want to know how Hillary is?”
Well, of course. You just upset me and I forgot to ask. Is she okay? Any bones broken?
“I’m really not sure, but I
can tell you she’s unconscious.”
And now I really have to ask, “Are you Hillary’s mother?”
I realize I know nothing about her family except the rumors
passed around about her dad: He’s a real estate developer
who owns a sizable chunk
of the state, and has powerful friends in California politics.
Who knows how much is true?
No, I happen to be Hillary’s aunt.
Her father’s out of town and left me in charge, but I’ll let him know what happened. Oh, and I guess I ought to thank you for your help.
I’m Glad
Dear, sweet Peg Grantham
isn’t Hillary’s actual mom.
Such a caring individual!
Now I feel sorry for Hillary.
Busy dad. Ice-blooded aunt, who’s apparently her caretaker.
No wonder Hillary is so cool.
Gabe, on the other hand,
impresses me with
not only his warmth, but
also his bank of knowledge: treatment for shock;
equine handling; giving
a girl a decent boost.
I watch as they strap
Hillary to a backboard,
under Gabe’s watchful eye.
She’s moving a little, and
they warn her to stop.
Does that mean she’s come
around? Yes. She’s asking
about her horse. Niagara?
Where’s Niagara? Is she okay?
At the sound of Hillary’s voice, the mare’s ears start twitching.
I lead her a little closer, hoping Hillary can see her. “It’s me, Ariel. Don’t worry about Niagara.
I’ve got her, and I’ve already talked to your aunt and
arranged to take her home.
You concentrate on getting well.”
As the EMTs lift the backboard onto a gurney, then roll it toward the ambulance’s maw, Hillary says, Ariel? But . . . how?
“Just a strange coincidence.
Everything’s going to be fine, okay? Oh, wait. Here’s your phone.”
Before I hand it off, I take the time to send myself a text with the phone number I found for her father, just in case ol’ Peg is a no-show.
Somehow, I wouldn’t put it past her, though I guess I shouldn’t judge a book without actually seeing its cover, either. Meanwhile, I focus on delivering Niagara.
The Ranch
Is over a mile back toward town.
By the time we start in that direction the sun has dropped below the horizon and it’s turned damned cold. The EMTs returned Gabe’s jacket, so I bum it
to mitigate the teeth-chattering ride ahead. “Follow me, but not too close,”
I tell him. The mare’s game for a fast pace home and, in Thoroughbred style, gallops long-legged strides most
of the way there. Despite the chill,
it’s exhilarating in a way few things are. Going fast in a car is exciting, but this is elemental. Approaching
the gate, I slow her to let her catch her breath and cool off gradually,
though she’d rather hurry to the barn.
It’s dinnertime, after all. I brake her under the big over-the-driveway arch
bearing the ranch’s name: the Triple G.
Triple! That’s it. I’ve been past here so many times I can’t believe I forgot.
As promised, a man who I assume
is the foreman comes trotting up on
a stocky bay gelding. I dismount and hand him Niagara’s reins. “Great horse.”
Thank you, young lady. She is, and we appreciate your intervention. I’d sure hate it if anything bad had happened to her, not to mention to Miss Hillary.
A lot of people would’ve kept on going.
Be sure and thank your friend for us, too.
He nods toward Gabe, who’s sitting
in his idling car, where I hope it’s warm.
“I will. I think Hillary’s okay. She was awake and talking when they took her away.”
That’s real good to hear. The Lord willing, I’m sure Miss Hillary will be fine.
By the way, Niagara here is a handful.
You’re not looking for a job, are you?
Mucking Stalls
Wouldn’t be the worst job in the world. But he offers to let me exercise horses, and that would definitely interest me. However,
“I’d love the work, but
I’m afraid transportation would be a problem. I don’t have a car or a way to get one.
My dad can’t help out, so I’m stuck riding with friends.”
Shame. Well, if something changes, please let me know.
My name’s Max, by the way.
I’m in charge of the barn.
“Thanks, Max. I’ll for sure get in touch with you if anything happens to change.”
Wow. Getting paid to ride horses, and top-flight
Thoroughbreds at that?
Great proposition. Too bad I can’t take advantage of it.
Catch-22 sucks.
Maya
I broke the baby news to Jason a week ago. At first I thought he was going to freak out. His expression mutated a few times, like he was trying on masks. But he held it together. “Are you sure it’s mine?”
“Positive.” Once I might’ve had to guess, but I haven’t been with anyone else since I met Jason, and that’s what I told him. He seemed to believe me. So then we played the Q & A game.
Question: “How far along are you?”
Answer: “Ten weeks, I think.”