The Horsewoman(28)

“Let’s say I do shock everybody and win on a horse we all know is good enough to win,” I said. “Wouldn’t our finances get better in the short run?”

“You’re being silly,” Grandmother said.

“Just asking,” I said to her.

“In that scenario,” she said, “yes, an infusion of cash like that would feel as if we’d won the lottery.”

I was just pulling stuff out of my butt now.

“And in that moment, at least hypothetically, the value of the horse would be as high as ever, correct?” I said.

“Hypothetically, yes,” Mom said.

“Without the one mistake,” Daniel said in a voice even quieter than normal, “they would have won today.”

“If the queen had balls, she’d be king,” Grandmother said. “And I can’t bet a million dollars on what almost happened today. Like an old friend of mine used to say, what could’ve happened did.”

She sighed again.

“The answer is still no,” she said.

“There must be something I can say to change your mind,” I said.

“Not when it’s made up,” she said. “You should know that as well as anyone.”





TWENTY-EIGHT



ATWOOD FARM WASN’T close to business as usual when Mom went to the gym in the morning.

The only glimmer of good news was that she was getting better. Starting to get her appetite back, if not regaining much weight. She’d already tossed the knee brace and only a slight limp remained as an indicator of what had happened to her, how badly she’d been injured.

Grandmother had a nine o’clock appointment with Andy, the accountant. Before she left, I’d said to her one last time, “Are you sure?”

“I’d better be,” she said.

By nine thirty Steve Gorton was due to arrive at the house to close his deal with Grandmother. She’d decided he could talk to me instead.

“You can handle him,” she said.

“Yeah,” I said, “the way I would a python.”

I’d never really been alone with Steve Gorton, but riding Coronado had made him more mine than anybody else’s, so I should be the one giving Gorton the official word.

As I sat at the kitchen table with a fresh cup of coffee, I wondered if he’d be on time for once. Hoping he would be, so I could quickly get this over with, go down the hill, and ride my horse.

When I heard his car in the driveway, I checked my phone. Nine forty-five. Not bad for him. Gorton’s version of Becky Standard Time.

I walked into the living room and parted the drapes enough to see that today he was in the red Porsche, looking shiny and showroom-new, the sun reflecting off the windshield, like the car was giving off a beam of light.

He walked toward the house nodding his head at a caller on the phone he carried in one hand, a legal-size envelope in the other. A descriptive line about a mouse who’d grown up to be a rat surfaced from one of my writing classes.

Get it over with.

When I answered the front door he said, “Where’s your grandmother?”

“Not here,” I said.

“Where is she?”

“She had an appointment,” I said.

“What the hell?” he said. “Her appointment was with me.”

“Would you care to come inside?”

“I have to be somewhere.”

“Same,” I said. “But my family has decided that whatever you needed to say, you can say to me.”

I showed him into the front room, asked if he wanted coffee, at least making a pass at sounding polite.

“No coffee. No screwing around,” he said. “You know why I’m here.”

“I do,” I said, taking the rocking chair.

He sat down on the couch, tossed the envelope on the coffee table, pointed at it.

“I’ll leave this agreement for her,” he said. “I’ve already signed it. As soon as she countersigns, I’ll transfer the money into her account.” He made a snorting noise. “I can’t believe I wasted a trip.”

“Sorry,” I said, as if feeling him.

“Are you?”

“Time is money,” I said.

“Is that supposed to be some kind of smart remark?”

“Not if you have to ask,” I said.

“I know I’m supposed to be the bad guy here,” he said.

“Actually, in this case, you’re not.”

“But none of this is my fault,” Gorton said. “You had your chance and you blew it. We need to stop jacking around with the notion that you should be riding this horse. Or ever should have been riding this horse.”

“You made that pretty clear yesterday,” I said.

“The guy who tells people what they want to hear?” he said. “I’m not that guy.”

I grinned.

“So I’ve heard.”

“I’ll send somebody to pick up the signed papers,” he said.

“You can actually take them with you,” I said.

“She needs to sign them first,” he said.

“Well, see, here’s the thing,” I said. “She’s not signing. And we’re not selling.”