by S. L. Naeole
“Filly?” Jack exclaimed in surprise. “A filly is beating Shelby? No way!” He leaned over the rail to get a better look.
“She’s not beating Shelby,” I argued, but it was clear that the dark horse was now more than a length ahead and would easily win the race. When she did by two full lengths, the shock of it seemed to kill any exuberance that we would have had at a second place win for Shelby and Joel. The crowd around us seemed stunned as well; all of their horses had lost to this late entry, a stranger to everyone here, which was impossible in such a small community.
“Come on,” I said glumly while Jack said goodbye to some of the guys he knew from the feed store. “Let’s go and congratulate Joel and Jemmy before Dad starts chewing him out for not bringing home another win.”
***
“I don’t know how she came up on me so fast,” Jemmy fumed, his hands on his hips, his crop slapping the side of his leg in agitation. “It’s like she was on fire or something.”
With a free hand, Joel patted his friend on the back, his voice just as calm when he said, “Don’t worry, Jem. It’s not like we just lost Belmont or something. We won one race today, and came in second in this one. I’ll take that over losing any day.”
“I think she cheated,” Jemmy seethed.
Astor scoffed at the accusation. “Have you been snorting oats again, Jem? How can a horse cheat?”
Jemmy shook his head and threw an accusing finger at the black clad rider who sat atop the proud ebony filly. “Not the horse. Her.”
All four of our heads were focused on the diminutive rider as she removed her helmet and a curtain of black hair tumbled down her back. She smiled a brilliant smile, and cameras flashed, her remarkable face filling image after image as the crowd murmured in astonishment over such a discovery: a female jockey had beaten Jem and Shelby.
“She cheated somehow, I know it,” Jemmy sneered. “She shouldn’t have been riding her own horse, anyhow. That goes against the rules.”
“That’s her horse?” Joel asked, surprise and awe taking control of his voice and turning it from calm to envious.
“How much is one of those worth,” Astor questioned as she took comparative glances at the filly and Shelby.
“She’s got to be worth at least fifty grand,” Joel answered, which got several whistles in response. “I’m going to go and congratulate her. Anyone want to come?”
Astor, Jack, and I both nodded eagerly, while Jemmy turned his back on us, too upset with his loss to remember what good sportsmanship was all about. Leaving him, the three of us walked over to the winner’s circle, Joel pushing his way in front to hold out a congratulatory hand to the dark haired beauty.
“You ride like you and the horse are one; it was incredible to watch. That was a well earned, well deserved win.”
She grinned and dismounted so fluidly, I could have sworn she floated down. Her face was exquisite. Dainty in a way that gave you no doubt that she was female, yet there was a strength that could be seen in the tilt of her nose, the pointed line of her jaw, and the sharp focus in her violet eyes that warned you not to underestimate her.
“Thank you. It’s not every day that someone can lose to a girl and still compliment her on her win,” she responded in a light, almost airy voice, taking Joel’s proffered hand and shaking it enthusiastically.
I looked at Jack and rolled my eyes when I saw his mouth hanging open. My elbow made quick contact with his ribs and his mouth shut as he looked down at me sheepishly, obviously embarrassed that he’d been caught ogling.
Joel laughed, his brown eyes filled with the good-natured spirit that made everyone like him. “Well, it was a well deserved win so I can’t complain. I can’t say the same for my rider though, but his pride runs much deeper than mine. My name’s-”
“Joel Ackerman, I know. You’re Shelby’s owner. He’s a beautiful creature. You should be very proud of what you’ve done with him, as should your rider. My name’s Merrill Sterling, and this black beauty is my horse, Lillian.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Lillian,” she repeated with a smile.
Joel looked at me with a concerned expression on his face, his head motioning to Astor who grabbed my arm and began to drag me away. “Forget it, Sophia,” she hissed into my ear. “Just drop it; don’t even think about it.”
“How can I not think about it?”
“She was talking about a horse, that’s how you not think about it. There are a lot of Lillians in this world, and only one of them has anything to do with you. That one, the four-legged one that just one a race does not.”
I knew she was right, but that didn’t erase the chill that went up my spine every time I heard that name uttered. Lillian the horse had triggered in me the memories of Lillian the woman who had given birth to me, who had done so in shackles, and who had nearly killed me.
“Sophia, you haven’t seen her in a year. Only one more visit before you’re free and then you’ll never have to think about her again,” Jack said softly, one hand gently stroking my hair while the other tugged at my earlobe.
One more visit. One more stupid, annoying, unnecessary, court ordered visit with her and then I’d be free of her for the rest of my life. “Thank you,” I sighed, the thought offering me a queer sort of comfort as we headed towards the midway.
“Hey, how about I win you a stuffed cow?” Jack suggested.
“Don’t I have enough of those from last year?” I groaned.
He shook his head and pointed at the milk bottle game that had nearly banned him last year for winning so often. “You don’t have any blue ones!”
Astor laughed. “Hey, yeah! Get one to match your hair!”
“Alright, alright,” I chuckled, glad for the distraction. Puffing up, Jack walked up to the girl who held three balls in her hand and exchanged his dollar for her ammunition.
“Stand back,” he joked. “A pro is at work here.”
His arm swung back, years of playing baseball evident in the flex of his muscles and the form of his fingers around the ball. When he propelled forward, however, the ball in his hand collided with a loud slap against the canvas behind the stacked bottles.
“A pro, huh?” Astor quipped while Jack wound up for his next attempt.
This time, the ball sailed to the left and knocked over the bottles in the next box. The game attendant couldn’t help but laugh and shake her head when Jack asked if that one counted.
With one ball left, Jack’s eyes were focused. He took much longer than usual to throw this final pitch. It was high. Too high. So high, it shattered the large Christmas lights that decorated the back of the booth.
“Well crap.” Jack handed the girl another dollar, followed by a couple more a few minutes later. After ten dollars, six broken Christmas light bulbs, and a jittery and bruised game attendant, we were still cow free.
“I’m going to go to the ATM,” he mumbled before leaving Astor and I to shrug apologetically to the poor girl who was still rubbing her sore shoulder after a rogue pitch ricocheted off a beam and hit her.
She looked almost frightened at the prospect of Jack coming back for more and quickly turned her attention to a couple of guys who had arrived, dollars in hand, ready to take a shot. I watched the back of Jackson disappear into the crowd, his body stiff with disappointment. Behind me, the familiar sounds of bottles crashing down and whoops of excitement were distracting; Astor’s cheers of encouragement were far louder for these two strangers than they had been for Jack.
When he returned, he quickly dug out a twenty and handed it to the girl who looked less than thrilled to see him return.
“Wow, big spender,” Astor remarked as the girl counted out the change and handed it back to Jack. “This is going to be the most expensive blue cow ever.”
“I can’t believe he’s doing this,” I muttered under my breath, but watched as he readied himself for the first pitch.
Beside him, I could see the backs of the two guys who were knock
ing down the bottles with ease, a pile of plush animals growing at their feet. Jack soon took notice as well and this added pressure seemed to disturb his concentration as each ball missed its target completely.
When his wallet lay empty, the better half of a month’s paycheck in the happy pocket of the young girl who held a ball in her hand in a mocking salute, Jack finally conceded defeat.
“I don’t get it. It’s like nothing I did would make that ball hit those bottles,” he grumbled as the last blue cow was removed from the wall and handed to one of the dark haired individuals who now had a bag filled with the colorful creatures beside him.
“It’s okay. I didn’t want another one anyway,” I said in a conciliatory tone.
“I’m glad none of the coaches from U.O. were here to see that. I’d lose my scholarship in a heartbeat,” he said with a sigh as he reached into his back pocket and pulled out the flask. He turned away from me and took a long swig from the flask.
At the mention of UO, I felt a strange giddiness. It was easy to forget that tomorrow Jack would be driving up to Eugene for school, his first day at the University of Oregon just a week away. He would miss me terribly, he said, but I couldn’t quite admit to feeling the same; he always felt things far more intensely than I did, and I was content with that. We both were.
“Here,” a voice spoke up, a voice that didn’t belong to either Astor or Jack. My gaze turned to the friendly, rich sound and stopped when they came upon a pair of eyes that were a shade that didn’t know whether it wanted to be blue or violet, but were so deep they seemed to go on forever. I blinked to adjust my focus, opening my eyes to take in a face that was unlike anything I had ever seen before. While Jack’s face looked as though it had been molded into everything that was comforting and charming, this face was chiseled into its own definition of dark and dangerous. The strange eyes were rimmed with dark lashes, and anchored by darker brows that were raised in anticipation.
His hair was a glossy black, much like my own that mingled with blue streaks, only deeper, and spiked in a haphazard way; it was perfect in its chaos. His nose was sharp, his jaw and chin strong and determined, but his mouth…it was twisted in a bemused smile that showed no teeth but did reveal a dimple in his cheek that, for some strange reason, caused my finger to twitch at my side. He held out in his hand a plush, blue cow, the last one left.
“Here. I know your boyfriend was trying to win it for you, and I obviously have too many. I don’t want you to have to leave without one.” His voice was warm, and there was a sweetness to it that contradicted the bitterness I could see in his eyes.
“No thank you,” I replied, shaking my head and pulling my hands behind my back before they did things I didn’t want.
“Please, take it. I don’t need it,” he insisted, pointing to the mass of polyester creatures next to him. “See? Two bags full.”
“She doesn’t want it,” Jack growled, pushing away the plush toy and dragging me away.
I turned my head to look behind me, an apology on my lips, and saw the other guy punch his friend playfully in the arm. “Looks like you got denied, Dex.”
Dex ‘s eyes had remained focused on me, and his left lid lowered in a wink. I felt the bottom of my stomach give out for just a second before righting itself just as he turned to his friend and lobbed a good blow in return before they walked away.
“Can you believe the nerve of that jerk? Trying to give you that stupid cow, as if you wanted one anyway,” Jackson grumbled. Again, his hand reached into his back pocket and the same silver flask was removed.
Astor snorted and her eyes rolled as she asked Jack how much money he’d spent on trying to win that stupid cow that I didn’t want.
“Shut up, Astor,” he ground out, and continued to drag me towards the parking lot.
“Hey, I’m not ready to leave yet,” I scolded, pulling my arm out of his grip. “It’s still early.”
“Sophia, it’s my last night. We’re leaving…NOW.”
“What he means is that he wants to take you someplace private and clumsily fumble with himself while trying to rob you of your virtue. That is, of course, if you can stop laughing,” Astor said snidely.
This time it was my turn to tell Astor to shut up. She held her hands up, but her laughter didn’t die out. “Hey, it’s your choice. Go home with Jack the drunk or ride the Tilt-a-Hurl with me. Either way, there’s going to be vomit involved.”
I looked at her and then I turned to look at Jack, and sighed with heavy reluctance, returning my gaze back to hers. “Cover for me, okay?”
With a roll of her eyes she nodded waved her hand carelessly. “You, too.” I looked at her, slightly confused by what she said until she started laughing and then my cheeks began to burn as I shook my head, glad that Jack hadn’t heard this last part as he wasn’t exactly fond of Astor’s reputation.
He’d hurried to his truck, leaving me to wave goodbye to my sister and begrudgingly follow him into the dirt lot. By the time I reached him, the truck was growling like a rabid beast that he was egging on with each press of the gas pedal.
“Get in the damn car!” he shouted at me through the window, taking another long swig of whiskey before wiping his mouth on his sleeve and tossing the silver container behind him. I quickened my pace, opening the door and climbing into the cab, picking my way through the debris to seat myself properly. Though the truck was new, it was permeated with the odor of sweat and Christmas trees while empty junk food wrappers littered the floor.
“You really need to clean your truck, Jack. This is disgusting.”
He grabbed an empty fast food bag from the back seat and quickly threw what rubbish he could find into it before tossing the bag out the window. “There. Happy?”
Knowing that the effort was much more than I could have expected, I nodded and buckled myself in. As soon as the metal click was heard, Jack reversed and sped away from the fairgrounds, the lights slowly fading behind us as we headed towards my empty house.