“Gordon, listen to me. I’m not going to lie to you. I’m scared too. But they can tell somehow by the brain activity. He’s sleeping. He’s not in a coma or anything.”
“Then why won’t he wake up? Hey, Matthew, wake up.”
Wendy smiled a sad smile. “He’s sedated, but he probably hears you. Remember what the doctor said?”
Gordon looked at his brother. “Don’t let them cut his hair.”
“Why would they cut his hair?” Wendy said.
“I don’t know. Just don’t. Make them leave it alone.”
Wendy sighed. “If I recall correctly, you were the last one that cut his hair.”
Gordon looked at her and laughed, remembering. “I was like what, five or six at the time?”
Wendy laughed softly, then got choked up and had to dab discreetly at her eyes.
Ben looked at Matthew and then Gordon. “Are you going to tell him about his test?”
Gordon hesitated. “You tell him.”
“What?” Wendy said.
Ben sat down in the chair next to her. “Gordon says Matthew did well on his college test.”
Matthew furrowed his brow.
Gordon looked at him. “Your psych test. Prof says you aced it.”
Matthew furrowed his brow again.
“He said he might have to start using a new learning curve.” All three studied Matthew’s expression. “Was that a smile?”
Wendy shrugged and shook her head. “I don’t know. Let’s let him rest.”
Another furrow appeared on Matthew’s brow.
“Rest, Son.”
Chapter Four
Dusty drove back to the racetrack to check on the twelve horses in the ReHoming barn and stopped to talk to the guard at the stable entrance. “Anything new?”
“No, it’s quiet tonight.”
“Good.”
“All except for….” He motioned to the first barn. “That boy’s trouble. I wonder what he’s up to?”
Dusty laughed. Junior Rupert was standing next to his pimped-out pickup truck parked near the second barn, simultaneously talking on his cellphone and filling his jaw with chewing tobacco. The second barn was the Guciano barn. He was probably hanging out waiting for Guciano’s daughter Lucy.
Junior nodded in Dusty’s direction and a couple of minutes later as Dusty was watering the horses, the young man walked over to talk to him. “Hey!”
Dusty smiled. Junior could be a royal pain in the butt, but overall he was also an okay kid as far as Dusty was concerned. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. They have a colicky horse.”
“Their vet come?”
“Yeah.”
Dusty glanced at the purple bruise on Junior’s jaw. The stitches looked tight, swelling all around them. “When do you get them out?” He motioned.
“I’m supposed to go tomorrow. I can’t afford it though.” He spit into the ditch outside the barn. “I’m going to have Lucy cut them out.”
Dusty nodded. Many of the backside employees were without hospitalization. Nottingham Downs management, essentially Ben, Dawn, Tom, Wendy, Richard, and Dusty, were working on trying to get an affordable plan for everyone, but so far none of the insurance companies’ quotes were “affordable.” The cost wasn’t the only snag. The tendency of many backside workers to be transient presented additional problems. Hospitalization required a waiting period. Some had to have entrance physicals; some plans wanted drug testing, some….
“Do you have twenty dollars you can lend me?” Junior asked.
“For what?” Dusty walked on to the next stall. This large chestnut gelding was the newest horse to the barn. Hopefully, they’d find a home for him soon.
“I want to take Lucy out for something to eat.”
“With twenty dollars?”
Junior smiled. “It’s a start.”
Dusty handed him the hose, took out his wallet, gave him a twenty and a five-dollar bill. Junior thanked him and proceeded to water the next horse and the horse after that. When he got to the last stall, one being currently occupied by Disco Dan, he spit over his shoulder into the shedrow and shook his head. “I told that ass-wipe Donovan he wasn’t right. But would he listen to me? No, two-minute lick him. Asshole.” He reached up and pet the horse on the neck. “I’m sorry, old buddy.”
The horse was sore and done up in all fours. The main concern was his right front. The x-rays were inconclusive. Randy planned to x-ray him again tomorrow. They were all hoping for the best, but it didn’t look good for this horse. Not that Junior was privy to this information.
“Tell Ben I’ll be by early in the morning if he needs me,” Junior said.
Dusty watched him and Lucy pile into Junior’s pick-up truck and drive off. Then he sat down on the bench outside the tack room/medicine room. Once a horse arrived at this barn there was no more need of tack, at least not here at the racetrack. The purpose was to give them an evaluation and rest, and to ultimately decide the horse’s fate and future prospects. Dusty had been the racetrack liaison person for several years now. He enjoyed the job and relished the responsibility. He was a dedicated steward to the horses. He was Ben and Tom’s right-hand man. He lived on Ben’s farm in the renovated loft above the mares in the foaling barn. It was fairly primitive lodging with a small kitchen, bathroom, and living room bedroom combination, and was solar heated; a system he designed and built himself.
When the horse in the third stall stuck her head out and nickered, Dusty stood and walked down to talk to her. She was a pretty little filly, little being a characteristic that would likely be held against her when it came to finding her a home. She didn’t stand more than 15 hands at best, probably didn’t weigh eight-hundred pounds, and that was with her being fit and in good flesh. He smoothed her mane and cooed to her, “Hey, Bonnie Bee.” She pricked her ears.
What was it that her trainer had said? “She ran her race every time. She could just never catch up. Still, she’d come back so proud.”
“That’s because you have spirit,” Dusty said. She was a three-year old, unraced at two, and as sweet as could be. Over the past two and a half years, thanks to the self-sacrificing help of Veronica and Karen from the Shifting Gears Thoroughbred Rescue and the relentless, tireless help of everyone else involved, they’d successfully ReHomed one hundred and twelve Thoroughbreds. The filly rubbed her head against his arm. “Don’t worry,” Dusty assured her. “We’ll find you a good home too. I promise.”
~ * ~
It took hours for Dawn to finally get D.R. and Maeve settled down and tucked into bed. She left their doors open and looked back in at both of them, saddened by their broken hearts, saddened at the thought of what Wendy must be going through, saddened at the prospects. She said a silent prayer for Matthew.
They all were praying, even little Maeve. “Please, God, make Matthew all bedder.”
“Amen,” D.R. said, with a quivering bottom lip.
“Shhh….” Dawn said softly. “Go to sleep.”
As she walked down the hall to the living room, she wiped tears from her eyes and saw Randy’s truck lights in the driveway. He opened the truck door but remained seated and she could see he was on his cellphone. When he leaned his head back, she could almost hear him sigh. He shut the door and put the truck in reverse. A second later the house phone rang.
“I’ll be right back,” he said.
“Why? What’s going on?”
He’d stopped in the driveway to swing around and pull out and smiled at the sight of her standing in the bay window. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”
“Yes,” she said.
“I won’t be long.”
“Randy…?” She hesitated. “Do you think Matthew’s going to be okay?”
“Yes, of course he’ll be okay,” he said, but didn’t sound so convincing. “I’ll see you in a little while.”
Dawn walked to the couch, lay down, head on the armrest, and hugged a throw pillow to her chest. Years ago, and
even younger than Matthew, she too lay in a hospital bed clinging to life for hours, days, a week. She remembered vividly the anguish in her father’s and mother’s eyes as she struggled to wake, to stay awake, to fight back, to live.
“Mommy?”
Dawn wiped her eyes and smiled, put on a happy face.
“We can’t fall asleep,” D.R. said, standing there holding his little sister’s hand. “We’re scared.”
Dawn made room for them and tucked them in close.
“Where’s Daddy?” Maeve said, sniffling. “I want Daddy.”
“Daddy’s working, sweetheart. He’ll be home soon. Shhh…don’t cry.”
“Why are you crying, Mommy?” D.R. asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. Sometimes Mommies just cry.”
“Are you sad?”
“No. Yes. I guess.”
“Don’t cry, Mommy,” Maeve said, hugging her mommy tight. “Don’t cry. Iddle be all wight.”
The children’s nanny Carol came down the hall and assessed the situation at a glance. Once she retired to her “room” for the evening, it was rare to see her in the main part of the house. Dawn was very conscious of Carol’s tendency to work-work-work and unless there was an emergency, insisted that Carol’s down time actually be down time.
Carol had gone to her room hours ago, her room being a rather spacious bedroom, living room, efficiency kitchen, bathroom, and a balcony overlooking the yearling pasture. She had just seen Randy drive away. That man, in her opinion was the one who worked way too many hours. He was such a good man, a good father, a good husband. In all her years as the children’s nanny, she never once heard him raise his voice to the children or to Dawn either for that matter. She often told Liz and Randy Sr. that they had certainly raised him right. “He’s such a gentleman.”
“Who wants hot chocolate?” Carol asked, heading for the kitchen.
“Me, me, me,” D.R., Maeve, and Dawn, chorused.
~ * ~
Randy pulled up the driveway of Devonshire Equestrian Club and parked near the main entrance. This was one of the few barns Randy knew of that had a night guard on duty. But ever since that four-hundred-thousand-dollar mare was stolen last year….
The guard opened the door and stepped back for Randy to enter. “Hey, Barney,” Randy said. His calling the man Barney, as in Barney Fife of the old Andy Griffith show was a standard joke between the two of them. The man’s actual name was Sal. Randy produced his ID. Sal looked at it and handed it back. After Randy signed the in-and-out log, he was then allowed through another door. This was the only entrance into the barn area after 8:00 in the evening until 5:00 in the morning seven days a week. The farm owner had gone a little overboard with security after the mare theft in his efforts to keep the horse owners, trainers, and upscale students happy. The entire barn, front to back, inside and out, was riddled with surveillance cameras, in addition to the ones at the entrance and Sal’s work space. Even though Sal knew Randy and Randy knew him – in fact Randy had vouched for him to get the job - if Sal didn’t ask for the ID each time, it would be just cause for immediate termination. For what they were paying him, as Sal said, “No way I’m messing this up.”
Randy checked the huge floor map of stalls which listed all the horses by name in case the mare had been moved to an exam stall, then took a left. Within days after the night when the infamous mare was stolen, Randy had a sit-down talk with Dave, the owner of the facility.
“Listen, you can’t lock the stall doors and you can’t lock the barn doors. It’s not only ridiculous: it’s highly dangerous.”
“No, what’s dangerous is one empty stall in a barn getting sixty-two hundred dollars a month board per horse. My clients pay for the best and I give them the best.”
Randy sighed. “Weren’t you the one that told me it ended up being the woman’s husband?”
“Ex-husband,” Dave said. “And that was classified information in case you don’t remember.”
Randy shook his head. “Why not just put up a 10 foot-high chain-link fence around the entire barn area, barbed-wire across the top, and….”
“Wow, that’s a great idea.”
Randy was being facetious with that suggestion, but if that’s what it would take to get the man to give up the idea of locking each stall and every entrance, he was all for it. In his opinion, the horses’ lives would be in double jeopardy in the event of fire or a roof collapse. When that tornado touched down late last summer and hit the main barn at the Fairways, if it weren’t for the fact that they could open all the stalls and chase the horses outside quickly, they likely would have lost all of the horses not to mention human lives. The barn had collapsed in on itself just minutes after the last horse ran out and all the people behind him.
Randy’s client was a pretty Arabian show mare with a tendency to get cast; stuck up against the wall when rolling, in spite of her fourteen-by-fourteen-foot penthouse-sized stall. Chances are this time she would be fine too, but Randy had to be the one to say so. A decision like that could not be left up to the owner, trainer, groom, or handler. The insurance policy on this mare specified any suspicion of….
The mare’s groom stood up as Randy approached the stall, put down the magazine he’d been reading, and shook Randy’s hand. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with her.”
Randy smiled. “Well, aside from having Dave install a pendulum swing hoist that’ll bob up and down on a bungee cord so she can eat her grain and hay and drink water whenever she wants….”
The man’s eyes lit up. “Do they make such a thing?”
“No. At least not that I know of,” Randy said. “And do not suggest one to Dave.”
Both men laughed.
“Well, so what’s the story?” Randy reached for the clipboard form he would have to fill out and sign. “How long was she down this time?”
“Not long. I’d say less than a minute. I heard her hitting the wall and thought she might be just striking. I was in the tack room and had just walked away.”
Randy made a few notations. “I’ll tell you, every time I see this mare she all but takes my breath away.”
The man nodded. “I know what you mean.”
Randy examined the horse from head to toe. No cuts, no signs of tenderness or soreness, no signs of anything out of the ordinary. “Oh no. What’s that?”
“What?” the groom asked.
Randy smiled. “Just kidding.”
The man laughed. “Don’t do that to me.”
Randy finished filling out the paperwork, took another look in at the mare, shook his head at her sheer beauty, and bid her groom good-night. Sal opened one door for him. Randy glanced at his watch, recorded the time and signed out, and had a second door opened for him.
“Don’t call me, I’ll call you,” Randy said.
Sal laughed.
As Randy climbed into the truck, his cellphone rang. It was Dawn. “I’m on my way home,” Randy said. “Any word about Matthew?”
“No. But your mom and dad are home. They just pulled in. You might want to help them unpack. You know your dad.”
“Thanks, Hon. I will. I’ll see you in a little bit.”
Randy’s mother and father had just begun unloading the luggage when Randy pulled up their drive. His mom waved. “Oh good, you can help your dad. He hurt his back.”
“My back is fine,” Randy Sr. said. “God bless it, I wish you’d stop saying that.”
Randy gave his mom a hug. “Please tell me I’m not going to grow up and be just as cranky as him.”
His mom laughed. Even his dad laughed.
Randy reached past his father and pulled out two of the larger suitcases. “So what happened to your back?”
“He was playing horseshoes.”
Randy looked at his father. “That’s it? Playing horseshoes?”
His dad smiled. “It was a tight game. I had to give it my all.”
“So let me get this straight. You didn’t hurt your back? Your back is ju
st sore?”
“Yes. Tell your mother that.”
Randy winked at his mom. “There is a difference you know, Mom.”
“Yes. But he’s going to have to be more careful from now on to not overdo. We’re not getting any younger.”
“But you’re getting prettier.” Randy planted a kiss on her cheek. “Every day. It’s good to have you home. Both of you,” he added, nudging his dad out of the way. “How’s Cindy?”
“She’s good. Her doctor thinks she’s through the worst of it.” His sister Cindy was three months pregnant and had gotten off to a rocky start. She took a fall in the tub just a little over six weeks into the pregnancy which bought on spotting and concern. “She’s starting to get a little tummy. They know it’s a girl.”
“Ah, now why did you tell me that? There goes my track record for guessing.” Randy put their bags down and went back out to get the rest. Three loads and they were all in. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Keep us posted on Matthew, okay?” Liz said.
Randy nodded. “Put some heat on your back, Dad, not ice. Okay?”
His father nodded.
Randy’s parents were originally going to stay another week with Cindy and her husband Marvin. Because of Matthew’s accident, they had decided to return early. They wanted to be here at home if they were needed. Home. Liz waved to Randy and closed the door. It felt good to be home. It would feel even better when Cindy and Marvin moved closer.
The young couple had placed a bid on a house about four miles from here, for when she and Randy set up practice together. But with Cindy’s precarious condition, they pulled the bid and decided it would be best to wait until after the baby was born to even start thinking about moving. Phase one of that plan, Liz and Randy Sr. selling their farm and building a ranch here on Ben’s property had been completed a little over a year ago. Their farm sold right off within a week. They broke ground here on the new house and were completely moved in less than seven months later.
Randy heard the dogs barking when he got out of his truck at home and turned toward the direction of the sound. Ben’s truck had just pulled into the drive, and not far behind, Dusty’s. He walked down to see what was going on.
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