Golden Filly Collection One (91 page)

“To Trish and Spitfire.” Adam raised his glass of iced tea. As the others joined in the toast, Trish raised her glass too. Her butterflies took a flying leap at the same time. A toast of their own, perhaps?

Tomorrow afternoon the final race for the Triple Crown would take place. Trish stared at her plate when the waitress placed it in front of her. The steak had sounded so good—
before
the inner aerial display. She picked at her food, moving it around her plate while enjoying the conversation around the table.

That is, until her father choked. He coughed and gagged and covered his mouth with a napkin. When he was unable to stop coughing, Marge thumped his back. David was on his feet, ready to apply the Heimlich maneuver if necessary.

“Dad, are you all right?” Panic made Trish’s voice sound shrill.

Hal shook his head and coughed again. This time he blinked and breathed deeply. “Yes, I got it out.” He coughed again, more softly this time, but couldn’t seem to stop altogether.

When he finally wiped his mouth with his napkin, Trish saw a smear of blood across his lips and cheek. “Dad!”

Hal looked at her, then down at his napkin. “Oh, God, no.” He wiped his mouth again and took a sip of water.

“I think we better get you to a hospital and check this out.” Marge laid her hand on his shoulder. “The rest of you finish your dinner. We’ll probably be back at the hotel before you are.”

Trish shoved her chair back so hard it crashed to the floor. “I’ll drive.”

“No, I will.” David took Trish by the arm. “Come on.”

“Do you want me to call an ambulance?” the maitre d’ asked.

“No, just tell me where the nearest hospital is.” David listened carefully to the instructions.

“Right, go three blocks, turn left, go one mile and left again at the sign to Mercy Hospital.”

David almost shoved Trish ahead of him. “I’ll bring the car around. You help Mom with Dad.”

Hal seemed better in the car. He breathed carefully, as though afraid a deep breath would start the coughing again.

“They’ll just check me over and send me back to the hotel,” he grumbled. “All this over a piece of meat caught in my throat.”

It seemed as if they’d been waiting for hours when a nurse came into the emergency room fifteen minutes later. She led the way to a white-curtained cubicle, and they all trooped in.

The nurse patted the table and looked at Hal. “Sit right up here and the doctor will be with you in a moment.” Then she picked up a clipboard and started asking questions.

Now I know what Mom felt like after my accidents,
Trish thought. The questions seemed to go on forever.

A tall man with iron-gray hair parted the curtains. “I’m Dr. Silverstein. The restaurant called and said you’d choked on a piece of meat.” As he spoke, he took out his stethoscope and applied it to Hal’s chest. “And you had blood on your napkin after that.”

Trish clenched her fists until she could feel the nails digging into her palms.
Hurry up!

“Why don’t you young people step into the waiting room? I’ll let you know as soon as I find anything.”

Trish shook her head stubbornly, but David took her by the arm.

“It’s okay, Trish,” Hal said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Trish flipped through a magazine, not seeing the words or pictures. All she
could
see was the blood on the napkin.

David slouched in the chair beside her. Then he sat up and leaned forward, dropping his head and clasping his hands. After getting up and walking around the room, he sat down again to repeat the pattern.

Trish’s nerves couldn’t have been more frazzled if someone had stood at a blackboard and dragged their nails across it.

Hearing footsteps in the hall, Trish looked up immediately. Marge came to sit in the chair beside her. “They’ve decided to keep your father overnight for observation and some X-rays. Let’s go get him settled.”

“Overnight? What’s wrong?” Trish blinked to keep the tears back.

“The doctor thinks there’s fluid in your father’s lungs.” Marge fiddled with her purse. “The X-rays will tell us more.”

When they arrived at the door to Hal’s room, he was already in bed. Trish flew into his outstretched arms. “It’s okay,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “You and David go on back to the hotel and get some sleep.”

“No, I want to stay here.” Trish raised her tear-stained face. “I can sleep in that chair.”

“No, that’s my chair,” Marge said, standing beside the bed. She put her hand on Trish’s shoulder. “We’re not that far away from the hotel. If you need us, just call.”

“Besides, you have to be at your best tomorrow,” Hal reminded her. “We’ll let them check me out, and I’ll see you before you head for the jockey room.”

Trish could hear the rattle in her father’s chest. She’d heard it before. Back in September, when all this started.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be better in the morning.” Hal kissed Trish’s forehead. “And remember that I love you.”

Trish bit her lip and nodded. “Me too. Good night.” She whirled and dashed out of the room.

David hurried after her without saying a word.

Worry nagged at Trish all the way back to the hotel.
Worry!
That’s what got her mother into so much trouble. Why was it so easy to say don’t worry, and so hard not to?

She went to her father’s room at the hotel and picked up the carved eagle. As she crawled into bed, she pictured the verses on her wall at home. She needed some promises.
“Do not be not afraid…”
That was a good one for tonight.
“I will never leave you…”

“Please, heavenly Father, take care of
my
father tonight. I love him so much, and I know you do, too. The race is tomorrow. He needs to be there. I need him to be there. Thank you for being with us.” With Trish’s “amen” she was asleep.

In the morning she awoke with a start. Her heart leaped.
This is the day!
She checked the clock. It was just seven. After digging the phone book out of the drawer, she looked up hospitals and ran her finger down the M’s. Mercy Hospital. She dialed the number.

“Room 736, please.”

The phone rang. And rang. There was no answer.

Chapter

15

D
avid had awakened instantly. “Call the nurse’s station,” he told her.

Trish’s teeth chattered. She felt as if she were standing in a deep freeze.

“M-my father—Hal Evanston,” she stuttered. “There was no answer to the phone in his room.”

“They’ve taken him down to X-ray,” the nurse’s voice soothed. “Your mother went with him. Should I have her call you when she can?”

“No.” Trish shook her head methodically. “No, we’ll call later. Just tell them that we called—please.”

“Of course.”

Trish put down the receiver, and a band of ice circled her heart.

When she and David arrived at the track, reporters swarmed the area.

“I can’t talk to them,” Trish told David pleadingly. “Not right now. You and Patrick handle it.”

Working the horses brought a measure of peace to Trish’s mind. Her father had promised to be at the track before she left for the jockey room. He always kept his promises.

But he didn’t come. Nine o’clock passed. Nine-thirty.

David called the hospital again, and when he returned to tell Trish their father was down for more tests, she said, “I’m going to the hospital.”

“You can’t. There’s no time.” David grabbed her by the shoulders. “You heard what Dad said. He’ll be here. You just concentrate on the job you have to do. We’ve come too far to mess up now.”

“But, David—”

“He’s right, lass,” Patrick rejoined. “You know what your dad would want you to do.” He set down a can of saddle soap. “I know it’s a long time to wait up there, but we’ll get any message to you that’s necessary.”

“Come on, Trish.” Red took her hand. “I’ll walk you over.”

“Me too.” David picked up her schoolbooks. “Wouldn’t want you to be bored.”

Trish stopped in front of Spitfire. “Sure would rather stay with you, fella.” She rubbed his ears and smoothed his forelock. “You get ready now, you hear? This is the big one.” Spitfire sniffed her pockets, lipped the carrot off her palm, and licked her cheek for good measure. Trish threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his mane. Her shoulders shook but no sound came.

David and Red waited patiently.

Trish wiped her eyes and swallowed hard. “Okay, let’s go.” Together they turned and headed down the street to the clubhouse.

“I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything, I promise,” David assured her outside the jockey room.

Trish nodded. She took her books, squeezed Red’s hand, and stumbled into the jockey room—to wait.

Her mind was a jumble of prayers, promises, and worry. When she tried to relax with deep breathing, her insides joined the jumble.

At noon Trish called the hospital herself. Her mother answered the phone on the second ring.

“Yes, Trish, we’re on our way. The doctors are having a fit but your father refuses to listen. Here, you want to talk to him?”

Trish strangled the receiver with her hand. Her throat clenched so tight she didn’t think she’d be able to talk. But her father’s welcome voice broke the dam for her.

“It’s okay, Tee,” she finally heard him say. “Come on now, you’ll be all right. We’re coming, but I may not make it to the saddling paddock. Look for me in the winner’s circle.”

“Dad, I’m so scared.”

“I know. But it’s okay. Just go out there and ride. Go for the glory.”

Trish sniffed and fumbled in her pocket for a tissue. “Thanks. I love you.”

“I know that. And I love you too. See you soon.”

What did her father mean by soon? The fifth race came and went. Trish began her pre-race routine. She sprayed her goggles, polished her boots, brushed her hair. She even added extra deodorant—she’d need it today for sure. Then she was down on the floor doing stretches.

When the call came she was dressed and ready. “This is it, God. For
your
glory.” She walked out the door and over to the men’s jockey room to weigh in.

“Mom and Dad are on their way,” David called, as Trish walked with the other jockeys down the incline to the saddling paddock.

“I know. I talked to them.” Trish stepped in front of Spitfire and leaned her forehead against his. “Well, fella, can you run a mile and a half today? We gotta do it—for Dad.”

The noise of the crowd receded. It was as though there were a crystal bell around Trish’s head. She could see what was going on, but the noise and the pressure were at bay. She was in a literal sea of peace.

“You’ll do it, lass.” Patrick gave her a leg up at the call.

With David and Patrick on either side, they followed the rest of the field up the incline and under the clubhouse.

The last bugle notes of the parade to post hovered on the slight breeze as Trish picked up her pony rider on the edge of the track. The track was listed as fast, the sun warm but not hot.

As they stepped onto the track, Trish heard her father’s voice in her mind:
“Remember, you’re a winner. And winners never quit.”
She leaned forward and stroked Spitfire’s neck.

“They’re cheering for you,” she crooned, acknowledging the applause of the crowd. Then they were chanting, “Spitfire—Spitfire—Spitfire.”