Golden Filly Collection Two (27 page)

Trish nodded. “I’d really like to go riding.”

“I know. How long since you’ve been to church?”

“Ahh…” Trish leaned over to pull on her right boot.

“Since the last time you were home?” Marge picked up her cup and studied her daughter over the rim.

“Ummm…” She pulled on her left boot.

“Martha and Adam don’t go to church?”

“Depends on the schedule at the track.”
You could have gone if you wanted to,
her nagger whispered.
How many races have you had on Sundays anyway?
“Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll be ready on time.” Trish gave up gracefully. Much as she didn’t really want to go to church, she didn’t want to cause a fracas with her mother either.

But she had a bad feeling on the drive to their church in Orchards. And it didn’t get any better when they parked in the parking lot.
I think I’ll just stay here,
she wanted to cry out as they all got out of the car.

David waited at the open van door after Marge stepped down. “You gonna wait all day?” He peered in at his sister.

Trish chewed on her cuticle. She took a deep breath and let it out. Even so, her knees turned to mush when her feet met the ground.

Patrick took her arm and tucked it in his. “You’ll be fine, lass,” he whispered in her ear.

Trish stared straight ahead. She walked up the six outside steps and through the door. She shook hands with the greeters, hoping they didn’t feel her shaking.

When she sat down in the pew, she kept her gaze glued on her hands, clenched together in her lap. The tears prickled at the first hymn. She bit them back, her teeth grinding together in the effort.

If she didn’t look at Pastor Mort, she could handle it. She tried to block out the words he read from the Bible. She used to be so good at blocking things out. She tried to think of racing Spitfire, of the feel of him thundering for the finish.

That was worse.

She tried to make her mind blank. Utter failure.

Pastor Mort entered the pulpit. He waited for the last feet to stop shuffling, the last cough and rustle.

Trish scrunched her eyes closed.

“Grace and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.” The voice rolled over the congregation and invaded Trish’s heart. The dammed-up tears choked her. Trish pushed herself to her feet and strode down the aisle.

Chapter
07

G
od, I can’t do this!

“Can I get you something?” An usher touched Trish on the shoulder as she stood at the back of the church.

“No, no thank you.” Trish blew her nose in a soggy tissue. “I’ll be fine.”
No you won’t.
Her nagger even came to church with her.
Unless you give it up, you’ll never be fine again.
Trish hiccuped on a sob.

“Here.” The man handed her his handkerchief.

When Trish’s brain reformed after mushing during the tears, she thought back to what her nagger had said.
Give what up?
She sank down on a chair and took a shaky breath. She’d wait for her family here.

Pastor Mort closed his sermon with the benediction. “The Lord bless you and keep you…” The words bathed Trish’s wounded feelings in the balm of love. “…and give you His peace.”

That’s what it was. The feeling was back again. Trish sighed in relief.

The guitars played the opening chords of the closing hymn. At the sound of her theme song, Trish fled from the church before she broke down completely. The congregation’s singing followed her out the door. “And He will raise you up on eagle’s wings.…”

She huddled on the backseat of the van, her knees drawn up to her chest, her hands over her face. The tears poured through her fingers and soaked her hair. Finally, after what seemed eons, she pushed herself upright. She slumped against the seat, too drained to sit up. Lifting her hands to push her hair back took all her energy.

A red and black handkerchief, big enough to be a bandanna, appeared from her right. She turned enough to see Patrick sitting on the step, extending the cloth.

She took it and blew her nose for the millionth time. Her nose was raw, her throat was raw, and her feelings the most raw of all.

When she put the handkerchief down, he handed her a cup of water.

“Should I pour this over my head or down my throat?”

“Whichever. Looks to me like you’re wet enough already.” A smile wreathed his face, telling her without a word that he understood, and that he appreciated her attempt at humor. “Aye, lass, when ye can laugh at yerself, ye be on the way.”

“On the way to what?” Trish sniff-sniffed on a breath.

“To learning to deal with the blows life gives ye. Yer takin’ this one young-like, but now I know you’ll be makin’ it.”

Trish finished the water in the cup. “What makes you so sure?”

“I just know, lass, I just know. Must be that faith that Pastor Mort talked about today.”

“But, Patrick, the last couple of days, I thought this was all over. I felt good again for the first time in—in, I don’t know how long. And then to fall apart like this…”

“But don’t you see, the falling apart, as you call it, is part of the giving up.” His waving hands punctuated his words.

“But, Patrick, you keep saying give it up…but I don’t know what I’m supposed to give up.” She strangled the handkerchief.

“The wall, lass, that tough spirit so full of anger no one could come near you.”

“What I want to give up is the black hole I live in all the time.” The words faded away to a whisper.

“You will.”

David and Marge joined Patrick at the side of the minivan. When Trish opened her eyes again, most of the other cars had left the parking lot. She looked back to the church entry. Pastor Mort had only one more family to greet.

Trish drew a staggery breath again. She sniffed and wiped her nose. “Think I’ll go see Pastor Mort. Is that okay? You guys in a hurry?”

Marge smiled through the tears that brightened her eyes. “No, Tee, take your time.”

Pastor Mort, the sun glistening on the bald top of his head, was just turning to go back into the church when Trish called to him. The smile on his face set her lip quivering again.

“Ah, Trish, I’m so glad to see you.” He met her at the bottom of the steps.

When she took his extended hand, he pulled her into a hug, then leaned back to study her face. “I could tell how hard it was for you to sit there, even as long as you did.”

Tears pooled in her eyes again. How could there be any tears left in her body? “How come church is so hard? I get so tired of crying.”

“Yes, I know.” He sat down on the step and tugged on her hand to join him. “So many people tell me that. I guess it’s because we’re more vulnerable in God’s house. I think He uses that time to draw us closer to himself so He can take the pain away.”

“But it only hurts more.”

“No, you only feel it more. And the more you let the feelings out, the easier it will get. Besides, what better place to fall apart than with all these people who love you and want to help any way they can? You gave them a chance to pray for you, to reach out in love. And near as I can figure, that’s what being part of the family of God is all about.”

Trish leaned her chin on her hand on her bent knees. “I tried not to come today.”

“I’m not surprised, but I’m sure glad you’re here.”

“You
really
think I’m better?” The thought of the pills in her purse flashed through her mind.

“Yes, I do.”

“Do you believe in angels?”

“Of course.”

“My mom and I wondered if Dad could be an angel.”

“I don’t know the answer to that, Trish. But I do know that if there were any way possible for him to help you, he would.”

“He’s all better now, isn’t he?” She rolled her lips to keep from crying out loud.

“Yes, Trish, he is.”

When she looked up, Pastor Mort was wiping away tears too. Trish held up Patrick’s soaked handkerchief. “I think I should buy shares in Kleenex.”

“Oh, Trish.” Pastor Mort laughed. He blew his nose and chuckled again. “Yes, my dear, you’re definitely better.”

“Well, I hope you’re right.” She rose to her feet and extended her hand. “Thanks. See you next time I’m home.”

“Bless you, child.” He squeezed her hand, then held her in a firm embrace.

When they got home, Trish felt like someone had pulled the plug and let out all the bath water.
Drained
was the only word that applied. She sat down on her bed to remove her shoes. She eyed the pillow. Maybe if she lay down for just a minute she’d feel like going in to help her mother make Sunday dinner. Then maybe David would help her with her chemistry.

Her mother shook her two hours later. “Come on, Trish, dinner’s ready.”

“Okay, be there in a minute.”

David shook her fifteen minutes later. She hadn’t even heard him come into her room.

“Okay, okay.” She pushed her hair back from her face. “What’s wrong?”

“Trish, time to eat. Mom came and called you fifteen minutes ago.”

“Nah.” She swung her feet off the bed and sat up. Her gaze focused on the clock. “Why’d you guys let me sleep so long?”

David thumped her on top of her head. “Just come and eat.”

When she shuffled out to the table, she saw Brad in his usual place. “Hi, sleepyhead.”

“Hi.” Trish blinked once and then again. She just couldn’t wake up. “’Scuse me a moment. I need a cold-water treatment.” When she returned after dousing her face in cold water, she could at least see straight. “Now, what all did I miss out on?”

David bowed his head. “Father, we thank you for this food, for our family and friends, and we ask you to help Trish work through this bad time. Amen.”

Trish had a hard time swallowing. Here was David praying for her too. And saying grace just like her father used to.

“You do that good, Davey boy, just like Dad.”

“Thanks, he taught us well.”

Marge watched her daughter; two little worry lines creased the space between her eyebrows. “Trish, is this typical, falling asleep like that?”

“No, not quite the same. This time was like someone hit me over the head. Usually I just nod off. My brain turns to dandelion fluff and blows away.” She glanced from face to face around the table. “Hey, that’s a joke, guys. I’m tired a lot, can’t concentrate, that’s all.”

“Okay, but it might be a good idea to see a doctor and get checked out. Maybe you’re anemic or something.”

“M-o-m.” Trish felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. This felt too much like the times when Marge drove everyone nuts with her worrying. Back when they had a hard time getting along. Were those times returning?

Marge raised her hands in a gesture of surrender. “Don’t panic, I’m not worrying. It’s just that sometimes parents have to insist on what they think is right—and this is one of those times.”

“But I leave tomorrow afternoon.”

“There are no doctors in California?”

Trish looked up at her mother with a lopsided grin and a shake of the head. “I’ll ask Martha for the name of one.”

“Good idea, Trish,” Patrick said from his end of the table.

“Whew! Glad that’s over.” David nudged Brad, who also wore a look of relief. “No World War Three this time,” he added under his breath.

“David?” Trish asked so sweetly that bees would think it was honey. “How about if I just pour this glass of water on your head now?”

“Whoa…we better watch out!” David and Brad swapped big-brother smirks.

The glow in her middle reminded Trish that this was the kind of stuff she missed the most.