Winning Odds Trilogy

by MaryAnn Myers

  Wendy and Dawn stood quietly in the doorway, listening.

  “It’s in the molecules of their DNA. Just like people there are no two snail DNA alike. Male snail DNA has an extra chromosome that enables them to roam further than the females but they find when they are in foreign territory they start to get a stomach ache.”

  When Dawn and Wendy laughed, Randy turned and smiled. “He’s doing fine. He’s liking this.” He motioned to the monitors and then quietly turned another page. “So the snails all stay close to home and live happily ever after.”

  Chapter Three

  Ben made himself a mayonnaise and cheese sandwich, poured a cup of coffee, and walked out onto his farmhouse porch to sit for a while. It wasn’t often he fixed himself something to eat anymore, not with all the “lady folk” here fussing over him all the time. He drew a breath and sighed. Speaking of lady folk….

  Brenda came tooling down the drive on the ATV. “Any word?”

  “No. Last I heard he was doing okay though, so hopefully when they wake him up tomorrow he’ll be on the mend.”

  As he took a sip of his coffee, Brenda narrowed her eyes. “That’s not high-test, is it?”

  Ben shook his head. “Don’t you have some work to do?”

  “Listen, just because Wendy isn’t here doesn’t mean I’m not watching you.”

  “Yep.” Ben took another sip. “Fat chance this old man can make his own decisions, particularly when it comes to what he eats and drinks.”

  “Oh, don’t start,” Brenda said, smiling. “If we didn’t love you….”

  “Yeah, I know. Yadda yadda yadda. And if it weren’t for all of you loving me I’d be eating pork hocks swimming in grease and washing it down with expresso so strong you could stand a fork in it.”

  Brenda laughed. “It’s espresso, Ben, not expresso. And trust me, you wouldn’t like it.”

  They both turned, puzzled when they saw Wendy’s car turn off the road into the driveway. As it got closer, they could see it was Gordon driving. The young man parked over by the main barn and walked up to the house. Brenda studied his eyes. He looked like he’d aged ten years in a day.

  “Have you been to the hospital?” Ben asked.

  He shook his head and walked past them. “No, I don’t want to go. I can’t stand seeing him like that.” The screen door banged shut behind him.

  “Should we go talk to him?” Brenda asked.

  Ben stared over his shoulder in the wake of the young man’s path. “There’s nothing we can say that’ll help. He needs to deal with this his own way.”

  Brenda nodded. They all knew Gordon well. He kept things to himself, dealt with things by himself. Matthew on the other hand was an open book and wanted to debate issues to death. What if? Why not? That’s not right? What the hell? That was his favorite expression, “What the hell?”

  Brenda drove on. Ben used to love mayonnaise and cheese sandwiches and wondered why this one didn’t taste as good as he remembered. Where were the dogs when he needed them? He scanned the pastures and damned his failing eyesight. Was that them up on the hill by Randy’s parents Liz and Randy Sr.’s ranch house? Probably not. If that were them, they’d be moving. Must be trees, he thought. “No, can’t be. There never used to be any trees there.”

  “You talking to me, Ben?” Gordon asked from inside the house.

  “No, I’m talking to myself. It’s what old men do when they can’t see.”

  After a good long silence, Gordon commented. “Wonder if Matthew will live to be an old man?”

  “If the Lord’s willing,” Ben said.

  Gordon scoffed. “I hate when people say things like that.”

  “Yeah, me too,” Ben said, and here came the dogs, all six of them; five Labradors and a Standard Poodle. He fed them the rest of his sandwich, each got a tiny piece. Then he shooed them off the porch. Rotty, the Standard Poodle refused to leave and whined at the door for Wendy. “Go on. She’ll be home later.”

  “Who?” Gordon asked.

  “Your mom. Rotty’s looking for her.”

  Gordon appeared in the doorway and just stood there for a moment, looking down at Rotty and then all the other dogs. He just stood there, and Ben just sat there, a minute, maybe two. “They say he might not even be okay even if he does wake up, you know.”

  Ben looked at him. “The odds are in his favor. He’s young. He’s healthy.”

  Gordon nodded, but only slightly. “He aced his exam. I checked with the Prof.”

  Ben smiled, and again, Gordon just stood there and Ben just sat there.

  “I don’t know what to do,” Gordon finally said.

  “Me neither,” Ben said. “If I were a younger man, I think I’d go clean some stalls or move some hay or something. I’d be staying busy.”

  Gordon looked at him.

  “George and Glenda could probably use some help. They’re going to be bringing in the mares soon.”

  Gordon nodded and walked outside and down the steps. About halfway to the barn he glanced back. “Thanks, Gramps.”

  Ben chuckled. D.R. and Maeve called him Grandpa all the time. So did Linda Dillon’s little girl Maria. But this was the first time Gordon had ever referred to him as Gramps.

  “If George and Glenda are done, see if Dusty needs some help.”

  “Sure thing, Gramps.” The young man walked on, smiling.

  Ben was smiling too. But then he thought about Matthew, how close he and Gordon were, and how devastated Gordon would be if Matthew didn’t recover or was impaired in some way. “I don’t understand life, Meg,” he said, talking to his dead wife, the love of his life. “Why do things like this have to happen?”

  Talking to her wasn’t new. He’d actually never stopped talking to her after she passed. He looked around the farm and could see her everywhere. He thought about how she loved to hang sheets on the clothesline. He thought about how often she used to scrub the porch, how she would plant petunias each year, all different colors, how she’d bury crushed eggshells in the rose beds.

  He stared out over the north pasture to T-Bone’s place. The six-bedroom farmhouse was currently being refurbished and turned into an “old-folks home” for Mim and the other old-timers. Sometimes he swore he could see old T-Bone out in the garden, but the man had passed away last year in his sleep. Turnip greens were his favorite thing to eat, to grow. Who’d have ever thought they’d grow back wild this spring?

  Ben decided to take a walk, to take his own advice. Keep busy. Walk, walk, walk. One foot in front of the other. From a distance, George, Brenda, Gordon, and Dusty watched.

  “Where’s he going?” Brenda asked.

  Ben wasn’t one to walk anywhere except back and forth to the racetrack and the grandstand. Meg was the one that loved to walk for the sheer joy of walking. Ben would look down the shedrow, wondering where she’d gone, and here she’d come. “Where were you?”

  “Just walking.”

  He’d always ask and that’s what she’d always say. She was actually the healthier-conscious of the two. That’s what made it so ironic that she passed before him. He’d have gladly given up his life for her. He told her that as she lay dying. Some people say things like that in times of sorrow, but he meant it.

  “Is he walking to T-Bone’s?” Brenda asked.

  Sure enough, when Ben got to the end of the driveway he took a breather and then turned left and kept on walking. The dogs were scouring the front pasture and decided to join him, all frolicking and barking. Rotty was the biggest barker, albeit it a high-pitched yap.

  “Quit,” Ben told them.

  “Should I go see…?” Brenda said.

  When Gordon shook his head, Brenda smiled.

  Ben waved at a passing truck. The driver, a distant neighbor, waved back. Ben continued walking along, just him and the dogs. Gimpy licked his hand. Sloopy nipped at his feet. Dawber jumped on Piccolo. Piccolo jumped on Runt. Rotty just kept yapping.

  T-Bone’s house was over a hundred years old. Its
age was its saving grace in turning it into the old-folks home. After months of fighting with zoning, Dawn’s Uncle Matt’s people found a loophole. It would require fudging a few things, Matt had said. “What do you want to do?”

  Ben didn’t have to think twice. “These people need a home. I’ll change my name if I have to, to get this done.”

  Ben recalled the first time he’d met T-Bone. “What, were we in our twenties, Meg? Thirties?”

  “You were thirty-two and I had just turned thirty,” he could hear her say.

  T-Bone had been a good neighbor. He could be a little cranky and definitely territorial, but a fairly reasonable man. Ben remembered the time Beau Born’s sire Native Beau got out of his paddock and bred one of T-Bone’s Morgan mares. “I outta sue you,” T-Bone said, leading a rather docile after-glowing Native Beau home by way of this very road and up Ben’s driveway.

  “Oh yeah? Well, you’re just lucky I don’t charge you a stud fee.”

  The two men didn’t speak for months after that. It was the wives that smoothed things over and the foal was so pretty. “Beau’s Tryst” they called it.

  Ben glanced ahead and kept walking. By now the dogs had settled down and were intent on leading the way. Over the years there had been a lot of shared dinners at T-Bone’s place. The dogs probably had hopes of some table scraps. They seemed to have picked up their pace.

  “Either that,” Ben said, “or I’m slowing down.”

  He thought about all the bickering among the families of the soon-to-be residents of this old-folks home. Not one of the old-timers had assets, but some had pensions. Most received monthly Social Security checks and were on Medicare. One had no benefits at all. It didn’t matter to the old-timers one bit who was going to be paying how much or how little, but their sons and daughters and even some of the grandchildren sure had plenty to say.

  “My mom should not have to share a room with someone who is paying less.”

  “My grandfather should have more care than the rest since he’s paying more.”

  “I don’t like this arrangement. My dad is going to need more care eventually. This is not a good idea. I think you’re doing this just for the money.”

  “The money?”

  Ben climbed the front steps to T-Bone’s old house, sat down, and wiped his brow. The dogs milled all around him. If he had a favorite, it was probably Sloopy. He had the kindest eyes and eyebrows that were always twitching one way or the other. He had a look of wisdom about him. Ben patted them all on their heads and gazed at the farm he’d just left behind. It seemed counties away. An odd thought crossed his mind. Would he end up here someday too, needing rails on the walls to get from one room to the next, a bed with rails on both sides?

  “Meg?”

  Nothing. Normally she would respond. He looked at Sloopy. “What do you think?”

  Sloopy wagged his tail.

  The Amish builders had left hours ago and yet the scent of fresh-cut pine boards lingered in the air. When Ben had enough of a rest, he rose and walked inside T-Bone’s front door. It was currently unlocked, but according to the offspring of the soon-to-be residents, they needed “security.” Ben had lived a lifetime without security. He’d lived a lifetime with very little fear.

  “Don’t worry,” Dawn had insisted. “We’ll take care of it.”

  The living room of the house was plenty big enough to accommodate eight residents. There were plans for a large screen television between the two front windows. There would be a table for playing cards. A table for a jigsaw puzzle. It would be nice, Ben thought.

  What else could they do? They only had a short time to finish. They were targeting a deadline of mid-month to get them out of the executive offices at the racetrack and in the meantime keep Social Services at bay. Ben smiled, remembering the night Tom picked them all up from the nursing home where they were about to be evicted. He said their eyes all lit up at the sight of the horse van there to transport them. They loved being at the racetrack.

  Ben sighed. It’s certainly where he’d like to be if he were them. And if not there, then here would be almost just as good. They could see all the barns and the ones that still got around good could take walks. The new pasture for the yearlings was practically in the back yard. They could enjoy the horses romping and playing, grazing, watch them lying down in the tall grass. They could hear Beau Born when he let out that stallion whinny of his.

  Ben chuckled. “I’ll have to warn them about that.”

  T-Bone’s kitchen was being brought up to code. Another day or two, it would probably be completed. The bathrooms were already finished. More rails to hold onto, high seats. The women had to have their bathroom, the men, theirs. The ramps for wheelchair access were being built and would be installed last. Everything seemed to be in order.

  Ben walked out onto the back porch and smiled at the sight of all the dogs waiting for him. Piccolo had a turnip he’d obviously just dug up and was alternately chewing hard on it and tossing it into the air. Runt crouched nearby, ready to pounce on him. The rest….

  Ben noticed something moving way off the distance by the main barn at his farm. Was that Randy’s truck? He squinted. “What’s he doing home so early?” Surely if something was wrong with one of the horses, Brenda or George would have let him know.

  Or would they, he wondered. “I don’t like people protecting me.” The dogs all wagged their tails in apparent agreement. “Guess it’s time to head back.” He gave thought to trekking down through the pastures, but the hill up the other side might prove too much of a challenge. He took the road instead, took his time, and was halfway down his driveway when Tom pulled in.

  “What’s going on, old man? You lost?”

  Ben laughed. “Nah, I took a walk. How’s the boy?”

  “Still sleeping. You want a ride?”

  Ben hesitated, thinking. He didn’t have that much farther to walk to the house, but the barn was a good distance further. “Nah, that’s okay.”

  “All right. I’m gonna go take a nap. I’ll see you later,” Tom said. The dogs followed his truck, barking and frolicking. Ben walked on, thinking. If it weren’t for Matthew lying in a state of limbo at the hospital, this would be just a routine day at the farm.

  Randy, George, Glenda, Dusty, and Gordon stood talking in the main aisle of the barn, and turned as Ben approached. A routine day? Not if you asked them. “What’s going on, Ben?” George asked.

  “I don’t know. I was just about to ask you the same thing.” They were all standing in front of All Together’s stall. “What’s going on?”

  George looked in at the mare and sighed. “I think she’s horsin’.”

  “What?” Ben turned to Randy.

  “She could have slipped the foal.” Randy said. “I don’t want to palpate her for fear of bringing something on if she is still in foal.”

  The mare walked around her stall, squatted and passed some fluid. It was too thick for urine, but…. “Let me do some blood work first and rule out an infection. We’ll go from there.” Randy walked to his truck to get the items needed to draw blood.

  “When did she start this?” Ben asked.

  “Just a little while ago,” George said.

  “When was someone going to tell me?”

  George just looked at him a moment. He’d been Ben’s farm manager for years. Ben was involved in the day- to-day operation of the farm, but not on a hour-to-hour, minute-to-minute basis. “I don’t know, maybe when I had something to tell you. What’s going on with you, Ben?”

  “Me…?”

  “Yeah, you. If All Together slipped her foal, it’s nobody’s fault.”

  “I didn’t say it was anybody’s fault.” Ben looked at each one of them. This was his family; these were his friends. “I don’t want to have surgery on my eyes,” he said.

  “Is that what this is all about?” Dusty asked.

  Ben shrugged and looked at Gordon. “I want the best for your brother.” He shook his head. “It’s not
fair. He’s too young to be going through this. Never mind, I….” He turned and started to walk away, but then stopped, because they were all following him.

  “Ben, we’re in this together. Okay?” Brenda said.

  He nodded. “I’m going to ride into the hospital. Anyone want to go?”

  Gordon hesitated and then nodded. “I’ll drive,” he said.

  Ben gave him a look.

  “Fine, I don’t care. You drive.” Gordon climbed into the passenger side of Ben’s truck and whipped out his cellphone. They rode most of the way to the hospital in silence, Gordon texting and Ben deep in thought. The ride up in the hospital elevator was quiet, the walk down the corridor to Matthew’s room, quiet.

  “I’m going to go to the men’s room,” Gordon said, just shy of Matthew’s room.

  “All right, I’ll wait for you,” Ben said.

  “You don’t have to,” Gordon replied.

  “Go.” Ben motioned to the men’s room door. “Go on. Go.”

  Gordon went into the men’s room, bent over the sink for a moment, and studied his reflection in the mirror. There was so much of his brother in him. He splashed cold water on his face again and again. When he lifted his head, he looked for a paper towel. There was none, just a hot air dryer. He wiped his face on his shirt sleeves, dried his hands on his jeans, and smoothed his hair back.

  Ben observed him keenly when he emerged and the two of them walked into Matthew’s room together. Wendy looked up from keeping vigil at Matthew’s bedside and smiled.

  “Hey, Son,” she said. “Ben.”

  Gordon stared at his brother, monitors beeping, oxygen machine hissing.

  “How is he?” Ben asked.

  Wendy looked at both of her sons before answering. “Um, I think he’s doing okay. All his vitals are good. He’s still sleeping according to all indications.”

  “Sleeping?” Gordon said. “Mom, come on.”