Winning Odds Trilogy

by MaryAnn Myers

  Randy managed a smile as they shook hands.

  “So how are you two?”

  Dawn sighed. “Fine. How are you?”

  “Okay.” He glanced from one to the other, shook his head as if amazed to find them still together, and turned to greet Linda and Harland and offer his formal congratulations on their engagement. But it was Randy he really wanted to talk to.

  “So tell me, how’s business? I understand you’ve bought into a little practice on the east side?”

  No reply. Randy just looked at him, wondering where he’d gotten this information, and sipped his drink. It was an awkward moment for everyone; everyone except Randy, that is, and Uncle Matt, who from across the room, heard, watched, and couldn’t help but take notice and smile. Impressed.

  “Come on,” Linda said, to the rescue. “The last thing we want to be discussing tonight is business. This is a party. Let’s party.” She swept the group into the great room, motioned for the band to pick up the tempo, and coerced Harland into dancing the tango with her. Dave disappeared as Dawn and Randy sat down next to Aunt Maeve. A testament to how large the house was, this was the first they’d come across her.

  “Well now,” she said, glancing at them as she bounced a toddler on her knee. “Are you two having fun?”

  Dawn nodded, no longer nervous. Randy smiled. He wouldn’t necessarily call this fun, but it definitely was interesting. The majority of people were standing, a drink in one hand, a cigarette or occasional cigar in the other. Waiters and waitresses milled about in tuxedos and black and white aproned dresses, carrying trays.

  “Say hello to Josh here,” Aunt Maeve said. Josh was Rebecca’s nephew, the progeny of her brother’s third marriage. “Say hello, Josh.”

  Josh giggled and drooled. He was one of five or six little ones about. “Children are always included in the Fioritto gatherings,” Dawn remarked as she and Randy walked out into the garden. Of course, there were nannies to step in when they got out of hand. But most were running around, happy as can be.

  “How do you feel about kids?” Randy asked.

  Dawn looked at him, studied his eyes reflecting the garden lights. “I don’t know. Why?”

  Randy shrugged. “Just wondering.” He knew she took birth control pills, and for some time now, she’d told him.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. And the way she said it irritated him.

  “That’s not what I meant, Dawn. And you know it.”

  “I know.” Dawn nodded, having realized that, and smiled apologetically. “Come on, I want to show you something.” She took him to the dining room, closed off for the evening, and inside, gazed around with nostalgia in her eyes. “This furniture was in my parents’ house.” The table and chairs that sat twelve, the china cabinet, dry sink, and serving tables, all imported Italian Provincial made of mahogany, the wet bar. “It’s all that’s left,” she said. “I sold everything else.”

  Randy studied the sadness of her expression, and for once didn’t ask. Anything at this point, he could see, would be hard for her to talk about. She then took him into the foyer, which was empty now, everyone having arrived and no one leaving, and showed him the gallery of family portraits that adorned the spiral staircase wall.

  “Here, see...” she said, pointing to her great-grandfather, grandfather, and father. “We all have the same eyes.”

  Randy smiled, saw for himself, and kissed her lightly on the mouth. “I love you,” he said, and Dawn smiled.

  “Come on, one more thing.” They walked outside, through the side garden, under an oak tree, and along a short path, no longer worn but still very familiar. “There...” she said, pointing. “That’s where I grew up.”

  They heard Linda’s voice behind them, and turned. “I thought this was where you were headed,” Linda said, dragging Harland along with her. “What are you doing?”

  Dawn laughed. “Showing Randy the house.”

  “Dawn and I used to sneak back and forth this way,” Linda said, amazed at how long ago that seemed now. “Come on,” she told Dawn. “Mom says it’s time to eat, and I want you guys sitting next to us.”

  Randy glanced over his shoulder at the estate next door before following them back inside. “Who lives there now?” he asked, when Dawn and he were seated.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I had Uncle Matt sell it after my parents died.”

  “Were you living at home then?”

  “No.”

  Randy looked at her thoughtfully, smoothed her hair. And here came the food. Platters and platters of it; antipasto first, then lobster, crab, scampies, prime rib, chicken breast. Randy and Dawn laughed when they saw Aunt Maeve wave that one by. And then there were the vegetable dishes. Asparagus, roasted red peppers, artichokes, snow peas, red potatoes, and stuffed onions. And dessert. “Every delicacy and pastry known to Italy,” Randy heard someone say. And lots of espresso.

  Randy wondered how Linda’s parents were going to top this for the real engagement party, let alone the wedding, and couldn’t remember eating so much at one time in his whole life.

  The party was just beginning. It was already past eleven, but there were wish dances. “Actually, it’s more like giving advice,” Dawn explained. “All the married men dance with the bride to be, and tell her what they think makes a good marriage. And the married women do the same with the groom.”

  Randy smiled, passed on the brandy being served, and sat and watched. Some of the wishes were outrageous, and had everyone laughing. Some were sentimental and touching. Some incoherent, due to the particular person’s having had a bit too much to drink.

  Linda’s mother’s was short and to the point. “Honesty.”

  Matt wished his daughter, “Love. Undying love.”

  Rebecca managed a smile having heard this, and watched stoically until she could no longer hold back the tears. The guests clapped and cheered, believing they were witnessing a tender moment as Matt walked over and put his arm around her. Aunt Maeve said it was her turn then, married or not, which diverted everyone’s attention and had them laughing.

  About this time, Dave appeared at Randy’s side again, full of the evening’s festivities himself. “Well now,” he said, tipping his drink in some kind of toast. “If I could pull you away from Dawn here, we’d like you to settle something for us.”

  We? Randy looked at the bar, where three men stood staring in their direction, and placed his hand on Dawn’s arm. She was about to object. “I’ll be right back,” he said. And he and Dave walked over to join the other three.

  “Here’s the problem,” Dave said. “We were having a discussion on politics and decided what we really needed was a democrat’s opinion. No offense.”

  Randy smiled a nondescript smile. “None taken.” He glanced at each of the other three men, noticed a hint of reluctance in two, and turned back to Dave. “You know what I think, Dave. I think you have a little dick.”

  “What?”

  One of the men laughed.

  “No offense,” Randy said.

  “None taken,” the man laughing sputtered, and with that, Randy turned and walked away.

  “What did they want?” Dawn asked, when he sat down next to her.

  “Nothing.” Randy put his arm around her. “What other traditions are there?”

  “I don’t think there are any more,” Dawn replied, yawning.

  Aunt Rebecca sat down to talk with them for a few minutes, then Uncle Matt. Linda and Harland were toasted one last time, and Randy drove Dawn home.

  “How long do we have before Aunt Maeve gets here?” he asked.

  Dawn smiled. He was so relentless. “She said she’d be right behind us.”

  Randy kissed her, and then kissed her again. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, mesmerized with the sleepy look in her eyes. “And so very, very tall.”

  Dawn chuckled. “Well? What did you think?”

  “About your family?”

  She nodded.

  “They’re nice.
Your friend Dave is an asshole, but everyone else seemed okay.”

  Dawn laughed.

  “What did you see in him anyway?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  Randy gazed at her. “Are you sure I can’t stay?”

  “Positive. Tomorrow.”

  He nodded, and smiled at her from the door. “We’re all clear now. Right?” he said. “Families? Old friends?”

  Dawn laughed.

  “I just don’t want anything to come between us. All right?”

  Dawn hesitated, but not so much that it concerned him. After all, she was tired, and he was tired. And they’d had such a nice time. “All right.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Randy and his new partner, Dr. Raffin, signed on the dotted line, shook hands, and were in business. The way they figured it, if all went well, in about ten or twelve or fifteen years, they’d be in the clear.

  “But who’s counting?” Raffin said.

  Randy laughed. All kidding aside, they were both a little nervous. Their biggest commitment was the addition to the existing building, on the gamble they’d get enough large animal surgery over the years to justify the investment. It was practically unheard of for two lone veterinarians to take on such a venture. But they were both young, dedicated, and ambitious. Also to their credit, the loan officer pointed out to his superiors, they were going to keep costs to a minimum by doing a lot of the actual construction themselves. There

  were only five weeks remaining in this year’s racing season at Nottingham. Business would slack off then, which would allow them the time. And if they were lucky, at least they’d get the outer shell of the building up before the first snow.

  Presently, however, even with the season winding down, Sunday was promising to be the biggest day of the year for the Miller barn. All Together was running in her first stakes race, and against the boys. There was no doubt in Ben or Tom’s mind that she was ready. She’d been kicking and squealing since the day after her last race, and could barely be kept from running off in the morning when galloped.

  “I’m leaving!” Dawn yelled to Ben and Tom.

  Ben waved with his good hand from the tack room.

  She had to leave now in order to go home, shower and get dressed and meet Ginney at the courthouse at ten. A jury had been seated, media coverage approved, and opening statements were today.

  “I can’t do this,” Ginney kept insisting, over and over. “I just can’t. Look at all these people.”

  Dawn did her best to calm her, reassure her, gripped her hand, but felt like a hypocrite. Who did she think she was telling Ginney she could do it, to be brave? “I’ll be here the whole time, right here behind you.”

  The defendant entered the courtroom, glared at Ginney, and was nudged toward his seat by his attorney.

  “All rise.”

  Ginney stood erect and stared straight ahead.

  “The Honorable Judge John McMurphy presiding.”

  Voices blended in Dawn’s head, back and forth. “Prove without a reasonable doubt.”

  “All we’re asking ladies and gentlemen, is that you ask yourselves, is there a reasonable doubt?”

  “An act of violence.”

  “A lover’s quarrel.”

  “An innocent man.”

  “A woman, brutally beaten and raped.”

  “The evidence will support...”

  “Members of the jury, all that the ensuing evidence will prove, is that sexual relations took place. The defendant is not denying that.”

  “The medical examiner’s report will support...”

  “A reasonable doubt.”

  “No is no.”

  “A disagreement. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

  “Rape, by all accounts, is rape.”

  “All rise!”

  Ginney’s knees trembled as she stood.

  “How did it go today?” Randy asked, as he and Dawn ate Chinese for dinner again, and just barely before closing time.

  “All right, I guess.”

  He looked at her. “How’s Ginney?”

  “Okay,” she said. “Her dad was there today. It meant a lot to her.”

  Bud Meyers was there the following day too, but left the courtroom in a fit of anger, when, as predicted, Ginney’s reputation was brought up.

  “Objection, your honor!” her attorney said.

  “Sustained.”

  But the damage was done. Stricken from the record meant nothing. The jurors had heard, the media had heard. Ginney glanced over her shoulder as her father stormed out, and then looked helplessly at Dawn.

  “It’s okay,” Dawn whispered. “It’s okay.”

  Her attorney told her the same thing. “We’ll have our say. Relax. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander.”

  Ginney stared at the man.

  “No interviews, please,” he told the media afterwards when they wanted Ginney’s opinion of the day’s proceedings. He repeated the saying then, “What’s good for the goose is good for the gander,” and demonstrated it the following day.

  “Remember you are under oath.”

  “Objection! Counsel is badgering the witness.”

  “Overruled.”

  Ginney’s attorney nodded to the judge, scanned his notes, appeared to be counting, and asked the question again. “What are we talking here, five, ten, fifteen, twenty?”

  The man was a character witness for the defense, a friend of the accused, and fellow exercise boy.

  “How many?”

  The man shrugged. The question had been, according to reputation, how many women did he think the defendant had sexual relations with over the past five years?

  “A ball-park figure?” Ginney’s attorney said, which had several people in the back snickering and laughing.

  Again the man shrugged. “I don’t know. I have no way of knowing. Not for sure anyway.”

  “I see,” Ginney’s attorney said. “Because anything would be speculation on your part. Unless we did a survey, of course, and compared notes, did interviews, proved who was lying and who wasn’t, and...”

  The defendant’s attorney struggled visibly with whether or not to object. “Your honor!”

  “No further questions.”

  Dawn drove out to Ben’s farm to visit Beau Born on Thursday evening, and found him lazy, happy, and getting fat. “He still recognizes me,” she told Ben.

  Cajun had run yesterday and finished second again. Lady ran fourth the day before. Ben talked Dave into turning Branden out, and as a result, got two ship-ins from his Chicago trainer, which were both running today.

  Constantly coming and going, Dawn and Randy had actually cooked last night, and at eleven o’clock yet. “What’s that?” she’d asked Randy, when he came in with a grocery bag.

  “Macaroni and cheese,” he said. “I have a taste for it. And,” he added, kissing her, “I think we can handle it.”

  Dawn laughed, and handed him a postcard off the counter.

  “Who’s this from?”

  “Aunt Maeve.” Dawn took out the box of macaroni and cheese and read the directions on the back as Randy read the card. She glanced in the bag to see if he’d bought butter and milk. He had.

  “What’s this about a trip abroad?” Randy asked, looking at her.

  “Oh, nothing. Aunt Maeve mentioned it when she was here, and asked if I wanted to join her.”

  “When?”

  Dawn shrugged. “I don’t know, sometime in November.”

  “Wait a minute. For how long?”

  Dawn smiled. “I never said I was going, Randy. I’m not sure I want to, particularly now with you cooking and everything.”

  Randy laughed. “I even bought salt and pepper.”

  Dawn cringed as the photographs showing Ginney’s injuries were displayed. James Martin, sitting next to her, leaned forward, took them all in with a single glance, and sat back shaking his head.

  “I hope they nail this guy to the wall,”
he whispered. And Dawn nodded.

  “He must pay, Dawnetta,” a voice in her head said. “He must pay.”

  “Please, for the jury,” Ginney’s attorney instructed the doctor on the witness stand. “Describe in detail the extent of the injuries.”

  “Objection.”

  “Overruled.”

  Dawn lowered her eyes, stared at the floor.

  “Multiple contusions.”

  “Dawnetta. Dawnetta, listen to me.”

  “Labia minora, majora.”

  “Dawnetta.”

  “Dawn...” She felt a hand on hers, not a gentle hand, a firm hand. “Dawn.” It was James. She stared at him, wondered why he was looking at her this way. “Come with me,” he said, but she shook her head.

  “I can’t,” she whispered, and turned back in support of Ginney. James took out his handkerchief and wiped the blood from her palm.

  “Laceration of the lip. Right eyebrow.”

  James pressed the handkerchief into place, motioning for her to hold it tight, kept his hand on top of hers, and watched her out of the corner of his eye.

  “All rise!”

  “Please,” Dawn said to James, as she shook her head. This was nothing for him to be concerned about. She felt bad for Ginney having to sit through this, and couldn’t do anything to help. That’s all. This isn’t about me. “Please...”

  Randy was as concerned that evening as well. “How’d you do this?”

  She shrugged. “My fingernails.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Why does everyone keep asking me that? Come on, it’s embarrassing. This isn’t about me. It’s about Ginney.”

  “How is Ginney?” Randy asked, day after day. His schedule had been so hectic, he’d only been at the trial once, and even then just for a few minutes.

  “She’s doing good. You’d have been proud of her. She never even blinked and looked right at the jurors.”

  Randy smiled sadly. If someone had asked him six months ago what he thought of Ginney, he’d have had to honestly say he pretty much thought of her as a good time. Now she was a good friend. One he was rooting for.

  Tom sat in the tack room and read the article on the filly again. It was worth reading twice. And out loud.