High Hurdles Collection Two (28 page)

DJ shrugged. “I don't know.”

“Sure you do. Let's just figure it out.” Joe went into his interrogator mode.

DJ sent him a halfhearted glare. He winked at her, which made a three-quarter-strength glare easier.

The phone rang and she breathed a sigh of relief.

“They're ready to hunt eggs. Let's go.” Joe hung up the phone and took Gran's and DJ's coats off the wall pegs. “Tell me quick so you can have a fun day.” He kept his attention on DJ even as he helped Gran into her coat.

DJ wanted to crawl under the table. How come she could never get away with a bad mood like other kids did?

“Well?” Joe ushered them out and shut the door.

“Isn't the sun grand? It really feels like spring.” Gran lifted her face to the warmth and winked at DJ.

“Uh-huh. Come clean, kid.”

Distracting Joe was like trying to pull a bloodhound off a scent.

DJ jerked the car door open. “She takes time off for the boys but can't even remember to ask me if I—if I—”

“Ah, nobody loves me, everybody hates me, think I'll go boil up some worms, pour fudge sauce on them, and …” Joe continued nodding as he slid behind the wheel.

DJ wavered between the burning behind her eyes and a giggle at Joe's messed-up verse. She sniffed and dug in her pocket for a tissue.

“You're right, darlin'. Your mother never did take time off if you got sick or something. But that was because I was there and we needed the money. Now she can because Robert—”

“It wasn't just the money. She didn't want to. Her job and school were always more important than me.” The words came out in a rush, along with tears that must have been hiding for a long time, considering the way they gushed down her face.

“Ah, I was afraid you felt that way.” Gran turned in her seat and reached for DJ's hand. “But I hoped that if I loved you enough you'd get by.”

“Gran, you did. It's not your fault I'm being a brat. I keep telling myself that this is stupid and I …” DJ leaned her cheek against the back of her grandmother's hand. Gran's rosewater hand lotion smelled of love and forever.

“Ah, darlin', knowing what you feel is important so we can talk about it and let the bad feelings go away. So you feel hurt …”

“And jealous …”

“And left out …”

The two of them almost sounded like the twins in finishing each other's sentences. DJ sniffed again.

“And tired of being a brat.”

“Ah, DJ, you have always been honest, almost painfully so. Don't be too hard on yourself. This is all part and parcel of growing up. Do you know that your mother loves you?”

DJ nodded. “I … I guess so.”

“Do you think you could tell her how you feel?”

DJ shook her head. “She'd go ballistic and then Robert would get all bent out of shape and the twins and I'd cry and it would be a big mess.”

“Okay for now. But I think this is something that has to be worked on.” Joe glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “But you better know for absolutely certain sure that I love you, your grandmother adores you, and God says you are one of His most treasured kids. Got that?”

DJ sent him a slightly watery smile. “Yes, sir!” Sniffing and blowing her nose somehow spoiled the effect.

“Good. You okay?”

She thought a moment, then nodded. “I guess.” The cloud that had been hanging over her head had melted away. The sun was shining, not only outside but in the car, too. Shining so brightly she had to blink.

Joe had hardly set the brake before the twins shrieked to a stop beside the car.

“Grandma, Grandpa, DJ, hurry.”

“The Easter Bunny came.”

“With baskets …”

“And a chocolate bunny …”

“And we gotta hunt for the eggs.”

They grabbed Joe's hand as soon as he opened the car door.

“Easy now.” Joe scooped them up, one under each arm like their father did, only Joe grunted at the effort. “Either you guys are getting too big for this, or I'm getting too old.”

They giggled and squirmed, leading the way for DJ and Gran to follow.

Robert met them at the door. “Dad—”

“Don't say it.” Joe set the boys down and sucked in a deep breath. “I must be getting out of shape.”

The boys grabbed her hand and yelled, “Come on, DJ. You gots to help us find the eggs.”

“Thank goodness you came quickly,” Robert said under his breath. “I don't think I could have lasted another minute.”

Lindy strolled down the stairs, dressed for church in a cream suit with a mint green shell. Every hair lay in place as if it didn't dare move. She finished clipping the back on her earring and smiled at Joe and Gran. “Happy Easter.” She gave them each a kiss on the cheek and turned to DJ. “Couldn't you wear a dress on Easter, at least?”

DJ clenched her teeth and her fists, backing up just enough that the kiss missed her cheek. “Happy Easter to you, too, Mother.” Shooting her grandmother a glance that screamed,
See?
she followed the boys outside.

“Come on, DJ, we got three hundred eggs to find.”

“No, we don't. We only dyed thirty. Remember, you broke some?”

“Oh, but it's lots.” They made sure she had a basket, too, and headed for the flower beds and shrubs.

Shouting at each found treasure, they ran and darted across the yard, looking under and in bushes, up into the trees, and through the grass. DJ followed behind.

“Hey, you missed one.” She stopped under the Liquidambar tree and looked at the joint of branch and trunk.

“You get it,” Bobby or Billy squealed when they found a nest with two eggs in it.

“There just happens to be a couple of plastic eggs with something inside
you'd
appreciate,” Robert said from right behind her.

DJ took the bright pink plastic egg out of the crook in the tree and shook it. A scraping sound came with the action. She hung the basket on her arm and twisted the egg open. A twenty-dollar bill fell, but she caught it before it touched the ground.

“Thank you.” She grinned up at him.

“Beats chocolate, huh?”

She tipped her head and squinted her eyes as if she had a hard time making the decision. “I guess, but not by much.”

“Good, 'cause there's a two-foot bunny back in the house with your name on it. Don't eat it all at once.”

“I won't. Are there more of these?” She held up her egg.

“I ain't tellin'.” Robert winked at her as he left in answer to a plea from one of the boys.

By the time they'd found all the eggs and devoured the cinnamon rolls Gran brought, it was time to leave for church again.

Seated in the pew between Robert and Gran, DJ tried to ignore the feeling that was doing its best to tie her stomach up in square knots and slipknots and even a hangman's knot. She should have put on a dress; she knew that when she got out of bed.

But when she looked, her one dress was wrinkled from being smashed into the
other
end of her closet. The end where she stored the clothes she didn't like or that didn't fit anymore.

Besides that, she'd been running late. She'd put on her dress slacks and a sky-blue shirt with a navy sweater and thought it looked pretty good. Gran had said so, too.

But her mother didn't think so. DJ stared at the white lilies lining the altar rail. Why were clothes so important, after all? No, she didn't look like her mother. Her mother would look good in one of the feed sacks they had over at the barn, and they were made out of paper. But DJ's clothes were clean, with no holes, and besides, her mother had bought the blue blouse and sweater for her.

Good thing I'm going to Brad's on Tuesday. Now, if I can just keep out of a fight so I don't get grounded worse
. Spring Break started on Monday, and if her mother was going to be home …

She stood with the others to sing the final hymn.
Sorry, God, for letting my mind wander, but I did pay attention in the first service. Thanks for sending Jesus. And if you could keep me from mouthing off at my mother for the next couple of days, I'd sure appreciate it. How come she doesn't like me much?

After church she met Amy at the bottom of the front steps. “Hey, you look cool.”

Amy smoothed the front of her green lace-trimmed dress. “You like it?”

“Sure is different. And a hat even. It keeps the sun from reflecting off your braces and blinding everyone.”

Amy rolled her eyes and shook her head. “So are we going to the printer tomorrow to get our note cards redone?”

“Guess so. You got your half of the money?”

Amy nodded. She waved at her mother calling her from the sidewalk. “I gotta go. Right after chores, okay?”

By evening, DJ and the twins were experiencing sugar overload. Half a giant chocolate bunny plus various other goodies would do that to you.

Monday morning she felt marginally better. By the time they ordered enough note cards for four dozen packets and Amy had ordered reprints of her pictures to glue on hers, they counted only two dollars left between them.

“I guess we could split a Jamoca almond fudge malt at the B and R,” DJ said, counting her change once again. “Sure hope these all sell fast. My bank account is now screaming with hunger pangs.”

“Malt sounds good. Maybe that'll stop the screaming.” Amy patted her flat middle. “Of my stomach, anyway, not my account.” She unlocked her bike and, keeping one foot on the curb, swung the other over the seat. “If you're going to be gone, we can't put the packages together until next week.”

“I know. But I'm staying at Brad's as long as I can. At this rate Stormy is going to be half grown before I get to see her again.” Stormy was the registered Arabian filly her father had given her after the big flood at his farm earlier in the year. She'd been right there with the mare when Stormy was born and helped keep the baby alive when she wouldn't, or rather couldn't, nurse.

“Get me some pictures of her, will you?” Amy pushed off. “Race you.”

At the Academy later, Bridget motioned DJ to come to the office. “Mrs. Johnson is selling Patches, so you will not need to train him any longer.”

“That's good, I guess.” DJ slid down in the chair.

“She is going with me to look at the other horse, too.” Bridget picked up an envelope from under some papers on her desk. “She said to give you this.”

DJ reached for the envelope. “What is it?”

“I do not know. Open it.” Bridget pushed her half glasses up on her nose.

DJ slit the envelope and drew out a folded piece of paper. She scanned the typed page and held the check between two fingers. “She wants a drawing of Patches, eighteen by twenty-four or bigger and done right away. She's paying me—” DJ choked on the amount—“two hundred dollars. Bridget, that's too much.”

“Oh, I have a feeling part of that money is her way of thanking you for your work with her and Patches, too.”

“But … but she already paid me for that.” DJ looked from the letter to Bridget and back to the check. “You think I should try to give it back? Maybe she just made a mistake.”

Bridget shook her head, smiling at the same time. “You have earned every dime of it. Now go. I have work to do.”

After telling Amy what happened, DJ jumped on her bike and headed home for her drawing pad and pencils. She'd use the time she'd slotted for training Patches to draw him instead.