No one thinks Mitchell knows what he is doing, but he is still family. In the fall when Sam starts her senior year, her mom calls Mitchell and they talk and talk and he tells her about the horse farm where he works.
When Courtney gets off the phone she says, “I really want to see that place.”
Sam looks at her, like Go ahead.
“I love horses,” Courtney says.
“Aren’t you allergic?” Noah asks.
“Not to horses.” Courtney is looking at Sam. “Just once,” she tells her. “Just go there once. He sounds really good.”
She drives Sam and Noah to Windy Hill Farm, and they pass through a wooden gate onto a dirt road. There are two horses standing in the field.
The barn smells like wet straw. Eight horses live there, and Mitchell is mucking out the stalls. The horses shuffle and sniffle and nibble their oats. Some are shy, but some peek out through bars. Mitchell says, “This is Roxy. This is our pony, Frodo. This is Daisy.” He introduces them to a tall white horse with nervous eyes. “She had a hard life, didn’t you, girl?”
He breaks a carrot and when Noah holds out a piece, Daisy snuffles up his whole hand.
“This is Archer. He was starving when we got him. You could see his ribs. His owners abandoned him.”
Mitchell leads Archer out of his stall, and the horse stands quietly so they can take turns currying him. His coat is gray, but silver when you brush it. Mitchell lifts up each foot in turn and scrapes out dried mud with a metal tool. “You are so patient,” he keeps telling Archer, and Courtney says, Oh wow, you are so beautiful, but Noah just leans against Archer’s flank and closes his eyes.
Mitchell says, “Yeah, it feels good.”
Windy Hill trains horses for equine therapy. That’s the whole idea of the farm. There is an indoor ring and outdoor paddock and kids come to ride. Therapists boost the kids up into the saddle and slowly lead the horse around. It helps everybody. Maybe next time Sam and Noah can ride.
Noah says, “Yeah!”
Sam says nothing. Her dad has that light in his eyes he gets when he’s performing. Some people tell lies about the past. Her dad tells lies about the future. He is always telling a new story.
“It takes time for them to trust you,” Mitchell says. “They’ve had a lot of bad experiences, so it takes a lot of patience.”
He is talking about the horses, but Sam knows what he means. She looks at him like Stop. Don’t put me in your metaphor.
Courtney is so happy about the farm that she thinks they should go there for Sam’s birthday. They can all go riding.
“Sweet,” says Noah.
“Take him for his birthday,” Sam says.
“Let’s just invite Dad here, then,” says Courtney. “It doesn’t have to be a big deal or anything. Just ask him to stop by.”
“No thanks,” says Sam.
Her mom does not tell her to lose the attitude. She stays positive. “Just think about it, okay? You only turn eighteen once!”
Sam says, “That’s true of all the other years too.”
Courtney says eighteen is different. You can vote—but Sam’s birthday is after the election.
She and Noah can’t figure out what Courtney is so happy about. It’s not just positivity. It’s not history, even though Courtney is celebrating President Obama. Something else is going on with her.
When Sam asks for no party with all her quote friends from school, Courtney doesn’t even argue.
Jen and Steve come with their girls, Madi and Alex, and they sit around the table eating cake and opening presents. Jen gives Sam a professional hair dryer diffuser thing, which is charcoal gray. The girls give her rainbow cards with HAPPY B-DAY 18!! in bubble letters. Then Courtney tells Steve, “Okay, go get it.” And she turns to Sam and says in a funny voice, “We have to go downstairs.”
“It’s a puppy!” Noah whispers as they cram into the elevator.
“Ha,” says Courtney.
The doors open, and they head out to the sidewalk in front of the building and there’s Steve standing in front of a car.
It’s not new; it’s not cool. It’s not sporty or all-wheel drive or anything, but it’s parked right in front with four wheels and four doors and an engine. The car has 161,000 miles on it, which is even more than Courtney’s Subaru, but Steve checked it out and it’s okay. It’s Grandma D.’s baby blue Buick.
The story is, Grandma D. is finally moving to assisted living—and also, she doesn’t like driving anymore.
Sam just stands there because she never thought she’d get a car so soon. And it’s so big! It’s so old and fancy, and now she really will be free. She can drive anywhere—like Montreal or Maine or to a job or to go camping. She will never have to wait two hours for the bus again.
“Open the door,” Courtney says.
“Open it!” Jen tells her.
Sam opens the driver’s door, and the whole car is crammed with helium balloons. They are blue and green and gold, and they are clear with little balloons floating inside them. They are tied together in huge bouquets, one in the front and one in the back seat.
Now Sam is standing on the sidewalk holding enough balloons to float away. There is a gold number 1 and a gold number 8 and they twist in the breeze.
“Look,” says Noah. “You’re 81.”
“Here, I’ll take them.” Her mom holds one bunch and Jen holds another as Sam peeks into her new car and sits in the driver’s seat.
“Pull that to open up the gas tank,” Steve says. “Press that to pop the trunk.”
As soon as Sam pops the trunk, more balloons fly up into the air. Noah catches some and some escape—a whole trunkful of purple and red and fancy silver.
Courtney says, “You know who thought of that.”