Golden Filly Collection Two (9 page)

“Tee, you know David didn’t mean it like that,” Rhonda scolded.

“We’d better get to class. I’ve got a final first period. I can’t wait till this is over.”

Others looked the other way when they caught Trish’s eye. There would be no “welcome home” or congratulations this time.

Rhonda stopped Trish before she entered her first-period class. “They don’t know what to say, Tee. None of us do.”

“Yeah, congratulations doesn’t fit, does it.” Trish shifted her books to the other arm. “Forget it, Rhonda. Just ace your test.”

Trish had a hard time focusing on the test paper in front of her. The words ran together. They carried no meaning. She glanced up at the clock. Fifteen minutes had passed; she’d written down one answer. Her jaw was beginning to ache from being clenched so tight, but Trish used the pain to help her focus. She
would not
fail these tests. She was tough—wasn’t she?

Brad was waiting outside the school in his Mustang at the end of the day. Trish dropped like a stone onto the front seat.

“Pretty bad, huh?”

She exhaled and leaned her head back on the seat. “Worse.”

“I’ll bet they’d give you an extension if you asked.” Brad tilted his seat forward so Rhonda could get in the back.

“Mrs. Olson told me she would. But I’d rather tough it out and get done.”

“How’s it feel to be done with high school?” Rhonda asked Brad, blowing upward to lift her bangs.

“Good. I just came back to gloat over you guys still struggling with finals. I also knew you wouldn’t want to take the bus.”

“Thanks,” Trish said. “I don’t think I could have handled the bus ride today. I was hoping to have my new convertible, but they aren’t in yet.”

“You think your mom will let you drive it to school?”

“I think she’s going to have a cow every time I get in it.”

“You want to study together? I can come over.” Rhonda leaned her chin on the back of the front seat.

“No—I don’t think so. I’m so tired; I’m going to bed. I’ll probably study later.”
If at all. Who cares, anyway?
Trish’s thoughts seemed louder than her voice.

That evening her mom woke her to say Red was on the phone. Trish stumbled into the kitchen and sank down on the floor to lean against the oak cabinets, the phone clamped between her ear and her shoulder.

“How’s my girl?” Red’s voice sounded as if he were in the next room.

“Sleepy.” Trish couldn’t control a yawn. “I had two finals today; I have two tomorrow, and two on Wednesday. I’ll be glad when they’re over.”

“I won today, and a place in the seventh. How about that for some good news?”

“Bet the winner’s circle felt good.” Trish yawned again. “’Scuse me. I just can’t wake up.”

“I miss you.”

Trish felt a little twinge of guilt. She hadn’t even thought about Red since she left him at the airport. “Yeah, so how’s it look for you? Lots of mounts?” She forced herself to stay with the conversation but couldn’t think of anything to say. When the silence stretched for several seconds, she mumbled, “Well, I’ll talk to you later; I need to hit the books.” She hung up the phone as if it were a fifty-pound weight.

Man, he’s gonna think you don’t even like him,
her nagger jumped right in. Trish had been able to shut him off lately, but even that was too much trouble tonight.

She sat down at her desk to study but found herself staring at the wall instead. Maybe if she propped herself against the headboard of her bed…

Her mother found her there, sound asleep, with her history book on the floor. Trish hadn’t even heard it drop.

“How about crawling under the covers?” Marge smoothed wisps of hair back from Trish’s cheek.

“I need to study.” Trish stretched and yawned. “I’m just so tired.”

“I know. Maybe you should take incompletes and—”

“No. I just want to get school over with. I didn’t do so bad today, at least I don’t think so.” She swung her feet to the floor. “Maybe if I tank up on Diet Coke I can stay awake.”

Trish fell asleep the next day during study hall.

“You want to run the track with me instead of lunch?” Trish asked Rhonda when they met at their lockers for break.

“Let’s grab a sandwich and then I will. I’m starved. We’ll have to run fast.” Rhonda stuffed her money in her pocket and her books in her locker.

A brisk breeze scattered clouds across the sky and blew their hair in their eyes as Trish and Rhonda ran the cinder track behind the brick complex. They jogged the first lap, stretched some, and ran the second.

Rhonda puffed to a halt and grabbed her side. “Owww. We need to do this more often or not at all.”

Trish sucked in huge gulps of air. “Want to go another?”

“You crazy?” Rhonda folded in half and wrapped her arms around her knees to stretch again. “If that didn’t wake you up, nothing will. Besides”—she glanced at her watch—“we have ten minutes till the bell, and I’m spending mine eating.”

Trish shivered as the breeze blew through her wet shirt.

“Here.” Rhonda handed her a jacket. “We can walk and chew at the same time, or at least we used to be able to.” She grabbed Trish when she tripped on a sprinkler head. “Ya gotta pay attention.”

Those words haunted Trish all afternoon. Why couldn’t she pay attention? Why did her mind seem to wander off all on its own? And she wasn’t even thinking of anything, just wandering in a black fog. She felt better at the end of the day, however. She knew she’d aced the history test. All those hours of studying while she’d been traveling had paid off.

That evening she ran down the drive, up to Brad’s, and back to their own barn to see Miss Tee. The filly snorted and dashed off to circle the pasture before coming to nibble her treat from Trish’s hand.

“You sure are a beauty.” Trish rubbed the filly’s velvety cheek and inhaled the wonderful odor of horse.

“She has good speed for a baby.” Patrick leaned on the fence beside her. “Good motion too. You can tell she loves to run; already makes sure she finishes first against Double D. ’Course he’s a tad younger.”

“She should be good. Her dam has thrown two colts. One Dad sold as a yearling—he’s running at Longacres, won a couple; and the other went back to Minnesota, I think. Last I heard he was doing okay too. Dad said all our money went into stud fees the last couple of years. He knew it was necessary if we wanted to go someplace besides Portland Meadows.”

“Well, looks to be paying off.” Patrick tipped his hat back and scratched his head. “We got a lot of work to do, soon as you’re done with school.”

That night Trish turned her light off just after midnight. It looked like running was the answer—to staying awake, that is.

By Wednesday evening she felt brain-dead and ready to skip the last half day of school. But her finals and her junior year were finished.

“How does it feel to be a big senior?” Rhonda asked as she dug the last candy wrapper out of the back of her locker.

“I don’t feel any different.” Trish scraped at a piece of tape that had held the school calendar on the inside of her locker door. “Other than being totally beat.”

“You want to go to a movie tonight? The four musketeers haven’t done anything together for a long time.” Rhonda slammed her locker shut and wiped her hands on the back of her jeans.

Trish shook her head.

“The mall?”

“I don’t think so. Let’s get outta here.”

The sun hadn’t broken through the overcast the next morning before Trish was galloping through the ground fog on Sarah’s Pride. Patrick had decreed long gallops to build stamina for all three horses. Owner John Anderson decided to return Gatesby to Runnin’ On Farm now that Patrick was the trainer, so Trish had the gelding and Firefly to work too. She could hear Patrick muttering as she walked the filly back to the barns.

David was trying hard to keep a straight face.

“Gatesby at it again?” she asked as she leaped to the ground.

“No manners. All we need is a cockeyed plug with a sense of humor. If I didn’t know…” Patrick glared at Trish and then David. “And don’t say I told you so either.” He picked up his hat and beat it against his leg. “Fat and sassy, that’s all he is. Well, son,” he said, staring into the gelding’s right eye, “you hear me now and listen up good. I won’t tolerate that kind of nonsense.”

Gatesby pulled his head as high as the tie rope permitted, and rolled his eyes till the whites showed.

Trish chuckled at the familiar sight. She looked around to share the joke with her father, and the moment popped like a shimmery soap bubble on a breeze. She lifted her knee for David to boost her up. The rock lodged back in her throat.

When she returned from the gallop, David and Patrick were discussing Longacres versus going to California to race with Adam Finley.

“Which would you rather do, lass?” Patrick asked as he tossed Trish aboard Firefly.

“Whatever.”

“You must have an opinion.”

Trish shook her head. “I don’t really care.”

That seemed to be her theme song. At least she heard herself saying it more than once a day. And she thought it a lot more often. Why should she care? Why bother?

On Friday the dealer called to say he had three red convertibles sitting on his lot waiting for them.

“What time would you like to pick them up?” the man asked.

“Would two be okay?” Trish said, after checking with David and her mother.

“You want to invite Brad and Rhonda to go along?” Marge asked when Trish hung up the phone.

“Is Patrick coming?” Trish drew circles in a puddle of water on the counter.

“That’s up to you.”

“Whatever…”

“No.
You
have to make a decision. We can turn this into a celebration like it should be or you can play ‘whatever.’” Marge crossed her arms and leaned back against the kitchen counter. “It’s up to you.”

How can we celebrate when he’s not here?
Trish thought as she glared at her mother. She slapped her hand in the water, spraying it over the counter. “Fine. We’ll invite everybody. Make it a big party. Winner of the Triple Crown—and it doesn’t mean squat. Nothing means anything anymore, don’t you know that?” Her voice rose to a shriek as she charged through the living room and down the hall to her bedroom. She slammed the door and threw herself across the bed, only to pound her fists on the floor.