by Ann Hunter
Carol leaned back in the seat, wreathed in a grin, and pretty sure she was blushing. “Maybe I’m a little bit country, and Alex is a little bit rock’n’roll.”
Dejado laughed, albeit with a note of nervousness still stuck in his voice. “Best of both worlds.”
***
Alex crouched over Speedy, her muscles tense in a racing stance. She braced against the irons, struggling not to wobble.
Brooke was beside her and promptly grabbed Alex’s racing whip from her and smacked her smartly in the behind with it. “Get your butt down. It’s half your problem.”
Alex grimaced and curled up over the haybale, grunting in annoyance, “This hurts.”
Brooke busied herself correcting Alex’s form. “Good. It’s supposed to.”
Alex’s body trembled, not used to the tension in her muscles. She huffed in frustration and sat down on the racing saddle strapped to Speedy, and frowned at Brooke. “This is too hard. Can’t I just practice on the equiciser?”
Brooke’s gaze was stern. “You think this is hard? How ‘bout we strap you to the hood of Pop’s car in racing stance, and drive around at fifty miles per hour. Racing Thoroughbreds is no different. Now get up.”
Alex’s grimace tightened. She got back into position, but not without a biting remark. “You just want an excuse to stare at my ass.”
Brooke swiftly knocked her in the back of the head with the handle of the whip.
Alex clutched her hair. “Ow!”
“Watch your mouth. Your attitude makes up the other half of your problem.”
“I don’t have a problem. What’s yours anyway? Can’t get the Old Man off your back about me?”
“You don’t get to talk about him to me. I’m the one doing you a favor, Al. You wanna ride for North Oak? You’d better fix your problems and earn the right.”
“I got a thousand problems, but riding isn’t one of ‘em. So what?”
Brooke chewed her lip. Alex chucked her in the shoulder. “C’mon, put me on Promenade. Sneak me on if you have to. Let’s show the old fart what I can do. Please.”
Alex clasped her hands together, pouched her lip, and hoped she mimicked Dejado’s pathetic puppy eyes to apply to Brooke’s better nature.
Brooke gazed back, looking utterly unamused, but Alex refused to give up.
“With s’mores,” she pipped. “The kind with the chocolate caramel bar and Hill’s best cookies. Smothered in ice cream and a cherry on top.”
Brooke rolled her eyes, shoving Alex off Speedy. “You’re hopeless.”
Alex grinned up at her from the dusty ground. “Is that a yes?”
Brooke sighed. “Alright. Fine. Yes.”
Alex fell back, punching both fists in the air.
***
“She’s ready.”
“Ready,” Joe spat. “You’re ruining her, and you don’t even know it.”
Brooke chucked her plate in the sink without even looking. “I’m ruining her?” She shouted back. “Let’s talk about how she gets along with Promenade and can sit a stakes horse with the best of them. And every time you put Dejado on, she dies inside. And you say I’m ruining her?”
Joe’s chin quivered. He wiped his lower lip. “Get out.”
“Just give her a chance, Pop,” Brooke pleaded.
“Get. Out.”
Brooke grasped the front door knob. “Y’know, Pop. I’m not the problem. You are.”
“If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have problems.”
“Way to stick your foot in your mouth, Pop. Y’want some milk to wash that down with?”
“Gin’s fine.”
“Sorry. Fresh out.” Brooke slammed the door behind her.
Joe stood there momentarily, staring at the dark wood, believing the door would reopen any second. She’d forget something, or maybe apologize. But soon enough, the silence of his old apartment drilled into him. He rounded on his heel and braced against the sink.
A pang in his heart made him grip the cool ceramic tighter. He willed himself to stop it. This was no time to go soft. She’d come back. Where else could she go?
The pulse near his knee, low in the cabinet, drew him like a magnet. If he reached down and peeked, maybe he’d find a drop of Jim Beam kicking about.
His hand trembled on the knob. One swift tug and the cabinet opened, revealing bottles for sure… but none of them liquor. Joe kicked the door closed. And kicked it again for good measure.
Damn her.
PAY IT FORWARD
Twenty years prior…
Dot sat on the examination table in her favorite dress. Joe tried not to notice the strain etched in her pale face, or the way she stared blankly at the floor, but it was impossible not to glance over the edge of the Sports Illustrated magazine he held. How many times had he read the same damn sentence?
“Are you cold?” he asked, wishing there was more he could do to lighten the thick blanket of gnawing nervousness settling into the room.
She shook her head, wordlessly.
Joe snapped the magazine, not that it made the pages any less wrinkled. He’d soon rub the picture clean in this dog-eared edge here. What would the doctor tell them about the blood Dot had been coughing? He swallowed, trying to convince himself it wasn’t anything serious. That they hadn’t found anything wrong in the CT scan. How long had Dot been staining her kerchief and not telling him? She wasn’t the type to keep secrets, but she was the type of person that wouldn’t want to burden you.
Joe tossed the magazine aside and rose. He removed his light jacket and wrapped Dot up in it, then stuffed his hands into his pockets with a deep sigh. They’d been waiting forever. Why did the nurse always rush you in, only to wait for an hour? All the waiting wasn’t helping the situation. Joe smoothed his hand over his hair. He and Dot had barely spoken.
Finally they heard a scrape against the door, and the handle jiggled. A young man, at least by Joe’s standards, entered the room in a white lab coat. He filed through a manila folder without even looking at them. “Dorothy Hendricks?”
The one and only; Dot lifted her hand. Like it wasn’t obvious. Like Joe was invisible anyway.
The doctor offered a smile, but it was brief. “Hey, Doll.”
Joe frowned. Young sprout had some nerve. “Get on with it,” Joe muttered.
“I’m Doctor Wade.” He shook Joe’s hand, then sighed. “There’s no easy way to say this. I was hoping for a better result.” Joe grit his teeth, bracing for the worst. “Well?”
Wade glanced between them. “Stage three small cell carcinoma. It’s spreading through her lungs and lymph nodes. There are treatment plans we can consider to extend the life she has left.”
Dot dropped her head into her hands, covering her face. Joe was swift to her side. He took her hand and rubbed her back. Lung cancer. How could this be? She’d never smoked a day in her life. “This can’t be right. You got the wrong file.”
“I’m sorry.” Doctor Wade turned to Dot. “I know this is not good news for you. It’s time to set your affairs in order.”
She covered her mouth, nodding.
No, no. This wasn’t happening. Joe’s hand couldn’t help but clutch his coat on his wife’s back, crinkling it in his fist. The diagnosis couldn’t be right.
“At some point, treatment may do more harm than good. When that happens, I promise I will do all that I can to ensure your comfort and dignity.”
“The hell you will,” Joe snarled. He grasped Dot’s elbow to help her up. “C’mon.”
But the look she gave him eased the overwhelming shock within. Her voice was as soft as still water. “Joseph.”
Doctor Wade laid a hand on Joe’s shoulder that was instantly shrugged off. Joe paced, squeezing the back of his own neck.
“In my experience,” Doctor Wade started to say.
Joe rounded on him. “What experience? You’re barely a whelp.”
“Joseph,” Dot said again.
Wade cleared his throat. “Yes, wel
l. I’m a whelp with a very expensive degree.”
Dot reached for Joe. “Let’s listen to what he has to say.”
Joe closed his eyes for a moment, forcing himself to pull it together for her. He reached behind him, and took her hand.
“In my experience, Mister Hendricks, the patient’s partner is their best medicine. I need you to help me give her her best chance.”
Joe had just gotten Dot comfortable at home when he answered a knock at the front door. He peeked out tiredly, not wanting to be bothered. Angelina peeked through the other side right back at him. “Hi, boss.”
Joe sighed and opened the door wider.
“I brought soup,” Angelina said cheerily, hoisting a thermos.
“She’s on a special diet. She can’t—“
“I know. Dad told me.” She turned to him, backing down the hall. “It’s bone broth. From the grass-fed cows down the road. It’s supposed to be really good for your immune system.”
“You’ll never take no for an answer, will you?”
Angelina shrugged. “I’m a North. I don’t think it’s in me.”
Joe rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s sleeping now.”
“Oh.” Angelina paused. “So you want me to put it in your fridge or what?”
Even that didn’t get her out of the house. Couldn’t she come back later, or leave it with him when they met in the morning? He motioned toward the kitchen. “Go ahead.”
“Dad doesn’t know it, but I’ve been learning to cook. I can make her some tomato soup, if you’d like?”
That was Dot’s favorite. He couldn’t say no. Not that the girl would take that answer anyway. She’d only show up on his doorstep again with another thermos, he was sure of it. He nodded grudgingly.
Angelina rustled through the fridge. “How do you find anything in here?” She peered over the fridge door after securing a place for the thermos. “Tomorrow I’m coming over and organizing this thing.”
Joe shook his head. She didn’t have to do that. If he got after Rowan….
“By the way,” Angelina said, brushing her hands off. “Dad wants to see you.”
He followed her to the door. “What about?”
She simply smiled to him, letting herself out. “You’ll see.”
Clay knew Dot was sick. He wouldn’t ask to see Joe unless it was important. Joe checked on his wife to make sure she was still sleeping, then grabbed his cap and jacket and headed to the main office. He knocked softly on the door frame. “You wanted to see me?”
Clay glanced up from a pile of papers he was signing through. “Have a seat.” He pressed a button near the corner of his desk. “Dot could you send in—“ He paused. “Oh, right.”
Joe grimaced. His wife had been the receptionist for as long as he’d been head trainer. How were they going to manage now?
“I’ll have to find a replacement,” Clay said.
Joe gripped the arms of the chair. With only one paycheck coming in now, how would they swing basics? How would he afford groceries and medical treatment? It was all too overwhelming.
The chair beside him stirred as another party sat down. Angelina touched his elbow.
Joe couldn’t look at her. It felt like they were there to break the worst news to him yet. Please don’t let it be he was out of a job. He’d given them his all, hadn’t he? He clenched his teeth, bracing for the sucker punch.
Clay leveled his gaze on him. “We want to pay for Dot’s treatment.”
We? Pay? Joe looked to Angelina.
“Actually, I want to donate my winnings.”
Joe’s breath hitched. “I can’t let you do that.”
“Please,” Clay said. “It’s the least we can do.”
Joe stared at Angelina, then looked to his boss.
“Don’t look at me,” Clay laughed. “It was her idea.”
“The broth was just an excuse to talk to Dot about it,” Angelina murmured. “I knew you wouldn’t go for it.”
Clay crossed to him, placing one hand on Joe’s back, and the other taking his hand. “Let your pride stand down just this once, my friend.”
Joe stared into space, all jumbled up inside. Finally he looked up. “Why? Why do this?”
“We’re all here because of you,” Angelina persisted. “I’m a millionaire at sixteen. What kid needs that kind of money? I already have everything I could want.”
Joe dropped his face into his hand, shaking his head.
“We’re a family, Joseph,” Clay said. “And while we may not have it altogether, together we can give it our all.”
***
Present day…
“It just slipped out,” Joe mumbled as North glared at him from across his great desk. “Honestly, son. I thought Hillary would have had the decency to tell her before now. Not my fault you shot yourself in the foot.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that?” North launched to his feet, bracing on his desk. “It has to be someone’s fault. You’re lucky I don’t fire you this instant.”
Joe laughed. “You wouldn’t last a second without me.”
North hammered his desk with his fist and sat back down. He clutched the tumbler of ice and gin. For a moment, Joe worried he might break it.
North pursed his lips as he thought. The heat and silence in the room thickened between them. His eyes finally shifted to Joe. “You’re gonna make up for this.”
Joe gripped the arms of his chair, pushing himself up. “Sure, son. Can I get back to my horses now?”
North looked like he could spit as he jerked his head in the direction of the door. “Get out.”
Joe didn’t make it far from the office, stopping in the tack room of the training barn to jot down a few notes on the whiteboard. He was about to move on with his day when he halted in the doorway, listening to two voices a few stalls down.
“Have you thought about getting away from him?”
“You have no idea.”
“Maybe this is too forward of me, but… I have room.”
Joe peered around the corner to see Brooke and Dejado. Brooke’s expression was skeptical at the boy’s proposal, with one eyebrow cocked.
“I promise it wouldn’t be weird,” the boy said.
Brooke folded her arms, still looking unconvinced.
Dejado smiled sheepishly. “Alright, perhaps a little weird. But my offer stands. We could make it work if you want to get out of that place.”
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“Move in with me.”
Joe grit his teeth, but only to silence the hitch in his breath, like the bite of a bee sting.
“Won’t that look fishy? What will everyone say?”
Dejado grasped her elbows. “Let them talk. You and I both know where we stand with eachother.”
Joe watched her close her eyes, noted the way her shoulders tensed. She braced against Dejado’s touch, but Joe could tell she was still carrying a torch for him. She was fighting to keep those feelings at bay, plain as the whiskers on Joseph’s jaw. He ground his teeth.
“At least think about it,” Dejado urged. “I worry for you, Egg.”
Hidden in the shadow of the doorway, Joe shut his eyes, overcome by an old memory.
“You can’t leave with your mother like this. Think what it’ll do to her. To me.”
“You know what, Pop? Drink your booze. I don’t even care anymore. I’m out.”
“Out? What do you mean you’re out? You’re running off with him aren’t you?”
“You’ve pushed me, and pushed me, and pushed me, and I just can’t take it anymore!”
“Don’t come runnin’ to me when he leaves you high and dry.”
Rowan grabbed a box by the front door filled with her things. “You can make your own dinner from now on, wash your own dishes and laundry, fix your own coffee. I’m done.”
“Rowan!” Joe choked as the door slammed.
Joe tipped his head back and let out a long, pent up breath when
Brooke and Dejado moved on. He rubbed his face, aware of the age and roughness to it, and let out a soft groan. It was happening again.
Joe sat in the green chair by the front door of his apartment. He leaned his chin in his fingertips, absently scraping his whiskers. Brooke would be home any minute.
“Hey Pop,” she chimed when the door swung open. She hung her baseball cap on the coat rack behind him.
“You’re leaving me,” he said emptily.
“What?”
“I heard you in the barn earlier.” He turned in the chair, looking up at her. “Why are you doing this to me?” he asked. “Is it sex?”
Brooke turned beet red. “Even if I was into him, I wouldn’t…” She stammered, “We wouldn’t.” She threw her hands forward plaintively. “Dejado’s the safest guy I could room with. He’s the least of your worries.”
She marched past him to the kitchen, avoiding eye contact. For a moment, Joe worried he’d said the wrong thing.
“You and that boy. He already broke your heart once. If he did it again…”
“Is that what you’re afraid of?” She peered from behind the open freezer door. “I’ll run off with some boy that will break my heart again and leave you with another problem? The way mom did. I think I always knew that’s how you felt about me. That mom came back when she was sick, and dumped me on you when she died.”
He followed her to the edge of the kitchen. “It’s not like that.”
“And I’m not like mom.” Brooke said as she took a supper she already prepared and placed it on the counter. She started taking the tinfoil off, then shoved the glass dish in the oven.
“You pushed her past a breaking point,” she continued. “She told me once when I was really little. I didn’t understand at the time, but I do now. And I won’t let that happen to us, Pop.” She turned, leaning against the counter top, arms folded. “I’m barely seventeen, and I’m already there. I can’t do this anymore.” She shook her head. “That’s why I have to leave. So we don’t break each other.”
She moved off to her room to grab a few things, and paused before him with it all wadded up under her arm. Her touch on his whiskers softened his resolve. “Dinner’s in the oven. I’m putting Alex on Promenade in the morning.”