with her mother. The frosty message on the machine said she would be home late, well after DJ’s bedtime. Her mother was finally near completing her master’s degree in business administration. The last assignment, to write a thesis, already had her tied in knots, and she hadn’t even decided on a topic. DJ didn’t know what it would be like to have her mother
not
going to school.