Finally we biked back to Pat’s Pets to see if Pat had heard any complaints about Happy Trails.
Pat was paying bills at her desk by the boa constrictor, but she dropped everything to listen to us. Kaylee and I took turns telling her about Bandit and the gross barn.
“Are you gals talking about the Pulaski barn?” Pat asked, as if that surprised her. “Happy Trails?”
“That’s what we’ve been telling you, Pat,” I said.
“I went to school with the Pulaski girl, Karen. Real nice family. Animal lovers.”
“Are you sure we’re talking about the same place?” Kaylee asked.
“I lost touch when Karen moved to San Francisco. Haven’t seen her mama in years. But I remember Mrs. Pulaski. Big woman. Used to take in stray cats. Squirrels too. I can’t believe she’d mistreat any creature.”
“Maybe she sold Happy Trails,” I suggested, “to that mean old woman we saw.”
“I don’t believe I’d seen that woman before,” Kaylee said. “Last year a rather large man with a disagreeable disposition ran the stable. My mother disliked him so intensely that she tried to coerce me into riding at Mohegan Stables instead.”
Kaylee used bigger words when she talked to grown-ups. But I knew what she was saying.
Pat frowned. “Did this fella have teeny, tiny eyes and a nose that made you want to honk it?”
“I had no desire to honk his nose,” Kaylee said. “But that does sound like the same man.”
“Leonard,” Pat muttered.
“You know him?” I asked.
“Karen’s cousin from Red Haw. Neither of us ever did care much for that cousin of hers. Lazy Lenny we used to call him. If Mrs. Pulaski has Lenny working for her, she’s probably doing a favor for her sister. But she would never let him hurt a horse.”
“Well, something happened to Bandit,” Kaylee said. “My parents and I are riding at Happy Trails tomorrow. Maybe I can find out more.”
The phone rang. Barker answered it. “Kaylee!” he called. “It’s for you!”
“Me?” Kaylee talked a minute on the phone, then came back. “Sorry. I have to go. I’d told Mom I’d be here, so she’s coming by for me. She’s taking me to Mansfield to get a gift for Summer’s birthday party tomorrow.” She gave me a sad smile. “I’m sorry, Winnie.”
“That I didn’t get invited?” I asked. “Don’t be.”
It’s no secret that Summer and I don’t exactly get along. I used to muck stalls at Spidells’ Stable-Mart. I gave them a hard time for training and breaking horses instead of gentling them. True, it would have felt good to be invited, but I’m not sure I would have wanted to celebrate the birth of Summer Spidell.
A blue van pulled up in front of Pat’s Pets.
“That’s Mom,” Kaylee said, heading for the door. “Thanks, Pat. Winnie, I’ll pick up my bike and give you a full report tomorrow as soon as we get back from Happy Trails.”
A lady came over to Pat and asked for help picking out a bunny for her daughter. Then the bell rang, and a mother and daughter walked in.
Pat took the bunny lady, and Barker met the mother-and-daughter team by the fish tanks. If I were a customer, I’d buy anything Barker suggested. He’s got that kind of face. He also has a lot of other things going for him. Two great parents who teach African-American literature and art and stuff at Ashland University. And five little brothers who considered Barker their hero.
Note to self: Did I say life is so unfair?
Although I’d been fighting it for days, my photographic memory kicked in. Most people think it sounds great to have a photographic memory, but they’re wrong. My mind takes picture of things, even when I don’t want it to. And I have no control over when the pictures will flash back.
That’s what started happening as I watched Barker showing the mother and daughter golden retriever puppies. I shut my eyes, but I still saw my mom, the way she’d been when the car stopped rolling and I looked over at her. Her head lay against the steering wheel, and she wasn’t moving, as snow pounded the windshield and the car shook in the high winds.
Outside the window of Pat’s Pets, mothers and daughters, and mothers, fathers, and daughters were everywhere.
It felt like a conspiracy.
Waiting for Pat to finish with her customer, I fiddled with paper clips on her desk. I moved her magnets on the chipped gray filing cabinet. Some of the magnets were animal-shaped. Some of them had Bible verses.
One magnet was shaped like a teardrop. I read the verse on it:
When others are happy, be happy with them.
If they are sad, share their sorrow.
—Romans 12:15
Something twinged inside me, which is how God gets my attention and makes me think about stuff. Okay, God, I said in my head, which, I guess, is praying. I don’t have any trouble being sad when people are sad. But it’s harder to be happy for kids who get to spend every day with their moms. Or kids like Horse Show–bound who have two parents who care enough to be embarrassing.
It was almost closing time, but more customers trickled in. I probably should have gone home. Lizzy would have dinner ready. She’s a year younger than me, but a great cook, which is a good thing because Dad and I don’t cook.
But I didn’t feel like going home. Madeline might still be there, for one thing. And Lizzy was having her friend Geri spend the night, so all conversation would be about reptiles and amphibians. My sister loves lizards, and her friend is nuts about frogs. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have a real best friend like that.
Catman Coolidge strolled out from the back of the store, waved me the peace sign, and plopped down at the computer. I ambled over and took a seat on the crate. He logged on to the Web site, keying in letters and numbers so fast, it looked like he was using all of his fingers to type instead of just his thumbs and pinkies.
Dear Catman,
I want a Siamese cat. My aunt says I can have one of the kittens from her cat’s litter. But if you ask me, something’s fishy. None of the kittens have black or brown markings, like the mother cat. They’re all plain. You think my aunt is trying to put one over on me?
—Siamese Fan
Catman started typing his answer before I’d finished reading the question.
Dear Siamese Fan,
Chill, Daddy-O! Don’t be bummed by plain Janes. All Siamese kittens are born without markings. You dig? Little cats get markings later. And the more you handle your kitten, the sooner it will get markings. I kid you not!
—The Catman
I kept watching, and Catman kept answering:
Dear Catman,
My parents FINALLY said I could have my own cat, even though I’m kinda allergic to them. We’re buying a shorthaired cat. Any other advice?
—Sneezing in Strongsville
Dear Sneezing,
Get a white cat, man! Cats with light hair are six times less likely to trigger allergies than cats with black hair. Easy, dude.
—The Catman
Dear Catman,
Tomorrow, for my birthday, I get to pick out any kitten I want from the animal shelter. Any tips for me?
—Birthday Boy
I couldn’t believe it. Was everybody having a birthday? Catman was already answering.
Happy birthday, Man!
Gnarly gift! A cat is a cat, from day one. That kitty’s personality won’t change once you get him home. The first kitten who runs to you will end up bossing your pad. He might fight other pets, scratch sofas, and scratch you if you don’t give the dude enough attention. The shy kitty may never like being cuddled.
Watch the cats. Do they make nice together? When a kitten hears a loud noise, does he get scared and run to Mommy, or just look around then play it cool? What you see is what you get. Have a blast!
—The Catman
Pat bustled over to us. “I’ll be a monkey’s uncle—no offense—if this isn’t the busiest day we’ve had in a spell!” She put her hand on my shoulder. “So, Winnie
, how’s your science-fair project coming?” Pat had been our “temporary” life science teacher since the first day of school. She was also the chairperson of our school’s science fair.
I shrugged. I hadn’t felt like doing a project. We didn’t have to do one, although just about everybody was. And I could have used the extra credit.
“Monday’s the last day to get your outline in,” Pat warned. “Love your invention, Catman!”
“What are you inventing?” I asked, surprised. Catman’s really smart, but not much of a joiner. “Aren’t you protesting science on behalf of Felines Against Fems?” It had something to do with cosmetic experiments on cats.
“The protest is solid,” Catman explained. “Nothing to do with the science fair, though. I’m down with cool-cat bunks—bunk beds for cats.”
Barker whizzed by, carrying a big box. “Catman was going to make a portable eight-track player. I talked him out of it. Time to let it go, man.”
“Your project is a hoot, Barker!” Pat exclaimed. “Tell Winnie about it.”
“Dog greeting cards,” Barker explained, juggling his box. “People can send the cards to their pets, and the dogs can eat the whole thing. It’s good for them.”
“I’m thinking I might carry some of Barker’s dog cards right here in the store,” Pat said. “So Winnie, what kind of scientific wonder are you creating?”
I sighed. “I don’t think I’m entering the science fair, Pat. I can’t think of anything good.”
“Winnie Willis!” Pat is almost as short as I am, which is too short. But she’s a force—small as a Welsh Cob and just as powerful. Her big, brown eyes screamed disapproval. “You could get your grade back up to an A with the extra points.”
I would have liked that. Pat’s class was my favorite. It would have been my only A.
I shook my head. “It’s too late. I couldn’t put an invention together in a week.”
“Are you kidding?” Pat asked. “Why, sure you could, what with that inventor father of yours! He can help, you know. Long as you do the lion’s share of the inventing. No offense.” Pat nodded to the cats.
“Dad’s too busy to help,” I mumbled.
“To help with an invention?” Pat asked. “I’ll bet he’d drop everything to work on an invention with you!”
I stared at Pat. I’d never even once thought about that. This wasn’t like asking him to help me with math or English. This was an invention. And my dad loves inventions.
“You think so, Pat? He’s awful tied up with this temperature suit he’s working on.”
“Of course he’ll want to help you invent something!” Pat exclaimed. “I guarantee it, Winnie. You scoot on home and ask him right now. I need that outline Monday!”
I glanced over at Catman. He nodded.
Maybe they were right. Dad lived for inventions. Why wouldn’t he want to invent something with me? Pat thought so. Even Catman thought so.
I raced out of the shop and hopped onto my back bike. A man getting into his car stopped to stare as I pedaled backwards and moved onto the street. But I didn’t feel embarrassed. The back bike seemed different. There was something about it. It was a pretty good invention, now that I thought about it.
My dad was an inventor. Why couldn’t I come up with something great for the science fair? Especially with a real inventor father to help. I already had some horse-related ideas. Dad and I could work on them together.
I pictured my dad at the science fair, looking on proudly. He’d probably even cheer loud enough to embarrass me.
I could hardly wait to get home and get started.
Madeline’s car was gone when I got home. Good. Less competition for Dad. I dropped my bike on the lawn and trotted into the house, practicing in my head how I’d ask for his help. I tried to think like Lizzy, who could talk anybody into anything.
“Hi, Winnie!” Lizzy called.
I kicked off my muddy tennis shoes, then found my sister in the kitchen, stirring something in a big bowl. A lot of people think Lizzy and I look alike, which is a huge compliment to me because Lizzy is beautiful. She has zero freckles to my 23. And her hair never looks like it’s exploded from her head.
“Hey, Lizzy. Where’s Dad?”
“Workshop, of course.” Lizzy wrinkled her nose in the direction of the garage, which Dad had transformed into a workshop. “Wouldn’t go there if I were you.”
Just as she said it, a crash came from the workshop, then a growl that had to have come from Dad, since we don’t own bears.
“The temperature suit?” I asked.
Lizzy nodded. “Space heater’s on full force. Dad could invent the sauna in there.”
The “temp suit” was a one-piece suit that changed colors with the changing weather. I wasn’t anxious for Dad to finish, since he was making it size small. And that meant I’d have to try it out, maybe even wear it to school. Lizzy’s a medium. Dad is size long and tall.
I sank to the kitchen table and forced myself to wait until Dad stopped banging things.
“I’ll cut you a slice of popcorn bread,” Lizzy offered.
The whole kitchen smelled like popcorn. It’s my third favorite smell, right behind horse and horse manure.
Lizzy brought me a thick slice of crunchy, white bread, loaded with butter. My sister is a natural in the kitchen, the way I am in the barn. I got my horse sense from our mom, who was the best horse gentler in Wyoming. I’m not sure where Lizzy got her cooking skills, though. Mom hated to cook.
While we ate, I tried out some of my invention ideas on Lizzy. “What do you think about horse-scent air freshener? If I could get the smell of horse into an aerosol can, wouldn’t that be great?”
“Sweet, Winnie!” Lizzy could be a cheerleader. “What else?”
“I’ve always wanted to see the world like a horse does. I’ve told you how horses can see 350 degrees around them, everywhere except a spot in front and behind. Well, what if Dad and I sewed rearview mirrors around a baseball cap so you could see in every direction like a horse? I could call it the ‘horse hat.’ ”
“You rock!” Lizzy shouted.
The front door slammed. “I’m here!” It was Geri, Lizzy’s friend, who never bothers to knock. Geri’s blonde, and Lizzy’s more like brunette. But they both have green eyes and are almost exactly the same height.
“In here, Geri!” Lizzy called.
Geri barreled into the kitchen and flung her sleeping bag on the floor. “Hi, Winnie. Did Lizzy tell you we’re sleeping outside tonight?”
“I think it’s supposed to rain,” I said.
“No problem!” Geri unwrapped her sleeping bag. She pulled a string, and up popped a row of small umbrellas that spread the length of the rolled-out bag. “See? Lizzy collected broken umbrellas, fixed them, and sewed them to our sleeping bags. They’re like a built-in tent, in case it rains.”
“Does it work?” I asked. But it did look like the bag would stay dry. The umbrellas overlapped, covering the whole thing.
“Guess we’ll find out tonight,” Lizzy said, clearing the table. She grabbed three tomatoes from the fridge and tossed one to Geri and one to me for a snack. “Good luck with Dad, Winnie!”
Geri and Lizzy ran outside, giggling and bumping each other.
I ate my tomato with salt, then walked to the workshop and pressed my ear against the door. The banging had stopped. I knocked.
No answer.
I stuck my head in. “Dad?”
Dad was cutting something on the worktable. He turned toward me briefly, then back to the table. “Hello, Winnie. I’m in the middle of something. If I can . . .” His voice trailed off as he worked the material with giant scissors.
“I just need to ask you something, Dad,” I tried.
“Could we do it later, honey? This invention is driving me crazy. I—ow!” He dropped the scissors and stuck his little finger in his mouth.
“It’ll just take a second, Dad. Actually, what I want to talk to you about is an invention.�
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“Uh-huh.” He turned his back on me, picked up the scissors, and started cutting again.
“At school they’re having a science fair. And each kid is supposed to come up with an invention. And there’s a competition. And the winner goes to Columbus for the state finals.”
“Winnie, will you hand me that curling iron?” Dad asked, sticking out his hand behind him.
I handed him the curling iron.
“So,” I continued, “there’s not much time to get ready. But if we worked together, well, we could do it.”
There was no sound except the hum of the space heater and the swish of the scissors.
“So, would you?” I asked.
Dad set down the scissors and turned around. He looked at me like I had a third eye. “Would I what?”
“Help me with the project?”
Dad frowned. “Winnie, you have to do your own schoolwork. I’m a little rusty in seventh-grade subjects. Besides, I’m up to my elbows in my own project. I’m sorry, honey. Maybe Lizzy can help. Or Catman?” He smiled at me like I was a two-year-old who had just asked him to take me to the playground. Then he turned back to his own work.
I stared holes through his back. Pat Haven was wrong. Catman was wrong. I was wrong. And I should have known better.
“Fine.” I spit out the word and left, slamming the door behind me.
I ran to the barn, slipping twice in the mud. I was breathing hard, not from running but from holding in tears. It’s not fair, I muttered to God. Every other kid in my school has parents helping them with science projects! But not me. Not my dad, the inventor.
I inhaled the smell of horse and manure. It’s my sure cure for any problem. But it wasn’t working. My temper had exploded, and I couldn’t get it back in. Mom used to call me her “hot-tempered Mustang.” I was living up to the name.
I walked into Nickers’ stall. She and Buddy, the orphan filly, still shared the same stall, even though Buddy was almost three months old now. Nickers had taken over as adopted mom. Next to them was Annie Goat, on loan from Granny Barker, Eddy Barker’s great-grandmother. The goat had been a lifesaver for Buddy, who had nursed from Annie before learning to drink from a bucket.
Buckskin Bandit Page 2
