Chapter Thirty-Six
Jason stepped out of the guard shack and smiled. “Another morning, another newspaper; no mention of us at all today.”
“Good. That’ll make Ben happy.”
“It did.”
Dawn thanked him and walked on, thinking about what he’d just said, and the way he’d said it. “Us. No mention of us at all today.” She smiled, tucking the newspaper under her arm. Ben, Tom, Dusty, and Junior looked up when she entered the tack room. “We really are a team here, you know that? We’re all connected.”
All four men just looked at her.
“It’s really a little too early in the morning for gushing,” Tom said.
Dawn chuckled and poured a cup of coffee. “It’s nice to see Cracker Jack. Do you think he’s okay?”
“Ah, gee,” Ben said.
“What? I was just wondering.”
“Well, wonder about this,” Tom said. “The old man has charted one to pony, one to walk, two to gallop, and Morning Dew gets breezed a half mile - this after he kept us up all night talking.”
They all laughed. “If I recall,” Ben said, “I was the one that went to bed first.”
Junior yawned. “The old-timers stayed up all night too. Good thing I’m a sound sleeper.”
“All right,” Tom said. “Let’s hit it.”
Cracker Jack showed up a little after seven and walked with Dusty as he made rounds. Most everyone stopped to talk to him. After all, he’d been a local sports talk-show host for so many years, not to mention his striking appearance. “How tall?”
“Six-foot seven. I’m shrinking a little.”
His hair made him look about eight feet tall.
They stopped to talk to Jackson, who said he was, “On top of the world. My race went. We’ll win, you mark my words.”
“Well, I might have to place a wager then,” Cracker Jack said, patting the horse on the neck. Cracker Jack’s son was in the same barn as Jackson. He stayed to “hang out” with his son and Dusty walked back to check on the new horse in the ReHab barn. There was a note taped to his feed door.
It read: I need your help. Dee Dee Swaggert
Dusty checked on the horse and walked down to the woman’s barn. He found her sitting in her tack room with her head in her hands. He sat down next to her. She was obviously experiencing a great deal of anguish. “What’s the matter?”
“They repo’d my truck.”
“Again?”
She nodded, head still in her hands. Two tear drops the size of quarters dropped to her lap. Dusty hesitated. “I’d like to help you, Dee Dee, but you still haven’t paid back from the last time.”
“I know. I had it, but then….”
“You spent it,” he said. “You bet it.”
“Not all of it. I have some left.”
Dusty sighed. “How much do you need?”
Dee Dee looked at him. “I don’t expect you to loan me more.”
“Then what do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know. I’m such a loser.”
“Well, in the betting department, yes,” Dusty said.
Dee Dee wiped snot from her nose and smiled.
“How much?” Dusty repeated.
“About two hundred and twenty dollars. I have the rest. I don’t want Rico to find out. It’ll just be one more thing to throw up in my face when he gets mad.”
“Did you talk to Pastor Mitchell like I said?”
She started to nod but then shook her head. “Not really.”
“What’s that mean, not really?”
“I wave to him. I say hi.”
“Well, at least you’re not lying to me,” Dusty said. “Not this time at least.”
“I’m so sorry about that,” Dee Dee said. “It was Rico….”
Dusty stared down Dee Dee’s shedrow. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said.
“Does that mean yes?”
He nodded. “I’ll be back in a little while.”
~ * ~
Señor helped George finish chores in the main barn. Liz helped Glenda harvest vegetables from the garden. They washed and peeled them in Liz’s kitchen and started on the potpies. First time Liz made potpie for everyone at the farm there was some confusion. Aside from Randy and his dad, no one had ever eaten it made her way before.
“This is chicken potpie?” George asked. It certainly looked delicious, but nothing like potpie he knew.
“We don’t like it in pie crust,” Liz said. “We prefer the biscuits on top.”
One taste and everyone loved it.
“Wow. It’s hard to imagine eating it any other way now,” Glenda had said.
The plan was to make four baking dishes of it for their dinner tonight with the old-timers. “Maybe we should make five,” Liz suggested, “with Cracker Jack and Charlie and Gloria in town.”
Glenda chuckled. “But Gloria doesn’t eat that much.”
“Quit,” Liz said, chuckling as well.
The chicken was cooked in broth then the vegetables added and simmered until almost tender. While one of them cut up the chicken into bite-size pieces, the other made a rue and thickened the broth. Then they spooned what looked like a thick soup into the 9”x13” pans and covered them in aluminum foil and went out to check on the progress in the barn. The men had it Spic-n-Span clean. “Come on, guys, we don’t want it too clean,” Glenda said. “It’s supposed to smell like a barn.”
Señor and George laughed.
“How many chairs did we say we needed?” Liz asked.
“Twenty-seven, twenty-eight,” Glenda said, “Thirty to be safe. You never know who’ll drop in?”
“Is Gordon going to make it?”
“He said he’ll try.”
“Oh no,” Liz said. “Here comes Mim!”
“Go talk to her,” George said.
“Good luck trying to pull the wool over her eyes.”
Glenda and Liz nodded and in the end, decided not to even try. They made Mim part of the plan instead. “Dinner in the aisle way of the barn? What a wonderful idea!” Mim said. “Close up each end of the barn when we come up to watch the horses gallop. They won’t even notice.”
Glenda and Liz gathered chairs from all the houses except T-Bone’s Place, waved to the old-timers in passing, and parked on the other side of the barn so no one could see where the chairs were being unloaded. By then Señor and George had the tables made. They’d used plywood for table tops and sawhorses for the bottoms. They’d put them together with screws so they could take them apart and use them again if this worked out well.
They placed the chairs all around, leaving spaces for Jeanne’s and Clint’s wheelchairs on each end so they each would have plenty of room. Then it was off to get tablecloths, plates, silverware, glasses, cups and saucers and lots of salt and pepper shakers. When the tables were set, they covered everything in sheets to keep the dust and bugs away.
“This is going to be so grand,” Liz declared.
Off they went to cut flowers and greens to make centerpieces.
~ * ~
Ben and Cracker Jack rode the elevator up to the third floor and from there took the stairs to the announcer’s booth. Bud Gipson turned and flashed a big welcoming grin. “I heard you were here! Word gets around fast when a celebrity comes to town!” He shook Cracker Jack’s hand and shook Ben’s hand.
The horses for the first race were just entering the paddock. “So what do you think about the Browns this year?” Bud asked.
Cracker Jack shook his head. “I don’t know. At some point, we have to stop rebuilding and play like we mean it.”
Ben reached for Bud’s binoculars and looked down at the crowd as the two men talked about the never-ending Browns’ quarterback controversy.
“Who’d have ever thought,” Ben said to himself.
“What?” Bud asked, turning.
“That we could come back to life.”
Bud smiled. “I don’t mind telling you, I had my doubts in the be
ginning. I thought, how in the hell are we going to do this? I’d look out there and there’d only be a handful of people watching the live races. Look at it now.”
Ben and Cracker Jack nodded. “Well, we’ll let you get back to work,” Ben said. “We just wanted to come up and say hello.” As they walked back down to the third floor they could hear the bugle sound the first race.
“I never tire of hearing that,” Cracker Jack said.
“Me neither.” The two of them strolled through the empty third floor.
“You say the old-timers lived up here all those months?”
“Yep. They ate in Richard’s old office. Course, they went down to the clubhouse too. There were beds in these offices. Chairs lined up over there so they could watch the races and watch the horses train in the morning. They’ll miss it here, but….”
Cracker Jack nodded. “They sure love it at T-Bone’s Place at Meg’s Meadows.”
Ben smiled. “So do I. Although I have no idea what they’re cooking up for tonight.”
“Well, I know what it is,” Cracker Jack said. “But I ain’t sayin’.”
They walked to the end of the third floor and looked out the window. The horses were approaching the gate. Ben motioned to the stairs. “This’ll take us to the clubhouse.”
~ * ~
Junior came up the hill on Bo-T, the colt dancing and prancing, and Junior singing a song. “Ladies and gentlemen, you’re in for one hell of a show today.”
“You gonna two-minute lick him?” Mim asked.
“That’s what Ben said.”
“Good, he’s ready. Today’s the day.”
Junior walked Bo-T up into the turn, though the colt was more dancing and jigging than walking. He stopped, let the horse look around, then turned him straight away and let him jog for about a sixteenth of a mile. He broke into a canter under a stranglehold, and when he stopped fighting the bit, Junior let the reins out a notch.
Mim pressed her hand to her chest, could almost feel the thunder of his hooves inside. “Easy, Bo-T,” she said. “Easy.”
At the top of the turn, Junior got down lower and let the colt gallop strong. The old-timers watched in complete silence. Vicky watched in complete silence. Lucy watched in complete silence. Matthew’s feverish sketching sounded amplified and misguided him. He used his eraser and started drawing slower, softer.
“That boy’s good,” Mim said, as Junior and Bo-T passed in front of them first time around.
“Did you hear that?” Lucy whispered, placing her hand on her tummy. “That’s Daddy she’s talking about.”
The old-timers all smiled.
Bo-T galloped at an even pace, ears laid back and wanting to flat out run, but was held under wraps by Junior. Coming into the turn the horse tried picking up the pace, but Junior hung tough, standing in his stirrups and talking to him. “No, no, no, Big Man. No, no, no.”
Mim nodded. “That’s a good gallop.”
“You think he win Saturday?” Miguel asked.
“If we stop talking about it, yes.”
They all laughed.
By the time Junior pulled Bo-T up on the backstretch and walked him back, nice and slow, the horse’s breathing was practically back to normal. He did a little dance coming off the track and tossed his head.
“Arrogance,” Mim said.
“You talkin’ to me?” Junior said, laughing.
“Yes, you too.”
While the old-timers waited for Junior to come back with B-Bo, they played a racetrack version of trivia. Vicky kept score. Steven won.
“You always win,” Clint said.
Here came B-Bo and Junior up the hill.
“You’re just galloping, right?” Mim asked, watching the way the horse picked up and put down that leg with the old injury.
“Yep.”
“How many times around? Three?”
“Yep.” Junior smiled. “I think I’ll take a nap while I’m at it.”
The old-timers laughed. B-Bo was one of the most laid-back Thoroughbreds most of them had ever seen, which made the fact that he was such a great racehorse that much more amazing. Matthew had switched pages in his sketch book and was determined today to capture the look and feel in B-Bo’s eyes.
“I would suggest that I could take a picture of him,” Vicky said. “But I’m sure it wouldn’t be the same.”
Mim agreed with the second part. “It would be a moment in time, not a life, not living.”
Lucy smiled. “How did you get to be so wise, Mim? Can I hold onto you and have some of it rub off on me?” She put her arms around Mim’s neck. “I love you.”
Mim smiled and patted Lucy on the shoulder, her eyes misting over.
B-Bo galloped around the track the first time nice and quiet, a second time nice and quiet, and a third and final time nice and quiet. He had his head slightly bowed and looked as if he was out for an afternoon hack in a field. No muss, no fuss, just galloping along and appearing happy to just be alive, to be a horse. He pulled up easily down the backstretch and moseyed back as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
“That is the life,” Clint said.
“Can you draw a butterfly landing on his forehead?” Mim asked.
Matthew smiled. He knew what she meant. He was trying to capture that same essence, minus the butterfly. When they all heard the rooster crow, they laughed, gathered themselves up and followed B-Bo and Junior down the hill.
Mim glanced ahead to make sure the back door on this side of the barn was closed. It was. As soon as the entourage passed the barn, George opened it up and Señor closed the other side. No one was the wiser. No one even looked, but for Mim, and with big grin on her face.
~ * ~
The pie part of the potpie was done last. Liz peeled back the paper cover on the canned biscuits and popped them open on the edge of the counter. She’d put the potpies in the oven to warm, not too hot; just starting to bubble. Then she took them out, placed the biscuits all round the top, close to one another but not crammed together, and put the potpies back into the oven until the biscuits were golden brown on top. She tilted one of the biscuits up to see the soft bottom. “Perfect.”
Carol had made three Jello salads; one sugar-free for the old-timers with diabetes. Dawn made a large tossed salad, the dressing a mixture of Italian and Ranch. By the time the old-timers came down and everyone assembled outside the barn, the food was all set out on the tables and looked like a holiday feast. George opened the barn doors and everyone filed in, amazed. There was even soft music playing.
Just after everyone was seated, Gordon arrived. “Dude!” he said. “Wow! This is awesome!” Pastor Mitchell arrived right behind him. Everyone held hands, a circle of friends and family as he said the grace.
“Lord, I never cease to be amazed by your abundance of love, by your stewards of humanity, of bountiful harvests, of the smell of potpie. Amen.”
“Amen,” everyone echoed. Food was dished out, plates passed, salad, Jello, coffee poured for one another, water, milk, salt and pepper was passed, Tabasco.
Dawn took several photos and when they all insisted she had to be in the photos too, she placed the camera on one of the stall fronts, set the timer and then hurried to her seat. “Say cheese,” she said, “On three. One, two, three.”
“Cheese!”
“All right! Let’s eat!”
“Wait a minute! What’s going on here?” someone said, standing just inside the barn door.
“Irene! Boots!” Ben smiled. “Come! Sit! Join us!”
“Well, we wouldn’t want to intrude,” Irene said, headed right for an empty chair. “Do you do this often out here?” Her husband Boots sat down next to Mark.
“Evening.”
The table was full, everyone talking, laughing and eating. Ben looked around. “If the world was going to end tomorrow and you couldn’t do a damned thing about it, how would you live your life today?” He looked around at everyone. “I can’t think of a better way. Friends, family,
horses, dogs….” The dogs were stretched out on the floor all around them. “I’d take a day just like today.”
D.R. looked up at George, sitting next to him. “Is the world going to end tomorrow, Uncle George?”
“No,” George said. “I have stalls to do.”
Everyone laughed.
“You know what I wonder about?” Glenda said. “Why do people worry about things they can’t change? I mean ever. Ever, ever, ever.”
“How do you really feel, Glenda?” Señor asked.
They all laughed again. Pastor Mitchell motioned to Jeanne. “Next?”
Jeanne hesitated. “I wonder why people are so offended by tattoos. I hate it when they say oh but when they’re old and in a nursing home that tattoo won’t look the same. What’s their point? Nothing will look the same.”
Again, everyone laughed.
Dawn was next and had to think. “Well, this is just anything we want to say, right?”
Pastor Mitchell nodded.
“Okay. I told Biscuit today that we all loved him and I’m going to try and tell him every day.”
“Oh, so that’s why he was doing the moon walk out in the pasture earlier?” Junior said.
They all laughed.
“Does that count for my turn?” Junior asked.
“No.”
Junior finished chewing, swallowed, and took a drink of water. “All right.”
“Oh Lord,” Tom said.
Junior laughed. “No, this is going to be serious. Come on, I’m a married man now. I’m going to be a daddy.” He paused. “I think living is what life is all about.” He looked around at everyone seated at the table. “Does that make sense?”
Everyone nodded.
Lucy was next. “Well, I think life is all about family. Friends and family.”
They all smiled. It was Maeve’s turn. “I want a bunny rabbit.”
Everyone chuckled.
“You mean for dinner?” Tom asked.
Winning Odds Trilogy Page 121