Chapter Thirteen

 

Tuesday, September 17^th, 6:05 p.m.

 

Mom turned off the burner, then came toward us. “What have you been doing, Robin?” She sniffed and caught a good whiff of the delousing powder. “Never mind. I know. Go hit the shower, and on your way, tell your father to come join us. And after that, put supper on the table for me.”

“But, what about Twaz?”

“He’ll be fine,” Mom said. “Before the county can remove him, they have to serve us with papers and that takes time. Believe me, if your dad has to wait for dinner, that will be worse than anything you’ve ever seen. Get busy.”

“Okay.” I headed for the study.

Behind me, the cop called, “It was nice to meet you, Robin.”

“Yeah. Me, too,” I said, but I was lying. I didn’t trust the cop. Actually, when it came down to it, I didn’t trust anyone but us to take care of Twaziem. A lot of people would look at him and see death walking. They’d be like the guy who wanted to take him to slaughter, not put the time and energy into saving his life.

When I told Dad about the Animal Control cop coming to see Twaziem, Dad hurried off to help Mom. He paused long enough to pat my shoulder. “It’ll be okay, honey. Take your shower and keep your cell with you. I’ll call if I want you to get our lawyer. Your horse isn’t going anywhere.”

I nodded and headed for my bathroom. I washed my hands and arms before I got out my cell phone and put it on the vanity. Now, it wouldn’t stink like the lice powder. I slid out of my clothes, piling them on the tile floor next to the hamper. I’d take them to the laundry room and dump them in the washer right after my shower.

I hurried through washing my hair and showering away the smell. Then, I toweled off and blew dry my hair. I hustled into clean underwear, a T-shirt and jeans. I didn’t bother with makeup, which was totally not like me. I always wore it, even when I did cross-country, but it wasn’t true that I had to look perfect to go to the barn, no matter what Jack said.

I bundled my smelly clothes into the towels and went to throw everything in the washer on the hot cycle. Once that was done, I checked the meatloaf. It was ready. So were the potatoes when I poked them with a fork. Same went for the green beans—they’d finished steaming after Mom turned off the heat. I wasn’t putting the food on the table to get cold. Dad would hate that.

I checked my cell. He hadn’t called. Did we need a lawyer or not? When I looked out the front window, I still saw the green and white sheriff’s car. Okay, so Officer Yardley was still here. Didn’t he have a home? And why didn’t he go there?

I pulled on my running shoes. I didn’t need my boots. It wasn’t like I’d be in the stall with Twaziem. I was just going back to the barn to save him. There was no way I’d let this guy have him, not when he obviously hadn’t done much to make the Bartlett brats step up and look after him.

Dad and Mom came out of the barn with Officer Yardley between them. I went to meet them. “He’s mine, right?”

“For now,” Officer Yardley said.

“For keeps,” I said. “So, what’s it going to take to make you go away and not come back? How do I make that happen?”

“By being polite,” Mom said.

I shook my head. “No. I don’t think so. Mrs. Bartlett was dying of cancer and her snarky, nasty grandkids didn’t feed Twaziem.” I stared at Officer Yardley. “And he left him there to starve. So, why do I have to be polite?”

“Because if you’re not,” Dad said, “I’ll ground you past forever and you’ll lose all your privileges, but none of your responsibilities.”

I folded my arms, tapped one foot, and glared at him, even though it wouldn’t work. Dad was almost as stubborn as I was. The cop grinned at me, but I didn’t smile back. I just waited for a long moment, then another one and a third. “He’s mine.”

“I can see that you folks are trying to do right by him,” Officer Yardley said. “And as long as he keeps gaining weight, I don’t have a problem with him living here. I’ll talk to Dr. Tomlinson about the prognosis and I’ll also be in touch with your farrier.”

“And you’ll leave Mrs. Bartlett alone,” I said. “She has enough to contend with. She doesn’t need to be hassled because her family messed up when she was in the hospital with cancer. Harass them. If you want their addresses, I’ll get those for you. I have friends who still go to school with them.”

He stared at me suspiciously. “Why would you do that?”

“Hello? How do you do your job?” I asked, but I didn’t wait for an answer from him. “The three of them are rotten, and they had to learn to be mean to animals from somebody, so you should go after their parents.”

Utter silence from the three adults who stared at me, then at each other. I didn’t have a problem ratting out the three Bartletts. It wasn’t because I was afraid of them. I wasn’t. I just didn’t like Caine who was overtly cruel or his cousins who were covertly abusive. Either way somebody helpless always suffered whenever the Bartletts were around, and it didn’t matter if it was a two-legged or four-legged person.

The cop made a couple more notes then closed up the metal case that held his paperwork. “I really don’t see the point in citing you folks for doing something kind. I’ll be back to check on Twaziem once a week for the next month. As soon as he has a substantial weight gain, I’ll close the case.” He eyed me. “And if you’re willing to give me names, I’ll look into it, Robin. This was the first time I found Mrs. Bartlett at home, and now, I know why.”

He was gone in less than five minutes. I walked up with my parents toward the house. Dad hugged me, then said, “Robbie, you need to work on your diplomacy.”

“What does that mean?”

“Like your grandmother says, ‘Diplomacy is the art of telling someone to go to hell in such a way that he looks forward to the trip,’” Mom said. “And honey, sooner or later, people are going to realize that you’re very intelligent. You can’t play the blonde dimwit card forever.”

“Hey, if they’re stupid enough to buy into stereotypes, why should I stop them?”

Both my folks laughed, which was my intent. I didn’t need to be on Dad’s list and grounded past forever when I wanted to have a sleepover on Saturday. We walked into the kitchen together and found Jack sitting at the table, holding a bag of frozen peas on his upper arm. I felt my stomach lurch. “Oh no. What happened?”

“Jaws of the Baskervilles,” Jack said. “In other words, your horse took a bite out of me, and I wasn’t even the one who deloused him. He has some issues.”

“I already told you that he doesn’t like guys,” I said, “and now I know why. I ran into Phil at practice today, and he told me that Caine, Wanda, and Ashley Bartlett are whining up a storm because I have their horse.”

Jack whistled softly. “When is your first meet? Thursday, right? I’ll go with you.”

“So will we,” Mom said. “Now dish up supper, Robin. Slide out of that shirt, Jack, and let me look at your arm. Did he break the skin?”

 

* * * *

 

Wednesday, September 18^th, 7:00 a.m.

 

All the way to school, I kept thinking about Twaziem and Jack. My brother hadn’t mentioned the horse bite to the cop and that was a relief. I’d never seen the horse do anything other than stomp his feet and kick at the wall. How was I supposed to know he’d bite Jack? I didn’t think it had anything to do with the carrots I fed Twaz. Treats didn’t make him bite. For some reason, he connected my older brother to his previous home and the abuse he’d suffered. There had to be a solution because if the Morab was dangerous, Dad wouldn’t want us to keep him.

“Are you stressing over anything in particular, Robbie?” Dad asked.

“Just Twaz,” I said. “I’m going to talk to Rocky when I have my lesson today. There has to be a way to show him that all guys aren’t the same. And at least Rocky admits horses have preferences when it comes to riders. Some trainers don’t.”

“Well, you’re thinking up solutions. Good job.”

He seemed pretty receptive, so I asked, “Dad, can we talk about the Mustang tonight? You, me, and Mom.”

“Sure,” Dad said. “As long as breaking into your college fund isn’t one of the options, I’d love to hear what you’ve come up with. I’ve always admired your determination.” He grinned at me. “You brighten my days.”

“I do? How?”

Dad chuckled. “Oh, how about the time you decided your grandparents should visit Cobbie when they didn’t want to? I barely managed not to laugh after the pony disgraced himself. I thought I’d choke when I saw the look on my old man’s face.”

I stared at him. “I thought you were mad at me that day.”

“At you?” Dad shook his head, still grinning. “Oh, I won’t say you’ve never annoyed me over the years, Robbie. It wouldn’t be true. But, that day? No. You’re such a spitfire. It’s why my mom says that you’re just like my father.”

“Wonderful. Well, if you expect me to join the Marines, forget about it. It’s so not happening.”

“Good. Having you in danger would keep me awake nights.”

Coffee in hand, I was at school a few minutes later. Porter, Gwen, and I hung out in the Commons, waiting for Vicky, but she was a no-show. I knew she’d be late when the warning bell rang and we hadn’t seen her. I stopped by her locker on the way to English and grabbed her stuff before I headed to class. Her younger brothers and sisters must have been in slow motion today and she had to drop them by the day care a half mile away before she came to school. And they were walking, since her mother had the car.

Vicky rushed in the door three minutes after the final bell rang, and Mrs. Weaver glared at her from the front of the room. “You’re late, Victoria. Go get an admit slip from the office.”

“Please don’t make me. Another tardy and I’m on academic probation, and that means I’m off cheer.”

“You should have thought of that when you didn’t get to school on time.”

“If I get kicked off cheer, it messes with athletic scholarships,” Vicky tried again. “Please, Mrs. Weaver. I promise I won’t be late anymore.”

Somebody had to do something, and I knew she’d be bawling in a minute, especially when Mrs. Weaver just pointed to the door. “Oh, come on, Vicky. We all know the truth. You can’t get here any earlier.”

“Yeah,” Porter jumped in. “You have to get those kids to day care before you come here and some days you can’t get the four of them moving.”

“There are five of them,” I pointed out.

“The baby doesn’t count,” Porter told me. “All Vick has to do is load up the diaper bag, dress the kid, feed her, grab her and go.”

“You should just drop out of school, Vicky.” Gwen propped her chin on her fist. “You’ll never get out of this town even with a college scholarship. You’ll be babysitting for your folks forever. Your dad’s too busy for kids with his new girlfriend, and your mom’s got that new job working swing or graveyard at the casino.”

“I’ve heard nannies make good money,” Steve said. “People are always having babies, so there’s job security. You can wipe noses and tushies until you’re old and gray.”

Mrs. Weaver turned her glare on all of us. “I suppose the cross-country bunch is going to keep this up until I give in. Sit down, Victoria. You and I will meet with the counselor and adjust your schedule after class. Now, all of you open your writing notebooks and do a ten minute write. The topic is, what is a hero? Pick someone in the class who exemplifies those traits and defend your position. I want at least two full pages. Three would be better.”