Colt (7 page)

Colt decided that he loved Brad.

“But what I can't see worth a darn,” Brad said slowly, “is how he's supposed to learn to trot without getting joggled. It doesn't seem possible.”

Colt changed his mind—he hated Brad.

“Dammit,” Brad said. “I wish I could give him my back and legs.”

Because he couldn't hate Brad anymore, Colt began silently to cry.

He went all the way to sleep sometime soon after, and slept through supper. His mother woke him to give him medication, and after that he slept through the night. He woke up late the next morning and realized he was not going to school. And his mother must have taken off work to stay home with him, because in a minute she came into his bedroom and looked at him, and he lay in his bed looking back at her.

“How's the back? Does it still hurt?”

“Mom, it's fine.”

“Right. Sure. You told me that yesterday.”

He couldn't stand it any longer. “Mom, please …”

She came over to him at once, crouched down and held his face between her hands. “Colt,” she said, “no. I'm sorry, but no. No more riding. You're my only kid. I can't risk losing you.”

Chapter Six

“Want to play rummy or something?” Lauri offered.

“No thanks.” It was more than two months since that last disastrous ride; it was November, nearly Thanksgiving, and Colt still didn't feel like doing anything. It was not that he was sulking. He felt too miserable to enjoy sulking. He wasn't even interested in being a brat anymore.

Lauri said more quietly, “Want to talk?”

He had talked with her before, and knew she understood better than most people because she loved horses. She could imagine how he felt about Liverwurst. She had stopped being one of those strange, alien, interesting beings called “girl” and had turned into a friend. But there were some things maybe she couldn't understand. Colt was not sure she could imagine how it felt to be a boy, and handicapped. How someday he was going to want a girl to like him as a boy, and he wasn't sure it could ever happen.… He shook his head. “What's to talk about?”

Lauri shrugged. “Well, I've got to do my math.”

Rosie drifted into the bedroom as Lauri left. Crosscountry season was over, the hair had long since grown back on Rosie's legs, and now he wore sweat pants anyway. He said to Colt, “Play you a game of chess?”

Colt didn't even have the energy to be annoyed at invitations that were getting repetitious. “No. Thanks.”

Rosie got down on the floor, stretched, and said, “Do some exercises with me?”

Lying on his bed, Colt did not even shrug. Rosie looked at him.

“No use letting yourself lose all that muscle tone you got last summer, even if you can't go horseback riding anymore.”

“I hate exercises,” Colt said without much spirit. All his life he had been doing physical therapy, and all his life he was going to be doing physical therapy, by the looks of things. And he had never been able to enjoy exercises for their own sake. He had to have a reason to want to do them.

“Hey, superjock, you should learn to like them,” Rosie tried to tease. “Girls love muscles. Especially push-up muscles.”

“Give me a break,” Colt said bitterly. “No girl's ever going to want me.” This was maybe not quite true. Once he had dreamed of having his own car with hand controls and a girl to ride around in it with him. But now he didn't want to dream about anything.

Silence. Then Rosie protested quietly, “Aw, Colt, c'mon. Wake up. Things could be worse.”

Colt was convinced that they couldn't be. Suddenly he was angry, and he reared up and blazed at the older boy, “You don't know what it's like! I've got to live like this.… You want to know how bad spina bifida is? It's so bad they don't even know how long I'm supposed to last!”

Rosie's eyes widened. What Colt meant was that treatment had come so far so fast the statistics were not yet in. But Colt didn't explain this to Rosie. Explaining would have spoiled the effect.

“And right now I really don't care!”

“Yes you do,” said Rosie from the floor.

“No I don't! Why should I care about anything? My own father—” Colt stopped with a gulp. He hadn't meant to talk about that.

Rosie looked at him. “Go ahead,” Rosie said, and in response to his quiet tone Colt did.

“After I was born, he left. Disappeared. Never came back. Didn't want to have anything to do with me. Doesn't even want to look at me because I'm such a freak. Now, isn't that supposed to make me feel good?” Colt's voice rose to a cynical whine.

“Could be worse,” Rosie said. “My mom left for no particular reason at all.”

Colt grew still, looking at Rosie. Something hidden behind Rosie's words told him that “could be worse” was not just an expression people used. Rosie's mom had left when Rosie was old enough to miss her. Maybe it really had been worse for Rosie.

“Sorry,” Colt muttered.

“Sure, let's have a pity party.” Rosie grimaced, making fun of himself, but kept talking just the same. “You want to know what I hate the worst of all? The name she gave me. My real name, I mean.” He looked up at Colt and quirked a sour smile. “Hey? Would it cheer you up if I told you what it is? Want a good laugh?”

Colt just looked at him.

“It's Francis,” Rosie told him. “Francis Tewksbury Flowers.”

“Lord,” said Colt, but he didn't laugh.

Rosie had not done any exercises after all. He got up, retreated across the room, and flopped on his studio couch. “Hey, Rosie,” Colt called to him.

“What?” Rosie sounded gruff.

“I can beat that. My real name is Osvaldo.”

“It's
what
?”

“Osvaldo Alfonso Vittorio.”

Their eyes met across the room, and suddenly they were both laughing like a pair of loons.

By Thanksgiving Colt had thought, grudgingly, of a few things to be thankful for. He was thankful that he had a different school aide this year and she was nice, with a sense of humor, not a fussbudget. He was thankful that his mother and Brad were happy together. He was thankful that the chaos in the Flowers—Vittorio household had subsided somewhat, and that Muffins had finally stopped barking at the new family members. He was thankful that he had Rosie and Lauri for friends, and that Lauri brought girlfriends home with her, and that some of them were almost his friends too. They liked to talk about horses with him. They said most boys didn't know about horses the way he did. Some of them had even started saying hi to him in school.

“I am thankful that I'm back on day work,” said Brad at the Thanksgiving dinner table. “And I'm thankful that Lauri has switched to an evening paper route.”

“Hear, hear,” said Audrey.

Right after Thanksgiving Colt began to consider what he was going to get everyone for Christmas, and how he was going to manage it. He had never had so many people to buy for before. His mother would probably give him some money to shop with, but he wanted to get Rosie something really nice. And Brad. And sure, Lauri too.

Coming home from school the first day after Thanksgiving vacation, he saw Lauri's stack of newspapers waiting for her on the front sidewalk, and he got an idea. Colt got home earlier than Lauri because he was delivered to his door by a special school van, while she had to take the regular bus. So she would be along later, and when Lauri had to deliver papers and had lessons or a lot of homework too, her day really got crowded. Sometimes she complained about how long the papers took. Colt resented her complaining, because he considered her lucky to have two strong legs so she could make money for herself. But it did take her until after dark sometimes to get her route all delivered. Maybe …

Colt made his way into the house and got the things he needed. When Lauri got home she found Colt on the front sidewalk rubber-banding her newspapers and packing them into the carrying bags for her.

“Hey, Colt, thanks!” Lauri was so astonished she stammered. “I—I—this is the first nice thing that's happened all day. Now I'll get done in time to watch a little TV before I have to struggle with social studies.”

Colt felt embarrassed by her gratitude. “I'm not being nice,” he mumbled. “I thought maybe—oh, forget it.” He'd just do the blasted rubber-banding for her once in a while.

She dropped her books to the concrete with a thunk, squatted down, and looked at him. “You thought maybe what?”

She had her stubborn look on. Already Colt knew about Lauri's stubborn look. He gave in.

“I thought maybe if I did this for you every day, you'd give me some of your collections money.”

Rather than being disappointed in him, she looked happier than ever. She jumped up, did a small dance, then stuck out her hand at him. “Give me five, partner! Every day? I'm in heaven!” She slapped hands with him, grabbed the bag he had ready for her, and skylarked off to do part of her route.

Colt felt kind of good for almost the first time since “No Horseback Riding.”

A week later Lauri gave him his share of her pay. “What are you going to do with your wealth, moneybags?” she teased.

“Christmas is coming,” Colt told her. “Hey. What do you think I ought to get your dad?”

“Gee, I dunno. I haven't thought much about Christmas yet.”

But Brad must have been thinking about it. Or rather, Brad seemed to have an uncanny ability to know what Colt was thinking. That Saturday, while Colt was watching cartoons, Brad wandered into the living room. “Colt,” he proposed, “how's about I give you a few dollars every week for doing some things around the house?”

Colt tore his attention away from the TV and blinked at Brad. He had always considered the house his mother's responsibility, because she seemed to think it was. “I am such a mess,” she would declare, as if the clutter surrounding her was all her fault. But Brad seemed to think otherwise.

“Thing is,” he was saying, “we should all lend a hand. But Rosie and Lauri just aren't home as much as you are, and neither am I. And your mom is going to be working overtime now that Christmas is coming. If we're going to get this place cleaned up for the holidays, you're the one who's going to have to do a lot of it. And it seems to me that if you're going to do more than the rest of us, I should pay you.”

“Sure,” said Colt. “Okay.” Though in fact he was not sure how much he
could
do around the house. He had never tried.

It turned out he could do plenty. A kid on a scooter board, he discovered that weekend, can sweep and wash a kitchen floor with a lot less back strain than a standing-up adult. A kid in leg braces can push a vacuum cleaner. A kid in a wheelchair can carry junk mail to the trash. Colt could clear the table, even set the table. About the only thing he couldn't do was climb on a stepladder to wash windows.

By the time Christmas came, Colt was smiling again. Sometimes.

He hadn't seen much of his mother and Brad for most of December. They were working hard, and (he sensed) busy with their own secrets. But of course they had taken him shopping, and he had had a wonderful time trundling all over the mall in his wheelchair, spending his wealth. He got Brad some really good fur-lined leather gloves, and Rosie a brand-name sweat suit (along with a rubber snake to surprise him when he opened the package), and Lauri special socks guaranteed to keep her feet warm no matter what sort of ridiculous weather she was delivering newspapers in. He got his mother a fuzzy bathrobe and a cuddly plush unicorn to sit on her pillow. Everybody liked the things he got them, and he liked all the things he got, including the rubber snake Rosie had put in
his
package.

Christmas afternoon after dinner Brad came out of the kitchen carrying an apple and a carrot and said, “C'mon, Colt. C'mon, everybody. We're going to wish Mrs. Reynolds and Liverwurst a Merry Christmas.”

Colt looked at Brad, feeling the old ache in his heart. It had never been gone, not really. Maybe it never would be. Though Christmas or something seemed to have made it ease up quite a bit.

“Don't you think Liverwurst should have a Christmas treat?” Brad asked him.

“Yeah,” said Colt, “sure,” and he wobbled to his feet. No need to switch from braces and crutches to wheelchair, as he usually did when he would be riding so he didn't have to struggle out of the braces before he got on the horse. No need, because he wouldn't be riding.

Four Flowerses and one Vittorio piled into the car to go out to Deep Meadows Farm, and it didn't occur to Colt to wonder why everyone was coming along. It was Christmas, a family day. Naturally this family would do things as a family.

Colt forgot he had ever felt angry and hurt at Liverwurst the moment he saw that familiar ugly head thrust out over the stall door. “Hey, Liverwurst!” he called in greeting, and he walked, crutches whirling, at top speed down the stable aisle. It was good to be standing up, to be able to cuddle Liverwurst's head against his chest and lean his cheek against Liverwurst's wisp of a forelock. He slipped off his crutches so he could use his hands, steadied himself against the stall door, and rubbed Liverwurst's cheekbones. Liverwurst smelled the apple in his jacket pocket and nosed at it, hinting. Colt fed it to him, and then the carrot. “Merry Christmas, Liverwurst,” he said huskily. “How you been?”

“He's been fine, but he's missed you.” It was Janet Reynolds, in blue jeans even on Christmas day, smiling at him across the stable aisle. “How are you, Colt?”

Coming from her, this was not just a polite thing to say. She was really asking. “I'm okay,” Colt said.

And then he saw.

In the stall beside her, a horse he had never seen on her farm before.

Even though he could see only the head and neck, it was, he knew at once, the prettiest horse he had ever seen off a TV screen. It had a delicate, gentle face the color of old gold, with a wide starred forehead between eyes like the nighttime sky. Over the eyes cascaded a silver waterfall of forelock. A mass of mane of the same brilliant silver flowed down the horse's neck, and in it Colt saw stirrings of red and green where thin Christmas-colored tendrils of ribbon were wound into the forelock and mane and tied in tiny bows at the horse's arched crest. It looked like a horse out of a Christmas dream, all gift-gold and moon-silver and starlight sparkle in the eyes—so beautiful Colt gawked and leaned against Liverwurst for support.