Matthew jerked again.
“I got you,” Tom said. “You’re not going to fall. I got you.”
Matthew moved his hand and clasped Tom’s.
“That’s right, see? I got you.”
Wendy edged up close, touched Matthew’s arm, and nudged the nurse out of the way. She touched Matthew’s face. “It’s all right, Son. It’s all right.”
“Matt, come on,” Gordon said. “Stop being so dramatic. Wake up. We’re all here.”
Matthew laughed. It sounded like a cough. He laughed again.
“He’s tripping. You’re tripping, Matt.”
Matthew tried to open his eyes and then jerked again, gripping Tom’s hand even tighter, tried opening his eyes again. Dr. Hanover entered the room, assessed the situation, and wrote up orders for two medications, STAT.
“What’s happening?” Wendy asked.
“Well, either this young man is trying to swim up river or he’s having a reaction to one of the meds. The nurse returned quickly, injected the meds into the IV and everyone stood waiting. Matthew’s brow relaxed and he stopped trying to open his eyes but still held on to Tom’s hand.
“Is that going to knock him out?” Tom asked.
“It shouldn’t.” Dr. Hanover checked the machines for Matthew’s vitals, and just then, Matthew opened his eyes; both of them and without struggle.
“Matthew? Son?” Wendy said.
“Matt?” Gordon said.
Matthew looked from one to the other and then at Tom. “Why are you holding my hand?” he asked.
“Because you were falling,” Tom said. “I know the feeling.”
“Thank you,” Matthew said. “I think I was. Where am I?”
Wendy started crying, not silent tears, sobs, and Dr. Hanover put his hand on her shoulder. “It’s all right. It’s all right. If you could all just give me some room, I need to examine my patient.” He smiled reassuringly at Wendy and they all stepped back, nurses too, all except for Tom, standing on the other side of the bed.
“Are you all right?” Tom asked.
“I think so,” Matthew said.
“Okay. Then I’m going to let go of your hand.”
Matthew smiled. “Good. You were starting to worry me.”
The doctor chuckled along with everyone else. “Okay, Matthew. Since you don’t know where you are or how you got here, I have a few questions for you.” He examined Matthew’s eyes, shining a tiny flashlight in one then the other. “What’s the single most important issue facing the world today.”
“Global warming,” Matthew said, to everyone’s delight, especially Gordon’s.
“Geek.”
Tom put his arms around Wendy and held her close. “Shhh….it’s okay,” She nodded, her face against his shoulder, eyes on her sons. “It’s okay.”
Dr. Hanover leaned close to Matthew. “I want you to close your right eye, Matthew.”
Matthew closed his right eye.
“Now your left one.”
Matthew closed his left eye, but slower than the right one, and not closed completely. “All right, all right. That’s to be expected. It’ll come. See if you can lift your right arm?”
Matthew lifted his right arm.
“Left.”
Matthew hesitated, or so it seemed. The room fell silent. It was as if no one was even breathing. “That’s all right. Try again.”
“Mom,” Matthew said, when his left arm wouldn’t move.
“It’s nothing to be alarmed about,” Dr. Hanover said. “It’ll come. Try just moving your little finger.”
Matthew stared at his left hand, tried moving his little finger, tried willing his little finger to move, try harder – try harder. It moved. Not a lot, but a little.
“All right, that’s good. Now let’s check out your legs.”
Wendy clung to Tom.
“Right leg first. Good. Good. Left leg.”
Matthew looked at his brother, wide-eyed and pale as a ghost. “Did it move?” He didn’t want to look himself. “I can’t feel it.”
“It moved a little. Come on, let’s try harder,” Dr. Hanover said. “This is to be expected. Nothing to panic about.”
Matthew tried harder and leaned his head back when he looked and could see his left leg just laying there.
“Can you wiggle your toes?”
Matthew glanced down and saw his toes wiggling.
“Well, that’s encouraging,” Dr. Hanover said. “Do it again.”
Matthew wiggled his toes again, both feet this time, something he wasn’t exactly trying to do, but that had just happened. He looked at the doctor, searched the doctor’s eyes. The doctor seemed to know and smiled. “The body is an amazing phenomenon. I, for one, believe the day will come when we will be able to grow new appendages. In the meantime,” he said, “what’s going on has a lot to do with swelling and pressure on some of your cranial nerves.”
Matthew found comfort in that, as did his family.
“It may not come as quickly as you would like, but, it’ll come. And you will almost be as good as new.”
“Almost?”
“The perfect part and how you deal with it will be up to you.”
~ * ~
Miguel was the eldest of the old-timers currently living in the executive offices upstairs at Nottingham Downs. Everyone clearly understood it was only to be a temporary situation, but as soon as zoning got wind of it, plans to “house” them elsewhere had to be moved up. Sadder yet, none of the residents wanted to move. They loved it at the racetrack. The racetrack had been their life. This was the perfect place to live out their years if you asked them.
Ben always made a point of checking up on them every day. They were all friends of his. He enjoyed visiting them and they looked forward to seeing him. Originally there were seven of them with nowhere else to go. Now that Mim had decided to join the pack, there were eight. Well-known for her sharp tongue, Mim had a crusty exterior, a no-nonsense attitude, and a heart as good as gold.
When Linda Dillon looked up from Wendy’s desk, phone pressed to her shoulder as she scribbled a message on a pad, there stood Miguel and Mim. She hadn’t seen them for years, but would know them anywhere, particularly Mim. She and the old woman had never gotten along.
She motioned she’d only be a second, finished taking the message, and hung up the phone. She didn’t know what to say, what to do. She’d heard they were living upstairs. “Hello,” she said, for lack of anything better. It seemed silly to say something like “What can I do for you?” She only just a few minutes ago had gotten comfortable with answering the phones.
“Miguel. Mim.”
“Humph. If it isn’t Linda Dillon. What are you doing here?” Mim asked. She never liked this girl, didn’t like how she treated her ponies, didn’t like the way she dressed. Why wear jeans that tight? She didn’t like the girl period.
“I’m answering the phones and helping out. Everyone’s at the hospital.”
“Why?” Miguel asked.
“Well….” Linda hesitated. It was probably none of their business, but with the way Mim was looking at her, the way Mim always looked at her, she felt compelled to answer. “Wendy’s son Matthew was in a car accident.”
Both of the old-timers looked suddenly stricken, blood draining from their faces.
“But he’s going to be all right,” Linda quickly added. “I just heard from them and he’s awake and alert.” Wendy’s words exactly. “Here, sit down.” She jumped up and guided them both to a chair. “Can I get you some coffee? It’s decaf. Apparently that’s all they have around here.”
“Do you have whiskey?” Miguel asked.
“No, I don’t think so.”
Miguel laughed. “I kidding, Momacita.”
Linda looked at him. Does Momacita mean he knows I’m a mother? Or? “Cream and sugar?”
Mim and Miguel nodded.
“I’ll be right back.” She hurried out for the cream and sugar, got a little sidetracked when she r
an into Bob Messer, who gave her some hell for something years ago, and returned a few minutes later to find Mim on the phone.
“Yes, yes, I’ll let him know you called. Nice talking to you, Mr. Jackson.”
Linda fixed their coffee and handed it to them. “So what can I do for you?” she asked, adding, “Not that I’m sure I can do anything. Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine,” Mim said, sipping her coffee. “What are you doing here?”
“Well.” Linda sat down behind Wendy’s desk and paused. “I don’t know if you heard about Erie.”
“Yes,” Mim said. “I saw it on Facebook. It’s not a done deal. What are you doing, giving up on them?”
Linda just looked at her. Facebook? She couldn’t even imagine Mim on a computer, let alone Facebook. “Do you Twitter too?”
Mim smiled.
Linda stared. Mim, smiling? Smiling at her? She wondered if the old woman was getting senile. “Mim, do you remember me?”
“You’d be pretty hard to forget.”
Linda laughed. It was obviously sarcasm, but she’d said it in such a Mim-way. “Well, so what I’m doing here is answering the phone and I’m supposed to be helping Joe out, not that he’ll let me.”
“He’s a paranoid schizophrenic,” Mim said. “He can’t even trust himself to help.”
Linda laughed. That was certainly an interesting observation. “Well, I’d offer you some snacks, but….”
“There be chocolate in top drawer.” Miguel motioned.
Linda leaned back and checked. Sure enough. When she started to pass them to Miguel, Mim shook her head. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“It’s okay. I’m sure Wendy wouldn’t mind.”
“Probably not. But Miguel’s a diabetic. We both are.”
“Oh my!” She’d just fed them both sugar. She flashed Miguel a stern look and put the candy away. Joe started into the office just then and promptly turned on his heels.
“Do you need anything?” Linda called after him.
Nothing. No reply.
“Fucker,” Linda said, under her breath.
Mim took another sip of coffee. “I knew your father.”
Linda nodded. “Yes, I know.”
“He and I are the same age. I was sorry to hear of his passing.”
“Yeah, well I wasn’t,” Linda said.
Mim looked at her. “There’s dietetic candy in the bottom drawer.”
Linda leaned down, searched, and brought out a box of sugar-free dark chocolates. When Mim and Miguel helped themselves, she took a bite of one and made a face. She looked around for the waste basket, grabbed a tissue, and not so discreetly spit it out. “Oh my God! That’s awful!”
Mim agreed. “Yes, but it’s amazing what you can get used to when you have to.” She and Miguel finished their chocolates, downed the rest of their coffee, and stood to leave.
“Can I give someone a message for you? Wendy? Ben?”
“No, that’s okay,” Mim said. “I’m sure we’ll see ‘em later.”
Linda walked them to the door, why, she had no idea, and watched as they boarded the elevator. Mim hailed her cane in salute fashion just before the door closed. Linda walked to the water fountain down the hall, rinsed her mouth of the god-awful sickening-sweet chocolate taste and decided to see if she was needed in the Secretary’s office.
Joe looked up and gave her a disgruntled look. “How are entries?” she asked, ignoring his attitude. “You need some help?”
“No,” Joe said.
“Hey, Linda,” Brubaker said, third in the line four deep to enter. “You working here?”
“For the moment,” she said.
“Good.” He stepped ahead of the line and bellied up to the booth next to Joe’s. “’Cause I’m in a hurry.”
~ * ~
Tom returned to the barn a little after one and was surprised to see Red tacked up and tied outside. Had he been out there all morning? He looked for Ben, looked for Dawn, and found Junior instead.
“Good. You’re back,” the boy said. “Billings said you were ponying for him in the second. I figured to cover for you. I just tacked up. Red’s ready to go.”
“Where’s Ben?”
“Up at the kitchen.”
“Where’s Dawn?”
“She went home. Ben told her he’d feed.” Junior looked at him. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. Don’t you worry about me.” Tom walked into the tack room and checked the training chart. None of the horses were crossed off for the day, so apparently they all got to the track.
“You want to do Billings or you want me to?”
“I’ll get him,” Tom said, looking hard at the young man. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” Junior waved over his shoulder. “By the way, there was some girl here dressed like a pumpkin. Cute little shit too.”
“What do you mean a pumpkin?”
“A costume. A pumpkin costume. I guess she must have been going to some kind of party. I’d fuckin’ party her, that’s for sure!”
Tom sat down on the cot in the tack room and raked his fingers through his hair wondering how on earth anyone ever put up with him at Junior’s age. Better yet, how is it that Ben had stood by him all these years? When Dusty walked into the tack room, Tom looked up.
“How’s Matthew?”
“Well, he seems to be holding his own. He’s got some paralysis, but I guess that’s to be expected and will hopefully go away once the swelling goes down.” Tom stood and reached for his helmet hung on a hook. “How’s Disco Dan?”
Dusty sighed, a sigh that said it all.
Tom shook his head. “That’s a shame. He was such a nice horse.”
They’d set criteria early on for the horses in the Nottingham Downs ReHab and ReHome program where anything and everything possible would be done if the horse could be saved, even the ones that might end up only being a pasture mate. But the horse would have to have a good chance at a relatively pain-free life in the long run. This was the deciding factor for Disco Dan. His injury was too extreme. The horse already had arthritis in that joint, so even if the now-confirmed fracture healed, which was highly unlikely given the extent of the break, it was most likely he would always be in pain and considerably more as he aged.
“Is he gone?”
“Yes.” Dusty had stroked the horse’s neck, talked to the horse, cradled his head as he took his last breath.
Even when they all knew it was best for the horse, it still hurt to let them go. Tom patted Dusty on the back as he walked out of the tack room. Red nickered as Tom approached. He had a blade of straw in his mane. Tom picked it out and mounted, checked the girth, and headed down between the barns. Off in the distance beyond the guard shack, the truck hauling Disco Dan’s remains pulled out onto the highway.
Chapter Six
Randy’s mother Liz and Dawn prepared the dinner meal for everyone while Carol entertained D.R., Maeve, and Linda’s little daughter Maria. Wendy had called from the hospital earlier and said she would be coming home after Matthew ate. The doctor ordered a soft diet, even though Matthew insisted he wanted a cheeseburger and fries.
“Maybe tomorrow,” Dr. Hanover said.
Liz tasted the spaghetti sauce, added a little more salt, and then a wee bit more. She was looking forward to putting up her own tomatoes from the garden. Store-bought canned sauce just didn’t have the same rich tomato taste. When she’d once mentioned teaching Dawn how to make sauce, Randy laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding,” he said, and then high-tailed it out of the kitchen fast when Dawn chased after him with a wooden spoon.
“So what’s Linda going to do?” Liz asked.
“I don’t know,” Dawn said, slicing cucumbers for the salad. “She’s helping out in the office today, but….”
Joe Feigler was correct in his assessment that Linda had become family to Ben and Dawn, to all of them. They loved her and she loved them. They loved little Maria. Whenever the two were
in town, Maria and Maeve were inseparable.
Randy Sr. came into the kitchen and helped himself to some cucumber slices, some red pepper, and a green onion. “Do we have any dip?”
Liz frowned. “Don’t you think you should wait for dinner?”
“No, Mother, I don’t.” He searched in the refrigerator for ranch dressing. “I’m a retired man and I’m going to eat whenever I want. This’ll do. What time is dinner anyway?”
“In about an hour.”
“Oh.” He put the ranch dressing back, ate the veggies plain, and headed out the door. “I’m going to go check on the mare.”
He was referring to All Together and the fact that her blood work results indicated she was most likely still pregnant. “If you top off her water bucket, record it,” Dawn said. They were keeping tabs on her fluid intake. He nodded and then waved to George outside.
George waved back. When Randy Sr. and Liz first moved here and built their ranch house, George admittedly got a little annoyed with Randy Sr. being constantly underfoot. He felt as if the man was not only watching his every move but was also trying to tell him how to do his job. He went to Randy, the man’s son, with his concerns.
Randy laughed. “Are you kidding me? He’s a farmer! That’s what farmers do! They’ll sit at the local diner and debate the circumference of a blade of grass for hours on end just for the hell of it! And don’t ever expect them to agree on anything!”
From that moment on, George stopped taking things so personally and actually started enjoying having Randy Sr. around. He was a wealth of information and there wasn’t anything the man couldn’t fix.
Randy Sr. climbed onto the back of George’s tractor and rode along with him to the barn. All six dogs ran alongside. The broodmare, All Together, was standing in her stall munching hay. It had been over six weeks since her last foal was weaned. All three of her foals had been sired by Beau Born, as was the foal she was hopefully carrying now.
She’d drunk half a bucket of water since checked last. George filled it back up and Randy Sr. made note on the stall chart. “So what does Randy think is going on with her?”
“He says she could possibly have some bladder irritation.”
“Pressure from the foal?”
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