Owen's Daughter (37 page)

“What sort of music do you suppose the band will play?” Sheila asked Skye, hiding the disappointment that had clouded her face.

“I have no idea. Hopefully something that won’t rile the horses, if Daddy has any say in it.”

The room quickly filled as the Bosque Boys began to play their own country-alt renditions of big band songs. Without the amplifiers, the music was low-key, and her dad finally looked relaxed. “I gave every horse a quarter bucket of sweet feed,” he told Skye when she saw him next. And here came Mama, back from more mingling to circle Daddy like a mako shark.

“I figured,” Skye said.

Her dad smiled. “I also gave them a dose of that hippie medicine Mellow Out that you mentioned. It actually seems to work. I’m hoping it will keep them calm for the duration. Sheila, how do you like Arizona? Those triple-digit summers sit right with you?”

“Heavens, no. We spend the hottest part of the year on Orcas Island.”

“Last time I saw the Pacific Ocean, well, I can’t recall.”

“It’s lovely and unspoiled, the Pacific Northwest at its best. Sometime if you’d like to use our cabin for a vacation getaway, I hope you’ll let me know.”

“Any horses up there?”

Sheila laughed. “Not that I’m personally aware of, but if there are, I bet you’ll find them. I can say for certain there are plenty of deer, eagles, otters, and whales. Mainly killer whales, hence the name Orcas.”

Skye’s father was listening intently. “Doesn’t that sound like a piece of heaven. Nice of you to offer, too. I suppose I had better start thinking of where to take Margaret on our honeymoon. Sounds like that might work. Thank you,” he said, clasping her hands and giving them a squeeze.

“Daddy!” Skye exclaimed happily. “Marriage?” She could feel the disappointment in her mother like a physical force.

“I haven’t asked her yet, but I’m going to,” he replied with a grin. “Now excuse me, ladies, I can see someone wants a barn tour.” He put his hat on and walked toward the stalls, where a bored-looking teenage boy stood by his parents.

“Pardon me,” a fifty-something woman asked Skye, “do you know where the restrooms are?”

“Outside,” she said. “You can’t miss them.”

“Portable toilets at a fund-raiser?”

Skye smiled. “I guess so.”

“What do you know,” the woman said. “I don’t have to go that bad after all.”

Skye and her mother laughed, and at the end of the laugh, Skye caught a glimpse of the old mom she remembered from her early childhood. Utterly unprepared, Skye was awash in long-buried feelings that made her heart ache. Christmases, July Fourth fireworks, the good times when the family was whole. She patted her mother’s shoulder gently. Her mom mustered a small smile, but that was it. Skye knew her father’s talk of marrying Margaret had stung, but how much?

“I think I’ll get a refill on my Scotch,” her mother said.

“‘To ride a horse is to ride the sky,’” Mr. Vigil said in his opening remarks when the business part of the evening began. “I tried to find the name of the author who wrote those words, and what do you know, it turned out to be Anonymous. The most prolific writer in the world.”

Everyone laughed.

He introduced his family, starting with his wife, Glory, with her silver hair and apple cheeks. She had that glow of pregnancy about her. Then he introduced his daughters, starting with the baby, Sparrow. He moved on to Casey and Juniper, and his granddaughter, Aspen. When he was done, Glory handed Sparrow back to Margaret.

Margaret looked beautiful; the gray in her red hair shone like silver. She was wearing a blue broomstick skirt and an embroidered top, but it was the concho belt that made her outfit. Skye wondered about Margaret’s illness, how they’d handle it down the road. She really wished she hadn’t seen her naked, but that was life, and she guessed old people were allowed to have sex if they wanted to.

Her dad, married. That would be an adjustment, because now that Skye had him back in her life, she wanted him all to herself. Having her father around made her ache for Gracie even more than she did already. She looked at Sparrow and Aspen, and she could imagine their little hands in hers and the sweet-sour smell kids had just before you gave them a bath. What if T or C was another bust? What if she never found Gracie? How could a person go on after that?

Margaret waved good-bye to Skye. Probably she had to get the kids home to bed.

Skye walked over to Peter, who shook his head when he saw her coming. “No more nagging,” he said. “I can’t handle it.”

“I wasn’t going to nag you. Just wanted to say hello, and tell you that you look spiffy in that leather jacket. Very Justin Bieber.”

“Oh, yeah? Nice dress for a garden party and canapés.”

“My mother forced me to wear it.”

“Mine, too.” He laughed. “Going to a party sober isn’t much fun, is it? Want to go visit the horses?”

“Can’t. I have to wait for Mr. Vigil to introduce everybody. Then I’m hitting the road.”

“Sorry I ditched you after that meeting.” He blinked nervously, and Skye could tell that apologizing was a big deal for him.

“Getting sober is your choice, Peter. I just showed you where the meetings are.”

“So does that mean you forgive me?”

“Nothing to forgive. Once you quit drinking, you’ll see. Forgiveness is the easiest thing ever.” She placed her hand on his jacket sleeve, picking a piece of straw off it. “I’ve been thinking about something,” Skye added, and pointed to her dad, saying good-bye to Margaret. “Whether you decide to quit drinking or not, Pete, we have to find a way to get along. They’re going to get married. You can practically smell it on them. There will be holidays we’re invited to. Dinners where we both have to show up. We have to find a way to get along, because we’re going to be family.”

He frowned. “Only because it says so on a piece of paper.”

“Are you always this crabby?”

“I suppose I am.”

Skye nudged him with her elbow. “Pete, lighten up. You’ve gotta roll with the punches, or trust me, you’ll never get laid again.” Peter stood there with his mouth open, and before she walked away, Skye wished a fly would zip in there.

Mr. Vigil tapped the microphone to get everyone’s attention. Skye tensed up, hoping he’d finally get to the staff introductions so she could leave this shindig and drive to Truth or Consequences.

“Tonight I’m surrounded by the most generous hearts in our community,” he said. “Our mission with Reach for the Sky is to help struggling children and traumatized adults from all walks of life to overcome difficulties by teaching them horsemanship.

“Phase one of the operation is our riding program for the physically handicapped. To begin with, it will run two days a week. The seeds of phase two have been planted,” he continued. “The most important endeavor at Reach for the Sky is to help those with invisible issues, from those who have undergone trauma to juvenile offenders. As you know, hurt manifests in different ways.

“New Mexico has been called ‘the Land of Enchantment’ since 1879,” Joe continued. “It’s a great state, filled with history, talented artists, and multiple cultures, but it’s also home to a high rate of domestic violence and an unacceptably low high school graduation rate. We hope the programs at Reach for the Sky will make a small dent in those numbers. Already we have one renowned psychologist on staff. We’re especially grateful to Ardith Clemmons.” He smiled and waved at the therapist to stand and be recognized. “We also have a score of volunteers ready to assist riders. What we need is simple: sponsors, donations, and community support.”

This was never going to end.

“That’s what tonight is really about,” Joe said. “Making this place succeed, and keeping it going. You’ll find a brochure in the goodie bag you’ll take home tonight as a small way for us to thank you. It’s filled with locally sourced items, from my father’s Hatch green chile to a Navajo Christmas ornament, a jar of Bucking Bee locally produced honey, and even a signature Reach for the Sky wristwatch, designed exclusively for us by Peyote Bird. One hundred percent of the earnings will go directly to Reach for the Sky. But enough about that. For tonight, please relax, enjoy the music, and fill yourselves on the wonderful food. Be sure to look over the auction items and bid frequently! The silent auction will end at eight
p.m.
In the meantime, our barn manager is ready to take you on tours of the facilities.”

Then he was done, and people clapped, and the Bosque Boys began to play music a person could dance the two-step to. The party was in full swing, with people talking, eating, and going to the auction table frequently. Skye supposed he wasn’t going to introduce staff after all, so she could finally get going. She needed to track down Mama and the gas money she’d promised. Skye saw Opal come in, dressed head to toe in another vintage Nudie Cohn suit. Her jacket was midnight blue, with a sky full of silver rhinestone stars winking from the shoulders, and the pencil skirt was like something out of a black-and-white movie. Her scarf was ivory velvet with satin flowers fixed to it. In her youth, Opal must have been quite the looker, Skye figured, because at eighty she was a grande dame. She waved at her, and Opal waved back. As hungry as she was, Skye ignored the taquitos, guacamole, beans, corn cakes, and rice. She was on a mission. Perhaps her mother was near the barn stalls. Skye walked as quickly as she could, ignoring everything that usually made her linger: the bales of hay stacked just so, the individual horses that nickered for attention, and the smell of the barn, with all its complex scents mingling. It could be bottled as a perfume, but it also had the unfortunate power to make a person cry.

Skye thought of foaling season at her old stable in Aurora, where she rode when she was little. Vets were on call twenty-four hours a day. Lots of horse owners stayed the night, in sleeping bags outside the stalls. In the horse world, birth was an arduous process. So many things could go wrong in an animal so poorly designed for pregnancy. In humans, a breech birth was no longer that big a deal. But when foals came out breech, things could and often did go horribly wrong.

Skye had seen foals taking their first steps on spindly legs, and though the babies were adorable, not all of them made it. A pregnant mare needed nearly as much prenatal care as a woman did. If a cheapskate owner skipped vital vaccines, nothing could make the baby right. But what truly broke Skye’s heart was the way the babies were weaned. Nursing was the most bonding of ties, and after the foals grew into colts and fillies, they were wrenched from the mares and moved to the far side of the barn, where they couldn’t even see their mothers. All day long, the mares and their offspring called to one another in distress, keening.

Which was exactly the way losing Gracie felt. Cruel. Unnecessary. There was no way to explain how tired she was of nothing going right in her life, of scaling a mountain every day only to find another taller one waiting. Not even Duncan’s Navajo stories could put a spin on that.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a plastic drink cup someone had set on a hay bale and forgotten about. Skye picked it up and held it under her nose, immediately recognizing a black and brown. The ice hadn’t even begun to melt. With tears rolling down her cheeks, she walked over to Lightning’s stall and watched him polish off the last of his sweet feed. Her hand was shaking. Here in the barn, where no one could see her, why the hell not drink the drink? It was a party. Everyone else was buzzed, bidding on stuff, all in the name of a good cause. It would be just one small drink. Who would find out? Her mother might have left the party already. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d left Skye high and dry. Skye had the cup halfway to her lips and was just about to take her first sip when she heard someone behind her clear his throat.

“Skye?”

She set the drink down on a bale of straw. Both relieved and angered by the distraction, she turned around to see Peter, and he had someone with him, too.

“I wanted you to meet my dad,” Peter said. “Skye, this is Raymond Sweetwater, my father, the film director.”

Except he wasn’t, at least not to Skye. Raymond Sweetwater was the man she knew as Tesuque, Mr. Black and Brown, who ordered the drink every night but never drank it. He had paid for her rehab, and there she was, on the verge of drinking. They looked at each other, and Skye smiled. “How lovely to meet you,” she said.

“And you as well,” he said, smiling back at her.

A few minutes later, she heard her phone buzz, indicating someone had left a message. Stupid ringer must have gotten turned off. After fishing it out of her purse, she went straight to the message:

Wolfgang Schneider here. Rocky Elliot has a bench warrant in Truth or Consequences. His last known address is . . .

Skye thought, Holyshitholyshitholyshit, my luck’s finally turning. She began to look for Sheila in earnest, because she needed that gas money. Or hell, maybe she’d drive for as long as the car took her and then just pull over and walk.

Skye found Mama waiting by the car, clasping her blanket coat around her, looking up at the star-studded sky.

“Mama! Where have you been? I was looking all over for you.”

“Just standing here watching the stars,” she said. “Making wishes.”

That was going to be a discussion for another time. “I finally got a lead on Rocky, so I have to go, like right now. This could be it. If all goes well, I could have my girl back by tomorrow.”