High Hurdles (42 page)

Chapter
•
2

A horse kick to the stomach couldn’t have shocked DJ more.

“DJ, darlin’, what’s wrong?” Joe put an arm around her waist.

When did Joe learn to sound so much like Gran?
DJ leaned against him gratefully. She shook her head and tried to speak.
Come on, DJ, this has got to be some sort of prank
. She cleared her throat.

“Wh-who are you really? Is this some kind of twisted joke?”

“I am who I said. Bradley Atwood. Your mother and I . . . ah . . . went together when we were in high school.”

“
Went
together?” The words blurted out before she could stop them.

“Well . . . I guess it was more than that.” Whoever he was, he sounded uncomfortable. He sighed. “Look, Darla Jean, is your mother there?”

“My name is DJ.” She wanted to shout at him, scream, slam the phone down. Instead she clipped each sound as if he were hard of hearing.

“Oh, okay . . . DJ.” Now he sounded like an adult humoring a kid. He paused, waiting for an answer.

DJ’s hand cramped from its death grip on the phone. She looked up to see Joe, questions written all over his face, along with concern. He mouthed, Can I help? She shook her head.

“DJ, is Lindy there?”

“So you remember her name.” The smart remark didn’t help DJ to feel any better.

“Darla . . . ah . . . DJ, please.”

“No, sir, she’s not here. I will tell her you called, though. Please call back later.” DJ set the receiver back in the cradle as if it were made of the finest eggshell. Only the focused action kept her from flinging it across the room.

“DJ, who was that? Talk to me.” Joe clutched her shoulders in shaking hands.

DJ looked up into his eyes. “That was my
real
dad—or so he said.”

“Oh, Lord above, be with us now,” Joe breathed the prayer, then gathered her close.

DJ leaned into his strong chest. Good thing he was there, or she would be a puddle on the floor.
My dad
. Shock made her shiver.

Joe soothed her like he did the twins when one came to him with an owie. Gentle hands patted her back. “It’ll be okay,” he murmured. “DJ, it’s going to be all right.”

Suddenly she pushed herself upright. “Who does he think he is, calling like that? Just like we saw him yesterday. The jerk!” She stamped her way around the kitchen. “I don’t need him. Mom doesn’t need him. He didn’t ever call or visit or anything. Why now? Who does he think he is, anyway?” She balled her hands into hard fists and pounded the counter. Feet stamping, arms waving, she circled the room again. “I don’t need a dad now.” She turned to Joe. “He didn’t care for fourteen years, for pete’s sake! Why now?”

“I wish I knew.” Joe’s voice introduced a note of calm.

DJ slammed the palms of her hands on the counter and stayed there, elbows rigid. “Why, Joe?” She raised stark eyes to his face. “Why?” she whispered again.

“How about you let your mother deal with that? Any idea when she’ll be home?”

DJ tried to remember. She
had
listened to the phone messages.
Get with the program
, she told herself.

“Take it easy, kid, you’ve had a pretty major shock.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” She sucked in a deep breath and let it out. Leaning back against the counter, she absentmindedly chewed on the cuticle of her forefinger. When she realized what she was doing, she jerked it away. “Fiddle. Double, triple, and . . . and ten times fiddle!” Her hands cried out to do something. Slamming counters hurt. So instead, she rubbed the scar in the palm of her right hand.

“Keep talking to me, darlin’. ”

“You say ‘darlin’ ’ just like Gran.”

“You mind?”

DJ shook her head. “I like it.” She sighed again. “Guess there’s nothing I can do about this, is there?”

“Pray. That’s all I can do. It’s the only thing that keeps me from finding out where this man lives and going there to beat the tar out of him.”

Startled, DJ looked up. “You’d do that?”

“Gotta use the skills I learned at the police academy in some way.” He grinned at her, then grew serious. “No, DJ, I wouldn’t touch him, no matter how much I think he deserves it. But I want you to know that anyone who hurts my family has me to deal with.” He jabbed a thumb at his chest.

DJ studied the big man across the kitchen. “You know what? I’m glad you’re on my side.”

“And I’m glad to be on your side. But let’s listen to your mother’s message again.”

DJ shook her head. “I erased it, but I know she said she wasn’t sure when she’d be home. I guess my mind’s starting to work again.”

“Okay, leave her a message, then let’s head for home. Melanie will be getting worried.”

It still caught DJ’s attention when he called Gran, Melanie. All she’d ever been to DJ was Gran. “Gran will know what to do.” DJ paused. “Won’t she?” On the way out the door, she wrote her mother a note and attached it to the bulletin board with a stickpin.

But Gran didn’t know what to do, and when Lindy finally came to pick up her daughter, the fireworks began.

DJ watched her mother do much the same as she had—pace, yell, wave her arms. Now, sitting on the floor at her grandmother’s feet with Gran’s hand stroking her hair, she felt as if nothing could get to her. She leaned against her grandmother’s knees and sighed.

“Do you have to call him back?”

“Not in this lifetime.” Lindy clamped manicured hands on slim hips and spun around to face them. Her dark blond hair, each chin-length strand in perfect order, swung across her cheek. She hooked the curve of it over one ear, sparks flashing from her emerald eyes. The frown lines she fought so diligently deepened. “Well, Mother, what do we do now? You were the last one to talk with him.”

“That was over thirteen years ago.” Gran kept her hand on DJ’s hair.

“I know. And I thought the agreement was that I would never ask him for support and he would never ask to see his daughter.”

“It was. You both agreed to that. You were two kids who’d made some less-than-perfect choices; you each wanted to get on with your life, to move forward without any anger between you.”

“I remember.”

“I know you do, darlin’, I just want to refresh your memory.” Gran looked to Joe, who nodded at her. “I think we got the better end of the deal by a long shot because we got Darla Jean. Brad’s missed out on a lot.”

“Whose side are you on, Mother?” Lindy crossed to the sofa and sank down on it, resting her elbows on her knees. She still wore a cream-colored silk suit she had dressed in for work. “You aren’t saying I should call him back, are you?”

“I’m saying we need to look at the whole picture and all the people in it. We should always treat others with the respect and love with which we want to be treated. You desperately loved Brad at one time, and he loved you the same.”

“I know.” Lindy rubbed her temples with her fingertips. “We were so young.”

DJ watched and listened as if this were the best movie ever filmed. And she was a part of it. This was her father they were talking about. Now she understood why she’d never heard about him.

“And now you’re adults.”

A silence, heavy with meaning, filled the room.

DJ tried to decide what she was feeling. Angry? Nope—or at least, not any longer. Scared? A bit. Curious? Big yes. She flashed a look up at Gran and received a loving one back.

I am so lucky
. The thought floated into her mind and took hold. She looked up to see Joe watching her. A nod accompanied the gentle smile that barely turned up the corners of his mouth. DJ knew down deep in her heart that he wore the look of love. And it was for her.

“DJ, did you write down his number?”

DJ jerked back into the conversation and stared at her mother.
Number? Whose number?

“Did you get Brad’s number, darlin’?” Gran whispered.

DJ shrugged. “Ah . . . no. I asked him to please call back later. Sorry, I just wasn’t thinking straight.”

Lindy started to say something, then just shook her head. “Guess I wouldn’t be thinking too clearly in a situation like that, either.”

DJ looked at her mother as if she’d left a marble or two at work.
A few minutes ago, she was yelling all over the place. Now she’s actually being nice. What’s up?

“That answers it, then. We wait until Brad calls back.” Gran gave DJ a last pat and got to her feet. “Good thing I turned off that oven, or we’d all be eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for dinner.” She took DJ’s hand and pulled her up. “Come on, you can set the table.”

After dinner, DJ and her mother drove home without saying a word. When they got to the house, Lindy checked the answering machine, but the red light lay dark. She sighed. “I’m going to call Robert. Darla Jean, I know this is hard for you. I’d give anything if Brad hadn’t called, but he did, and we’ll deal with it. Please don’t worry about it, okay?”

DJ nodded. She kept thinking of the verse Gran had whispered in her ear as she went out the door. Gran had shared it before. It was one of those in Romans DJ had underlined.
In all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose
. She’d never quite understood the last part, but the first seemed pretty clear: God could bring good out of everything.

DJ eyed her mother, who still looked pale and upset. “Don’t you worry, either, Mom, okay?”

“Easier said than done,” Lindy muttered. “Night, DJ. If he calls again and you answer the phone, try to get his number.”

It was DJ’s turn to nod. How could she have messed up like that?

When she finally snuggled under her covers to say her prayers, everything was fine—until she tried to say “amen.” The word wouldn’t come. She lay thinking,
God, what is it?
Often she wished He would talk to her like He had to Moses in the Old Testament. Loud and clear. But, as usual, He was silent. She sighed and flipped over. A thought trickled into her mind.
Pray for your father
.

DJ shot up so quickly, her covers flew off. “Pray for my father—you have
got
to be kidding!” She flopped back down and stared at the ceiling. Why would she do a stupid thing like that?

Why not?

She gnawed on her lip. So maybe it wasn’t a big deal. She could just say “bless him” and “take care of him” and—she thought of Gran. Gran would laugh at her right now, that loving laugh that made DJ feel good.

“Godblessmyfather.” It was hard to talk through gritted teeth. She sucked in a breath. “But I want to remind you, God, I really don’t need another father. I’m going to have Robert, remember?” DJ bit her lip again. “Amen.” Why couldn’t she say that before?

She woke up crying in the middle of the night.

Chapter
•
3

Someone was screaming.

“DJ, what is it?” Lindy entered the room in a rush. “Are you all right?”

“Huh?” DJ pulled herself out of the fog of sleep. Her throat hurt.

“You were screaming. Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

DJ shook her head. “Someone was chasing me—I couldn’t see who. I fell off the road and just kept falling.” She clutched her aching head with both hands. Her heart felt like it would leap out of her chest. She sucked in a deep breath, but it didn’t stop the pounding.

Lindy sat down on the edge of the bed. “Can I get you anything?” With one hand, she stroked DJ’s shoulder.

“My head hurts.” How come she felt like throwing herself into her mother’s arms and bawling like a baby? DJ never did anything like that—crying was for babies.

“Let me get you some pain reliever.” Lindy got up to leave, and just the movement of the bed made DJ feel like heaving. Was this what her mother’s migraines felt like? How did she stand them?

But when she lay down again after her mother’s ministrations, DJ felt herself drifting back into the freaky dream. It wasn’t supposed to work that way. She forced her eyes open and turned on her bedside lamp. The five gold Olympic rings on the poster above her dresser gleamed in the light.
That
was the dream she lived for. Someday, she, DJ Randall, would jump in the Olympics. She would go for the gold as a member of the U.S. Equestrian Team.

DJ reached over and turned out the light again. This time, horses, horses, and more horses, all with her aboard, mastered the jumps with flying tails and happy grunts.

Rain sheeted her window when she awoke. She slapped off the alarm and sat up, leaning her head first on one shoulder, then the other. She still had the feeling that if she moved too quickly, the headache would return.

“Yuck.” She hauled herself from her bed, feeling sticky and heavy. Once in the bathroom she knew why. Her pajama bottoms wore splotches of dull red. Her heart quit thundering in her ears as she realized she wasn’t bleeding to death. Her first period. One more thing to deal with! She groaned. As if yesterday’s events hadn’t been enough.

She stared at the pale face in the mirror. Her shoulder-length blond hair hung in strings about her face. Someone had painted black circles under her green eyes, and a zit beaconed on her chin.

“I’m going back to bed.” DJ fumbled under the sink for the box of pads her mother had forced on her months ago. If this was growing up, someone sure had screwed up the program. She reached to turn on the shower. If she didn’t go to school, she wouldn’t be going to the Academy, either. That was the rule. Since DJ was almost never sick, that hadn’t been a problem very often. She’d only stayed home when Gran insisted.

Instead of turning off the hot handle, she added the cold and stepped under the needle spray.

It could have been the shortest shower on record. Calling Joe for a ride to school because she’d missed the Yamamoto bus would be embarrassing. She fixed herself up, donned her one pair of black jeans, and grabbing a food bar, headed out the door on the second honk.

“Gross,” Amy said with a wrinkled nose when DJ filled her in on the morning’s happenings. The two sat in the second seat of the station wagon since Amy’s brother, John, said the front seat was for those about to learn to drive. They didn’t mind—that way, if they talked low, they could catch up on all that happened without the others hearing.

“Yeah, and that’s not the half of it.” DJ filled her friend in on the cataclysmic call of the night before. By the time she’d finished, they were at Acalanese High School, where they were both freshmen.

“Thanks, Dad.” DJ waved as she slammed the door. Mr. Yamamoto, head of the volunteer parents for the Academy, told all the kids to call him Dad. Insisted it was easier that way.

DJ pulled her jacket over her head to keep dry and dashed after Amy. It looked like it would rain forever.

The day didn’t improve much. Her history teacher finished the far from perfect morning by calling a pop quiz.

“Think I’ll go eat worms,” she muttered when she met Amy at their locker at lunchtime.

“Now what?”

“No lunch money.”

“So share mine. I’ll grab an extra salad.”

“I’m starved.”

“Ask if you can charge.”

“I’d rather eat worms.”

“Fine, be a grouch, but that’s not like you.”

“Maybe it’s my turn.” DJ dumped her books on the bottom of the locker and slung her backpack in on top. She felt like slamming the metal door and banging her fists on it. Instead she let Amy shut it and followed her friend into the lunchroom.

Thanks to Amy sharing her food, DJ’s stomach quit growling. By the end of classes, she felt almost human again. Of course, the thought of Major and the Academy had nothing to do with that. Even if it was pouring, they could ride under cover.

“What are you going to do?” Amy asked as they waited outside under the overhang for Joe to arrive.

“About what?”

“Your father, silly.”

“Got me. I don’t have to do anything till he calls, and maybe he won’t.” She waved at the man driving the hunter green Explorer. “I hope he doesn’t.”

She answered Joe’s questioning look with a shake of her head. But while it was easy to pretend to shrug the whole mess off on the outside, inside the questions raged.
What kind of man is my father? What does he do? Is he married? Do I have half brothers and sisters?

She changed clothes in record time and hopped back into the car to go to the Academy. All the way there, the temptation to chew on her fingernails burned like a hot curling iron. To keep from giving in, she sat on her hands.
I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. I can do all things
. Gran had given her the verse to help her overcome chewing her fingernails. They’d made a pact that if Gran could find a verse that could apply to chewing fingernails, DJ would try to stop. So far it was working. DJ even had to file her nails once in a while.

At the Academy, she checked the white erasable duty board and saw that the outside rings were unusable—too wet. That was no surprise, the way the rain had been coming down. Since the outside work was curtailed, the Academy employees had cleaned stalls and groomed the boarded horses.

“Yes!” She pumped her right arm. That meant more time to work with Major. But first she had to spend her hour working Patches, the green broke gelding she’d been training for Mrs. Johnson.

“I should put you on the hot walker,” she told the fractious gelding. He rubbed his forehead against her shoulder, leaving white hairs on her black sweat shirt. “I know, you’re just trying to soften me up.” But she couldn’t resist his pleading and gave him an extra carrot chunk from the stash she kept in the tack room refrigerator. Patches lipped the carrot from her palm, munched, and blew carrot breath in her face.

DJ attacked his heavier winter coat with brushes in both hands. By the time she had combed the tangles out of his tail and picked his hooves, she’d been over the questions in her mind for the umpteenth time. She tacked him up and led him to the wide open front door of the barn. The rain blew in sheets across the parking area.

“You sure you want to go out in that?” David Martinez, one of the older student workers, asked from the tack room. “You’ll get soaked just crossing to the covered arena.”

“I know.” DJ led her mount to the door of the tack room. “Hand me that slicker up on the nail, would you please?”

David did as asked, shaking his head. “I skipped my workout, put my horse on the hot walker, and called it good.”

“I thought about it but . . .” She finished buttoning the yellow slicker and placed her foot in the stirrup. “Okay, fella,” she said, swinging into the Western saddle. “Let’s do it.”

Patches balked at the gate. “You sure aren’t Major,” DJ muttered as she dismounted to open and close it when he finally consented to go through. Mounting into a wet saddle seat did nothing to improve her humor. “You know, Patches, if I didn’t like you, I’d have left you in the barn.” The gelding’s ears flicked back and forth as he listened to her and checked out the arena. The rain had brought on an early dusk, so the overhead lights cast deep shadows in the corners.

DJ kept a firm grip on the reins and paid close attention to her horse. He felt like a coiled spring. She walked him around the ring, letting him get used to the arena. At last, he let out a breath and played with the bit, a sure sign he’d settled down. DJ could feel her shoulders and spine relax along with him. They settled into a jog, and for a change, Patches minded, keeping the even pace he usually fought so hard.

“What’s with you today? You finally decide to be a trained mount instead of an ornery one?” Patches snorted and kept the pace. DJ nudged him into a lope, and after a few pounding steps, he settled into the rocking-chair rhythm that was such a pleasure to sit. When she pulled him back down and turned him counterclockwise, he tried to move to the center of the ring, but at DJ’s insistence he went back to the rail.

So what if Brad never calls?
The questions started again. DJ laid the reins over, shifted her weight, and Patches danced up the ring, changing leads like a ballroom dancer.

“DJ?”

Without warning, Patches exploded beneath her. One stiff-legged jump, as if the horse was starring in a rodeo, and DJ catapulted right over his head.