Golden Filly Collection Two (23 page)
You’re beginning to think everything is your fault,
her nagger whispered in her ear.
That’s not smart, you know.
Later, as she walked up to the jockey room, Trish thought ahead to the afternoon program. For a change her agent had gotten her mounts for two other trainers. Neither were top horses, but that certainly wasn’t surprising. If she could just get them to run.
By the time the third race was called, her resident troupe of butterflies flipped around on their warm-ups. She listened to the trainer’s instructions carefully. The gelding did not like being boxed in, and they were in gate two.
Why didn’t they put blinkers on him?
Trish thought as they trotted past the stands. Then tight quarters wouldn’t bother him so much.
“Ya gotta break fast,” she told the twitching ears as the horse shifted from side to side in the gate. “Easy now, you know what’s happening.” The singsong was as much for her as the restless horse under her. “Come on, fella, I need this win even more than you do.”
The gate, the horse, and Trish all exploded at the same instant. But it was like time stood still for just a fraction before the gelding caught the first stride. The first three animals surged stride for stride, but that pause gave number four the opportunity he needed. Going into the first turn he pounded directly in front of Trish.
Her mount shook his head, watching the horses on either side of him more than concentrating on the job he was set to do. Trish swung her whip back once and he leaped forward. But it was a fight all the way to the pole. And they were caught in the middle the entire distance, giving them a fourth.
The trainer looked at her with a blank face.
I told you so,
seemed to hover all around them. All he said was “Tough break.”
Tough break, my eye,
Trish scolded herself all the way back to the jockey room.
And the next race wasn’t any better. This time she had the horse in front, just like the trainer told her to do, but he quit running with four lengths to go. They took a show.
“I’m sorry,” she told the trainer. “He just quit.”
“Yeah, well, that was his first time at a mile. Thought you had it there, though.”
“Me too.” As she walked back to the jockey’s room, she felt the loneliness return. If only she had someone to talk to. She checked her watch. Rhonda ought to be home now. She headed for the phone and dialed her friend’s number.
Trish felt her heart leap when the familiar voice answered on the second ring.
“Hi.” Trish cleared her throat. “It’s me.”
“Trish, I can’t believe it. How are you? What’s going on? David says you’re not doing so well at the track. And how’s the beach? You all tanned?”
Trish laughed at the rapid-fire stream of questions. Yup, this was Rhonda all right. Words running over each other. “How can I answer all that at the same time?”
“You can’t. I’ll make it easy. You won any races lately?”
“Thanks, friend. Get me right where it hurts. I haven’t won since Belmont, so that answers another question. I’m not doing well, anywhere, anytime.”
“Why don’t you come home?”
“Why don’t you come down here? We could go school shopping like we never dreamed.”
“Oh, I can’t. I’ve got jumping shows coming up the next two weekends. How about after that?”
Trish sighed. “That’s so far away. I was hoping you could come now.” She leaned against the wall, the phone clamped between her ear and shoulder.
“Sorry, Tee.”
“I know. I’ll call the travel agent and she’ll send you the ticket.”
“Hey, you heard from the sexiest jockey in the world?”
“Rhonda!”
“Well, Red Holloran is a hunk in my book.”
“He is nice.”
“Nice! Nice! Your dog is nice. A hot fudge sundae is yummy. Red is…”
“Rhonda, you nut.” Trish giggled.
“…sweet, likes you a whole lot, rides like a dream, and kisses like a—”
“That’s enough.” Trish strangled on her laughter. “You didn’t kiss him.”
“No, but you did, and when you just so happened to mention it to your best friend in all the world, your eyes glazed over. That should tell you something.”
“Spitfire’s my best friend in all the world.”
“Okay, your best
human
friend, then.” They swapped chuckles over the line. “Now, back to my original question before you so rudely sidetracked me.”
“All right. Yes! I got a card from him last week.”
“Was it a mushy one?”
“You are the nosiest—”
“Best friend in all the world. Well?”
“No, it was funny. I need funny things in my life right now. That’s why I called you, and now you say you can’t come.”
“I’ll be there. You just keep those stores warmed up. We’re going to do some serious shopping.”
“See you in two weeks.” Trish hung up the phone. Maybe she should call Rhonda every day. Maybe every hour.
Two weeks to wait. Ugh!
She checked her watch. Yes, time to stop by a card shop on her way home. Red was long overdue for an answer.
Reading the messages made her giggle out loud. She chose two funny ones for Red and then one for Rhonda. Writing them when she got home made her feel even better. How lucky she was to have such good friends in her life.
She thought a moment. Would Red be called a friend? Or a boyfriend? She fingered the cross on a chain around her neck. He’d given it to her to remember him by. She felt a shiver travel up her back. He really was a neat person. She touched her lips. The kisses had been nice. She giggled at the thought. Nice was not a good enough word. Rhonda was right.
That night she fell asleep in front of the television in the family room.
“Trish, it’s two o’clock.” Martha shook Trish’s shoulder. “Come on, get up to bed.”
Trish blinked her eyes and sat up, trying to clear the fog from her brain. The last she remembered was—she blinked again, she couldn’t remember. “Uh, okay, thanks.” She got up and stumbled up the stairs. She was asleep again before she pulled the covers up.
She was late for morning works.
“I’m sorry, guess I forgot to set my alarm.” Trish slumped into the canvas chair.
Adam studied her face. “Looks to me like you shoulda slept about ten hours longer. But no matter, since three of the horses won’t work this morning…”
Guilt made her bite her lip. She should’ve checked on the horses herself, at least the horses from Runnin’ On Farm. “How’s the mare?”
“About the same. We caught it in time, I think. We’ll let Gatesby have a rest too, just in case. Firefly seems fine, just warm her up this morning. She’s in the Camino Diablo, the stakes for this afternoon.” He rose to his feet. “Carlos has her ready, if you are.”
Trish nodded. As ready as she’d ever be. She and Firefly slow-trotted the oval of the smaller track that lay close to the freeway. Cars were already slowing down in the morning rush-hour commute. The brassy sun peeped above the hills on the eastern side of San Francisco Bay, promising another hot day.
The filly tracked all the sights, sounds, and smells of the morning bustle, her ears and nostrils in constant motion. Trish leaned forward and stroked the shiny red neck. “You’re a beauty, you know that?” Firefly tossed her head and snorted.
Back at the barn when works were finished, Trish slumped back in her chair in the office. She crossed one booted foot over the other knee and picked off a piece of dried mud. A sigh escaped. She dropped her chin on her chest and rotated her head from side to side and back to front.
“Okay, what is it?”
“Huh?” She sat up straight.
“Something’s on your mind.” Adam leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head.
Trish ran her tongue over her lower lip. “Maybe—I—uh—I think you should put someone else up on Firefly today so she has a chance. She could win that—if…”
“If?”
Trish almost swallowed the words. “If I weren’t riding her.” The silence in the office was broken only by a huge fly buzzing at the window. “Adam, I can hardly even get ’em around the track. You could still get someone good, anyone would be better’n me.”
When the silence stretched until Trish felt it quivering between them, she looked up to see Adam staring at her and shaking his head. “No, Trish. All you need is one good race and you’ll be fine again. I think this afternoon will do it for you.”
Trish pushed herself to her feet, shaking her head all the while.
I can’t believe you did that,
she scolded herself on the way out to her car.
Maybe you should just chuck it all in and go home. Maybe you really are all washed up.
She leaned her forehead against the black cloth roof of her car.
Quitters never win and winners never quit.
How many times had her father said that through the years? If only he were here to say it now.
That afternoon Firefly pranced as if all the world applauded her personally. She trotted beside the pony rider, ears forward, neck arched, her coat almost the same crimson as that in Trish’s silks. Crimson and gold, Runnin’ On Farm colors and also those of Prairie High.
All ten entries walked into the gates without a problem. Trish gathered her reins and crouched forward, feeling Firefly settle on her haunches, ready for the gun.
The gates flew open. Firefly leaped forward. The horse on their right stumbled, crashed into Firefly, and hit the ground.
S
heer willpower kept Firefly on her feet.
Trish wasn’t sure whose willpower won as she clung to the filly’s neck and held the reins firm. Another stride and the filly regained her balance. Two more strides and they were running straight. One more stride and Trish could feel a shudder in the right fore.
Firefly pulled up limping badly.
Trish vaulted to the ground. She ran a hand down the filly’s leg, all the while murmuring the soothing sounds that calmed the horse. She could feel the swelling popping up right under her fingertips.
Slowly she led the limping filly out the gate and back to the barns. Adam caught up with her before she passed the first row of stalls.
“You should have…”
Adam held up a hand. “That could have happened to anybody.”
Everything in Trish wanted to scream
I told you so!
She bit her tongue to keep the words back. Now her filly was injured and a strain like this could cause permanent damage. She thought of all the trouble they’d had with Spitfire’s leg.
Her eyes felt scratchy along with her throat. After Carlos and Adam took over the care of the filly, she pulled a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and chug-a-lugged half of it. When would this cycle end?
Trish left the track and headed for the beach. While it was already late afternoon, she didn’t have to meet her tutor until seven. Maybe, just maybe, she’d hear her song again and find the peace that went along with it. Traffic snaked to a crawl where Highway 92 crossed the Crystal Springs Reservoir and became a two-lane road. All the way up the winding, hilly road and down the ocean side to Half Moon Bay, the cars played either stop-and-go or slow-and-go.
Trish thrummed her fingers on the steering wheel. They were using up her time, her precious beach time. The sun hovered above the band of clouds hugging the horizon when she finally parked the car at Redondo Beach. She grabbed her blanket and pack from the trunk and slipped and slid down the rough trail.
Low tide exposed a wide expanse of beach as Trish trudged south toward her favorite spot. Since she and the gulls were the only visitors, she quickly spread her blanket and dropped into the middle of it.
Hugging her knees, she watched the gulls wheeling and dipping above her. Would her song come? She listened intently. The offshore breeze sent sand skittering before it and peppered the cliff behind her with its breath, loosening bits of rust and orange sandstone. It tugged on her hair, freeing tendrils from the braid down her back and blowing them into her eyes.
Impatiently she brushed them away. Where was her song? She tried humming a few bars but her throat closed.
Clutching her legs, Trish rocked forward and back, leaning her cheek on her jeans-clad knees. When she despaired of the song coming today, she hauled the journals out of her pack and, laying her father’s beside her, dug out a pen and opened her own. The words poured out.
Why? Why is everything falling apart? I can’t ride, I can’t win, and most of all—I can’t quit crying. This isn’t fair! And when I’m not crying, I’m sleeping. Right now, I could lie down and in one minute be sound asleep. Maybe there’s something terribly wrong with me. God, where are you? My dad always said you loved us no matter what. If this is what love is like, do me a favor. Go love someone else.
Trish stared at what she’d written. After blowing her nose, she picked up the pen again.
I want to have faith like my dad did.
She thought a bit, chewing on the end of her pen.
I guess. Do I really? Or do I just want to run away from the pain? I hurt so bad. My head aches, my nose is all plugged, and I’m so tired.
“Please, God. Help me.” She closed the book. Did she hear it? The song? “Dear God, I need those eagle’s wings so bad.”
She laid her book down and picked up her father’s. Flipping through its pages, she saw verse after verse. One stuck out because it was underlined and circled.
“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you.”