Golden Filly Collection Two (32 page)
“You think I have?” Trish hung her things in the closet. She stroked the sleeve of her flaming-rust shirt. “But doesn’t it feel heavenly?”
“Did you bring an extra suitcase?” Martha asked, looking at all the things Rhonda needed to pack.
“Just this.” Rhonda held up her sports bag. “And it was full when I came.”
“No sweat. We’ll buy you a new one in the morning.” Trish yawned and went into the bathroom to brush her teeth. “Just stack the stuff on the floor so we can get in bed.”
Rhonda lay out on the deck, sunning, when Trish returned from the track in the morning. Trish changed into her swimsuit, and after pulling up another lounger, flopped down on her stomach.
“Feeling better?” Rhonda asked.
“Better than what?”
“I can tell you’re trying to be up ’cause I’m here. So, buddy, what’s buggin’ you?” Rhonda turned onto her stomach.
“I haven’t won a race since Belmont; I lost again Saturday, my chemistry final is coming up, and I feel like some stupid moron who can’t think. That enough?”
“I guess.”
“And on top of that, you’re leaving today.” Trish could see the pit reaching up to suck her in.
“But you said things are better than they were.”
“Yeah, they are. While I check out mentally, I don’t feel like checking out permanently.”
“Oh, Tee, I just wish I could help somehow.” Rhonda reached across the space between them and patted Trish’s elbow.
“Me too.”
Silence and sun lay across the deck for a time before Rhonda raised her head. “Whatever did you do with the third convertible you won?”
“It’s still at the dealer. I told him I’d get back to him. I guess I will—sometime.
“Have you decided what you’re going to do with it?”
“Just sell it, I guess.”
“Mmmm. I liked your original idea of giving it to the youth group at church.”
Trish blew out the breath she’d been holding. “Hardly.”
Rhonda held up her hands. “Just a thought.”
After she waved good-bye and Rhonda walked down the ramp to the plane, Trish felt like the pit was engulfing her again. She went through the motions of completing a makeup lab before class and listening to the instructor cover as much material as possible before the final. She couldn’t decide which was worse, the dry burning behind her eyes or when they ran with tears. Either way, she ended up with a headache.
Back in her bedroom, she paced the floor, fighting to keep awake. If only she could crawl into bed and sleep, sleep away the pain, the confusion.
She forced her eyes back to the notes she’d made in class. The words turned into squiggles that danced on the page. Her gaze fell on her purse.
Richard had said the pills would help her think better. They’d give her some energy. Better than caffeine, he’d said. Just one pill; what could be wrong with taking one simple little pill? People took them all the time.
Trish picked up her purse. She dug around. Panic dried her mouth. Where were they? Finally she felt them, down at the very bottom, a baggie with the three little white pills.
She strode into the bathroom and ran a glassful of water. She put a pill on her tongue and stared at the face in the mirror.
T
here was no one to bump her this time.…She raised the glass to her lips and filled her mouth with water.…No one to tell her no.
Trish gagged and leaned over the toilet. She spit out the pill and water and gagged again.
The black pit grew before her eyes. She ran back into the bedroom and grabbed the remaining pills. The face she glimpsed in the mirror looked like it had seen a ghost. She flung the remaining pills into the toilet and flushed it.
Trish staggered back into the bedroom and sank down on the edge of the bed. Oh, to lay her head down on the pillow and forget this had ever happened. She clamped her hands to her head and rocked back and forth.
God, what do I do? Help me!
The cry swirled down into the blackness engulfing her.
And He will raise you up…
She gulped for air.
…on eagle’s wings
Where was it coming from?
I will praise the Lord. I WILL praise the Lord. God is my strength, my very present help in times of trouble. I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.
The verses scrolled through her mind. She could see the wall above her desk at home as if she were standing right in front of it. The wall with cards written by both her and her father. The wall of Bible verses she had memorized.
For God so loved the world, loved Trish…
She grabbed the box of tissues and ripped out a handful. The tears flowed. The verses sang. Her heart settled back in her chest and resumed its steady beat. She mopped her eyes again and again.
Let not your heart be troubled…
That one sure fit.
A troubled heart. She sniffed and mopped.
When the tears finally dried up, she went into the bathroom and soaked a washcloth in cold water. She could almost hear it sizzle as she buried her face in it. “Thank you. Thank you.” She let her shoulders droop and her head fall forward. She inhaled, a breath that went clear to her toenails. And when she released it, she felt her body relax. Another breath seemed to inhale the peace she could feel seeping into the room.
Peace floated around the room like tendrils of golden-hued clouds, kissed by the rising sun.
Trish propped her back against the headboard of the bed and her chemistry book on her lap. “Please, Father, help me read and understand what I am studying. Help me to stay awake and think clearly. I can’t do this on my own. I can’t seem to do much of anything right—on my own. Thank you for helping me.”
Three hours of sleep wasn’t enough. Trish tried rubbing the grit from her eyes but resorted to a wet washcloth instead. If only she had time for a shower—a cold one.
Remnants of the nightmare tugged at her memory. Had it been as bad as usual? She wasn’t sure. If only she could wake up enough to change it like the doctor had suggested. But the end would always be the same. Her father was gone.
Dawn cracked the sky over the eastern hills as she mounted her third horse for Adam.
“Better now?” Adam patted her knee after boosting her aboard.
Trish nodded. The man could read her like a book. Did she wear her thoughts on her face like an open page, or was he just a good reader?
He walked beside her out to the track. “Trot her once around, then breeze her for four furlongs. I’ll be clocking you, so let her go at the half-mile pole.”
“Okay.” Trish nudged the mare into a slow trot. The horse, long used to the routine, trotted around the outside of the track. But when Trish turned her and eased toward the rail, she perked up.
Trish could feel her mount pulling at the bit. She snapped her goggles over her eyes. She let the mare extend to an even gallop and, at the pole, let her out. The mare hit her running pace in three strides. With Trish encouraging her, the old girl flattened out, reaching for top speed. The finish pole flashed by and Trish rose in her stirrups to bring the mare back down to a gallop.
Trish and her mount hugged the rail to pass a horse galloping in front of them. Just as they pulled even, the other horse stumbled and started falling.
The mare swerved to miss the falling horse but kept to her feet, thanks to Trish’s firm hands and the rail they grazed on the left. Trish’s ankle took the brunt of the force.
She pulled the mare to a walk and glanced back to check on the other horse. He was limping off the track. The jockey shrugged an apology.
Trish rubbed her ankle through her boot. What a stupid thing to have happen. When would she learn to pay better attention? She checked the mare’s shoulder. Part of her hide was burned bare. But she wasn’t limping, seemed no worse for the near miss.
“You’re okay?” Adam asked when he met her at the exit.
“Yeah, but…”
“I don’t want to hear it.” He raised his hands. “You did a good job in a tight situation and everyone came out all right.”
“But…”
“Trish, you can’t take responsibility for the whole world. Accidents happen; that’s life.” He examined the graze on the mare’s shoulder.
“I feel like I’m an accident waiting to happen.”
Adam glared up at her. He shook his head and strode off to the barns.
At the barns he said, “You might want to thank God you weren’t hurt. I do.” He boosted her up on Gatesby. “Give him a couple of laps nice and easy.”
Trish finished her morning rides without much feeling. She felt guilty that Adam had to scold her like he did. She dragged her feet into the office and sat down on the edge of her chair. “Adam…” She had to clear her throat. “I—I’m sorry. I just want to be the best, or even good again, and everything seems to go against that.” She looked up to see him nodding at her. “I’m up when everything’s okay and down when it isn’t.”
“I’ve noticed. But you’ve got to take it as it comes and just do the best you can.”
“My father kept on praising the Lord all through his cancer. I want to do that too, but it doesn’t come easy for me.”
“Your dad was a lot older than you, Trish. Learning to thank God for everything takes time and practice. It’s a lot like a mother teaching her child to say thank-you. She has to remind him over and over—and over. God isn’t going to smack you because you forget sometimes. He loves you too much.”
“I smack myself often enough.”
“And is it doing any good?”
Trish shrugged. “Maybe one of these days I’ll remember.”
“And in the meantime, you feel terrible.”
Trish leaned back in her chair. “How come you got so smart?”
“See this white hair?” Adam pointed to the fringe around his balding head. “I earned every one of them—mostly the hard way.”