Fear of Falling (2 page)

Brian acts like he doesn't care at all, like he's too busy to notice Dad's gone. He never even mentions Dad. But that's partly because Brian's hardly ever here anymore. After Dad left, Brian went out and got a job at the multiplex at the mall, and his job seems to take up most of his free time.

And Mom? She doesn't say much about Dad anymore either, but that doesn't mean she isn't thinking about him. I want to ask her what she's thinking, but how does a twelve-year-old boy ask his mother for the lowdown on her marriage? I mean, I still have trouble talking to her about my math grades!

So we all just go on pretending nothing's wrong and waiting for Dad to come home… with Ashley running downstairs to look out the window every morning, as if she thinks Santa is going to leave Dad on our doorstep or something.

“Don't hold your breath, Ashley,” I mutter.

“Why not?” she asks, then immediately starts holding her breath, making a big show of how fat her cheeks are. That's the kind of kid she is. Say “Don't step in a puddle,” and she jumps in with both feet to find out why.

Mom looks annoyed. “Ashley, stop that. Do you want to turn blue? Ashley—” Mom gives up and starts to load the dishwasher. “I guess she'll breathe when she needs to.”

A horn beeps outside, and Brian peers out the kitchen window. “It's the guys, Mom. Gotta go.”

“Brian—wait!” Mom says. “You haven't eaten anything.”

Brian digs into the cereal box for a handful of those bran buds, shoving them into his mouth as he heads out the door. “Yum!” he shouts over his shoulder. “You're a great cook, Mom! See you guys at the parade.” And he's gone.

Mom shakes her head and turns back to the dishes.

“I think it's wrong to let Ashley go on believing Dad's going to show up for Thanksgiving,” I mutter to Mom as I scrape back my chair and stand up.

“David!” Mom whispers through clenched teeth, sending me a look that says,
Watch what you say in front of Ashley.

I shrug and carry my bowl to the sink. “Well, you know it's true,” I whisper back. “Dad's not too good about keeping promises anymore.”

Mom sighs heavily. I guess she knows that even better than I do. “All right, David,” she says quietly. “I'm skeptical, too. But I'm going to keep an open mind, and I want you to do the same, at least around Ashley.”

“OK, I guess.” I head into the hall to get my jacket. Inside the coat closet, Ashley's backpack is half open on the floor. There's a drawing poking out, done with colored markers. The drawing is of two goofy-eyed stick people. One is big with yellow hair. The smaller one is holding the big one's hand. Across the top it says, “I lov yu Dady.”

Suddenly I fight back a choked feeling in my throat. I used to have the same hope about Dad that Ashley does. I mean, we're his kids, his family. How could he leave us and not come back?

But the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months. First the phone calls stopped. He was never good at writing letters, but he did e-mail us sometimes. Then even the e-mails stopped coming. Mom hasn't said anything specific, but money is so tight now that I sometimes wonder if he's stopped sending her checks, too.

Thinking about Dad gives me that falling feeling—the one I have in the dream.
Don't go there, I tell myself. Just forget about it.

A horn honks in the driveway, and I yank open the front door. Dr. Mac leans her head out of the van and waves. “Come on David, let's go!”

Yes! It's time to ride.

“See ya, Mom,” I shout, then slam the door and leave all that other stuff behind.

When we arrive at Quinn's Stables, Brenna and Sunita are already there. Maggie, Zoe, and I pile out of Dr. Mac's van and run to meet them, laughing and sharing high fives. We're totally pumped up for the parade.

Guys don't usually hang out with four girls, but this is different. They're all volunteers at Dr. Mac's Place, same as me. Dr. Mac is Maggie and Zoe's grandmother. She asked for our help once when the clinic was swamped with a bunch of sick, starving puppies from a puppy mill. We did a pretty good job saving the puppies and tracking down the sleazy dog breeder who was selling them, so Dr. Mac asked us to be regular volunteers at the clinic.

We get to help out with real medical stuff, too—checkups, shots, even emergencies. Of course, we still have to do the chores, such as cleaning cages and stocking supply closets. But it's worth it to be helping the animals.

I race the girls to the barn and go straight to check on my favorite horse. “Hey, Trickster!” I call out to him, and his head pops over the stall door.

Mr. Quinn and I have been working with Trickster for months to get him ready for the parade today. I scratch behind his ears, and he nickers. He's the best.

Zoe comes up behind me. “How's Trickster doing?” she asks. She's the only one of the girls who's into horses as much as I am. She used to live in Manhattan with her actress mother and went to some fancy summer riding camp. She really knows her stuff when it comes to riding.

“Trickster's great,” I say. “Aren't you, boy?”

Zoe strokes his nose, frowning. “Think he'll go into the trailer without a fuss?”

“I hope so.” I first met Trickster when Mr. Quinn brought him into the stables back in the spring. Trickster's leg got injured when his horse trailer was hit on the highway. Dr. Mac treated his leg, and it was a while before he could carry a rider. But almost worse was how the accident hurt Trickster's spirit—how terrified he became of trailers.

Lately Mr. Quinn and I have been reintroducing him to the trailer v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y. Hey, I can relate—I know what it's like to do something scary. Like riding a horse over a jump, for example.

“Good morning,” Dr. Mac says cheerfully to the horses as she enters the barn. “How are all you beauties today?”

“Raring to go!” Mr. Quinn says with a smile.

Dr. Mac checks the parade horses over, and then we begin loading the horses into the trailers that will carry them to the starting point of the parade. It's not far into town, but with the traffic and crowds, Mr. Quinn feels the horses will be calmer and safer in the trailers. He really loves his horses. That's one reason he and my dad were always such good friends—they shared a love of horses.

It was Dad who first taught me to ride. Now that Dad's gone, Mr. Quinn has been teaching me. When Mr. Quinn first started giving me jumping lessons, I was excited, but now I'm not so sure I'm ready.

“Here we go, David. It's D-day—let's see how Trickster loads,” says Mr. Quinn.

I lead Trickster to the trailer, talking in a calm, low voice to reassure him.

Trickster hesitates, but only for a moment, and then he walks up the ramp into the trailer without a second glance. Yes!

I turn to Mr. Quinn. “He did it!”

He winks at me and nods. “Looks like all your hard work paid off, huh?”

I grin. Mr. Quinn doesn't hand out praise easily, especially to me. I had a little trouble convincing him I was a responsible kid a while back. But he's been patient with me.

While the other horses are being loaded, I notice a new horse, very tall, charcoal gray with a silver mane. He's awesome!

I walk over to one of the stable hands. “Hey, Joe. Who's the new horse?”

“Oh, him.” Joe puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head in admiration. “His name is King's Shadow—he's a jumper. A real beaut, huh? He's a new boarder, just brought in yesterday.”

“He's amazing,” I say. I stretch out my hand, palm down, to let King's Shadow smell me.

Over near the trailers, I catch Mr. Quinn watching me—or is it King's Shadow he's watching? When our eyes meet, he quickly glances away with an odd look on his face.
What's that about?

Dr. Mac calls us. “Let's go, kids. We don't want to be late.”

I forget about Mr. Quinn's strange look. I'm going to ride Trickster in a parade!

D
r. Mac says the Ambler Thanksgiving parade is “old-fashioned America.” Everyone from miles around comes to town for the event. Excitement is in the air, and everybody's in a holiday spirit. Families line the streets, fathers holding their kids high up on their shoulders.

Families.
The thought is like a punch in the gut. Holidays are supposed to bring families together. I think of Dad and try not to search the crowd for him. If he shows up, he shows up. If he doesn't…

I shrug. I'm too old to think like Ashley—to think that I can blow out birthday candles and my wish will come true just because I want it to.

In the parking lot behind the grocery store, we unload the horses from the trailers, backing them out one by one. Trickster does just fine. I'm so proud of him! I give him a quick final brushing. His chestnut coat is a rich reddish brown, and it shines in the sunlight. As usual, his long forelock flops over his eyes. I smile—he likes his bangs in his eyes, just like me. Carefully I comb his forelock into the center of his forehead, and he shakes it right back into his eyes. He's playful—that's how he got the name Trickster.

The horses are used to being around people for riding lessons and horse shows. Still, we're careful to talk softly and keep them calm as we saddle up. The excitement grows as we take our places in the parade.

“Sunita and I are going to head over to the booth now,” Dr. Mac says. They've set up a Dr. Mac's Place table, where they'll hand out information about pet care and vaccinations. She waves to us. “We'll be watching!”

Up ahead I spot Maggie with a bunch of her friends from school. They've all got their dogs, and they plan to entertain the crowd with obedience tricks. Maggie has her big old basset hound, Sherlock Holmes, on a leash. He's not exactly the fastest dog in the west, but Maggie's got him so well trained, I know he'll put on a good show.

Brenna is darting around taking pictures of everything. She's really into photography, and she's hoping that one of her photographs will get printed in the newspaper.

I put my left foot in the stirrup and swing up into Trickster's saddle. Wow, what a view! Trickster is fifteen hands high. Since a hand equals four inches, that means Trickster is five feet tall at his withers, where his neck and back meet. So I'm way above the crowd! I can see everything…Girl Scouts wearing reindeer antlers, a city fire truck all polished up and decorated with bunting, the high-school marching band playing holiday tunes.

“Brenna!” I call down to her. “You should be up here. You can see almost the whole parade!”

She snaps a picture of me, then looks up from behind the lens. “Yeah, right. And which hand would I hold the reins in while I'm focusing the camera?”

She has me there.

Suddenly, off in the crowd, the sunlight hits a shock of blond hair—a man craning his neck—and my heart leaps.
Dad!

But when the man turns, I realize it's not him, and I feel like an idiot.
This is no sappy holiday movie,
I remind myself. I can't help wondering how Ashley's going to feel when Dad doesn't show up for Thanksgiving dinner.

How will I feel?

Trickster snorts and steps sideways. I guess I was squeezing his sides too tightly. “Sorry, boy,” I whisper, patting his neck. He can probably tell I'm feeling tense. Dad says horses always know what we're thinking and feeling, even when we don't know ourselves.

“Huh?”

“Quit daydreaming,” Zoe says with a grin. “The parade's starting.”

“Hey, I'm ready!” I tell myself to forget about Dad. Because right now I'm doing my favorite thing in the world—riding Trickster.

As the parade gets under way, I start to relax and have a good time. Being in a parade is so cool! I scan the sea of faces lining the sidewalk and spot Brian with some of his buddies from the multiplex.

“Hey, David, nice wheels!” Brian calls out, shooting me the thumbs-up sign.

I can't help breaking into a grin, thankful that he didn't shout out some snotty insult to impress his friends. You just never know what a big brother is going to do when he's out in public.

Rachel, the cute girl who sits in front of me in science class, waves at me like I'm some kind of celebrity. “I love your horse!” she shouts. She and her friends fall all over themselves, giggling.

“David! You're blushing!” Zoe teases from her horse, a tall bay named Claiborne.

I duck my head and turn toward the other side of the street, pretending that I have to wave an equal amount on both sides. Is there any way to make your face un-blush? But I have to admit I love getting all this attention. I feel like a movie star.