Book Four of the Winning Odds Series: Soon to be a Movie

by MaryAnn Myers

  “I’ve done something,” he said, wanting to get this over with. “I’m not proud of what I’ve done, though at the time I thought I was doing the right thing, only now….”

  Tears welled up in Lucy’s eyes. “Junior, what have you done? You’re scaring me. I don’t even think I want to know.”

  “Well, you’re going to know soon enough, so….”

  Lucy braced herself for the worst news possible.

  “Remember when I said I bought Max on the cuff. Well, I did, but…in hopes of paying us back when he wins.”

  “Us?”

  “Our savings.”

  Lucy pressed her hand to her chest, eyes widened in disbelief. “My tuition money?”

  Junior hesitated for an agonizing few seconds. “Yes.”

  “You just pissed away my tuition money like that! You didn’t ask me. You didn’t care what I thought. You just went ahead and did it!”

  “The opportunity presented itself and I didn’t have time to quibble.”

  “Quibble? Since when is my future career as a nurse about quibbling?”

  “Your future? I thought it was our future!”

  When Lucy glanced over his shoulder and saw Liz and Señor headed this way, she lowered her voice. “I think my dad was right about you.”

  “Oh really?”

  “Shhh…” she said.

  Junior turned. “Aw, Jesus!”

  They were still a good distance away. Lucy had the last say. “I knew I’d never get to go to nursing school. I just knew it. I was trying to make sure I could take over for Vicky when she retired and we'd have a home here for Julie forever and now it's never going to happen. It’s never ever going to happen.”

  Ch apter Seventeen

  When Wesesa said she knew the way, she wasn’t kidding. She knew every road, every field, and every shortcut. She knew many of the women in the various villages they passed through, knew their various dialects. “When you walk, you must stop and rest,” she said, her voice vibrating from the wind in the open Jeep. “Uganda people are welcoming.”

  Dawn glanced over her shoulder and smiled, her long auburn hair billowing everywhere. “That’s what my Aunt Maeve always said. Hold on.” Another bump.

  Virginia pressed her hand to her stomach.

  “Do you have to go?” Dawn asked.

  “I hate to say so, but yes.”

  They’d stopped many times along the way. At first Dawn looked for a discreet area, some weeds. “Open is better,” Wesesa said. Dawn had also started out pulling off to the side.

  “No need. No one is around.”

  Pit stops were now done right on the road. Virginia climbed down and less than a minute later was climbing back in. “I feel like Hansel in Hansel and Gretel. I have left a trail of tissue.”

  Wesesa and Dawn laughed. “I love that story,” Wesesa said. “It has a good meaning.”

  “Oh?” Virginia said.

  “Do not harm the children. No good will come to you if you do.”

  Dawn smiled at her in the rearview mirror. “Do you have children, Wesesa?”

  “Village children. I have many.”

  They bounced along the road for another five miles or so and then the village of Mangeni lay ahead. “It is named after a medicine woman from a long time ago. Very few people come to Mangeni. Mostly children.”

  Dawn glanced at her again in the rearview mirror. Her voice had taken on such a sudden sad tone.

  “Illness. Deformity.” She drew a breath and sighed. “So many.”

  Dawn downshifted into low gear when they reached the village and crept along. There were children everywhere - running, playing, waving.

  “Cleft palate,” Virginia said. “It’s rampant.”

  A skinny dog barked at the Jeep and ran along nipping at the tires and wagging his tail. Two little girls, seemingly perfect in every way, were blowing bubbles. Dawn smiled. Bubbles? Her Aunt Maeve loved bubbles and always brought a bottle each for Maria, Maeve, and D.R. whenever she came to visit. Recalling the last time her Aunt came home and how happy they all had been, Dawn swallowed hard and smiled at the little girls.

  “AIDS,” Virginia said, in a soft voice.

  Dawn turned.

  A tall woman stepped out from under an awning of one of the huts and squealed to Wesesa. Wesesa squealed and waved back. “Abbo! Abbo! I am queen for a day!”

  Dawn and Virginia laughed as the children, all jumping up and down and giggling, crowded around the Jeep when it stopped.

  “Is Abbo Wesesa’s sister?” Dawn asked Virginia.

  “Sister, cousin, friend. All the same.”

  Wesesa climbed down out of the Jeep and ran to hug Abbo. Virginia headed for the privy. Many more women appeared from inside the huts, more laughter, more hugging. Dawn climbed down out of the Jeep and found herself standing next to a little girl with bright eyes and a disfigured smile.

  When the little girl saw sadness on Dawn’s face she started to cry. Not a little, a lot, and was wailing within seconds. Dawn reached down instinctively and picked her up to comfort her. “What’s the matter? It’s okay. It’s okay.”

  The little girl buried her face against Dawn’s neck and held on tight with her skinny, little arms. “Why is she crying?” Dawn asked, of any and all of the women looking at her. “What’s wrong?”

  She feared they would say the little girl was in pain, that she was hungry, that she….

  “She knows,” Wesesa said, covering her heart. “She knows.”

  Dawn was stunned. This child’s sadness was because of her? “It’s all right, sweetheart. I’m all right. I’m all right. Don’t cry.”

  The little girl’s wailing turned to whimpering as Dawn followed the women to a common gathering area of makeshift seats from salvaged planks, still trying to comfort the child. “What’s your name?”

  “She does not talk well,” Wesesa said. “Her name is Nabulingi. We call her Nabu.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Seven.”

  She was as small as a three-year-old.

  The women all sat talking, catching up, sharing, and when the child stopped crying and climbed off Dawn’s lap, Wesesa introduced Dawn and Virginia. “Virginia helps with the beads. Dawn is here,” she said, pausing. “She is here to find out about her Aunt Maeve.”

  The village women, young and old, looked at her suddenly with fear in their eyes - Abbo and several others started talking fast and frantic in a mix of Uganda and English. Wesesa tried calming them and translated. “They say they told the men everything. She drowned. That is all they know.”

  Dawn looked at them, looked at the little child. Why were they so frightened? A moment ago they were happy, welcoming. “I need to see where.” Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked at each and every one of them. “Can someone please show me where?”

  The women all stared, afraid to even move. Wesesa asked again on Dawn’s behalf. “This woman has come a long way. She wants to put her Aunt Maeve to rest. Let us eat and think how we would feel.”

  One woman nodded, then another, then Abbo, then all but one. Wesesa singled her out. “Take Virginia and Dawn to the clinic. Show them.”

  The woman stood hesitantly and led the way.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ben walked out onto his front porch with the newspaper and a cup of coffee. He’d gotten used to decaf over the years, but every so often, such as now, he found himself looking into the cup for some evidence of taste. Where did it go?

  Wendy joined him and took a seat in the nearby rocker. “Can we talk?” she asked, adding, “Off the record?”

  Ben chuckled. “I’m not sure I want to, but go ahead.” Since Leon and the film crew had arrived, they’d all gotten into the habit of using that ‘off the record’ term when broaching a touchy subject. She pretended to check under the table for the director, just in case. Ben had gotten accustomed to looking for Leon everywhere as well. He pointed to a crow up in a tree flapping its wings. “Is that him?�
�

  Wendy smiled. “He’s a pain in the butt, but I actually think he’s doing an excellent job. Nothing gets by him.”

  Ben nodded, agreeing.

  “Jeff Henderson came in to talk to me today.”

  “About his dad?”

  Wendy nodded. “He’s worried about him.”

  From where they sat they could see several of the old-timers sitting on their back porch. They could hear them laughing. “He’ll be fine,” Ben said. “Cracker Jack’s one of the happiest men I’ve ever known.”

  “Jeff’s afraid there’s something he’s not telling him about his health.”

  “Well, that could very well be, but that’s his right.”

  “I know. That’s what I told him. But he is his son.”

  Cracker Jack stood up just then, holding his arms out wide and obviously telling a story, his wild and crazy hair as loud and boisterous as his voice. And then the laughter. “He used to have Meg laughing till she cried. Did you see his new trolley?”

  “Oh yes. He insisted I go for a ride. It was fun! He said he’s taking it in tomorrow to have some lettering put on it.”

  “I can only imagine.” Ben laughed.

  “I heard from Richard. He says he thinks it went well at the hearing.”

  “Now that’s a man doing a good job,” Ben said. “Glad he and I didn’t part ways.”

  “Me too.”

  Ben looked at her. “So is that it?”

  “Yes. Sorta. No.”

  “Hmph.” Ben sat back and the two of them just rocked in their chairs for a moment. “Tom okay?”

  “Yes.”

  On the road, just the other side of the pastures they could see Junior and Lucy out for a walk. “That boy concerns me,” Ben said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Ah. Nothing major, hopefully.”

  Wendy looked at him. “I was really concerned about the earthquake damage. It wasn’t just the wall, it was the foundation too.”

  “Everything under control?”

  Wendy nodded. “It’s going to cost more than we thought, but there’s no choice. It had to be done.”

  “Are you telling me we’re broke?”

  Wendy chuckled. “No. Not with the Casino. That’ll help us cover any gaps in insurance.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Richard’s got some woman leaving him mysterious messages.”

  Ben glanced at her.

  “It’s always the same thing. ‘Don’t be late, Janet.’ I hope it’s nothing.”

  Ben stared across the pasture. Lucy was walking way out in front of Junior now. He shook his head and sighed. “Well, at least he told her. Hope he told her the truth.”

  “What? What do you mean?”

  Ben waved a hand. “Are we still off the record?”

  Wendy smiled.

  “He used Lucy’s tuition money to buy their horse.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “No.” He shook his head.

  “Oh boy….”

  Lucy was putting more and more distance between her and Junior.

  “I think Dusty needs to go to the doctor.”

  “He’ll be fine.”

  Wendy paused. “I don’t think so. I think there’s something more than gout going on.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Where’s Tom?”

  “At a prayer meeting. Dusty went with him.”

  “Well, that’s odd. Dusty going.”

  “I know.” The two of them watched as Lucy marched up onto the back porch at T-Bone’s Place and headed straight inside. Junior got into his truck and drove away. “Randy hasn’t heard from Dawn.”

  “I’m sure she’s fine.”

  “It’s been over twenty-four hours. He said he’d be going crazy if it weren’t for the phone reception being so erratic. Yesterday she couldn’t get through to his cell and phoned home.”

  “She didn’t phone home today?”

  “No.”

  Ben glanced up the driveway at their house. Randy’s truck was gone.

  “I heard from Gordon.” Gordon, her oldest son was in Europe.

  “Is he okay?”

  Wendy nodded.

  “What about Matthew?”

  “He’s okay too. He and Hillary went to a Bruce Springsteen concert in Pittsburgh yesterday. They’ll be here Saturday. They’re coming home tonight.” With that, she stood and touched Ben on the shoulder on her way back inside the house. “Thanks for listening.”

  “You too,” he said, adding, “Is there any more cherry pie?”

  “Do you want ice cream with it?”

  “That would be great.”

  Wendy looked at him from the screen door. “I love you, Ben.”

  Ben smiled. “You too. Thanks for taking such good care of me and not going sappy on me like this all the time.”

  Wendy laughed. “My pleasure.”

  ~ * ~

  Tom and Pastor Mitchell sat waiting for Dusty to be discharged from the emergency room. Diagnosis: infected broken toe. Treatment: a walking cast and antibiotics. Dusty hobbled out on crutches. “See, I told you it was nothing.”

  “No. You said it was gout,” Tom said.

  “How long on the cast?” Pastor Mitchell asked.

  “Six weeks.”

  “How in the hell did you break your toe and not know?” Tom asked.

  “Uh.” Dusty balanced himself on the crutches to rest that leg. “Oh wait, I left my boot.”

  As if on cue, an orderly hurried out the door after them. “Here, sir.”

  Dusty tried tucking it under one arm and ended up handing it to Pastor Mitchell. “They said judging from the x-ray and scar tissue apparently I‘ve broken it numerous times over the years. That’s probably why it got so infected so soon. There was a red line under the bottom of my foot going up to the back of my leg.”

  “Idiot,” Tom said.

  Dusty laughed and so did Pastor Mitchell. “Are you in a lot of pain?”

  “No. I don’t feel a thing. They said I will though. They blocked it, so they could relieve the pressure. Glad I didn’t feel that ‘cause it wasn’t pretty.”

  When he climbed up into Tom’s truck and adjusted the crutches in front of him, Pastor Mitchell handed him his boot. “Are you supposed to rest it or what?”

  “I’ll be fine. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Tom rolled down his window as he pulled past Pastor Mitchell walking to his car. “If I’m not bailing someone out of jail or springing someone from a hospital, I ain’t happy.”

  Pastor Mitchell waved.

  When they pulled out onto the road towards home Dusty leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Tom looked at him. “You okay?”

  Dusty nodded. “I think I learned my lesson. When I heard the mention of surgery, I didn’t want any part of that.”

  “Maybe you should stay home for a few days and give it a rest.”

  “I’ll be fine. I’ll just walk slow. It’s just one toe. How hard can it be?”

  ~ * ~

  Richard’s wife Heather was waiting up for him when he returned home from Washington D.C. “Who’s Janet?” she asked, without so much as a hello or I missed you,

  “I don’t know. Some woman that keeps leaving me messages. Why? Did she call here?”

  “No. I stopped by the track today to leave a surprise for you in your office. Only the real surprise was this note taped to the door.” She attempted to throw it across the room at him but it only went about a foot in the air and fell to the floor.

  Richard picked it up and read it as he walked to the bar and poured himself a drink. Same message - Don’t be late. Janet. “Who is this woman?” he turned and looked at Heather as he sipped his drink. “Do we even know a Janet?”

  “I know a Janet,” she said, glaring at him. “Janet Davidson from the club.”

  “Her? She wrote this?”

  “I don’t know. I’m asking yo
u.”

  “Why would she write this note to me? I don’t think I’ve ever even talked to her. Have I?”

  “Oh, you have this act down pat. You’re very believable. If I didn’t know better, even I would believe you.”

  “Are you saying you know better? You know who this is?”

  Heather got up from her chair and stomped out of the room. “I’m not talking to you anymore.”

  “Good!” Richard called after her. “Oh, and when you find out who Janet is, let me know!” He walked to the bottom of the stairs. “Bet Janet would have welcomed me home! Whoever she is!”

  Heather slammed the bedroom door shut with a resounding bang.

  “Cheers!”

  ~ * ~

  Randy’s second-to-last stop for the night was at Shifting Gears to check on the horse that had been in the fire. Veronica and Karen were all smiles. “He’s been up and down a lot,” Karen said. “But he stood still to eat and that’s a huge improvement.” These two women were accustomed to baby steps and small victories in the long road of recovery for the trauma horses that ended up in their care.

  “Hillary was here and said he wants to go out with other horses,” Veronica said. “What do you think?”

  “Well….” Randy paused. There was a lot to consider. The shoulder wound could possibly suffer a setback if the horse went out and started rolling. Then again, he was in the barn on a dirt floor - another one of the young psychic’s suggestions: a natural surface. The horse was still weak, so chances are he wouldn’t be running hard, if at all. He’d have to be turned out with a horse equally as quiet.

  “She said he misses his herd. He doesn’t understand death.”

  “Neither do I,” Randy said, as the horse looked at him through the double fly masks. “I’ll leave a little ace for him. Give it to him a half hour before you turn him out. Who do you plan to turn him out with?”

  “We’re thinking Daisy. Hillary said he told her his best friend was a chestnut filly.”

  Randy chuckled. “Oh, he did, did he? Did you coerce her into saying that?” he asked the horse. “You’re going to be fine. Look at you. Chestnut filly.” The horse rubbed his nose up against Randy’s hand.