The Trail Home

by Bonnie Bryant

  “He’s going to be okay, isn’t he?” Carole asked.

  Judy shrugged. “I wish I could say yes, but I can’t. It’s a miracle he’s alive right now. Almost any other horse with almost any other owner would have been euthanized at the scene of the accident. It was a bad break in a bad place. But the Foresters wanted me to do everything I could to save him. I always have mixed feelings about that. I mean, we’re making progress every day in veterinary healing, and this gave me an opportunity to try new techniques and medicines, working with the clinic at the cutting edge. But the result …”

  They all looked at Fez. He seemed more resigned than healed.

  “Is he in constant pain?” Carole asked.

  “No, I don’t think so,” said Judy. “If he were, there would be no question what I would recommend. He would have to be put down. I can’t allow one of my patients to suffer constant pain. He gets sort of edgy sometimes, which I think means more discomfort, so I give him a sedative. Ben, you and Max can use it, too, if you sense he needs it.

  “I’m worried about three things for him now, and everyone who looks after him will have to be aware of these. The first is that the bone has to complete its healing. It’s not quite done, and it hasn’t happened as fast as it ought to. That’s why he’s still got that splint on. Next, and Ben is focusing on this, Fez has got to build strength in all his muscles. Third is the possibility of a secondary infection. He’s been through an enormous amount of work to get to the point he’s reached, and it tends to lower an animal’s resistance. He’s okay now. He’s stable, or I never would have brought him over here. And I don’t like to have to say this, but if he doesn’t—”

  “Don’t say it, Judy,” Ben said, cutting her off. “And don’t worry. That’s not going to happen. I’ve got a lot at stake here.”

  “I know, Ben. I know that. But you’ve got to remember that your success or failure as a trainer in this project is separate from the success or failure of the project.”

  “Failure?” he asked, saying the word as if he’d never heard it before. “No. We won’t fail.”

  “Good luck,” Judy said, offering him her hand. Ben reached to take it. She looked as if she wanted to say something else when the cell phone in her pocket started to ring. She answered the call, listened for a moment, shook her head, and said, “I’ll be there.” She hurried out of the stable before Ben had time to retract his hand or Carole had a chance to say goodbye.

  FOUR

  “I have to deliver an apple to Nickel, and then I’ll come help you finish settling Fez in,” Carole said.

  “You don’t have to help me,” said Ben.

  “No problem,” Carole said. It was like Ben, frustratingly like Ben, to try to do everything by himself and to be too proud to ask for or even want help. However, it wasn’t like Carole not to give a hand, so Ben would have to accept that part of her just the way she accepted the independent part of him.

  It only took her a few minutes to fetch an apple for Nickel. There was always a supply of apples and carrots in the office refrigerator. She cut one apple into quarters, then cut another for Fez. What was good for Nickel would surely be good for Fez.

  Nickel chomped his apple gratefully. By the next morning, he’d be rested and ready to go again. He was always a reliable pony for the young riders, who worked him hard.

  Carole handed Ben the apple pieces, and he knelt by the resting horse. Fez lifted his head when he smelled the treat and nibbled rather than chomped at it. He seemed grateful for the apple, but not grateful enough to want to eat more than a quarter.

  Ben stood up and wiped his hand on his jeans. He returned the leftover pieces to Carole.

  They left Fez in his stall, latching it tightly more out of habit than need, since it seemed unlikely that Fez would be any threat to the stall lock. As they walked back down the stable aisle, Carole handed out the remaining pieces of fruit to the horses curious enough to wonder who was passing their stalls at this hour.

  “I just have to lock up and then I’m on my way home. Can I give you a lift?” Carole said.

  “Uh, no,” said Ben. “I can walk.”

  “I know you can walk,” she answered. “But I’d be happy to drive you.”

  “No, really. I’ll walk.”

  For the first time, Carole realized she had no idea where Ben lived. He was such a quiet, private person, he never talked about his home. She’d never seen him leave or arrive. She hadn’t known if he had a bicycle or was picked up and dropped off. For all she knew, he might have lived three towns away. Now she knew he walked. But that was all she knew, because it was all he let her know. If it wasn’t easy to help him get home in the evening, it certainly wasn’t going to be easy to help him look after Fez. She was determined, though, and she suspected that underneath it all, she could be just as stubborn as Ben Marlow.

  “I think I’ll stop by the Foresters’ and see how Callie’s doing. She’ll want to hear about Fez, too. Want to come along?”

  “No,” he said. “I’m walking home.”

  Well, I guess we’ve established that, Carole thought.

  “See you tomorrow, then,” she said.

  “Right.”

  He backed out of her office and into the shadows of the stable. Carole heard the sounds of his departure while she tidied her desk and took the keys out of the drawer. With a final good-night to the stable and the horses, she switched off the lights, locked the door behind her, and tucked the key into its more or less secret hiding place under the mat outside the office door.

  She got into her car and started the engine. It was quite late, but the midsummer sky was just darkening past dusk. She switched on her headlights, backed up, turned, and pulled out of the driveway, turning right to go toward the Foresters’. It wasn’t far, really just a few blocks away, in Stevie’s neighborhood. Carole’s own house was several miles away, on the edge of town.

  As the car shifted up a gear, Carole saw Ben walking on the edge of the road. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his jean jacket, his shoulders hunched forward and his head bowed into the darkness. He neither looked up nor acknowledged her wave as she drove past him.

  The Forester house was cheerily lit when Carole pulled into the driveway. She didn’t intend to stay long. She just wanted to see how Callie was doing and to report on Fez. Before she could reach the screen door, Scott was there to greet her.

  “Hey, great. Callie? Guess who’s here? It’s Carole—from the stable. Come on in, Carole,” he said warmly.

  “Is it okay?” she asked.

  “Of course it is,” he said. “We were making plans for the barbecue, and your ideas will be welcome. In fact, you may be the very person we need, since there’s a two-two tie on the issue of chicken versus ribs.”

  “You think you could lure me into taking sides against half of the family on such a critical issue?” Carole countered, following Scott through the house onto the back porch, where the Foresters were gathered.

  “Well, I was going to try,” he teased.

  Carole hadn’t been in the Foresters’ house before. She liked it immediately. It reflected the same informal warmth that radiated from Scott and his father. Everything looked comfortable, everything looked nice, and it was welcoming, too. The back porch had a view of a sloping lawn that ended in a level area where there was a swimming pool. It was a perfect place for a barbecue.

  Carole had barely greeted the family and sat down before Mrs. Forester left, then reappeared with a fresh bowl of popcorn.

  “Can we ruin your appetite for dinner, Carole?” she asked with a warm smile.

  “I wish you would,” Carole said, taking a handful of popcorn. “It’s my dad’s night to cook.”

  The Foresters laughed, as Carole had known they would, and she cringed inside for a second at having taken a little dig at her father, who wasn’t there to defend himself. She didn’t mean anything by it. In fact, her father was a very good cook. They’d both learned a lot about cooking over
the years since her mother had died, and they each did a respectable job of it, swapping nights of cooking and cleaning up. Still, Carole was secretly pleased that she’d entertained the Foresters—even if the way she’d done it made her uncomfortable. Maybe it was time to get down to business.

  “Judy brought Fez back to Pine Hollow after you’d left.”

  “How’s he doing?” Callie asked.

  “Okay,” Carole said. “Pretty well, actually, considering what he’s been through.”

  “Not wonderfully?”

  “No,” Carole said. “Not wonderfully.” She could make light of her father’s cooking, but she couldn’t lie about a horse’s condition. “He’s healing, but he’s in pain and his muscles are weak.”

  “I guess I know how that feels.”

  “I guess,” Carole agreed. “Ben and I saw to it that he was comfortable. He was lying down and seemed okay when we left. We’ll be watching him very closely. Ben has a plan for him. He’s made up a regimen that will help him develop strength as soon as he can do any exercise at all.”

  “It’s sort of like what Emily’s worked out for me,” said Callie.

  “Sort of,” Carole said. “And when the two of you ride together again—”

  “If,” Callie said pointedly.

  “Maybe it’s an if, maybe it’s a when,” said Carole. “But it’s more helpful to think of it in terms of when.”

  “For me?” Callie asked.

  “For both of you,” Congressman Forester said. “And the when can’t come too soon. My dear, I was so proud of you today. It was wonderful to watch you ride. I know you’re tired now and you may not have been as aware as I was of what was happening, but you were doing magnificently. I’m absolutely certain that there has already been some improvement—just as the doctor and the physical therapist said there would be—”

  “After several months,” Callie said, reminding her father of the facts of the matter.

  “Perhaps, but you’re already ahead of schedule, and as far as I’m concerned that’s grounds for a celebration. Now, where were we on the chicken versus ribs debate?”

  “It was ribs versus chicken,” Scott countered. “Don’t think you can jump in there and give chicken the upper hand simply by saying it first. Remember who the expert debater is here.”

  Mrs. Forester turned to Carole. “If a debate gets started there’s simply no stopping these two,” she said.

  Carole smiled, but she wasn’t really amused. It was almost like a show, put on for someone’s benefit. Not her own, of course. They were being funny for Callie, trying to make her feel better after what had truly been a trying day.

  The debate progressed dramatically and humorously. Carole watched and listened for a while. This sort of banter was pleasant to be around, cheerful and cheering, but somehow a little empty. The carefree sparring of the two Foresters, father and son, stood in stark contrast to the recent conversations Carole had had with Ben. With Ben, there were things he didn’t want to discuss, like the clutch of papers he kept jamming into his pocket. Carole didn’t know what about those papers made him uncomfortable, but it was clear that he was not inviting any discussion of them. The Foresters also had things they didn’t want to discuss—like the possibility that Callie’s therapy might not be as successful as they all hoped it would. Instead of masking the subject with a frown, a grunt, or a turned head, Scott and his father seemed to be trying to drown it with jokes, gestures, and grandiose statements (“paying tribute to Maryland’s finest chickens with your grandmother’s piquant barbecue sauce, the recipe for which was carried over the Oregon Trail …”).

  Carole was lost in thought when the debate came to an abrupt halt.

  “I think we should have both,” Callie said.

  “A call to compromise!” said her father.

  “I bow to the brilliant suggestion by my younger sister,” said Scott.

  “I should have thought of that myself,” said Mrs. Forester.

  “I think I’d better get home now,” Carole said.

  “I’ll see you to the door,” Scott said.

  “No, I will,” Callie said, standing up unsteadily. She took a cane in one hand and accepted Carole’s arm with the other. The two girls walked out together.

  “Don’t mind them,” Callie said. “They’re just trying to make me feel better.”

  “I know. I could tell,” Carole said. “And I didn’t mind them at all. I was just thinking about how much the two of them seem to enjoy arguing.”

  “They do. It can be annoying, but it can also be distracting. I don’t really need to be distracted, but they seem to need to distract.”

  “Oh, of course,” said Carole.

  “Thanks for coming by. I’m glad to know that you and Ben are looking after Fez. Is he really okay?”

  “Um—”

  “Carole, tell me,” Callie said.

  “He’s changed, Callie. There’s no spark in his eyes, no alert flick of his ears. He’s weak; he’s tired. He has trouble standing and even more walking. He came down out of the van like he knew that the quicker he did it, the quicker he could lie down again. That’s not the same horse that took us forty-five minutes to get off the van when he first arrived at Pine Hollow. He’s not okay. Definitely not okay. What I don’t know—what nobody knows, really—is if that’s going to change.”

  “Thank you for not sugarcoating. I get an awful lot of that from my family, and it’s nice to hear something that’s clearly the unvarnished truth—even if I don’t like it much.”

  “I’m not very good at sugarcoating,” said Carole. “I never have been.”

  “And that’s why we’re going to get along,” said Callie.

  Callie’s mother joined them then. “What are you two talking about?” she asked.

  “The barbecue, of course,” said Carole. “I was just explaining to Callie that my father makes the finest barbecue in Virginia. It’s old-fashioned, down-home Southern pork barbecue, and I didn’t want to hurt anybody’s feelings back there, but if I bring some to the party, nobody’s going to eat the ribs or chicken.”

  “Then don’t bring it,” teased Mrs. Forester.

  “I won’t. But you’ll have to come to our house sometime and we’ll settle this debate once and for all. Good night—and, um, Callie, it was good to see you back at Pine Hollow today.”

  “It was good to be there, Carole,” Callie said.

  Carole knew she meant it.

  FIVE

  The following morning, Carole pulled into Emily’s driveway. As usual, Emily was waiting for her. She stood by her front door, her crutches held close against her sides. It was a pose she’d always taken. It made the crutches invisible at first to the casual observer. Carole wasn’t sure that Emily even knew she did it.

  Carole stopped the car and reached across the front seat to open the door for Emily, who hurried over and climbed in, pulling her crutches in after her. Emily closed the door and waved a quick good-bye to her mother, and they were on their way to Pine Hollow. Stopping at Emily’s house meant a slight detour for Carole, but she was only too happy to give her friend a lift.

  “I saw Callie last night,” Carole said as she turned onto the street.

  “You went to her house?”

  “Yeah. I wanted to let her know that Fez is back, and I also wanted to see how she was doing.”

  “And?”

  “She was tired. So is Fez.”

  “Well, both of them are going to need a lot of work before they’re in form again.” Emily tossed her backpack over the seat to make more room for herself. She fastened her seat belt.

  “And you’re going to see that she gets it?” Carole teased.

  “Sure. I’m glad to do it, too. It’s going to be a satisfying project. See, Callie is going to do all the work and she’s going to get better, and that’ll make me look brilliant.”

  “I hadn’t thought of it that way,” said Carole.

  “You would have if you’d seen how sh
e was sweating yesterday. She was working hard. I’m not surprised she was tired last night. I may be kidding about taking all the credit, but I’m not kidding about the fact that she’ll get better. Maybe not a hundred percent. But better. I’ve spent a lot of time at handicapped riding centers. Everybody’s there for a different reason, and everybody gets better in different ways. Callie will, too.”

  Carole kept her eyes on the road, driving calmly and confidently. “Does that bother you?” she asked.

  “Does what bother me?” Emily asked.

  Carole wondered if she should be asking this question, but she’d started and now she wasn’t sure she could get out of it anyway. She proceeded.

  “Does it bother you knowing that Callie will get better … and you won’t?”

  “You don’t beat around the bush, do you?”

  “You’ve always said you didn’t want any special treatment or extra consideration,” Carole reminded her. “I’m just asking a question.”

  “And an honest one,” Emily said. “So I’ll give you an honest answer. Of course it bothers me that I’ll never get better. I wouldn’t be normal if I didn’t want to be normal. I’d love it if nobody ever stared at me or if nobody ever asked if they could help me just because they felt sorry for me. I wish I looked like everybody else. I wish I walked like everybody else. I wish I didn’t have to see doctors all the time. I wish my parents didn’t have to worry about me and that I didn’t have to think about things like stairs, curbs, and sidewalks. I wish I could take gym just like my classmates—that nobody ever thought of me as different from anybody else.”

  “Oh, Emily, I’m sorry—I never thought—”

  “I know you didn’t, Carole, and that’s one of the things I like about you and our other friends. You don’t think. I mean, you don’t think about me as a handicapped friend. You think of me as a friend first and then as a rider, and then as maybe a classmate or a competitor. You think of me as someone who helps around the stable, someone you can laugh with or maybe rely on or borrow money from sometimes. And somewhere, way down the line, you think of me as being handicapped. That’s a kind of thoughtlessness I can live with. Thank you for it.”