Winning Odds Trilogy

by MaryAnn Myers

  “So that uh…?” Tom wanted clarification, as did all the other adults judging from their expressions. “So that uh… Rupert never points a finger again?”

  “Not that one,” Dawn said.

  Everyone hesitated a moment. When Ben went back to eating, they all went back to eating. Dessert was Cassada cake. It was always Cassada cake with pizza. When the dishes were done and everything was cleaned up, the evening came to an end. Ben stood out on the porch and watched them all leave, the children holding hands, their tiny voices echoing in the night, their laughter. He waved to Glenda and George as they pulled out of the drive, and smiled at Dusty. He was headed out to the pasture where the little filly Bonnie Bee was grazing with Poncho and Biscuit. No doubt, he had a pocketful of molasses treats for them.

  He glanced in the direction of T-Bone’s Place, dark but for the porch light. “Oh, Meg…” he said. “There’s so much going on. I wish you were here.”

  “I am, Mr. Miller,” he heard her say. “I’ll always be here. Now go get some rest. You have a big day tomorrow. I’ll be waiting for you back here at home.”

  ~ * ~

  Tom got out of the shower and dried off, wrapped the towel around his waist and walked down the hall to check on Wendy. They had the upstairs to themselves, bathroom, bedroom, and the adjoining attic turned into a cozy, sprawling den. Wendy was sitting at her desk.

  “I’m going to bed.”

  She nodded and smiled. “I’ll be right in.”

  “All right, but if you wait too long I’m going to be sound asleep.”

  Wendy laughed. “Come here and look at this.” It was an article written about the number of Thoroughbred racetracks that had closed over the past five years. Tom scanned the page and yawned. Ben had said no to “slots” and Dawn and Tom had agreed. Ben said he’d close the doors first. He and Richard had gone round and round about it.

  “We’ll simulcast, we’ll run promotions, do giveaways, the tours, the videos, the articles, all of that and more, whatever you guys come up with, but no slots. We’re not a gambling casino; we’re a racetrack.”

  “You know what I think?” Wendy said.

  “No, I don’t,” he said. “Come to bed and tell me. Tell me anything you want.” He took her by the hand. “Tell me stories. There once was a man who lived on a farm, and….”

  Wendy laughed, following him. “Okay, but if I lose my train of thought.”

  “I’m counting on it,” Tom said, turning out the light.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ben and Dawn walked down the corridor at the hospital, checked in at the surgical desk, and sat down in the waiting room. Dawn laid her laptop down on the empty chair next to her and reached for one of the cataract-surgery pamphlets on the table.

  “Let’s see, it says right here that the procedure is brief and painless and that most patients are back to normal activities the next day.”

  “What?” Ben said. This was the first he’d heard of that.

  Dawn read him bits and pieces of the description of the surgical procedure. “In preparation for your surgery, a sterile drape will be placed around the eye. Did you put your drops in your eyes this morning?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Okay, good.” She read further. “To begin your surgery, the surgeon will make a very small incision about an eighth of an inch or less at the outermost edge of the cornea.” She cringed. “I’ll skip ahead.”

  Ben nodded.

  “Let’s see, rarely needs stitches, self-sealing, a clear artificial lens, it’s folded and then unfolded, set in the correct position. Humph. That’s interesting.”

  “Terribly,” Ben said, glancing at her.

  She chuckled. “Okay, here, this is good. During your surgery you will be aware of the surgeon, the staff, and the operating room surroundings, but you will not be able to see images of the surgery being performed. Your surgery will take less than 15 minutes per eye….”

  “Per eye?”

  “You’re only having the one done today. Remember?”

  “I remember. I just hope they remember.”

  “Mr. Miller.”

  Ben stood, looked at Dawn as if he was seeing her for the last time and walked through the doorway with the nurse. Dawn continued reading. “If you experience pain during the procedure it is important to tell your surgeon. The use of eye drop anesthesia is sufficient for most cataract patients. Most experience little if any discomfort.”

  She folded the pamphlet and leaned her head back against the wall. “All we are saying is give peace a chance…” she sang softly. “Why am I singing that song? Oh, the wall, that’s why.” She closed her eyes, said a prayer for Ben, and sat staring through her eyelids. She couldn’t imagine what Ben must be going through. It was so important for him to be independent. It was so important to Matthew.

  When someone sat down in Ben’s chair next to her, she opened her eyes and smiled at the tiny little woman. A middle-aged woman, perhaps the daughter, was standing at the counter. The tiny woman looked up at her.

  “Good morning,” Dawn said.

  “Mom, don’t bother the lady,” the woman standing at the counter said.

  “I’m not bothering her.”

  “She’s not,” Dawn said.

  The daughter rolled her eyes and sighed.

  “She thinks I’m senile,” the mother whispered. “I’m not; I’m just forgetful.”

  Dawn smiled. “So am I.”

  “It’s just that I have so many things on my mind. I’m missing bridge you know.”

  Dawn looked at her.

  “I’m supposed to be playing cards right now.”

  “Well, we can fix that,” Dawn said, opening her laptop. “At least until they call for you.”

  “Oh, I’m not having anything done. She is. I’m just supposed to sit here.”

  The daughter rolled her eyes again.

  Dawn pulled up an online bridge game. “We will be playing against two virtual opponents.”

  “Huh?”

  “Fake players. You and I will be on the same team. How good do we want them to be?”

  “Well, let’s keep it interesting,” the little woman said. “I’m pretty darn good.”

  Dawn smiled. “All right.”

  The two of them won the first game, lost the second one, and won the third. When the woman’s daughter returned from whatever surgical procedure had taken place, apparently not her eyes, the little woman sighed. “It was so nice to meet you.”

  “You too,” Dawn said.

  The woman patted her arm. “I hope the man ‘who’s like a father to you’ does well in his surgery.”

  “Thank you.”

  The woman’s daughter opened the door for them to leave. “Like a father? she muttered. “He’s probably her sugar-daddy. She has pampered written all over her.”

  “Oh no, dear. She works hard. She works at the racetrack.”

  “I’ll bet,” her daughter said. “Come on; let’s go. Don’t dawdle.”

  How sad, Dawn thought. You have no idea how lucky you are. Oh how I wish my mom was still alive, my dad too. She checked her e-mails and smiled. There was one from her Aunt Maeve.

  Hello, my dear Dawnetta. I hope you are well and those darling children and handsome husband of yours too. I am facing day-to-day challenges of aging. I know now why they say getting old is not for sissies. Climbing a mountain is not quite as easy as it once was. Love, Aunt Maeve

  Dawn e-mailed back. Dear, Aunt Maeve. When you get to the top, don’t look down. It makes you dizzy. Love, Dawnetta

  “Mrs. Iredell?”

  “Yes?”

  “Mr. Miller would like to see you.”

  Dawn gathered up her things and followed the woman down the hall. An image of Ben the first time she saw him after he’d had his stroke flashed in her mind. He’d looked so frail, so weak, so….

  Ben looked up when she walked in the room and smiled. He had a big patch on his right eye. “It wasn’t bad at all. I on
ly have to wait a few more minutes and we can leave.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep,” the nurse said. “He did great.” She handed Dawn a list of post-operative instructions and left the room

  “What’s it say?” Ben asked.

  “It says to keep the patch on until your appointment tomorrow, only light physical activity, no heavy lifting and no aerobics.”

  Ben chuckled. “No risk of that.”

  “You can take acetaminophen for pain. Don’t rub your eye. It may feel as if you have something in your eye, that’s normal. No driving for twenty-four hours, no alcohol, you can resume your medications.”

  “What about eating?”

  “It doesn’t say. We’ll check with the nurse on the way out.”

  ~ * ~

  In between bouts of nausea, Lucy proved to be a great help to Vicky. She packed the old-timers’ clothes in bags. She stripped the beds, stacked the pillows, packed up all their meds, their books, their magazines, their racing forms.

  “Keep sipping the ginger-ale,” Vicky insisted, whenever the girl looked a little green or felt woozy. “Here, have some more Saltines.”

  The old-timers were down in the clubhouse enjoying an early lunch. Closed on Mondays when there was no racing, they had the whole dining area to themselves. They sat reminiscing, planning, anticipating. The thought of moving out to Ben’s farm was exciting, but it was also frightening. Change came hard for them at their age.

  Chef Diamond Lou came out with his serving crew and gave them all a hug. “I will see you. I promise,” he said, wiping his eyes. “Now eat! Eat! I make so special for you, always!”

  Vicky and Lucy joined them a few minutes later. “Try and eat a little mashed potatoes,” Vicky told the girl. “If it stays down, get brave.”

  “Oh no, so I hear,” Chef Diamond Lou said, bringing out a special dish. “For you, little lady.” He’d made her fresh lemon-lime gelato. “Eat tiny amount a time. Make tummy feel good.”

  Lucy nodded and started to cry. “You are all so nice to me.”

  “Oh my,” Mim said.

  “Nonsense, nonsense.” Diamond Lou hugged Lucy gently. “You so special. Woman with child is God gift.”

  “Okay, enough” Mim said, that sentiment causing even her to get a little teary-eyed. “Can we just eat now?”

  Chef Diamond Lou clapped. “Yes, yes! Eat, eat! Where Pastor Mitchell? He supposed to come!”

  Pastor Mitchell walked in behind him. “I’m right here.”

  “Oh, good, good, good!”

  Pastor Mitchell sat down next to Lucy and they all bowed their heads. “Dear heavenly Father, bless this food. Bless these people. Bless this place. Bless this young mother to be and her unborn child. Be with them all as they embark on their new journey. We pray in Jesus’ name, Amen.”

  Chef Diamond Lou sniffled and looked at all of them. “I so happy, so happy for you all.” He glanced at the feast he set before them and gasped. “Oh no! Who forget cranberry sauce? I make special, no sugar!” He hurried into the kitchen, returned in a flash and doled out a scoop for each person, waited for them to taste it, and left happy.

  ~ * ~

  As soon as Tom and Dusty finished up at the barn, they drove over to the grandstand, parked in the basement level used for deliveries and waited for the moving van to arrive. The transport vehicles for the old-timers were expected later. Since Jeannie and Clint were in wheelchairs, they had to have separate vans because of liability. The others were going to be driven in a limo bus. The hope was for their beds and furniture to be in place before they arrived at T-Bone’s Place, so they would feel right at home, which is why they were all in the clubhouse and not on their floor. It might be hard on them to see their belongings being packed up and hauled out.

  Tom motioned to the guard shack by the horsemen’s entrance at a shiny black BMW with tinted windows. “God, I’d love to be there,” he said. It was Dawn’s Uncle Matt. The two of them watched the vehicle wind its way through the horsemen’s lot and park outside Rupert’s Tack Shop. The driver got out and opened the door. Tom smiled when Uncle Matt emerged. The man was always dressed in black.

  When the tack store door opened, Rupert looked up from the counter. Uncle Matt made no pretense of shopping. “We’re here to see a man named Rupert,” Uncle Matt’s assistant said, locking the door behind him. “Would you happen to be Mr. Rupert?”

  Rupert nodded warily. “Is there some reason you locked my door?”

  “Yes, we don’t want disturbed,” the assistant said. “We’ll only take a moment of your time.”

  Uncle Matt put on a pair of black Corinthian leather gloves. “I mean you no harm,” he said. “But it’s been brought to my attention that there was a little incident here yesterday involving a gun.”

  Rupert looked from one to the other.

  “This is private property, this establishment, this racetrack, it’s all…how can I say this, it’s all under my jurisdiction.”

  Rupert’s Adam’s apple moved up and down in his throat.

  “Guns make me nervous,” Uncle Matt said. “Right, Angelo?”

  His assistant nodded. “Yes, they make you nervous, Boss.”

  “So you see, when I had this gun in question run for registration it made me even a little more nervous and I don’t like that.”

  “No, he doesn’t like that,” Angelo said.

  Uncle Matt hesitated. “What kind of man pulls a stolen gun on his son?”

  “I didn’t steal that gun. I bought it years ago at a gun show. For burglars.”

  “I see,” Uncle Matt said. “Lucky for you, the gun ends up in my hands.”

  “It wasn’t loaded.”

  “I don’t like a bluff,” Uncle Matt said. “I don’t like a bully. Your son is well thought of. I don’t want to see any harm come to him. You, I don’t know and I don’t care.”

  “He doesn’t care,” Angelo said.

  “So let me make myself clear. Nothing happens to your son. Nothing.”

  “Capiche?” Angelo said, unlocking the door.

  “One more thing,” Uncle Matt said. “I don’t like the smell of this place. Clean it up.”

  Angelo stepped back and followed him out, opened the car door, closed it and got in behind the wheel. Uncle Matt looked at him in the mirror. “Capiche?”

  Angelo laughed. “Hey, I thought it was a nice touch.”

  Tom and Dusty watched as the black BMW snaked its way back out of the horsemen’s lot to the road. And here came the moving van.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Loading up all the beds and furniture and the old-timers belongings took very little time. Fortunately they were able to use the industrial-size commercial elevator. Between the two movers and Dusty and Tom, it was all done in less than an hour. Tom tipped the men each twenty dollars and he and Dusty went back up to the third floor to make sure nothing was left behind. They swept the rooms, the bathrooms, hallways, and took the bagged garbage down to the basement dumpster. Tom looked out across the parking lot.

  “I can’t stand it,” he said. “I’ve got to go feel Rupert out.”

  “Now wait a minute,” Dusty said. “Ben told you to stay out of this. Remember?”

  Tom just looked at him.

  “All right, I’ll come with you,” Dusty said. “I’m warning you though, if you say one word about that gun, I’m going to drag you out of there by your ear!”

  “Ooh.” Tom pretended to be afraid, the two of them laughing.

  Tom opened Rupert’s Tack Shop door and Dusty walked in first. It had been quite a while since Uncle Matt paid his visit, but Rupert still looked visibly shaken. “What can I do for you two?” he said, scrubbing the floor.

  “I need a, uh, box of Vetwrap,” Tom said. “Green.”

  Rupert motioned. “You know where it’s at. What about you?” he asked Dusty.

  “Oh.” Dusty hesitated. “Another couple bags of those molasses treats if you still have some.”

  Rupert
propped his mop against the wall and walked around behind the counter to get them. Dusty paid the man. Tom’s Vetwrap was put on Ben’s account. The two walked to the door and another customer entered.

  “Hey, Jack,” Dusty said.

  “Hey, Dusty. Hey, Tom.”

  Dusty nudged Tom out the doorway. Randy’s truck was parked by the first barn past the kitchen. They tossed their wares onto the front seat and walked back to the grandstand. When the two of them entered the Secretary’s office, they saw Linda talking to a man that neither had seen before. At first they thought it might have been the agent from Family Services but when she looked up and waved them over, they figured not. She seemed rather happy to be making this fellow’s acquaintance.

  “This is Dr. Simmons.”

  “Mark,” the man said, shaking their hands.

  “He’s the new vet here to see Randy. This is Tom. He kinda sorta owns the place.”

  “Not really,” Tom said.

  “And this is Dusty. He is the Nottingham Downs Liaison Official. He makes sure that everyone on the backside behaves and he watches out for every horse here on the racetrack.”

  Mark Simmons smiled, impressed. He was a short, stocky man, already graying at age thirty-seven, with big blue eyes.

  “He’s divorced,” Linda added. “Loves children, has two, and they’re in high school.”

  Tom laughed. “Did you read that on his forehead or something? How long you been here?”

  “Not long.” They all laughed. “I tried having Dr. Iredell paged from the guard entrance, but he never showed. I waited quite a while and then decided to come over here.”

  Wendy had left a visitor’s pass for him at the gate.

  “Come on,” Dusty said. “I’ll take you to go see Randy.”

  When the two men walked away, Tom teased Linda. “You’re drooling.”

  “Yeah, but not so much. He’s got a girlfriend. She’s why he’s divorced. I don’t want any part of that.” She walked back around behind the entries counter. “Have you seen Joe?”

  “No, why? He’s not here?”

  “Nope.”

  No sooner said than he came rushing through the doorway pushing people aside. “Excuse me. Excuse me.”