“Great diagnosis,” I said. “Is that what you’re going to tell all your patients when you’re a shrink?”
“Only the strange ones,” Felicia said, with a toss of her strawberry blonde hair.
“Good to know.” I headed for the bathroom to wash up.
Dinner was on the table at six thirty exactly, one of my dad’s rules. He freaked when one of my track or cross-country meets ran overtime or started late so we had to eat at a different time. Mom claimed his hang-up about appointments was just a personality flaw and nothing to get in a dither about. Of course, she was the one who said no animals, no TV, no iPods, or cell phones at the table. We had to talk to each other like civilized people, or she’d make us wish we had. I lived with two total control freaks for parents and Felicia and Jack were pretty much the same way.
Mom made all my favorites for supper, spaghetti with meat sauce, Caesar salad, and garlic bread. I didn’t have to ask about dessert. She’d have ordered in a cake from the local bakery, chocolate with custard filling, and there’d be chocolate ice cream in the freezer. A pile of brightly wrapped presents covered the top of the breakfast bar.
When I’d looked out in the drive before dinner, I didn’t see my car anywhere, but it had to be somewhere. Either that or Mom and Dad arranged for me to go with them to pick it up later. It was all I could do to sit still while Felicia talked about her freshman year at college and Jack shared what happened at football practice that afternoon. Mom told us about a sale at the local crafts store and how she’d loaded up on material for a new quilt. Dad had two new clients, so he was all that, too! Could these people eat any slower?
Finally, they finished and I jumped up to clear away the dishes. Mom put away the leftovers. Jack and Dad arranged my gifts on the table, and Felicia hurried off to her room to bring back a couple more. I had a great family, really I did. And I should be more appreciative of them. My best friend’s dad had walked out on her birthday last June—some gift. Mine would never do that, not in a million years.
“Leave the dishes for me, Robbie,” Dad said. “Come open your presents.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice.” I hustled to the kitchen table, pausing to hug him on the way. “There’s nearly as much stuff here as I get for Christmas. You guys rock!”
Laughing, Mom and Felicia leaned against each other at the far end of the table, looking more like sisters than mother and daughter. They both had bright blue eyes, strawberry-blonde hair and wore the same kind of cowgirl clothes, jeans, western shirts, and Ropers. Little wonder that my sister went off to cow college in Pullman. She’d probably bring home some farmer guy for a new boyfriend.
She’d dumped her last one when he suggested she sell Vinnie to pay tuition. Nobody came between her and that purebred, seventeen-hand, buckskin Appaloosa. She’d gotten him for her sixteenth birthday. Well, actually Mom couldn’t find ‘the perfect horse’ for her. So, Mom cut a picture out of a horse magazine, stuck it on a toothpick, and put it in the middle of Felicia’s cake.
The two of them shopped for the next month, visiting horse sales, breeders, and shows, rodeos until they found Vinnie and brought him home. My parents did the same thing when Jack turned sixteen, a picture on a toothpick in the middle of his cake. He and Dad bonded on the quest to find Nitro. Personally, I could think of better places to spend money, like the outlet mall over on the reservation by Marysville.
I reached for the large pink envelope on top of the boxes of presents. This one could be the papers for my car. It had to be. I peeled back the flap. It was the spine of a greeting card. Okay, the card could have the car title inside. But, it didn’t.
Hand-painted, the front showed a rainbow group of horses, a buckskin Appy, a solid bay, a snow-white one, and a chestnut dashing across a green field. I recognized all of them, Vinnie, Buster, Nitro, and Singer. Behind them, looking down from the clouds was a shadowy pony, a faded strawberry roan. Tears stung at the memory of my first horse, but I didn’t let them fall. “This is amazing, Jack.”
“I knew you’d love it.” He grinned at me. “I’ve been working on it for the past month.”
“It’s definitely a keeper.” I’d add it to the bulletin board in my room. Even if I didn’t much care for horses, I loved my brother’s artwork. Jack’s poem inside wished me a happy day and sixteenth year, but it wasn’t sappy. And the fifty dollar bill—oh yeah, I could go places with it.
I’m not a real touchy-feely person like Felicia, but I hugged Jack, anyway. “This is the best.”
Another grin. “And you’re just getting started.”
My car, my car, my car!
Where was it? When would I find out about it?
I opened one present after another. Dad gave me raingear. What was he thinking? Even when I ran in the rain, I didn’t wear heavy vinyl. I’d die of heat prostration. From Mom, I got a new blue jean jacket, two flannel shirts, and three pairs of jeans. Come on, give me a break. Okay, so I lived on a farm. It didn’t mean that it was my thing and I’d dress like Ellie Mae off the Beverly Hillbillies. Of course, nobody listened when I suggested moving into town, a real one, not Marysville.
Next box. This one was from my mom and my sister. I peeled back the paper and found a carton labeled Ropers. No way! They hadn’t bought me boots like theirs, had they? Yes, icky big brown lace-up ones. I hoped my disgust didn’t show. These looked like I’d be in the Army before I graduated. Well, they were expensive. I’d get the receipt from Mom and return them for something I would actually wear.
Two gifts remained. The first was a package of horse books, and I almost groaned. What would it take to get them off my back? I didn’t do horses, and I definitely didn’t read about them. However, the entire family was so hooked on them they just couldn’t let things go. Last summer, I barely got to hang out with my best friend until she agreed to go to horse camp with me. Vicky loved horses, so she had a blast while it was a real endurance contest for me. Well, I’d pass the books onto her. She’d savor every page.
My parents had a thing about me being home alone when they went to work—talk about control freaks. I’d been fifteen, not a baby. And I’d have been okay by myself for a few hours while Felicia was at the counseling center learning what therapists do and Jack did his lifeguard thing at the pool. Instead, I wound up grooming, saddling and feeding horses, and taking little kids back and forth to the restroom. I told Rocky, the instructor and owner of Shamrock Stables, that she should change the name. It shouldn’t be called “Pony Camp,” but “Pee-Pee Camp.” She laughed her butt off and gave me a coffee card for being a good sport.
With the way I avoided Mom’s endurance rides, Dad’s calf roping, Jack’s gaming and Felicia’s three-day eventing, I’d thought they’d get the message that I wasn’t into horses. But, no. One of them was always hassling me. Come ride with me on the Centennial Trail. Buster needs to muscle up. I made an apple crisp for dessert tonight. Come visit the horses with me while I feed them these apple peels. Vinnie needs braids for this weekend. Come talk to me while I sew his mane.
Nag, nag, nag. I was so sick of it!
The last gift came from Jack and Dad. I opened it up and stared at the leather bridle and green striped saddle blanket. My stomach knotted. “What is this? A mistake?”
“It’s a family tradition,” Felicia crowed and ran around to hug me. “I thought you’d figured it out when I came home to go with you and Mom.”
“Figured out what?” A sinking dread swept over me. “You guys can’t be serious.”
“And when you came down to help in the barn tonight,” Jack gave me a brotherly shove, “I knew that you’d see the stall I fixed up or the remodeling in the tack room.”
I hadn’t even bothered to look around the barn this afternoon. Jack was always messing around. Who knew or cared what was going on down there? Well, other than the rest of my family that is!
Sobs clogged my throat as Mom stood and headed for the bakery box on the kitchen counter. “I don’t believ
e you people.”
Dad chuckled. “What did you expect, Robin? It’s a family tradition. You get to choose a purebred horse for your sixteenth birthday.”
“But I don’t want a stinky, smelly horse!” I jumped up, letting the bridle and blanket fall to the floor. “Don’t you ever listen? I showed you the Mustang again and again. I want a car. My car, so I can go places!”
A tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it. I swiped it away and ran out the back door. Crying in front of them. No way! Not after this! They’d ruined everything. I grabbed my shoes and raced across the porch. I was so outta there.
My car, my car, my car!
Chapter Three
Thursday, September 12th, 8:00 p.m.
I paused halfway across the lawn to pull on my shoes. Then, I cut across the driveway and ran beside it to the road. Back in middle school when I started cross-country, I’d mapped out a six mile route so I could practice at home. After running it for almost five years, it seemed automatic to take it now. I didn’t have to think about where I was going, just head south on Whisky Ridge until I reached the trail through the woods.
Wasn’t the fact that not one person in my family understood me bad enough? Did they have to destroy my birthday too? And it wasn’t like my birthday was supposed to be unlucky. It wasn’t Friday, the 13th. It should have been a good day. I barely complained when they expanded the barn so the horses had more room and added a shower stall so Felicia could bathe Vinnie on a regular basis. Well, not much—I still thought a swimming pool would be more fun.
Tears clogged my throat, and I ran faster. Dust puffed around my shoes from the path. Some green leaves still clung to vine maple branches. I wound through a grove of young alders, passed two cedars and came to the crosswalk on Highway 9. I jogged in place while I waited for the light to change. I was mad, but not stupid enough to dart between cars and semi-trucks that used the old main road between Seattle and the Canadian border.
Maybe I was adopted. That would explain why I didn’t look or feel like anyone in my family. Where had all these horse-nuts come from? Why couldn’t I have normal relatives? Mine would probably sell me before they parted with one of those four-legged wonders down in the stable. Green light and I was across the highway, heading for the Centennial Trail where I did most of my running. I always ran the dirt track, which meant I had to watch out for horse poop, but it was easier than avoiding the bike riders and dog walkers.
When I got home a little over an hour later, Mom and Dad waited in the kitchen, sitting at the table. Felicia and Jack were nowhere in sight. I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and chugged half of it.
“Robbie, we need to talk,” Dad said.
“Why?” I knew I sounded like a snarky teenager, but I didn’t care. “You never listen to me. What’s the point?”
Mom heaved a dramatic sigh. “I thought you’d be over your snit when you got back. Come sit down and we’ll tell you what we’ve planned.”
“How joyful.” That got me a stern look from her. I stomped over to join them, slumping into a chair. “What?”
Another of Mom’s fierce blue-eyed glares before she planted her elbows on the table and gave me a steely once-over. “Your dad and I talked. He should have told you flat-out that the Mustang wasn’t an option. You can’t have a car until your eighteenth birthday, and the way it works in this family is you pay half of the cost.”
I took a deep breath. “I told Dad I could do that. I’ll borrow it from my college fund.”
He immediately shook his head. “No, Robbie. It costs a small fortune for college, and we don’t touch that money except for life and death. Believe me, a classic car doesn’t count.”
“It does to me.” I rolled the water bottle in my hands. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and I want it.”
“Then, get a job and start saving up,” Mom said. “We’re not saying you can’t have it, Roberta Lynn. We’re saying that you have to do what your brother and sister did. You have to earn the money for the car to prove you’re responsible enough to have it.”
“But, mine will be gone. Brenna won’t keep it two years for me.”
“Then it isn’t meant to be,” Mom said. “There are other Mustangs.”
“What?” I almost felt my jaw hit the table. “I don’t want a different one. I want this one. Come look at it again. You’ll see how gorgeous it is.”
Mom rolled her eyes and shook her head. “The answer is no, Roberta. You are not getting a car. This weekend, you and Felicia and I are going out shopping. We’re finding you a horse.”
“I hate horses. They’re big, ugly and they stink, and they’re way too much work.”
Dad got up. He came around the table and put a hand on my shoulder. “Now, Robbie, you know you don’t mean that. It’s not as if you really hate horses. You used to ride Cobbie all over the place, and you took care of him yourself.”
I jerked away. “Cobbie wasn’t a horse. He was part Welsh Cob and part Welsh pony. He is dead. He’s been dead since I was twelve. And going out to find another stinky, smelly horse won’t bring Cobbie back. He’ll still be dead.”
“And we’ll all still miss him,” Mom said softly. “He was my first horse, Roberta. I loved him, too. Just because I have Singer now, doesn’t mean I love Cobbie any less. We choose to love creatures that have shorter life spans than we do, and we grieve them when they’re gone.”
“Not me.” I leaped to my feet, knocking the chair over again. “I won’t love another horse. Not ever. You can’t make me.”
I bolted from the kitchen and ran upstairs. I slammed into my room. They’d wrecked my birthday, and I wasn’t letting them get away with it. Mom might force me to go with them on Saturday, but I wouldn’t let her get me a horse. I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t!
* * * *
Friday, September 13th, 7:15 a.m.
I sat in the school cafeteria waiting for Vicky, stirring my mocha with the straw. On the way to Marysville, Dad had tried talking to me about the stupid horse again, but I pretty much ignored him until he bought me a coffee at the espresso stand. Then, it was Jack’s turn. I tuned him out and texted my best friend, begging her to meet me. I didn’t know if she’d make it or not. Like she said, since her parents’ divorce, her mom got the house and a new job. Her dad got the new car and a girlfriend. And Vick got to take care of her two younger brothers and three younger sisters.
Ten minutes before the bell rang, she hustled across the Commons to join me. “Okay, I’m here. What’s the disaster?”
“I didn’t get my car,” I said.
She plunked her backpack on the extra chair and sat down next to me. “Did you really think your folks would cough up fifteen thousand dollars for a Mustang? That’s major bucks.”
“They’re buying me a horse instead—a four-legged hay-burner.”
“A horse? A real horse?” Vicky squealed and jumped up to hug me. “You are so lucky. I’d die for a horse. I’d kill for one. When can I come see it? What are you going to call it? Can I ride it?”
“You can have it,” I snapped. “You can freaking move in with my family and have it!”
“Oh, get over yourself,” Vicky retorted. “You’re the lucky one, Rob, even if you won’t admit it. You could be sharing a room with my sister, babysitting all the time and changing diapers when you’re trying to do algebra. There’d be no cell phone or your own TV or clothes from the mall whenever you want. I wish my biggest problem was getting a horse for my birthday instead of my parents’ divorce.”
The bell rang before I had to say that she was right. I did have things better than she did, but I still didn’t want a horse. I wanted my car, my amazing Presidential blue ’68 Mustang with its automatic transmission.
“So, what are you going to do?” Vicky asked, walking beside me toward Homeroom English. “When does your horse arrive?”
“I have to go shopping with my mom and Felicia on Saturday,” I said. “And if they
actually make me get a horse, I’m bringing home the worst one I find.”
* * * *
Saturday, September 14th, 2:45 p.m.
We spent the day touring stables and checking out the horses they had for sale. This plan had obviously been in the works for a while. Jack had hitched up the horse trailer to his pickup so we could bring home the horse when we found it. Mom and Felicia had chosen six horses for me to look at. If Shamrock Stable, the place where I did day camp during the summer, had been on the list, it might have been different, but my family obviously hadn’t considered the beginning level, safe horses suitable.
Two of the horses they chose had already been sold. Hurrah. The other four were experienced gaming mounts, so not my thing. I watched the owner gallop a paint around the barrels and shook my head. “No way.”
“Don’t you want to try him?” Felicia asked. “Jack said that he’s a sweetheart.”
“He’s too fast,” I said. “I don’t ride fast horses anymore, and you two can’t make me.”
Mom frowned at me. “If you just developed some confidence, you could be a very good rider, Robin. You have a good seat and good hands. There is no reason for you to refuse to ride when you’re obviously very talented. That would be like Felicia refusing to play the piano or your brother throwing away his paints because his work hasn’t been in a gallery.”
“I don’t want a horse, and I’m not getting on one ever again.”
That got me twin glares, but luckily we were soon in the truck and headed off to a nearby café for a late lunch. Felicia pulled out her cell phone. I thought she was texting a friend, but it turned out she was checking the classified ads in the local paper. “Hey, Mom. I think I found one.”
“Really? Let me see.” Mom drew into a parking lot and reached for the phone. “This does sound interesting. It’s a trained, registered Morab gelding. Why do they only want $100.00?”
No Horse Wanted Page 2
