Randy nodded, swallowed hard, and got up and walked to the door, where he turned to say good-bye, to say how sorry he was, and saw the way Ben looked up and met his eyes. He walked back in then and sat down.
Dawn rushed over to the truck as soon as he returned. “Well?” she asked, holding onto the door.
“Ben wants to see you,” Randy said.
“What did you tell him?” she asked, her voice rising.
Randy got out of the truck and glanced at Tom. “I advised she be put down.”
“What?!” she gasped. “You’re not even going to try?”
“There’s nothing to try, Dawn!” he said, not meaning to sound so harsh, but wanting her to accept it. “There’s nothing we can do.”
Dawn backed up, shaking her head and glaring at him. “I’ll get another vet. Don’t you touch her. You understand? Don’t you touch her.”
“Dawn.... It’s Ben’s decision.”
Dawn stared at him, a long grievous stare. “I will never forgive you for this, Randy. Do you hear me? Ever! You won’t even try. How can you not try?”
“Dawn, listen to me. It’s no use.” He took a step toward her, but she held up her hands, turned, and grabbed her purse from the tack room and left.
Ginney entered The Rib, looked around, and walked over to the corner booth where Dawn was seated, and sat down across from her. “I’m sorry, Dawn,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
Dawn nodded. “Me too.” She took a swallow of beer.
“I was just by the barn. She’s gone.”
Dawn stared at her glass. “Was Tom still there?”
“No. Fred said he went to the hospital.”
Dawn nodded again. “That’s where I’m supposed to be. This is as far as I got.”
“Do you want me to go with you?”
Dawn shrugged. “I’m not ready yet. I’m kind of hating Ben at the moment, I’m sorry to say.”
“Why? I’m sure he’s hurting too, Dawn.”
Dawn looked at her, studied the concern in her eyes, and smiled sadly. “You’re right. It’s not his fault we have a spineless vet.”
Ginney shook her head. “Dawn, this isn’t Randy’s fault. These things happen.”
Dawn sighed.
“Come on. Ben’s probably worried sick about you.”
Ginney drove and waited for her outside Ben’s room.
Tom was still there, sitting next to Ben’s bed. Ben’s face was red and his eyes bloodshot. Tom stood when Dawn appeared, his expression upon seeing her a tremendous sign of relief. Ben motioned for her to come sit on the side of the bed, and there she embraced him, holding on tightly as he caressed her hair.
“It’s the best thing,” he whispered to her. “It’s easier to let go now. I had to do it this way.” He was shaking, his body trembling as he spoke, but solid. And it was comforting holding on to him, his strength reminiscent of her father’s in the past. When she sat up and faced him, behind her, Tom turned away to wipe his eyes.
“Now what?” she asked, her voice quiet and flat.
Ben shrugged. “We go on,” he said. “It’s simple.”
“Just like that?”
“Yes,” he said, patting her hand. “We still have Beau Born.”
“You have Beau Born,” Dawn said. “I don’t want any more horses.”
Ben shook his head. “Beau Born is yours, and has been since the day we came back from the sale. It’s in my will. You and Tom are my only beneficiaries.”
“Ben, I don’t think...” Dawn started to say.
“Bullshit,” Ben said. “And damned if I die, you had better take good care of him, or I’ll come back and haunt you.”
Dawn forced a smile, a feeble one, but a smile nonetheless. As quickly as it came though, it left. She sighed deeply, shaking her head, and swallowed hard. “Why couldn’t Randy do something?”
“Randy’s not God, Dawn,” Tom said, and she turned. “You have to be realistic. You can’t blame him for what happened.”
Dawn looked at him, seeing how hurt he was in all this. He was crushed. Still... “I blame him for not trying. For doing nothing. I’ll never forgive him for that.”
“Dawn...” Ben said.
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Ben. But that’s just the way I feel.”
“You’re wrong, Dawn.” Ben searched her eyes. “You’re hurt, and you’re angry, but you’re wrong.”
Dawn shrugged helplessly. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Nothing’s going to change.” She hesitated. “I dread going back to the barn. I can’t even imagine...” Her voice cracked, tears filling her eyes. “Oh, God, Ben.”
He wrapped his arms around her and let her cry. “It’s all right,” he said. “It’s all right. But you’ll go back. You’ll go back, because that’s what horsemen do.”
Ginney talked Dawn into coming in for a drink when they got back to The Rib, which turned into another source of anguish for Dawn. “If one more person stops and tells me how sorry they are, I’m going to scream.”
Ginney looked at her. “Why? They are sorry, Dawn. She was a great racehorse. Christ, my dad even took it hard.”
“Really?” Dawn stared. “What’d he say?”
Ginney smiled. “He said it was a fucking shame.”
Dawn shook her head, but smiled as well. “You’re quite a friend, you know.”
The two of them just sat there a moment, then Dawn stood up to leave. “I’m going to go over to the barn.”
“What for?” Ginney asked.
Dawn hesitated, her bottom lip unsteady as she spoke. “To get her bridle. I’m sure it needs cleaned. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
Dawn shook her head and left.
The guard watched her as she walked to the barn. She walked so tall, so proud, her instinctive posture hiding any indication of grief. Any struggle. She unlocked the tack room door, turned on the light, and stood staring at everything familiar to her. She’d only meant to go in, get the bridle and leave, not wanting to see it hanging there in the morning. But she found herself going in and sitting down...looking around, and recalling all the important things in her life centered around this room. The times she sat with Ben and Tom. All her endless questions. The explanations. Tom’s joking and singing. The planning. The hope.
She looked at the bridle, hanging there, and remembered her surprise birthday and Ben’s anticipation as she unwrapped it. “Come on, open it.” She took it down off its hook, wiped the dirt and mud from the bit, and traced her finger over All Together’s nameplate.
Voices and scenes flashed in her mind. She could see Ben sitting at his desk, smiling, and Tom leaning over his shoulder.
“I’m going to buy this filly,” she remembered telling them. “I am.”
“Dawn...?”
She could see Randy the morning he was furious with her, ages ago, when he slammed the desk and demanded to know where she’d been. And she could see Ben as he sat contemplating, second-guessing his decision to retire Beau. And ultimately, the morning he lay slumped in his chair.
“Gloria! Gloria, come quick!”
She closed her eyes and sighed, heard Tom saying, “I need a drink. I need it bad.” Felt his pain. And heard Ginney crying.
“Dawn?”
“Dawnetta...?”
She stood up, shivering, looked around one more time, and turned out the light and locked the door behind her. Cajun nickered to her then, and she walked down to talk to him, to pet him, smiled when he twitched, and started back down the shedrow to leave.
As she neared the first stall she stopped and stared into the emptiness. No more hopes, no more dreams. She leaned against the doorway, and hugged the filly’s bridle to her chest, remembering...and could almost feel the softness of the filly’s nose against her face.
“Good-bye,” she said. “I’ll never forget you. Good-bye.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Randy stopped and bought two sub san
dwiches and a soft drink, and drove to his apartment, exhausted. It was after ten. He took a couple of aspirins, sat down on the couch to eat, and turned on the television. What timing. The news was replaying the stretch run from Nottingham showing where All Together broke down. He hoped Dawn wasn’t watching, turned it off, and glanced at his watch.
He thought about showering and going over to see her, to be with her, but didn’t really want another confrontation. He was too tired, and she was too hurt. And chances are he’d have to leave to take a call, so why bother? He didn’t like to think of her being alone at the moment, but then again, considering her response to him earlier today, maybe that’s the way she wanted it. Maybe that’s the way she always wanted it, everyone at arm’s length. He sat back, yawning, and shook his head. Everything was always life and death with them.
“I will never forgive you,” she’d said. “Ever.”
He closed his eyes, remembering, and after a moment or two caught himself dozing off. He checked to see if his pager was on, looked at the phone, and picked it up and dialed.
“Hello.”
“Dawn, it’s Randy. Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” she replied, giving no clue as to her real state of mind.
“I just got home. If you want, I can come over,” Randy said, so unsure of himself, of them.
“You don’t have to.” Dawn sighed. “I’m just going to go to bed and put this day behind me.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Good night.”
Randy hung up the phone and stared. Every instinct told him he should go over there, hold her, try to comfort her, make some sense of what happened and accept what followed. But instead, glancing at his pager again, he decided to shower, not wait for a call, and headed back out.
Dawn slept restlessly and was haunted with nightmares. From a distance, from the clouds, she heard her father’s voice as she lay in a field, half-clothed and beaten. Her ankle was broken, twisted and deformed, and she was surrounded by hundreds of stuffed animals. “Okay, all together now,” she kept saying to them. “Help me stand.”
“Dawnetta.”
“Father...”
“Dawnetta.”
“Father, Randy has her leg, and he won’t fix it. Make him fix it.”
“Dawnetta.”
“Help me, I can’t walk,” she cried. “Help me!”
“I can’t, Dawnetta. I’m dead.”
“No!” She woke in a sweat, her heart pounding and with her hair clinging to her face. She got out of bed, went in and turned the shower on as cold as she could stand it, stood under the spray until she was shivering, numb, then dressed and left.
She was determined that every detail, down to the exact time she would arrive at the racetrack, be the same. Her schedule, her entire focus that morning as she pulled into the racetrack, five minutes early. Five minutes? How did I get here so early? She ran back through the traffic lights, searched her memory. One, two. She’d stopped at three. Four, was it green? She couldn’t remember. Did she stop? Yes. Five... She glanced at her watch again. Two minutes. Two more minutes. She gulped her coffee, spilled some in her lap; she was trembling so, and forced herself to finish the rest. Did I stop at the light on Mapes Road? Was it red? No, it was green. How many more? How did I get here this early?
Charlie stood to greet her when she finally got out of her car. “Good morning, Dawn.”
“Hi, Charlie,” she said, and smiled, darting her eyes at the barn and back at her car. “How are you?”
“Oh, I’m all right I guess. What about you?”
Dawn looked at him. “I’m fine. These things happen.”
Charlie nodded, hesitated, and took something out of his pocket. “This is from Gloria,” he said, and got choked up saying it, tears welling in his eyes.
Dawn lowered her gaze, looked at the tiny medal in his hand, and bit hard on her bottom lip to try and keep it from trembling.
“She said to tell you...” Charlie swallowed hard. “She said to tell you to be strong.”
It was St. Christopher. Dawn took it from him, and clutched it tightly in her hand as she smiled. “Leave it to Gloria.”
Charlie chuckled, wiping at his eyes. “Ben’s being transferred today, you know.”
Dawn stared a long time. “No, I didn’t know that.”
When Charlie nodded, she thanked him for the information, and the medal, turned, and walked to the barn. Tom too, tried to ease her pain. “I promoted Red,” he said, and motioned to the first stall. “He ain’t never been this close to the feed room in his life. He’ll probably have an orgasm come dinner time.”
Dawn laughed bravely, was grateful to not have to face the emptiness, and morning chores began. Ben arrived at his usual time and barked orders left and right, Dave came with donuts, and Fred got in the way. Dawn grabbed her purse at ten to leave. Since it was Monday and no racing, she wouldn’t be back later. It was Fred’s turn to feed.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she told Ben.
The attorneys in Ginney’s rape trial were giving their closing statements today.
“Come here,” Ben said. “I want to show you something.”
Dawn walked back into the tack room, glanced at the newspaper he handed her, and shook her head. She didn’t want to read about...
She looked again. It was the obituary. Winston Vandervoort had passed away Saturday. The day before... She looked at Ben and smiled. Winston Vandervoort had been spared.
The courtroom was packed, the crowd quiet as first the prosecution, then the defense presented their closing arguments. Both were positive, they said, that they had proved their case. Both were confident, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, “That you will do the right thing.” Both appreciated their time.
Judge McMurphy gave them a lecture of sorts then. He too said he appreciated their time, but encouraged them not to be in a hurry. To weigh the evidence. And to remember, guilty means guilty, beyond a reasonable doubt.
“All rise!”
“Well?” Bud Meyers asked Ginney’s attorney, when they assembled in the hall.
The man shrugged and glanced at the barrage of reporters awaiting them. “Well, now we wait.”
“For how long you think?”
“It’s hard to say. A day, two. The longer it takes, the better for us.”
“How will we know? Will they uh...?”
“You’ll be contacted. Nothing will be done without you.” He looked at Ginney and smiled. “We’ve done our part. It’s up to them now.”
Randy felt strange entering the lobby of Dawn’s apartment building, and even stranger as he stood outside her door, the key in his hand, and knocked instead.
It took Dawn a long time to answer, and then she just looked at him for a moment. “Did you lose your key?”
He shook his head, walked in, and shut the door behind him. “No, I just...” When she sat down on the couch, he sat down next to her, studying her face, hoping to see some sign of warmth to encourage him. To let him know they were still together, no matter what. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Dawn shook her head. “Not really. Nobody listened to me before, why listen now?” When she started to stand, he reached for her hand.
“Do you want me to leave?”
She looked at him. “No. I just don’t want to talk about it any more.”
“All right,” he said, and did his best to change the subject. “How’d the trial go today?”
Dawn sat back and sighed. “It’s over. The jury’s deliberating.”
Randy nodded. “How’s Ginney doing?”
Dawn hesitated. “She’s fine, I think.”
Randy gazed into her eyes. She looked so sad. “I understand Ben’s transferring to a nursing home to finish out his rehab.”
Dawn nodded. “Tomorrow. He was supposed to go today, but...”
Randy touched her hair, ached for her, wished he could say something to bring her out of this mood. “Dawn, I’m sorry.”
“I know.” She looked at him. “It’s just that everywhere I look, people are crying. It seems like...” She drew a breath, paused, and looked at him again. “When this is all over, I’m going to go away for a while.”
“When what’s all over?”
“Ginney’s trial, Ben and...”
Randy stared. He was losing her. It was evident in her eyes, in her every word. “Are you going to go with your Aunt Maeve?”
“No, I don’t feel much like vacationing. The family has a cabin in Pennsylvania. I think I’ll go there. Maybe I can finish my novel, and get some perspective on all of this.”
“Where does that leave us, Dawn?”
“Us?” Dawn said sadly. “I don’t know. I love you, Randy. I’ve never loved anyone more. But I’m losing touch. I’m hearing voices. And all this crying... I think I just need to get away.”
Randy put his arms around her and held her close. Don’t leave, Dawn, he wanted to say. Don’t leave. But instead, he just held her. Twice in the night, Dawn woke frightened by her dreams. Both times he cradled her next to him, whispered he loved her. And both times, she said the same thing. “I love you too.”
When she woke in the morning he was gone, having left a note in his place. “Had an emergency, but will see you at the track.” She dressed and drove to work.
Ginney got paged to the stable gate around nine; the message was to phone her attorney right away, and she ran to the Miller barn. “They’ve done it,” she told Dawn, panting and out of breath. “They’ve reached a verdict. We have to be there at ten-thirty.”
They were prepared, both had an extra set of clothes. Ginney hurried down to tell her dad, grabbed her things, and ran to the ladies room to change.
“Calm down,” Dawn told her, rather nervous herself.
“Why so soon? That’s not good, is it?” Her attorney had said the longer the better. “Oh Jesus Christ!”
Dawn gripped her by her arms, told her again to calm down. And in came Ginney’s friend, Julie, frantic and in a hurry to change as well.
“Oh my God,” she said. “It’s like déjà vu.”
Winning Odds Trilogy Page 45