Chapter 7: Do Not Stop On Tracks! Loose Feelings

I hurry to the attic, throw my clothes on the bed and race to retrieve my horses.

Trudging back to the attic, I arrange the horses on the chest of drawers, carefully laying the broken horse next to them. Loss sweeps through me. I didn’t think a heart could break. It can. Pain and heaviness fill my chest.

I drag to put my clothes away.

There’s a loud knock on the door.

“Come in,” I say.

Dad storms inside. He spots Mom’s things and stops. “Why are you in here?” His voice sounds strange. Kinda’ mad and sad at the same time.

“I can’t stay with Daria and her cat. She’s taken over my drawers and everything.”

Dad ignores my words. “She is downstairs in tears and says you yelled at her. Is that true?”

I heave a great sigh. I can’t compete with Daria.

“I didn’t yell at her,” I say quietly.

“It doesn’t matter. Daria is a guest in our home.” His voice is like steel.

“I didn’t yell on purpose. I freaked when I saw she broke the horse Mom gave me.”

Tears fill my eyes and I blink to hold them back.

Dad sees the palomino’s broken leg. Pain crosses his face. “I’m really sorry, Winifred.”

I sag on the bed. “That is the only thing Mom ever gave me.”

“She gave you more than you know. You look just like her.”

My insides clench. I have never seen pictures of Mom when she was my age because they burned in a fire. She is beautiful in her wedding pictures, but nothing like me.

Still mad and hurt, I say, “Daria should have left my things alone.”

“Accidents happen. Daria is only a child.”

Boy, does she have him conned.

“You’re almost a grown woman. Your mother was the gentlest soul I’ve ever

known. She never yelled and she would have taught you that things don’t matter as much as people.”

“Thanks for that tidbit of knowledge,” I say. “Why haven’t you ever told me about her?”

He ignores my question. Typical.

“I’m sorry she’s not here now. Come downstairs and apologize to our guest,” he orders.

“I thought we were family.”

“That’s enough.” Dad stares me down.

“Okay,” I say. “But I’m staying in the attic until those people leave.”

“Suit yourself.”

He walks out of the room. I stare at his back and wondered what happened to my real dad.

I choke on the lump in my throat. Tears burn my eyes. I glance at the horse’s broken leg. They should shoot me, to make the pain go away. I plod downstairs.

Dad looks relieved when I come in. I wonder if he feels as bad as I do. Everybody is there except Scott. John is glued to the television. Mr. Dudley talks on his cell phone. David kisses Claire, which makes me sadder than ever. Weasel finishes fixing Daria’s hair and glares at me.

I feel like a squished ant and walk up to the brat. “I’m sorry I yelled, Daria.”

She smiles sweetly, victory all over her face. “I accept your apology.” She hugs me and whispers so only I can hear, “Do it again and you’ll really be sorry.”

I barely control my desire to punch her out. Instead, I turn, red-faced, and walk out of the room. Then race through the kitchen and out the back door.

My head pounds and my eyes burn like hot coals. I run around the corner and stop. The garden glows in the rays of the setting sun.

I take a shaky breath and walk to a rocky pond, sinking down on the warm, spongy moss. A tear rolls down my cheek. I swipe it away. I don’t cry. Well, not since I was eight when a soccer ball smacked me between the eyes. It hurt so much tears poured down my face. One of the boys on the other team said, “Girls always cry.” I vowed then not to let anybody ever see me cry.

“You all right?”

I hop up, heart slamming into my ribcage. Scott is sitting on a bench under the lilac tree.

“Go away!” I yell.

“Sor-ry,” Scott bolts away.

I run after him. “Wait.” I grab his arm and electricity shoots through me.

He gets a funny look on his face and yanks away.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you. It’s been a crummy day.”

Scott turns away mumbling, “I know what that’s like.”

“You don’t have to go. I didn’t expect anyone to be here.”

He hesitates and then says, “I come here everyday when the sun sets.”

“How come?” I ask.

I don’t think he’s going to answer me. He looks as sad as I feel. I wait.

“I-I like what happens to the angel,” he stammers.

Hmm. Didn’t think he could ever lose his cool.

I look at the sculpture. The ascending angel stands in a secluded alcove. Her arms are flung back, her radiant face turned to the heavens. Her dress and wings shimmer in shades of red and orange sunlight.

“I didn’t know boys liked angels.”

Scott stares at the ground. “She reminds me of my mom.” He chokes up. Throws his words at me. “A stupid drunk driver killed her!”

I feel awful. I don’t know what to say. To have a mother and lose her seems even worse than not having one at all. “I’m really sorry.”

He straightens his back, fighting the tears in his eyes.

I squirm and blurt out, “My mom died when I was born. This is where I come to talk to her.” Why did I say that? To a complete stranger. I haven’t even told my best friend.

Scott looks into my eyes. I melt inside.

“That’s awful,” he says. “I can’t imagine not having a mother when I was little. I thought maybe your dad was divorced or something. Your brother didn’t tell us.”

“David never talks about Mom.”

“How come?” he asks.

“I don’t know. It’s like he and Dad have a secret.”

“It’s hard to talk about,” Scott says.

“Yeah. Especially with people who haven’t had it happen to them.”

Scott looks around the garden. “This place is cool. You’re lucky.”

“How come?” I ask.

“I live in New York. Too busy, too many people.”

“There must be lots to do in a big city.”

Scott shrugs. “I’d rather live here. I’ve always been crazy about horses.” He stops talking and starts walking away. I don’t want to let him go when he looks so down.

I ask, “What does your dad do?”

Scott looks at the angel. “He used to be a stockbroker. Since Mom died, he’s taken time off and sits home staring at the walls.”

“Bummer.”

“Winifred, Winifred!” Daria’s voice screeches.

“Quick, hide!” I whisper. I grab his hand and pull him behind the giant rhododendron bush. The pink flowers glisten purple in the sunset.

“Please, don’t give me away.”

I hear Daria skipping into the garden. “Winifred, dinner’s here. Come set the table.”

I hardly breathe. Scott doesn’t let go of my hand. Tiny shivers wiggle up my arm. We don’t move.

Daria goes back to the house chanting, “You’re going to get in trouble. You’re going to get in trouble.”

I let my breath out and wish I didn’t have to let go of Scott’s hand. I do. It tingles and feels warm, like he’s still holding it.

“Thanks for not giving me away. Who does she think she is, ordering me around?”

“Your dad probably asked her to come get you,” Scott says.

“Are you defending her?” I try to hold my temper. It’s hard.

“I’ve seen lots of rich kids act like her.”

“Where?”

“In private school.”

“Oh.”

Scott glances at me. “Some rich people are actually nice.”

I can’t stop blushing.

He adds, “Mrs. Dudley is something else. That voice and those eyes. Like waiting for a bomb to explode.”

Exactly. I smile up at him. “Do you know the Dudleys?”

“Naw. Just people like them. They get rich and try to act superior.”

“Mr. Dudley seems okay,” I say.

“Yeah.” He’s like my dad – was.”

“Your dad will get better. Grieving takes time.”

He stares into my eyes, “But you never get over it, do you?”

“No, I guess not,” I say. I ignore my traitorous body. Will I ever get used to the flutters in my stomach every time he looks at me? Probably not. Why am I so happy around him?

“Want to ride Dancer tomorrow?” I ask.

He barely smiles. “You mean I get to graduate from manure duty?”

“That’s never over. Now you can learn how to groom the horse.”

“Sounds more fun,” he says.

“Sure, if you don’t mind the smell of sweat. ” I laugh when he makes a face. “Let’s eat. I’m starving. At least Dad ordered pizzas so I don’t have to cook or do dishes their first night here.”

“Can’t have you washing the dishes,” he teases.

His smile almost knocks me off my feet. I gotta’ get control. Side by side, we walk into the house. I’m kinda’ getting used to his whistling.