40
MOIRA
DAY 61: APRIL 25
“Hey, that’s Boone,” Agnes says, tugging at my sleeve. It’s Monday afternoon, and we’ve just pulled out of the school parking lot. Sure enough, he’s standing at an intersection up ahead with his thumb out.
“We should offer him a ride,” Agnes tells me. “His truck must be broken again.”
I stare straight ahead at the road. “He’ll be fine.” It’s not like he appreciated the last ride I gave him.
“Jeez, Em.”
“What?” I glance over at her. The look of disappointment that’s in her eyes now never fails to kill me.
“We can’t just drive right past him.”
“Fine,” I say, exasperated. I turn on the blinker and roll El-C to a stop a few yards from where Boone is standing.
Agnes cranks down her window. “Hey,” she tells him. “Hop in.”
“Nah,” Boone says. His eyes dart to my face before he focuses on Agnes again and smiles. “That’s okay. Someone’ll stop.”
“Okeydokey,” I say to the windshield, my voice fake-cheerful. Of course he doesn’t want a ride. Not from me, anyway.
Agnes ignores me. “I don’t know,” she says, grinning at Boone from her booster seat, teasing him like they’re regular buddies and not just people who were temporarily thrown together by a random situation in the cafeteria. “You’re pretty big and scary. I wouldn’t pick you up.”
“You don’t even drive,” he tells her, still smiling. Whatever this is, this weird little faux-flirty banter, he’s keeping it between the two of them. I sigh once more and check the rearview mirror to make sure there’s nobody behind us who wants to turn onto this street. Sure enough, a bunch of cars are coming. They’re only a block away, stopped at the light. I breathe out slowly through my nose.
“Well, what are you going to do?” Agnes is still grinning. “Camp by the side of the road with your thumb out, waiting for a ride that might never come?”
“I hitched a ride to school this morning,” Boone tells her. “Figure I can do the same to get home.”
“Just get in, Boone,” I finally say to the air in front of me. Someone needs to put a stop to this nonsense. Apparently, I’m the one person present who realizes we’re going to have a bunch of road-ragey drivers lined up behind us pretty soon if I don’t move the car out of the damn road. I want to floor it instead, just leave him in a cloud of exhaust. But Agnes would never let me hear the end of it.
Boone hesitates at first, but then he finally picks up his grungy, military-style backpack, steps toward El-C, and reaches for the passenger side door. Unfortunately, because Agnes’s booster seat is strapped in on that side, and because the car has no backseat, he’s going to have to get in through my driver’s side door.
“Over here,” I bark at him through the open window. Moments later, I’m standing on the street, keeping an eye on the rapidly approaching traffic. Sighing, Boone meanders toward me and ducks into El-C. As soon as he squeezes himself past the steering wheel and scoots toward the center of the seat, I jump back in, slam the door, and step on the gas.
The traffic light up ahead turns yellow, then red, causing me to brake hard. Both their heads flop forward.
“Whoa,” Agnes says.
Instinctively, I reach my right hand out to brace against her, the way moms do with their kids, but I end up pressing firmly on Boone’s stomach instead. Jesus. “Sorry,” I say.
He ignores the apology. “If you guys are in a rush and need to get somewhere, I could seriously just—”
“No!” Agnes laughs. “Moira’s just being a spaz.” She sort of shout-giggles this last part. The sound grates on my nerves, which makes me feel guilty. Feeling guilty always makes me angry, so there’s that, but what was Agnes thinking, throwing me under the bus the way she did?
The light turns green, and I touch the gas as lightly as possible this time, easing El-C forward. For the next few minutes, I drive at turtle speed without saying anything, like a seething grandma. Out of the corner of my eye I see Agnes staring at me.
“Sorry if my boots reek,” Boone announces after a while, breaking the silence. We’ve just turned onto the dirt road that leads to his place.
“Ew,” Agnes says, laughing again.
“I was out mucking the paddock this morning and forgot to change them. I’m pretty sure Ms. Chavez was this close to kicking me out of history today.”
Agnes turns toward him in her booster seat. “You still have horses?”
“Just one now. My mom’s gelding.”
“Oh, Boone, can I ride him?”
Boone hesitates. “You mean today?”
With a wild grin on her face, Agnes nods.
This has gone far enough. Glancing at her, I shake my head: No. The strap across her right shoulder looks like it’s digging uncomfortably into her skin. I make a mental note to loosen it.
“Uh, that’s probably not the best—” Boone starts to say, but Agnes cuts him off.
“I’m not allergic or anything.”
“Seriously,” I tell her. “You’ve never even been interested in horses. Plus, we’d really need to ask your mom first if—”
“Pleeeeeeeeeease? I’m interested in them now!” Thankfully, I’m getting more used to driving on this road. Otherwise, I’d have to pull over just to look at her and go, What the actual hell, Agnes? Eventually, the long dirt driveway leading to Boone’s house comes into view. “Should I let you off here?” I ask him in the sweetest voice I can muster. Part of me is perversely interested in seeing just how long he thinks he can keep pretending I’m not in the car.
“I want to see the horse!” Agnes insists yet again. God, she’s been acting like a caffeinated toddler since we picked Boone up. Usually, it’s not too hard to get her to change her mind about something by simply reasoning with her. Every once in a while, though, she’ll dig her heels in. Clearly, this is one of those times, and I know better than to fight it.
“You can see the horse if you really want to,” Boone says, quietly capitulating. “If it’s okay with Moira.” He sounds miserable, and he won’t look at either of us, but at least he’s finally acknowledging my presence.
Again, I sigh. “Are you sure?” I ask him.
“No,” he says, staring hard at the dashboard. “I’m not sure. I’d rather you guys not see where I live from even this far away, to be honest. But Agnes wants to see the horse, so…”
I wasn’t expecting that particular answer. It never occurred to me that he was embarrassed about having us out here. I stop the car at the end of the driveway and nod without looking at him.
“I’m sure your house is fine,” Agnes assures him.
Boone smiles a little. “It’s not, actually,” he says. “It’s really, really not. But let’s go ahead and get this over with.”
I turn in to the driveway and keep going until we reach the end of it. Without saying anything more, Boone points to a parking spot near the horse shelter. A few hundred yards away, a little house sits on a bare patch of ground looking sort of small and sad and like it has seen better days. The three of us get out of the car, and the first thing I notice is how quiet it is out here. There are no traffic sounds, no sirens. Just the cry of a far-off hawk and the rustle of leaves as a breeze moves through the branches of a big old oak tree near the horse paddock.
There’s a ruckus as Boone leads us toward the shelter. I can see the horse standing next to a steel water trough. He’s holding a stick between his teeth, and it looks like he’s sword fighting with an invisible opponent. There’s a demented look in his huge brown eyes, like he’s demanding satisfaction.
“Look at him!” Agnes laughs.
Now it’s Boone’s turn to sigh. “That would be Diablo. I think he may have been dropped on his head as a foal.”
Every once in a while, the horse whacks the stick against the trough and then lifts his head up high to reposition the weapon in his mouth.
“Wanna try
him out?” Boone asks. It takes me a second to realize he’s talking to me.
“Right, whatever,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“Oo! I do!” Agnes is standing on her tiptoes, waving a hand in the air, practically jumping in place.
“Like I said,” Boone tells her, “you can ride him as far as I’m concerned.” He turns his attention back to me. “Why ‘whatever’?”
“Um, hello? Silk dress?” I look down at the black vintage smock I got for a steal at one of the thrift stores in town. They didn’t know what they had. Puffy gray crinoline was sewn in between the silk and the lining when I bought it, but I ripped it out right away. The last thing I need is a bulk-enhancing underskirt.
Boone’s watching me, apparently not convinced by my lack of proper riding attire. Even aside from the dress, me riding that horse is an absurd thing to consider. Horses are gargantuan and unpredictable. I’ve heard they have brains the size of walnuts. I can easily see myself getting bucked off and becoming one with the ground below, my dress hiked up, displaying God knows how many unmentionable parts of my body. Agnes is watching me now, too. Do they actually think there’s a chance in Hades I’m going to say yes? Rolling my eyes again, I reach down and grab some of the silk between my hands. “Silk. Dress,” I repeat.
“Those tights you’re wearing really don’t look all that different from breeches,” Boone says. “It’s totally doable.” My face feels hot at the thought of his noticing my tights. My chunky legs. True, I’ve always kind of liked my strong calves and my ankles, but … God, I never should have gotten out of the car. We should have just dropped him at the end of his driveway and taken off like I originally planned.
“Do it, Em!” Agnes is pleading now, bouncing a little on her tiptoes.
That’s when I look away from both of them. “I’d break his back.”
Boone laughs—laughs!—like he has no idea how much he’s risking his life by doing it. “You would not,” he says. Diablo has ambled over to where the three of us are standing. Boone reaches across the fence and scratches a spot at the top of the horse’s shoulder. In response, Diablo stretches his neck out and lifts his lips away from his teeth.
Agnes squeals in delight. “He’s smiling!”
“Plus,” Boone says, looking at the horse instead of at me, “this way, you can convince yourself that it’s safe for Agnes to get up there.”
Which makes me want to kill him. It’s like he knows that my desire to protect Agnes is rivaled only by my desire to give her what she wants. All the people closest to Agnes feel this way, but I’m pretty sure none of them feel the tension between those two warring forces as strongly as I do.
I look Boone right in the eye. “Okay,” I tell him. I say it in a quiet voice but with my chin raised, like I’m taking him up on a dare, showing how unafraid I am.
Ten minutes later, Boone has Diablo all groomed and ready to go. With the saddle on, the damn horse is even taller than he already was. I have to stretch my arm up as high as it will go to grab hold of his mane like Boone tells me to do. My leg shakes a little when I put one foot in the stirrup and start hoisting myself up, but there’s no time to worry about that now. I need to focus on keeping my balance and my upward momentum. Once my other leg is up and over, I try to land as lightly as possible on the poor horse’s back. Diablo makes an Oof sound anyway, his ears swiveling around toward me.
“Now see?” Boone says. “That wasn’t so awful, was it?”
“Check you out,” Agnes adds from behind that blasted camera of hers as she points it at me and clicks away. I don’t answer. I’m too busy ignoring both of them and blowing my bangs toward the sky like this is the most asinine thing I’ve ever had to do. Boone says he’s going to lead the horse around a little with me up there. I don’t like the idea of my fate being so entirely in somebody else’s hands, and my legs instinctively clamp down on Diablo’s sides at the thought. Apparently, that’s the equivalent of stomping on an equine gas pedal, because the horse bolts forward. It’s just a few steps, but it’s enough to throw me off-balance. I end up leaning way back, bracing myself against the top of Diablo’s rump. At that, his ears flatten and he gives a little hop with both hind legs. Something like lightning shoots down my spine as I jounce around up there. So this is it, I think. This is how I die.
“Whoa,” Boone says, placing a hand on Diablo’s neck. “Easy.” The horse settles down and lets out a long breath through his nostrils.
“Okay, I did it.” I straighten up, forcing myself to keep my legs loose. “I braved the pony ride. Are you happy?”
Boone smiles up at me now. “Thrilled,” he says.
I work my way out of the saddle and ease myself back down to the ground as gracefully as I can. I do my best to keep the dress from catching on the stirrup and bunching up around my waist. It isn’t a pretty process, but at least I don’t end up sprawled in the dirt. I’m still shaky, though.
Now that it’s her turn to ride, Agnes is barely keeping it together. For Pete’s sake, I want to tell her, chill out.
“I’ll help you get up there,” Boone says. He asks me to hold Diablo’s lead rope, and then he fits an old, child-size riding helmet onto her head. After adjusting the strap, he turns Agnes around to face the side of the horse. “Reach your hands up and grab the saddle.”
“That’s not how you do it,” I practically shout as he puts his hands under her armpits and lifts her into the air. Panic rises in my chest at the sight of Agnes trying to scramble into the saddle with her delicate joints. “Stop stretching her leg like that.”
“Em, it’s fine,” Agnes says, her voice suddenly heavy with exertion.
“No, it’s not,” I shoot back. “He’s going to throw your hip out.”
Boone is clearly trying to keep a lid on something. “You actually think I’d hurt her?”
“Maybe not intentionally.”
“Oh, gee, thanks. But I might accidentally hurt her, since I’m such a big, violent clod, right?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
After that, we don’t talk to each other. Agnes rides, and she’s beaming the whole time, really getting into it. When I tell her it’s time to go, she insists on giving Boone a hug from the saddle before he helps her back to the ground. “Thank you,” she tells him. “That was so much fun. You have no idea.”
41
BOONE
DAY 60: APRIL 26
I’ve never known anyone who can freeze people out the way Moira can. She reminds me of the arctic blasts that blew through Beacon Valley that first winter Mom and I were on our own.
When the pipes froze, I stayed up all night—or tried to, anyway. I kept nodding off on the couch and even on the wooden kitchen stool. I tried working one of Mom’s unfinished jigsaw puzzles, but that just made me more tired. Eventually, I resorted to doing jumping jacks outside in the subzero air. My main concern was keeping the fire stoked and the cupboard doors under the kitchen and bathroom sinks open so warm air would keep the pipes from exploding. The pipes froze anyway, but at least they didn’t burst. If they had, we would have been out of luck. I wouldn’t have had the faintest clue how to fix them, and who was going to come over and do major plumbing work for free?
Diablo’s trough was the next thing to freeze. I’d been so busy dealing with the pipes that I let his water level get too low. Instead of just an icy crust that could be easily smashed through with the maul, there was a solid, ten-inch-thick block of ice covering the water in the tank. I spent a few minutes bashing at it anyway and hissing the worst swear words I’d ever heard my father say when he was shoeing horses, but it was hopeless. In the process of nearly dislocating my shoulder, I made little more than an opaque white dent in the ice.
My only remaining option was to go back inside, fill the biggest stew pot I could find with packed snow, heat it to near boiling, and carry it out to the trough. I used pot holders to grip the handles, but the scalding water sloshed all over me anyw
ay as I walked, first burning and then freezing my clothes wherever it soaked in. I hardly noticed. I was too busy thinking of the disaster that would unfold if Diablo didn’t have anything to drink. The last thing we needed was a horse with impaction colic due to a dried-out gut. There was no way any vet in town would be willing to brave our snowed-in road, and I shuddered to think what it would mean if I had to put Diablo down myself. If the colic was bad enough, I wouldn’t even be able to lead the horse out into the woods for the vultures and coyotes to take care of. I’d have to shoot him right there in the paddock where Mom would be forced to view his carcass from the kitchen window. The sight of her beloved horse with a hole in his head would probably finish her off, too.
Steam burst upward when I poured the hot water into the trough, but the ice didn’t budge. It was only after I repeated the process several more times and my clothes were frozen solid that I heard the telltale crack I’d been waiting for. I pounded the ice with the maul, using every ounce of frustration in my body to bring the steel head down as hard as I could, until the block finally gave way in four big chunks. I pulled one of the chunks out and tossed it aside to keep the others from fusing back together, at which point Diablo was able to get a drink. I knew I’d have to keep the water thawed for the rest of the night, or I’d soon be right back where I started. Diablo lowered his head through the steam, and I watched the lump in his throat move back and forth as he sucked in, gulp after gulp. It was like a sped-up video of a hairy python swallowing a mouse over and over, and it was one of the first small victories of that winter.
42
AGNES
DAY 59: APRIL 27
It was the best thing in the world, sitting high up there on Diablo’s back while Boone led him around the paddock. I’ve been missing out. It’s no mystery whatsoever why some girls get obsessed with horses—drawing them, braiding their manes and tails, riding them any chance they get. What was Moira so grumpy about? She looked magnificent in the saddle, like some stout Viking warrior queen.
“I hate that you and Boone are being snippy with each other.” We’re on our way to school Wednesday morning when I dare to say it.
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