“You’re absolutely right to go,” I agree. And I do mean it. “Those horses need stalls before winter sets in. I wish I could do something to help.”
“Right on!” Catman exclaims, those intense blue eyes of his locking on me. “Road trip for the whole Willis clan! Out of sight!”
I shake my head at him. “You, Catman Coolidge, are not the most practical person I know. There’s no way my family could take off on a trip like that. Dad’s lined up odd jobs with some of his old clients over the holidays. He’s booked all week. Lizzy’s doing extra babysitting duty. Besides, we could never afford a trip like that right now.”
“Sa-a-ay! Speaking of trips,” Mr. Coolidge begins, “why did the chicken cross the mean streets of Ohio?”
I laugh because sometimes it’s easier to laugh in the middle of his jokes than it is after he’s delivered the punch line.
Mr. Coolidge pats his toupee like he always does before the punch line. “So he could drive a Smart Bart’s used car to Nice! Get it? Nice, Illinois? Mean streets?”
Mr. Coolidge is the proud owner of Smart Bart’s, and most of his jokes are about his used-car business.
Mrs. Coolidge kisses her husband’s forehead. “I am a lucky woman, Mr. Coolidge.” She turns to me. “Winnie, did you get your college applications sent in?”
“Not yet,” I answer. I don’t look at Catman. He knows about my change in plans, but he still tells everybody that he and I are going to Ohio State. Apparently he hasn’t even told his parents that I’ll be taking classes at the local community college instead of going to OSU.
“Now don’t fret, my love,” Mr. Coolidge says. He takes off his Yosemite Sam necktie and wraps it around the Pilgrim father’s neck. “No veterinary school would dare turn down Winnie the Horse Gentler.”
Mrs. Coolidge laughs like she agrees that turning me down from vet school would be ridiculous. “Did Calvin tell you he got three acceptance letters last week?”
I frown at him, but he’s playing with Churchill, his flat-faced, giant gray cat. “Catman never said a word, Mrs. Coolidge.”
“Harvard pre-law, George Washington University pre-med, and UCLA psychology,” Mr. Coolidge reports. “That’s not counting that film school in New York City that heard about his cat documentary.”
“Wow!” I shouldn’t be surprised. Catman and his buddy M aced every college prep test they threw at us. M is going to Oxford in England. He graduated early and moved overseas already. “Catman, congratulations. You should have told me.”
He shrugs. “Not my bag. Still heading to Ohio State with you and Hawk. I should finish up the cat-umentary by late July.”
“Hawk would love that,” I counter, “especially since I’m backing out on her.” Hawk was my best girlfriend until she moved away. I’ve really missed her. It would have been great to be roommates at OSU.
“Backing out? What do you mean, Winnie?” Mrs. Coolidge asks.
“I’m going to Ashland Community College. Not OSU. Didn’t Catman tell you?” I know he didn’t. But it’s time he faced it. I’ve had to.
Nobody says anything.
“Do they have a veterinarian program?” Mrs. Coolidge asks, looking puzzled.
“No. I’m going into business,” I explain. “Somebody in our house has to learn to balance a checkbook.” I force a laugh. “I’ll always have horses. I know that. It’s just . . . well . . . going into business makes more sense right now. I can live at home and help out more.”
Catman won’t look at me. We’ve gone round and round about this, but it’s settled. And I’m okay with it. Really.
“But haven’t you always wanted to be a vet, dear?” Mrs. Coolidge presses.
I shrug. “Sometimes things don’t work out like you want them to. That’s all.”
“Say,” Mr. Coolidge begins. I think we might be in for another joke, but then he says, “If your whole family can’t get away to Nice, why don’t you come with us, Winnie?”
“Far out!” Catman exclaims.
“You are the smartest man I know, Mr. Coolidge,” his wife says.
For a second, I can see myself on a road trip with Catman. I’d get to meet everybody I’ve been e-mailing for so long. Then reality sets in again. And lately, reality equals money or the lack of it. I have zero money. I can’t just go along without paying my part.
“Cool,” Catman says, like I’ve agreed to go and it’s all settled.
“Catman, I can’t.”
“Not dinero again,” Catman says. “You’re sweating no bread, true?”
I know he’ll tell me that I don’t need money. That he’s got it covered. But I already owe him $43.10. I keep track.
Nickers stomps her hoof. Probably a fly.
“See?” I say, trying to make a joke of it. “Nickers doesn’t want me to go. She put her foot down. My horse can’t get along without me.”
“Burg, Nelson, and Churchill have had to wing it without me most of this year, and they’re cool to hang without me for a few more days, for a good cause,” Catman counters.
“Not the same thing,” I try.
“Because Nickers likes you more than Churchill and company like me?” Catman demands.
“No. I’m not saying that . . . not exactly.”
He walks over and stares at me. “So, why can’t you come with me? You know you want to.” Catman knows me better than anybody else on earth.
“Catman Coolidge, you’re the hardest person I know to say no to,” I complain.
He cocks his head to the side, and his long blond ponytail slides over his shoulder. “Deep.”
I elbow him in the chest, and he fake-falls backwards into the leaves and grass. The guy is twice as big as I am, but he acts like I hurt him. “Peace out, Willis,” he begs. His big foot catches the back of my knee, and I tumble to the ground after him.
“You did that on purpose!” I grab a handful of fall leaves and throw them in his face.
Nickers doesn’t like it. She tosses her head and whinnies at us.
“Children, children,” Mrs. Coolidge scolds.
I lie on my back and stare at the blue sky. Wisps of white clouds float by. Geese honk overhead. Even if I did let them pay my way, I don’t think Dad would go for it. He doesn’t give much thought to money, but he refuses to owe anybody.
I gaze at Nickers, at her refined Arabian head, the perfect slope of her withers, her sleek white coat. She’s so beautiful, inside and out. I wasn’t kidding about not liking to be away from my horse.
Catman sits up. Leaves tumble off him. “Can’t see leaving Nickers, can you?” he asks.
Sometimes I think Calvin “Catman” Coolidge reads my mind.
“So,” he says, springing to his feet and sticking out his hand to give me a lift, “we won’t.”
“Why that’s a wonderful idea, Calvin!” his mother exclaims.
“Indeed!” Mr. Coolidge agrees.
Note to self: No matter how much time I spend with the Coolidges, I’ll never be able to read their minds.
“Who’s going to tell me what I’m missing here?” I ask.
Before I know what hit me, Catman hoists me over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
“Catman!”
He spins me around, then dumps me into a pile of leaves. “Nickers,” he says, “is coming with us.”
Eleven
For a minute I’m totally psyched. A road trip with Catman and Nickers? A chance to meet Kat, Dakota, and Wes? And maybe I could help Hank with Cleopatra.
Then reality sets in. What about gas? Our horse trailer gets horrible mileage. To haul Nickers out to Illinois would cost more than I’d make in months shoveling manure at Spidells’ Stable-Mart. And what about food on the way? And expenses once we got there? My food and Nickers’s grain.
Life was so much easier when I was younger, when I just believed things would work out in spite of reality, in spite of everything.
“Come on. Let’s clue in your old man,” Catman says.
“I haven’t agreed to anything. I’m pretty sure Dad won’t want me to go.”
He totally ignores me and whistles for Nickers.
My horse stops grazing and stares at him. I think she’s laughing. Then she goes back to munching grass.
“Nickers?” I call.
Nickers trots toward me, and I swing onto her back. “I wish I could go to Nice, but I can’t. You have to see that, right?”
Catman steps onto the old stump we use as a mounting block and waits until Nickers and I sidle up to it. His steady grin is his way of saying he’s not paying attention to me this time.
We ride in silence to my house, but it feels like we’re arguing. Catman can say more without words than most people can say with words.
When we’re halfway up the road to my house, Catman mutters something. I think he says, “Funky, man.”
I follow where he’s looking and see Dad and Madeline struggling with a tall metal pole that fans out like an upside-down umbrella. Skinny ropes dangle from the top.
“New invention?” Catman whispers to me.
“Looks like it,” I whisper back. “Hope this one sells better than the last one.”
“The parent saddle? That one was far out, man.”
“It was too far out. The licensing people told Dad that parents don’t give their kids horsey rides anymore.”
Madeline’s last invention was a dining table that opened into a dishwasher so you wouldn’t have to get up from the table to clear it. That’s the one that just about broke us.
Dad calls when we ride up on the lawn. “What’s the word from your cousin?”
“Still a bad scene, but it wasn’t arson,” Catman answers. To me, he whispers, “Are you cluing him in on the road trip, or am I?”
“Catman,” I whisper, “I told you I can’t—”
“Well,” Madeline says, “I guess that’s one good thing, knowing that nobody set the fire on purpose. I hope you’ll tell the family we’re praying for them.”
“Catman!” Mason rushes to us as soon as we’re on the ground. Mason’s my little brother. We got him when we got Madeline, which made it all worth the effort, if you ask me. He’s small for his age. And he’s sweet for his age because his mind doesn’t always work the way most people’s minds work.
“Be right back,” I tell Mason. “I need to cool Nickers down. How was Buddy today?” Buddy is Mason’s horse. We’ve had her for almost five years. She was born right here in our barn.
“I brushed her shiny,” Mason says, grinning. He grabs Catman’s hand and tugs him toward the house.
I say hey to Buddy, then brush Nickers and cool her down. All the while, I’m bracing myself for what I know Dad will say when Catman tells him about the trip. Dad will tell him I can’t go. And I understand. Even if Dad turned out to be okay with Catman’s family paying for everything, it would still mean I wouldn’t be bringing home a paycheck from Spidells’ Stable-Mart. I already told Dad I put in for extra hours over Thanksgiving break.
I turn Nickers out to pasture, and when I come back to the yard, Catman, Dad, and Madeline are laughing so hard they can’t speak. “What?” I ask.
“Deep, man,” Catman says. “It’s not an invention.”
“It’s a clothesline!” Madeline cries, pointing to the contraption they’ve been struggling with.
Then Dad’s laughter stops cold. “On the other hand, what if we put small wheels right here and here?”
Madeline stops laughing too. “Like roller skate wheels?”
“Exactly! I think this could be the next umbrella bike . . . maybe an umbrella skateboard!” Dad tugs at the cords. “We could get movable parts there.”
“With three-quarter-inch screws on the ends!” Madeline adds.
“I was thinking wires,” Dad suggests.
“You and your wires,” Madeline counters. “What if we . . . ?”
I pull Catman away from the invention scene and into the house.
Note to self: So much for the clothesline. Prepare for wearing wet clothes.
Mason shoves into the house ahead of us. “Lizzy!” he yells. “Catman’s here!”
“Thanks a lot, Mason,” I call after him. “Aren’t you forgetting somebody?”
He turns and smiles. “And Nickers!” he shouts.
I tousle his soft blond hair. “Yeah, well, Buddy was happy to see me.”
Lizzy comes out of the kitchen with a big smile, as always. My “little” sister is half a foot taller than I am, twice as pretty, and three times as nice. If she were a horse, she’d be a noble and dependable Trakehner.
“Hey, you guys!” Lizzy presses a button, and a floor mat unrolls at Catman’s feet. “Mind taking your shoes off, please?”
We kick off our shoes onto the mat. The roll-away welcome mat made us good money a couple of years ago, but imitations sprang up fast.
“How’s Hank, Catman?” Lizzy asks. “I feel so bad for that family. Do they like caramel and candy canes? I’m experimenting with a new cookie recipe. Maybe I’ll send them a care package.”
We follow Lizzy to the kitchen. Our kitchen looks like a cross between a sci-fi movie and a science lab. The fridge is really a counter with drawers. The cupboard looks like a fridge and turns like a lazy Susan. I don’t know what half the dials and buttons do in this room.
Lizzy checks one of the ovens in her three-story oven. “Do you think your Illinois relatives would ever come here for Thanksgiving? I would love to cook for everybody! I’ve invented the coolest pumpkin dessert.” She shuts that oven and opens the door to the oven above it. Something smells great in there. “Your uncle and everybody probably couldn’t make it even if they wanted to, right? They’ll have to rebuild the barn before winter, won’t they?”
Catman raises his eyebrows, which means, “Yes.”
“Thought so. Barker can’t come either. They’re having relatives in from all over. At least you’ll be here.” Lizzy taps lizard food into her dry lizard aquarium.
When Catman doesn’t say anything, Lizzy spins around. “Catman?”
He twists his lips, which means, “Sorry.”
“Why not?” she demands.
So we tell her. She nods and approves, but I can tell she’s disappointed. “Winnie’s coming with us,” Catman concludes.
“Catman!” I turn to Lizzy, whose green eyes are wide with surprise. “I’m not really going. I mean, I’d love to go and help with the horses and the barn and everything. But I know you guys need me to be here. And I’m working extra at the stable.”
“Nickers is coming too,” Catman continues, like I haven’t just said I’m not going. “You should come, Lizzy.”
“I’d love to.” She’s talking over my head to Catman, ignoring me like he is. “But I can’t. I’ll hold down the fort here, though. Barker and Pat can help me with the Pet Helpline.” Lizzy sighs, then stands up from the table. “Time to talk to Dad.”
“Wait a minute. I don’t know if—,” I begin. But nobody’s listening to me. They’re already out of the kitchen.
Lizzy leads the way to the clothesline, and Catman gets right down to it. “Need to rap with you cats,” he announces. “The Nice Coolidges are totally bummed. So our Ohio crew plans to groove over there to make nice and do our thing. Can you dig it?”
Madeline and Dad look from Catman to each other. “What did he say?” Madeline asks.
Lizzy nods for me to interpret, but I shake my head. I’ve already given up on this trip to Nice. I should work at the stable. I don’t want to ask for anything. Sometimes it’s easier just to give it up. Life hurts less that way.
Lizzy takes over. “Winnie wants to go to Nice with Catman and his parents.”
“And Nickers,” Catman adds.
Dad scratches his head. “In our horse trailer?”
Lizzy nods.
Now Madeline scratches her head. She and Dad become more alike every day. Neither of them can sit still, and they’d both forget meals and bills if it weren’t for Lizzy. “Tha
t trailer takes a lot of gas, doesn’t it?” Madeline asks. “Isn’t gasoline expensive these days?”
“It’s a crazy idea,” I say quickly. I wish Lizzy and Catman had kept their big mouths shut. “We shouldn’t have asked.”
I shouldn’t have wanted it.
“Bread’s no sweat,” Catman says. “My folks won more gas coupons than we’d need to fly to the moon. Dad’s grooving with jingles this year.”
I know Catman’s not making this up. His parents enter hundreds of contests and win plenty of them. One year they won a vacation to Bethlehem, Calcutta, Moscow, Paris, and a dozen other cities.
Turned out the cities were all in Ohio, but they had a great time.
“Tell them congratulations on winning another contest. That’s simply wonderful!” Madeline exclaims. Her bright red hair is caught up in a clip that can’t control it. She used to be as tall and skinny as my dad. She’s still as tall, but Lizzy’s cooking has turned her “pleasingly plump,” as Lizzy puts it.
“We’ve got 83 boxes of granola for the trip,” Catman continues. “Contests entries were on the backs. So no bread required for road chow.”
Hope is trying to bubble up inside of me, but I squish it back down where it belongs. There’s no way I could pull off this trip. What about the lost income from Spidells’ Stable-Mart if I’m not here to muck stalls?
Dad turns to me. “Winnie, what do you think? It seems to be up to you.” This is the exact same thing he said when we found out how much it would cost for me to be a veterinarian. He didn’t want to say no. He never wants to say no. But neither of us could see it happening.
Before I can answer, a car comes barreling up the drive, spraying gravel and squealing brakes. Mason runs to the barn. He hates loud noises.
Even before the dust settles and I see the gold convertible, I know it’s Summer Spidell. Her dad owns the stable where I’ve worked off and on since we moved to Ohio. Summer used to ride, but she gave up horses the day her dad bought her a car.
Summer stops close to us and keeps the motor running. “Good. I caught you. You simply have to get a cell, Winnie. Daddy wants you. My brother’s in town for the holidays, and they need you at the stable for who knows what. Daddy said to tell you that your extra hours start right now.”
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