CHAPTER • 13
“Does that mean we’ll have a new grandma?”
“Does it, DJ?” the other twin asked.
DJ pushed back her chair. Not bothering to catch it before it hit the ground, she fled from the scene. Into the house, out the front door, down the street. She ran as if a pack of angry wolves panted at her heels.
Vaguely, over the pounding of her feet and heart, she could hear someone calling her name. Down a hill, up another. Her chest ached. Her side ached. Could a broken heart still beat? Gran is getting married. Gran is leaving me. Am I so terrible that everyone wants to leave me?
She leaned against a metal lamppost, her breath coming in searing agony.
“Darla Jean Randall, get in this car immediately.”
It couldn’t be her mother’s voice. She’d left them all behind. DJ bent forward, her strangled breathing beginning to slow. “You hear me?” A person grabbing her arm accompanied the voice.
DJ twisted around and looked into her mother’s angry face. Fury radiated from Lindy’s eyes, her mouth, the deep lines in her cheeks. DJ noticed these as if from a great distance. She swung around and let herself be hustled into the open door of her mother’s car. She sank into the seat, snapped shut the seat belt, and locked her arms over her chest.
“What is the matter with you? You’ve broken your grandmother’s heart. And on a day that should be so happy for her! You ruined it. What a selfish brat you’ve become! Darla Jean, are you listening to me?”
“Sure I am. You’re yelling right in my ear.” You can’t make me cry. I won’t let you. The words echoed in her head and helped her clench her teeth tighter, till they felt as though they might crack.
“I think I could beat you within an inch of your life.”
“Go ahead. I don’t care.”
“All these years Gran has cared for you—and when she needs you, you run away like a spoiled brat. And in front of all those people! I was so embarrassed I could die.”
“Sure, you were embarrassed. Well, I’m so sorry. The great Lindy Randall was embarrassed.” DJ wanted to stop, but words kept coming. “All those nice people, what will they think? I don’t care what they think. I never wanted to meet them anyway.” I won’t cry. You can’t make me.
“When we get home, I’m going to lock you in your room until you’re sorry or—” Lindy swerved away from a car that she almost cut off.
“You better watch your driving.” DJ wished she’d bit the words back before they leaped into the air, but biting back words didn’t seem to be her skill at the moment. I’m a real motor mouth. All this time I’ve been praying about my temper, and now look at me. What good has it done? The thought made her scrunch her eyes shut. If she started to cry now, she might never stop. But one lone tear made it past her dam. One tear that slid down her face and dripped off her chin.
DJ refused to wipe it away. If she did, the rest might follow. Gran, Mom—I’m so sorry.
“We’ll finish this discussion when we get home.”
DJ sneaked a peak at her mother; all she could see were white-knuckled hands clenching the steering wheel. The force of the driver’s door slamming shut when they finally parked in their garage shook the whole car.
DJ stayed in the car. Maybe if she gave her mother some time alone, she’d calm down. And maybe a comet will strike us first. DJ sank lower in her seat. How would anyone forgive her? She’d never overreacted like this before. But when Gran got married, she’d leave them. Or what if Joe decided to move in? The thought sent her rocketing from the car. He’d probably just throw her in jail, claim she was a juvenile delinquent or something.
She got out and slammed the door shut. Picking up her feet took an effort. Thankfully, her mother wasn’t in the kitchen, or the family room. The sounds of stirring came from upstairs. DJ stopped at the foot of the stairs. They loomed up in front of her like a mountain, and the pack she carried was too heavy to bear.
She started up. Selfish brat—guilty. Smart mouth—guilty. Terrible temper—guilty. One for each step of the way. All of them true. How could anyone forgive her for this mess? How could she forgive herself?
Once at the top, she started for her mother’s room. She could hear the shower running. A shower was her mom’s answer to everything; she said she could think better there than anywhere else.
DJ slunk into her own room and collapsed on the bed.
When she awoke, she could hear voices downstairs. She crept to the head of the stairs and sat down on the first step. The voices carried easily from the family room. Her mother, Gran, and of course, Joe.
Gran was crying.
Each sob was like a nail driving deep into the girl huddled against the wall. I made Gran cry. I broke her heart.
“Well, I think we should drag her down here and hash this out right now.” DJ could hear her mother’s pacing footsteps punctuating her speech. “We’ve been much too soft on her, Mother. It’s my fault, I should have been around more.”
“No, no . . . I just never thought she’d take our news like this.” Another sniff. “And we were so happy.”
“We will be, my dear, we will be. I promise you.” Joe’s voice rumbled.
“I’m going to get her. Now.” Lindy’s face appeared at the bottom of the stairs before DJ could disappear. “Good, you heard us. Now get down here.”
DJ felt like a little kid caught stealing. Her grandmother had been right. Eavesdroppers never heard anything good about themselves. She rose to her feet and clumped down the stairs. By the time she reached the bottom, she knew she had to tough it out. Whatever they dished out, she could take.
But the sight of Gran’s tear-washed face nearly did her in. All DJ wanted to do was run and bury her face in Gran’s lap to cry out all the pain and anger. To beg forgiveness.
“I think you should be grounded for life.” Her mother’s words brought her up short. There would be no lap for DJ, no gentle hands brushing the hair off her forehead for a forgiving kiss. Joe stood beside Gran’s chair as if to keep guard. As a policeman, he sure knew how.
“Say you’re sorry.”
The words stuck in her throat. Sorry didn’t begin to cover how she felt.
She looked from one face to the next. Joe hated her. Her mother hated her. And Gran, who never hated anyone, looked as if her heart would never mend.
“Sit.” Mom pointed to a chair in the middle of the room.
“I’ll stand.” DJ didn’t know where the words came from. She’d been going to say she was sorry. Instead, she glared down at the chair. Where was Joe’s bright light? Cops were supposed to be good at interrogating prisoners. When she raised her chin again, the steel was back in her spine.
“I wouldn’t let you go to the show tomorrow, but I know Bridget is depending on you. You’ll go to work and come straight home. No lessons. No riding for pleasure. I will leave a list of chores for you to do. There’ll be no phone, no television, and no time with Amy—except for the pony parties. You cannot put other people at a disadvantage because of your thoughtlessness.”
“Anything else?” DJ forced the words from between clamped teeth.
“Lindy, dear, you’re being too hard on her.” Gran’s soft voice made DJ nearly crack.
“No, Mother, keep out of this. We’ve been much too soft on her.” Lindy turned back to face DJ. “We’ll discuss this again in two weeks. Is there anything you’d like to say?”
Does a condemned prisoner get any last requests? DJ squared shoulders already so stiff they ached. “I’m sorry.”
Her mother shook her head. “I just wish I could believe you meant that.”
“Of course she meant . . .” Gran’s voice trailed off at a look from her daughter.
“May I be excused?” At her mother’s nod, DJ turned and marched back up the stairs.
She woke in the middle of the night, her face wet with tears. When she got up to go to the bathroom, she paused by Gran’s closed bedroom door. From inside she could hear the sounds of weep
ing. DJ tiptoed back to her own room. Maybe if she weren’t here, everything would be better.
The sun was just tinting the sky when she finally threw back the covers and got up. There was plenty to do at the Academy before they’d be ready to trailer all the horses. At least there everyone didn’t hate her. Other than James and Amy, of course. Both Gran and Mom were still sleeping when DJ silently let herself out of the house.
She threw herself into the work. She groomed horses, adjusted traveling sheets, and checked off lists to make sure all the tack was included. Loading went like a perfect drill.
She ignored the questioning look Bridget gave her and made sure she was always somewhere Amy and Mr. Yamamoto weren’t. When she finally slammed the door on the van Hilary was driving, she settled in for the ride.
“You okay?” Hilary asked just before putting the van in gear.
“Sure.” DJ pulled a list of the day’s events from her pocket. “How many classes you entered in today?”
If she kept busy enough, maybe, just maybe, she could forget the scene in the living room the night before. Maybe she could forget her grandmother crying in the night. Maybe she could forget the fact that her best friend hadn’t even said hello.
But more important, maybe she could turn off the voice inside her head that kept calling her names. Names in what sounded suspiciously like her mother’s voice.
The Sunday show ran even more smoothly than the one before, which only gave DJ more time to think.
“DJ, could you look at my stirrups for me?”
DJ whirled around from the rail where she leaned her chin on crossed hands. “Sure. Have you tried?”
The little girl looked up at her as if DJ had parked her brain somewhere and forgotten to pick it up. “ ’Course.”
“Sorry, just checking.” DJ turned and walked back to the line where the horses were tied. “Okay, mount up and face me.” DJ scrutinized both sides of the pony. “You sure you checked to see if your stirrups are the right length?”
A shrug was her answer. DJ smiled and shook her head. “Does the right one feel good? Great, then let’s move the left up a notch.” DJ followed her words with quick actions.
After patting the girl’s knee, DJ glanced over to where Amy had Josh tied.
“Second call for Western Pleasure, class number eleven,” came the tinny echo over the loudspeaker.
Amy mounted and trotted down the fence line to join the other contestants waiting by the entry gate.
“Go get ’em, Ames. You can take this one.” DJ whispered the words to empty air.
When she watched the English Pleasure class, DJ was certain she and Diablo would have taken first. The pair that won, while competent, just didn’t have the flair that she and Diablo had had. Oh, how she missed him! Watching from the sidelines was eating her alive.
“DJ, would you check with the registrar and see if Sondra is listed on the next class? Oh, and make sure James is listed in trail riding. He was trying to back out of it.” Bridget handed DJ a list of contestants from the Academy.
“Sure.” If James and his filly could back around the rails as well as he backed out of work, they’d win for sure. The thought made her wish she could share the joke with Amy.
The end of the day brought both relief and dread. She’d made it to the end of another show she couldn’t compete in—and now she had to go home. She dragged out putting things away as long as she could. All the horses were fed, watered, and hayed. Cut it out, DJ, you’re stalling. Her frustration goading her, she hopped on her bike and headed for home.
“Well, I hope you’re happy.” Her mother met her at the door.
“Now what did I do?”
“Because of your infantile actions yesterday, Joe and Gran have called off the wedding.”
“But . . .”
“Darla Jean Randall, I am so ashamed of you.”
“My name is DJ.” And you can’t be any more ashamed of me than I am.
CHAPTER • 14
If I ran away, where would I go?
The buzzing of the alarm jolted her wide awake.
The thought hadn’t been a dream actually; it felt more like a prodding. Must be pretty serious when even her subconscious thought about it. Maybe that was the easiest solution. They’d all be better off without her to worry about. Gran could get married so she and Joe would be happy. Mom wouldn’t have to worry about finding a place to live big enough for the two of them. At least she’d be out of their hair. And there was no horse for her to worry about leaving.
DJ buried her face in her pillow. Where would she go? How much money did she have?
She threw back the covers and crossed the room to her desk. Pulling her money box out of the center drawer, she set it on the desk and lifted the lid. Her bankbook read $345.88. She counted the bills and change. Another $36 and some change. A total of $382 and—she scrambled for the exact count—seventy-seven cents. How long could she possibly live on that?
I can get a job. I look older than I am. She peered at the face in the mirror. I could pass for sixteen, maybe even seventeen. But right now she needed to head for the Academy. At least there she had plenty to do and people to talk to. She stuck her bankbook in her jeans back pocket.
But when she pedaled past Amy’s house, it felt as if a giant fist smacked her in the gut. Riding up the first hill took more breath than the fist had left her. She downshifted. What about the pony parties? Could Amy handle them by herself? One of her brothers would surely help her.
Catching her breath on the downhill, she pumped like crazy up the next rise. Pump and coast. That seemed to be the story of her life. All ups and downs with few flat stretches. God, what am I gonna do? She coasted off the paved road and into the Academy parking lot. After work she would take all her money out of the bank. Tonight was as good a time as any to leave.
“DJ, you have a minute?” Bridget leaned on the fence observing as DJ finished her beginning riders’ class.
“Sure.” DJ turned back to her students. “Okay, time to walk your horses to cool them out, then head for the area behind the barn. Another class needs the arena.” She swung the gate open and smiled up at her girls.
“When are we going up in Briones again?” Krissie stopped halfway through the gate.
“Ah-h-h, soon. I’ll let you know next lesson.” DJ forced her mouth into a smile. She wouldn’t be here to take them up in the park again. Once she closed the gate, she joined Bridget at the rail.
“You really are good with them. One of the mothers told me her daughter keeps her room clean now just because you told her neatness is a key to performing well.” Bridget turned so she was leaning against the aluminum rail.
“Thanks. I like teaching.” DJ copied Bridget’s pose.
“You want to tell me what has been bothering you?”
DJ blinked. She thought she’d been keeping her thoughts to herself, not skywriting them for all to see. “Ah—just home stuff. It’ll all work out.” She could feel the heat flaming up her neck. One thing Gran had drummed in her head—never lie or cheat.
“Remember, I am here for you when you need me.” Bridget hooked a heel over the bottom rail. And waited.
DJ fought the tide of tears that threatened to swamp her. She swallowed, then swallowed again, her hands clenched by her side. How can I just disappear when she counts on me? How can I stay? This is a mess! The thoughts burst over each other in a confusing rush. I can’t stay—I messed up Gran’s life. I’m so selfish. She blinked herself back to the arena. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”
“I asked if you checked out the new gelding I put in Diablo’s stall? I have assigned him to you for exercise. His name is Dandy Son, but he answers to Patches. His family only plans on being out here on the weekends. He needs training so their ten-year-old can ride him. Think you can take care of that?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“I have every confidence in you, DJ.” Bridget started to walk away. “Let me know when you are read
y to bring him out. We will see what he knows and set up a program for him.” She nodded at a call for the telephone. “I will be right there. Oh, and, DJ, he is trained for Western riding.”
DJ checked on her students and sent them all to dismount and groom their horses. None had worked up a sweat, thanks to the cool breeze.
She worked her way down the line of nodding horses until she came to Diablo’s old stall. These stalls were supposed to be James’ responsibility, but none had been forked out. And as usual, James was not in sight.
DJ shook her head. A dark brown horse, nearly black, but with a splotch of white between his eyes, came forward to sniff her hand. DJ rolled back the barred upper half of the stall door and took hold of his halter. “So, you’re Patches, are you?” The gelding snuffled up her shoulder to her hair. DJ stood quietly and let him explore her. “You are a beauty, you know that?” Her soft voice and soothing hands worked their magic, aided by the carrot she dug out of her pocket.
While he crunched, she slid back the lower door and entered the stall. He stood a bit over fifteen hands, with one white sock in front and another on the opposite back leg.
When she bent down to check his legs, he rumpled her hair. “You’re a bit of Arab, but what’s the rest? Morgan? Quarter Horse?” He pricked his ears and nudged her shoulder. “Yeah, I like you, too. Somebody bought themselves a fine animal, didn’t they?” If only I could be here to train you.
She felt that even more painfully after the riding session. Patches had a nice gait, easy to sit to, but with only two speeds—walk and run. He seemed willing, but he didn’t know much more than simple neck reining. He also tended to get hyper when she asked him to do something unfamiliar, such as backing up or going at a gentle lope.
After she put him away, she decided to write Bridget a letter and leave it in the office.
Amy worked on the other side of the barn, cleaning her stalls and grooming horses. But she never came out to watch the new mount or swap jokes the way she usually did.
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