Cassie's Hope (Riders Up)

by Kraft, Adriana

  But the cam recorders would, if they covered the appropriate angles. He hadn’t bothered to look, but he knew Cassie followed him carrying another set of binoculars. Both mounted the stairway quickly.

  Both saw the same thing. They watched a horse who had started the post parade up on her toes and eager to race slowly flatten out along the backstretch, before the horses ever even came close to the starting gate.

  “They got to her,” Cass whispered, her voice laced with despair.

  “Yeah, they sure did,” he said, keeping his voice even. “Now we can get to the bottom of this.” He let the binoculars drop to his chest and started to leave.

  “You’re not going to watch the race?”

  “No need to. I’ve got what I want.”

  “You wanted her to be drugged, didn’t you?” Cassie accused, brushing stray strands of hair from her forehead.

  “Of course, otherwise I’d have to stay or come back until she was drugged,” he responded. “I can’t clear myself until I find the bastard who’s behind all of this.”

  “You don’t care about Hope. You don’t care about Dad’s dream. You just care about yourself.”

  Clint grabbed her wrist. “Listen carefully. Very carefully. I do care about the horse and about your dad. But I’ve also learned the hard way that my caring can be misplaced and trampled on…

  “I’ll bring the videos by the farm this evening. We’ll look at them on your dad’s VCR. Another set of eyes that knows the people and the inner workings of tracks and horses may be helpful.” Without waiting for a response, he walked toward the stairs.

  - o -

  Cassie watched the man skulk away. Even his resolute determination could not hide his brokenness. He looked drained of energy and spirit. His vulnerability shook her to the core. Until now, she hadn’t really realized how badly he was hurting. Cassie wiped tears from her eyes in time to watch Hope run gamely across the finish line in fifth place.

  The three of them, Cassie, her father and Clint, hunkered in the farmhouse living room in front of Tug’s VCR running and rerunning the tapes of Cassie Hope’s movements from the time she stepped into the paddock area until leaving the gate at the start of the race.

  The tension in the room would dull a knife. Very few words were exchanged between Cassie and Clint. Tug’s attempts at conversation were rebuffed. Cassie sat on the couch leaning forward, resting her chin on her hands, watching the screen intently. Clint was down on his knees close to the TV glaring at the screen, as if demanding it prove him innocent.

  On the second run through, Clint felt they’d missed something. He wanted to go frame by frame. It was a painstaking effort, but it needed to be done.

  Cassie’s eyes blurred from focusing so hard. She looked away and then quickly back. “There!” she shouted. “Back it up. I thought I saw something, like a shadow.”

  The picture in the frame showed the jockey ready to be hoisted up atop Hope. It was that moment when trainers and owners were wishing jockeys and each other well. There was Cassie doing just that, giving last minute instructions to the jockey. And there beside her in the shadows was a man who had just finished the same with his rider. Just prior to greeting Cassie with a smile and a hug, his right palm had brushed Hope’s near hip. It was a brief instant, but it could have been enough.

  The frozen picture frame did not lie. Clearly visible, in a flicker of real time, was the friendship ring that a child had given a man as a token of trust and love.

  “Oh my god!” Cassie cried out, collapsing against the sofa.

  “That son of a bitch!” gasped a startled Tug O’Hanlon.

  “What? Who is it?” Clint asked, through compressed lips not taking his eyes off the screen.

  “Louie Picard. One of Dad’s longest friends. He’s wearing the friendship ring I gave him when I was ten years old.”

  “Damn.”

  “But we don’t really know that that one tap on Hope’s hip is it. Do we?” she asked, not wanting to believe.

  “We can continue to look frame by frame,” Clint said icily, “but I’d bet my ranch that we’ve found the bastard. We don’t have time to set up another trap for him. The next race is the Land of Lincoln. We’ll just have to confront him. Maybe we can smoke him out of his hole.”

  “Just be careful,” Tug O’Hanlon advised, frowning sourly. “This smells to high heaven. I don’t doubt it was Louie. But he wouldn’t do it on his own. I can’t believe that. Somebody’s behind him.”

  The next morning, Cassie and Clint found Louie Picard on shedrow filling a water bucket and invited him to a private room inside the track kitchen, with the promise that he would be surprised by what they had to share with him.

  Immediately wary, Louie declined grumpily, “I don’t have time for surprises. I’m too old for ‘em.” Returning to his work, he tried to ignore the two intruders.

  “Come on, Louie. Just for me.” Cassie put her arm on his shoulder, trying to be as sweet as she could, hating every second of it. This is the man who betrayed me. Why? Why Hope?

  Clint gripped the man’s other arm with less tenderness. Louie went along grudgingly, apparently not wanting to make a scene and draw a crowd.

  “Have a seat, Louie,” Clint instructed roughly, closing the door to the small room containing a few chairs and a television with a VCR. “We’ve got a video we think you might find fascinating, if not downright revealing. We’d kind of like you to interpret it for us. Turn it on, Cass.”

  Cassie pushed the button. The saddling paddock with all the horses being saddled for the previous day’s race number five came in clearly. In the number three stall, Cassie saddled Hope. In the number four stall, Louie was doing the same with his horse. The grooms walked their horses around the circle for a few minutes until the paddock judge called riders up.

  Louie fidgeted and started to noticeably perspire. The tape showed Cassie helping the jock mount Hope. Breathing heavily, Louie groaned, “That’s enough. I don’t need to see any more.”

  Cassie pushed the stop button and slowly let out a trapped breath. She stood gawking at Louie, feeling like a stricken little girl betrayed by a best friend. To her amazement, she saw a couple tears working their way down the man’s weathered cheeks. Cassie shook her head, trying to keep her own in check.

  “Why?” she asked. “Why my horse?”

  Scrunching up in his chair, Louie said, “Wasn’t nothin’ personal with you, honey.”

  “Don’t call me honey, dammit.” Cassie gripped the back of a chair for support, her knuckles whitening.

  “Okay,” Louie responded painfully. “It didn’t have nothin’ to do with you or even your horse.”

  “I don’t understand.” Cassie ran her fingers furiously through her hair. She rubbed her nose and sighed deeply. “It sure as hell was personal. You were ruining Hope’s chances. You were trashing Dad’s dream. You made me look like a fucking idiot.”

  “Cassie,” Clint hissed, “let him tell his story. Give him some space.”

  “Yeah, I know,” she said, unable to meet the eyes of her old friend. “Okay, go ahead.”

  “It goes back a long ways. Back to the sixties, long before you was even born, girl.” He paused to light an old stogy. “Your daddy was beginning to make a name for himself as an up and coming trainer hereabouts. The mob took notice.”

  “The mob?” Cassie squeaked.

  The old man nodded. “One day your dad had the favorite for the featured race. They didn’t want that horse to win. Your dad wouldn’t throw the race. The boys lost a lot of money that day. Twice more they came to your old man. Each time, he refused to help.” Louie stopped talking to cough harshly.

  Cassie’s entire body shook. She could never imagine her stubborn father taking orders from anyone. But the mob?

  “So,” Clint prompted, “they came to you for help.”

  “Yeah,” Picard grunted, wiping a hand on his dirty jeans. “You don’t turn your back on ‘em and just walk away. They don’t al
ways kill people or break legs like in the gangster movies, but they have their ways. From that point on your dad ran a lot of horses, some good horses, but never a real contender. Never the kind of horse he wanted and sometimes thought he had.”

  “You,” Cassie accused, her facial features tightening in horror. “You made sure those horses wouldn’t win. You, his best friend.”

  “Who better to do it, from the mob’s point of view? It was easy,” Louie acknowledged, casting a lopsided grin. “Your dad seldom had a big winner here in the Chicago area anyway. They didn’t take his job away from him; they just made sure he’d never reach his dream.”

  “How cruel.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Now what?” Cassie asked, looking at Clint.

  “We’ve got some options, I suppose,” Clint began, moving to turn off the humming VCR. “We could turn him over to the police. We could take what we have to the track stewards. Louie would certainly be banned from tracks for life. The question mark in all of this is the mob. Will they simply replace Louie? And will they pass the curse from father to daughter? I think for the moment we ought to sit tight. Louie’s situation is precarious enough I doubt he’s going to want to attract mob attention at the moment.”

  The door to the small room opened and closed behind a slight older woman with graying auburn hair. “You’ve taken the fall long enough, Louie.” She walked toward the man sitting stiffly in his chair. “That was quite a concoction about the mob. Almost began to believe it myself.”

  She directed her attention to Cassie and Clint. “You two are good. You may think it strange that that pleases me. But I’ve sought revenge against your father all these years. I can’t say it’s been thrilling—but I’ve never harbored ill feelings against you, Cassidy.”

  Cassie’s eyes bulged. Her heart stopped. Don’t faint. Hold on.

  The woman laughed thinly. “You look like you’re seeing a ghost. Maybe you are. Can’t blame you. It’s not like I’ve been around much. Oh, I’ve watched you from a distance zillions of times, but you never saw me. Or when you did, you never made the connection. Yes, I am your mother.”

  “Jesus,” Clint muttered.

  “Why?” Cassie managed to say in a squeaky voice.

  “Why? I imagine that’s a lot of questions. Until yesterday, I guess I’d never forgiven your father for taking you from me.”

  “He didn’t take me. You left!”

  Cassie’s mother nodded. “True. But I had no choice. I learned too late that I couldn’t bounce around following him from track to track. And the farm became my prison, with your aunt as my jailor. It was unbearable.

  “I couldn’t afford to take you with me—you’ll never know the countless times I regretted not doing so. But your aunt, for all her ill feelings toward me, was a good mother to you—probably better than I’d ever have been.”

  “But you’re my mother. How could you?”

  “I’m not going to spend a lot time defending my actions, and there’s a lot I’m never going to tell you I wish I’d done some things different. I should have come forward much earlier and maybe carved out some space for me in your life. But I didn’t. I can’t rewrite history.”

  “So,” she said directing her attention to Clint, “What do you plan to do about me and Louie?”

  “That’s up to Cassie,” Clint said. “But I’m curious why now. Why did you come forward now? Louie was covering for you. Clearly you’ve earned his loyalty over the years.”

  “Louie didn’t deserve carrying this burden alone. I take full responsibility for his actions, as well as my own. Maybe I’m just tired of being bitter. After awhile it becomes a cancer. Then—then I saw your father in the stands. In the wheelchair. He’s a broken man. I don’t want any more part of it. “

  “It sounded like more than that.”

  “You listen well, young man. I watched you and Cassidy and your two young ones at the museum and in the park. You were all so excited and babbling you never noticed an old woman walking by or standing by a tree looking for birds.

  “It broke my heart again. To realize what I’d missed by running away so many years ago. I gathered from Louie that my daughter questions her own ability to be a mother.”

  She turned her gaze to Cassie. “I’m not expecting your forgiveness, Cassidy. I won’t even ask for it. I’m not expecting to saunter back into your life. But I do want to make one thing very clear. Yes, you are my daughter. My blood flows through you. But you are not like me. I’ve seen you with your kids outside the group home. I’ve seen you with Mr. Travers’ kids. No, you’re not like me.

  “You’re stronger, much more confident. You’re much more comfortable being with children. When they hug you, you hug them back—you don’t worry about crushing them or being crushed by them. You’re more playful than I could ever be—guess you get that from Tug. I do like to think you got some things from me. Your beauty, even your temper. I urge you not to make the mistakes I made. Risk being in love. Risk being a mother.

  “I’ve said enough. You’ve been very quiet, Cassidy. What do you want to do with Louie and me?”

  Cassie shook her head. How could she think straight? Her mother? Good god, her mother had been behind so much disappointment, so many tears. Did she really have any idea?

  “We won’t prosecute,” she said, looking at Clint.

  He nodded.

  “I’ll take you at your word that it’s over. At this point, I’m not inclined to explain it all to Dad. This could prompt another stroke. We’ll figure out something to tell him.” Cassie stared at her mother through teary eyes. “I don’t know what else to say. Or what you want.”

  “That’s fine,” her mother said. “This has to be a huge shock. I do appreciate not having to talk with the police.”

  She nodded at Clint. “If there’s nothing else, I guess it’s time for me to make another exit.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I do wish you happiness, Cassidy. I always have. Come on, Louie. Let’s leave now.”

  Louie Picard walked ahead of Cassie’s mother and opened the door. They both walked out. Louie closed the door softly behind them.

  The shaking started as soon as she heard the soft click of the door latch. She couldn’t stop shaking. She couldn’t even slow the trembles. Cassie allowed Clint to gather her in his arms. She shook and cried for a very long time. He combed her hair with his fingers.

  At last Cassie began to relax. She stepped out of his arms, walked over to the VCR, and removed the tape. Doing something, anything, helped.

  She turned to face Clint. “This is going to take awhile to sort out.”

  “I can imagine,” Clint said. “I’ll return the VCR to the office and be on my way.”

  Could this day get any worse? She didn’t have enough energy to deal with her mother’s betrayal, and now she had Clint staring her down as if she were some alien. “So that’s it.”

  “That’s it.” Clint’s voice was gruff. “I’ve got responsibilities waiting in Utah.”

  Cassie nodded, turned, and slowly made her way to the doorway through which her mother had just exited.

  A week later, with her morning chores finished, Cassie sat alone on the porch steps. It was like her roller coaster ride had bottomed out and stayed there—stuck. Her mother, again. And Louie Picard had betrayed a childhood trust. Clint Travers had chewed her up and spat her out like unwanted fat. Even her dad seemed to hold her more responsible for that ill-fated relationship than he did Clint.

  Her father missed the Utahan. So what? She fumed. He could pick up the phone and call the man, if he wanted to. She wasn’t about to do that.

  The soul wrenching sound of a mourning dove shattered her awareness. Unwanted tears yielded to the bird’s call. Was the bird wailing over the loss of a mate?

  Cassie hugged herself. She had to get on top of things. She needed a plan. “Stop analyzing. Start living,” she muttered, tossing a pebble across the yard.

  That evening she would meet her fri
ends for dinner. It could be a dicey get-together. Susan would cheer. Now she’d be able to fix her up with an appropriate cosmopolitan man. Traci knew the story and no doubt would continue being supportive. Ashton wouldn’t ask many questions. She’d listen. Cassie felt guilty for having avoided the woman who had admired the man from Utah. No doubt, Ashton would find a private opportunity to grill her about the breakup.

  But before all of that, before dinner, on her way to the restaurant, she would stop at an exquisite little bath and oils store on the near North Side and pick up some of the most expensive items they had. Tonight she would pamper herself with the best bubble bath ever imagined.

  And then. The Land of Lincoln was rapidly approaching. One more week and it would be over…one way or the other. Cassie trusted the next week would be better in some ways. She would be so busy and so focused on the race she wouldn’t have time to think about betrayal.

  As she rose to enter the house, she paused, realizing her plan had said nothing about social work. She was due back at work in only a matter of weeks. She grimaced—her grand plan extended to all of one week.

  Chuckling, she said aloud, “Better than one day at a time.” How often had she advised folks to take it one day or one step at a time? Well, tonight would be the first step and then the next week would be a gigantic leap. She could not see further down the path. And that had to be okay, at least for the moment.

  Thankfully the restaurant lighting was dim. Some might find the soft light romantic; Cassie found it protective, like a hazy fog. Maybe the puffiness around her eyes would be less visible. She’d waited until after the entrees arrived to make her announcement. She appreciated that Traci had made no attempt to pre-empt her, but then Traci was a lawyer and seemed to know how to wait and bide her time.

  Determined not to break down, Cassie sat up straight, clasped her hands at her waist, and spoke slowly. “It’s over. Clint and the kids are back in Utah. It was a summer fling after all.”

  She tried to ignore the shock on Susan’s face and the immediate concern on Ashton’s.