When they reached the stall in the barn, he sat Heather atop a stack of bales not far from the spot where her stupid kittens lived. He pointed at a second bale and gave Angel a squinty-eyed look that made her stomach tighten nervously. He was really upset. The last time he was this upset with her was the summer before last when she and one of the migrant kids dumped half a bag of concrete in a mud puddle to make adobe bricks. The lye flew up in the kid’s eyes and he pitched such a fit you’d have thought he was gonna die. Her dad made her clean it all up wearing big rubber gloves. The worst part was that by then the damn stuff was hard as bricks and twice as heavy.
“Sit,” he ordered.
In one neat leap, he cleared the stall gate and resumed his examination of the horse. She was breathing hard and looked really tired. Angel liked horses and felt sorry for the struggling animal, but she wasn’t above using the situation to keep from going to Fresno.
“She looks bad,” Angel said, choosing an empty bucket, which she turned upside down, for her stool.
“Abby will be here in ten minutes,” he said. “Blaze may die in that time, but you two are going to sit still and listen to me.”
Angel crossed one knee over the other and drew a few strands of hair between her lips. She knew it bugged him, but that was fine with her. The last thing she wanted was to listen to some stupid story of his.
Normally, she loved his stories—he used to tell her a story every night before bed when she came to stay with him in the summer, but lately his stories all sounded more like lectures. Everything had turned so damn serious since her mother died. Nobody laughed anymore—except Abby. She was almost too damn bubbly. Angel wasn’t sure if she liked Abby or not, but she knew she didn’t want to ride all the way to Fresno with her. Maybe to go to the mall or something, but not to some disgusting group piss ’n moan session.
“When I was thirteen,” her father said, still examining the mare, “I decided I was going to be the next world-champion roper. I had a pair of boots, some old gloves my dad threw out and a rope I found in the garbage dump. My friend, Marty Smith, lived down the road and his dad had a bunch of horses. He let us ride a couple.”
He looked over his shoulder. Angel checked her hair for split ends. Her mother always trimmed her hair. Who’s going to trim my hair? she wondered, feeling the beginnings of a stomachache. She’d had a lot of those lately.
Her dad went on with his story. “One old chestnut gelding knew a lot more about roping than I did and I worked with him every day after school. I got to be pretty good, and Marty wasn’t half-bad, either.
“We entered the junior roping event in Chowchilla. Marty’s dad hauled the horses into town. My mom sewed me a fancy shirt with mother-of-pearl snaps. I felt like I could rope anything that moved—my dog, Homer, was afraid to come out from under the porch ’cause I’d rope him.”
Heather giggled; Angel hid her smile behind her hair.
“When we got signed up, I discovered Marty was roping off my horse, which wasn’t mine at all, of course. I was madder than hops, but what could I do? They called my name, and I hopped up on the strange horse. When they let go of the calf, I kicked that horse and flew out the gate and proceeded to rope myself right out of the saddle. I fell in a heap right in front of the grandstand.”
Angel had been to enough ropings to picture it. She couldn’t keep from laughing. The mare made a noise that sounded like a person in pain. Her dad massaged the horse’s bulging belly with slow, circular motions.
“Poor Daddy. You lost,” Heather said sympathetically.
Angel flashed her a look of contempt. Talk about stating the obvious. “That sucks, Dad. I would have died of embarrassment,” Angel admitted.
Her dad gave her a look that said she would have won the prize if there was one. The tightness around her heart lifted some. She really liked it when he looked at her like that.
“I hid out till Monday, then my mom made me go to school. I had to face Marty, who won my trophy on my horse, and all my friends who saw me eat dirt.”
Angel wanted to ask but locked her lips together until Heather asked, “What happened?”
“We had a test in English. I got a B, I think.”
“With your friends,” Angel exclaimed. God, he could be so dense sometimes. “Did they laugh at you?”
He stopped rubbing the mare and looked at her. “Nope. Marty even came up to me and apologized. Said the trophy should have been mine.”
The barn grew silent except for the mare’s labored breathing.
Finally, giving in to curiosity, Angel asked, “What’s that got to do with us going to this Rainbows thing?”
“I think you’re afraid to face these other kids. I was afraid, too, but I found out my fears were a lot worse than reality.
“And, believe it or not, that was the day your mama moved to town. She was just a little bitty thing, three grades younger than me, but she was so pretty all the boys were talking about her. And she smiled at me. Not Marty. Me.”
In the distance, the dogs began to bark. Angel’s heart jumped. Don’t let it be Abby. Not yet. I know I should go, but…
“Doc’s here, girl, hang on,” Tom whispered to the horse.
He stepped to the gate and looked at first Heather, then her. “Much as I want to, I can’t take you girls to Fresno. Abby’ll be here any minute. Whether you go with her or not is up to you. I can’t make that decision for you, but I hope you’ll go.”
Angel scowled, not saying a word. She hated it when parents did this—made something her decision, as if he knew all along she’d do the right thing. Heather popped up to her knees and said, “Mommy showed me your picture with all your trophies and your pretty horse. I guess you got better, huh?”
Tom winked at her. “Yep, I did.”
“I’m getting better, too, aren’t I, Daddy? I didn’t wet the bed last night.” She looked at Angel, as if waiting for some signal, then she jumped to the ground. “I’ll go with Abby, Daddy. Dr. Donna says we’ll play games and sing songs like at my old preschool. She’d be sad if I didn’t go, even sadder than you. Bye, Daddy. Hope your horsey feels better.”
Angel watched her skip off.
“Dork,” she muttered under her breath. She looked through the sheet of hair hanging in her eyes. Just as she expected, her dad was giving her that look of expectation, as if he’d be real let down if she didn’t do the right thing.
“All right,” she growled, scrambling to her feet. “I’ll go, but if it sucks as bad as I think it’s gonna suck—I’m outta there, even if I have to walk back.” She stalked off without waiting for his reply. If she was gonna hang out with a bunch of kids, even loser freaks whose families were more screwed up than hers, she had to look good.
NO TEAR TRACKS, but no smiles, either, Abby thought, watching her young charges exit the door of the hospital meeting room.
“Hey, girls,” Abby said, rising stiffly. She’d paced for a while but then managed to immerse herself in work until her butt conformed to the molded-plastic chair.
Angel took Heather’s hand and tugged her toward Abby. The twelve-year-old moved dully, with none of her usual verve.
“Ice cream,” Abby said decisively. “Grammy always said ice cream was the best thing for a girl’s troubles. I think she meant boy troubles, but it’ll work for this, too. Let’s go. I know just the place.”
Abby cut across the still-familiar streets of her old hometown and pulled into a busy parking lot. A pink-and-white storefront spilled a welcoming glow into the dim twilight.
After placing their order, Abby led them to an outside table, sheltered from the cool breeze and noisy traffic by five-foot-tall panels of clear Plexiglas. Fresh air. No hospital smell. She passed out plastic spoons and napkins. “Are you sure one banana split is enough for all three of us?”
Angel smiled for the first time. “I’m not too hungry.”
“Okay. Hot-fudge sundaes next time.” If there is a next time. If I don’t blow it. Abby felt way out o
f her league. This was Donna’s job. Abby was a rookie.
A tinny voice crackled her name over a loudspeaker, and Abby jumped. Ice cream! What was I thinking? I should have driven them straight home. They need their dad. So do I.
Later, as three spoons dipped into the small, plastic boat of whipped cream, nuts and chocolate-swirl ice cream, Abby asked, “Do you miss the city?”
“Well, duh,” Angel said with typical adolescent authority. “Who wouldn’t? There’s all this cool stuff to do and places to go. Like the mall. And all these cool guys.”
“Like Jeremy Shmeramy,” Heather teased in a singsong manner.
Angel glared at her, but Heather appeared impervious, perhaps feeling safe in the company of strangers.
“I grew up in this city,” Abby told them. “It wasn’t quite so big then.” She looked up, trying to spot a star through the umbrella of urban lights. “I don’t think I could ever move back, even if my folks were still living here. The noise, the traffic.” She sighed. “Actually, I envy you living in the country.”
“My mom hated the ranch,” Angel said. “She said the dust and the animals were much worse than smog.”
“Real Daddy says my kitty gets to live in the house, but his brothers and sisters have to live in the barn and eat mice,” Heather said, apropos of nothing.
Before Abby could comment on her odd name for Tom, Angel reached across the table and shoved her sister’s shoulder, sending a glob of mushy ice cream to the floor. “I told you not to call him that anymore,” she seethed. “We don’t have two dads anymore. Only one. Can’t you get that through your thick head?”
Big tears filled Heather’s blue eyes and tumbled down her cheeks. In a small voice that broke Abby’s heart, she said, “And no mommy, right?”
CHAPTER SIX
ONE LOOK was all Tom needed to send his heart plummeting.
“Bad, huh?” he asked, pulling Angel into a swallowing hug. That she went with no resistance spoke volumes.
She nodded, her long hair getting squeezed in the fold of his arms. “Ouch.”
He loosened his hold and eased back, looking into her eyes. “Want to talk about it?”
She grimaced and shook her head. “I just wanna go to bed. Heather slept the whole way, but Mom always said the copilot’s job is to keep the pilot awake.” She looked over her shoulder at Abby. “I didn’t mean that you’d fall asleep. I just…”
Abby brushed aside her apology with an understanding smile. “You’re a terrific copilot. Now, go to bed. Sleep well. You deserve it.”
Tom watched his daughter shuffle off like a beaten old woman. “Good grief,” he whispered. “What did they do to my girls?”
“It’s…everything…I guess…just…coming…together.”
Tom spun toward her, expecting to find her in a heap on the floor, but she stood rigidly, as if any movement might be her undoing. Without thinking, he took her elbow and guided her to a chair at the kitchen table. “Coffee. I’ll heat up a cup right after I put Heather to bed. Sit. Stay.” As soon as he was sure his instructions had penetrated the fog that enveloped her, he dashed to the Honda. Heather sat propped upright by the seat belt with Abby’s sweater under her head. He eased open the door and unfastened the seat belt, then lifted his sleeping child.
Dead to the world, Heather didn’t open an eye when he carried her into the bedroom and stripped off her stretchy pants and Tigger T-shirt. He left her in under-pants and undershirt—knowing there’d be a change of sheets to worry about in the morning—and pulled up the spread, making sure her favorite stuffed rabbit was nearby. He kissed her cheek, noting the traces of dried tears.
An arrow of guilt twisted in his heart. “I love you both,” he whispered, then withdrew, leaving the door ajar.
Abby apparently didn’t know how to follow instructions. He found her standing in front of his new microwave, seemingly mesmerized by the slowly turning carousel inside the brightly lit box.
“New microwave?” she asked, her back to him.
“Maria threatened to cut off our tamale supply if I didn’t buy one. And, I hate to admit it, but the darned thing is handy.”
The bell’s clang made her jump. He reached around her, being careful not to spook her. “Sit down. I’ll carry these cups to the table. You look wiped out, too. What happened?”
He watched the effort it took for her to gather together her reserves. “I see victims at all stages of recovery. I deal with pain and heartbreak every day. I’m a professional,” she said, emphasizing the word in a tone that made Tom’s eyebrows rise. “I don’t understand why this hit me so hard.”
She pivoted on the heel of her crepe-soled loafers and walked to the table, but Tom sensed she was on the verge of walking out the door. He waited, hot cups steaming in each hand.
She plopped down in the chair like someone awaiting execution.
Tom set the coffee mug in front of her. “Cream? Sugar? Whiskey?”
A flickering smile almost caught on her lips but faded away.
He pulled out a chair and straddled it so he could look at her. Such a complicated lady. A stranger really, but a person he’d trusted with his most precious treasures, his daughters. What did that say about her? About him?
“I really let the girls down today,” he said, taking a sip of the steaming, hours-old liquid. Its acidic bite felt good. “It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.”
She looked up, immediately focusing on his pain, as he knew she would. “Being a single parent is the toughest job there is,” she said with feeling.
“But what does it tell kids when their dad chooses a horse over them?” He’d wrestled with his guilt all afternoon and still didn’t have an answer.
She took a sip of coffee after lightly blowing on it. Lesley always did that, too. “You’ll talk about it tomorrow. They’ll talk about it with Donna. They’ll understand. If not right away, then someday…when they’re parents.”
He sighed, feeling years older than he had that morning. “Is it always gonna be this tough?”
A strangled sound, half laugh, half cry, slipped out before she clapped her hand over her mouth. “You’re asking the wrong person. I blew it and I’m the professional here.”
“What do you mean you blew it?”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I could tell how frazzled the girls were after the session. It can get pretty intense right at first. Donna and I sat in on the inaugural session last year, and that first day I left feeling flogged—and I was just an observer. Everybody’s in pain or denial or acting out—it’s a little overwhelming, but in a good way because there’s also a sense of relief knowing you can say anything and nobody will shut you down or try to minimize what you’re feeling.
“Gradually, the individuals in the group begin to bond and form a cohesiveness, but right at first you’re alone and people are asking you to put your fears and pain out there for everyone to see. Very scary stuff.”
Tom watched, mesmerized, knowing she was revealing truths about herself she might not even realize.
“Would it have made a difference if I’d been there?”
“Yes.” Bald, honest. Typical Abby. “Not in group, of course. They’re on their own then. But afterward. You would have handled that better than me. I took them for ice cream.” Her tone suggested she’d taken them to a porno flick.
“What’s wrong with that? It sounds very nice. Thank you.”
She shook her head sadly. “They were wiped out. They needed to be home with their dad. They didn’t need some lame placebo. Shows you how much I know about mothering.”
“Abby, what happened?”
She stared into her cup. “We were sharing a banana split and talking about living in the city versus living in the country. They’d loosened up a little and even smiled once or twice. Then Heather said something Angel took exception to and…things went to hell in a handbasket, as my grammy used to say. Just like that they were both in tears and I…I was mopping u
p spilt ice cream, for heaven’s sake. I didn’t know what to say or how to help.
“Angel ran to the car, and I grabbed Heather and charged after her even though I knew she was embarrassed and wanted to be alone, but I couldn’t let her be alone outside. Fresno’s a big city and I know what happens to kids when…” She shuddered and looked away. “It was a disaster and it was all my fault. I knew they were emotionally spent and I should have driven them straight home and avoided the whole calamity. I’m sorry, Tom. You trusted me with your children and I blew it.”
Tom’s heart twisted precariously. He could fall for this woman who cared so deeply. He could fall hard.
“Come here,” he said, standing up abruptly. “I want to show you something.”
She followed without protest, even when he picked up a flashlight from beside the door and led her outside. She crossed her arms protectively against the mild evening chill. “Cold?” he asked.
She shook her head.
Liar. He took hold of her elbow—for safety’s sake, he told himself—and guided her to the barn. She didn’t speak, but Tom felt her tension.
“Life is funny,” he said quietly, opening the door of the barn. The hinges groaned their usual protest, and nearby a dog gave a muffled bark. “Here I am kicking myself for being the world’s worst dad…” He made a tsk ing sound when she started to protest. “And you’re feeling bad because you couldn’t stop two kids from having a spat.” He couldn’t help chuckling. “We’re a heck of a pair.”
She pulled away. Maybe she thought he was trivializing her dilemma.
He flicked off the flashlight; a heating lamp glowed softly within the cavern of one stall. He led her to the light.
“Oh,” she cried softly. “They both made it. Look at that beautiful baby. Oh, thank God.”
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