High Hurdles Collection Two (17 page)

Chapter • 13

Guilt makes you feel like dirt.

“DJ, what's up? You all right?” Amy stopped in front of Major's stall Thursday afternoon.

DJ looked up from picking Major's right front hoof. “Sort of.” Amy hadn't ridden home from school with her today because of an orthodontist appointment. “What did the dentist say?”

“I have to have braces after all.” Amy groaned and leaned on the stall door. “After all this time with that gross retainer. Yuck!”

“Bummer. Kids at school will call you tin grin for sure.”

“
You
better not.”

“Fence face?”

“Get real. Besides, you look like—uh-oh, you had a fight with your mom again.”

“Not yet.”

“Huh?”

“I haven't told her about winning the drawing contest.” DJ set Major's foot down. She patted his shoulder and let him nuzzle her cheek. “That tickles.”

“DJ, it's been two—no three—days. Are you going to?”

“I don't want to, but this not telling feels like lying and it's killing me.”

“What's killing you?” Joe stopped beside Amy.

“Nothing.”

“Oh, I get it. Something's wrong, and you don't want to tell your old grandpa.”

“Sheesh.” DJ reached for the bridle she'd hung on the door.

“Well, let me tell you that I always get the truth when I interrogate someone.”

DJ rolled her eyes. “Double sheesh. How lucky I am to have a cop for a grandfather.”

“An ex-cop, and don't try to get around me.” Joe parked his rather large body in the middle of the stall door. Grinning down at Amy, he said with a wink, “Honestly, I don't think much can get around me.”

“Doesn't look like it.”

Joe turned to Amy. “So what's her problem?”

Amy shrugged. “Ask her. I've got work to do.”

“Chicken!” DJ called after her friend.

“Well?” Joe waited.

DJ leaned into Major's neck and inhaled the fine aroma of horse. The scent reminded her of dinner last Friday when she hadn't changed clothes, which reminded her in turn of the fight afterward for which she had yet to really apologize, let alone ask forgiveness. The anger still simmered for not getting to go to Brad's or to the horse show. And all of this was because of that stupid algebra. If only she hadn't gotten a C in that the quarter before, too.

You were warned to bring that grade up. Besides, this time there were two Cs
.

If that small voice that bugged her so was her conscience talking, she wanted to nail its door shut. The guilt it was building weighed heavier than a ton of alfalfa.

“So?”

DJ turned from both her horse and her inner war. “I don't have time to talk right now. I have to get out there for my lesson or I'll be late getting home again.” She lifted the saddle and set it across Major's withers, grateful for the action. She knew that if she started telling Joe about the whole mess, she'd start to cry, and it would take too long. Bridget would have to come looking for her, and she didn't want that.

Joe stepped back but still blocked most of the doorway. “Okay. But only on the condition that if it's all right with your mother, you come for dinner with Gran and me tonight.”

“So you can interrogate me?” She tried to make her comment a teasing joke, but it didn't come out right.

“If that's what it takes.” Joe reached out and wrapped his arms around her when she turned to lead Major out of the stall.

DJ kept herself from leaning into the warmth and safety of his hug. “Thanks, GJ.” The words barely made it past the rock in her throat.

The dressage lesson turned into a review, with Bridget working DJ over and over on keeping Major on the bit, no matter what gait or configuration she put them through. By the time they'd circled the ring both ways, turned, reversed, did figure eights, more circles, and the full arena with Bridget correcting every slip, DJ felt as if she'd climbed to a mountain top, dropped to the floor of the Grand Canyon, and been bounced by a bungee cord somewhere in between.

When Joe said Lindy had insisted DJ come home instead of eating dinner with Joe and Gran, she felt the bungee cord bounce her again. Now what?

Robert and Lindy were sitting in the family room when DJ walked in the front door. Something felt strange. DJ paused a moment. No noise. “Where are Bobby and Billy?”

“At Gran's.” Lindy leaned back and crossed her arms.

“Sit down, DJ.” Robert indicated Gran's old wing chair.

“I need to get washed up and—”

“Now.”

It wasn't an invitation. DJ felt her heart thud clear down to her ankles. Something was wrong, big time. The urge to run up the stairs and lock herself in the bathroom nearly jerked her off her feet.

She crossed the football-field-sized room to the chair and sat down on the edge. Her feet wanted to run—anywhere but there. Why were Robert and her mother staring at her? Was that sorrow in their eyes? Had someone died? Or was someone about to? That someone being her, of course.

She tucked her hands under her thighs to keep from biting into her nails.

“Now, Darla Jean.” Robert leaned forward and folded his hands together, his arms resting on his thighs. “Isn't there something you'd like to tell us?”

DJ darted a glance at her mother, but there was no help there. Lindy wore that if-it-were-up-to-me-I'd-give-her-away look. Robert looked about as friendly as a judge—dishing out a death verdict.

If only Gran were here. I wasn't lying, just not telling the whole truth. Or wasn't I telling any of it?
The voice refused to be silenced. How could such a discussion be going on in her head when her vocal cords refused to cooperate?

“I … ah … I'm sorry for the way I've been acting lately?” She hadn't meant it to be a question.

“And?” Robert drilled her with a solemn gaze.

Thoughts scurried through DJ's head like rats in a maze.

“Let me help you out.” Ice coated Lindy's words. “Today I received a call from Mrs. Adams.”

DJ sank against the back of the chair. Maybe she could hide under the cushion.

“I … I was going to tell you.” She studied a worn patch on the knee of her jeans.

“Oh really? When? After the art weekend was over?”

DJ caught the motion of Robert placing a hand on Lindy's leg.

“No”

“When?”

“I knew if I told you I'd said no to Mrs. Adams, you'd have a fit and yell at me, and I hate that.”

“Did you ever for a moment think that maybe, just maybe, this art training could be more important than a jumping clinic?”

DJ shook her head. Her mother made “jumping clinic” sound like a dirty word. “Not to me it isn't.” She started to stand up.

“Sit down.” Again, Robert didn't offer an invitation.

Like a wild creature trapped in a corner, DJ attacked. “You just don't get it! I want to be an Olympic jumper. Nothing else is as important to me as training both me and my horse for that chance. Olympic contenders work all their lives to compete, and I'm doing the same. I'll earn the money to do it somehow—and I'll live wherever I have to.” Her voice dropped. “I'll do whatever it takes. I don't care if you want to help me or not! That jumping clinic is one step in my training and
I
paid for it.” She collapsed against the back of the chair.
Now I'm in about as deep as I can go
. She waited for her mother to scream back at her.

“And that justifies lying to me?”

“I didn't lie.” DJ studied her bleeding cuticle. “I just didn't tell you.”

“That's called a lie of omission,” Robert said. “And it's still a lie.”

DJ couldn't look him in the eye to see where he stood. She could tell he was upset, in spite of his gentle tone.

“If you don't get your grades up and—”

“Honey,” Robert continued in that same voice. “Remember, we—”

Lindy flung off his hand. “I thought you were on
my
side in this. If you can't help me, then stay out of it!”

“There are no
sides
. We are trying to work out a problem with
our
family, and you are not playing by the rules we set up.”

Lindy leaped to her feet, pacing the room until she stopped in front of DJ. “Right now I am so angry and disappointed in you that I can't even think straight. You are grounded until your grades come up, and I want to see all of your tests. That means no phone, no Academy, no—”

“Mom, you can't do that!”

“I can, and I just did. You think about the consequences next time before you lie to me.” She turned and left the room.

DJ felt like a bomb had just exploded and there were body pieces flying everywhere. Hers. She looked over at Robert, who wore a totally blank expression. His fingers were white where they clamped together.

“I'm sorry,” DJ whispered the words, but they screamed in the silent room.

“So am I.”

Chapter • 14

Each boot felt like it was made of concrete.

Halfway up the stairs, DJ's knees gave way, and she sat down on the step. Head in her hands, she let the last scene replay in her head. Preplay, replay, what difference did it make in times like this? How could she call Bridget to say she'd been grounded for the rest of her life? And all because DJ had a dream.

And her mother didn't like it.

She hates me. I know it
.

DJ pulled herself up by the railing and lifted her one-ton foot again.

“I … I really blew it, didn't I?” The sound of her mother weeping caught at DJ's heart.

The murmur of Robert's voice was undecipherable.

Don't listen in—you know what Gran says
. That pain-in-the-neck voice again. DJ started up again, then stopped. So what if she heard something bad. Things couldn't get much worse than they were now.

“R-Robert, I'm so scared.”

Her
mother admitting to being scared?! DJ leaned against the wall.

“Sh-she m-might decide to go live with Brad and Jackie.” A hiccup broke the words.

DJ had to admit the thought had crossed her mind—especially now. Brad at least understood her love of horses and her dream to jump, and he'd already said he'd help. But he had also told her to get her grades up. And he hadn't called since.

“I know she hates me.” A nose was blown, then silence.

“So go to her.” Now Robert's voice came plainly.

DJ ignored her heavy feet and headed for her room. Being caught eavesdropping would not be cool, particularly tonight.

But her mother never came. DJ's anger simmered. When she laid a hand on her chest, she could feel it, hot just below the surface. “I'm not going to tell Bridget I can't come—let
her
do that.” She paced the length of the room and back to the window. “I
have
to be at the Academy. Bridget depends on me. If I can't ride Major or take lessons, then I'll have to deal with it.” She propped her elbows on the sill. “God, I always thought you were out there, ready to listen, but where are you now?”

Go talk to your mother
. “No way, not a chance.” More trips to the door and back. She dashed away some moisture from her eyes. “Don't you cry, either!”

Her algebra made about as much sense as the Egyptian letters she'd seen in a photo of a pyramid. She slammed the book shut, stuffed her homework in her backpack, and turned out the light. When she tried to pray, no words came. Only an overwhelming urge to cry again.
God's probably mad at me, too
, she thought.
He might as well be, since everyone else is
.

She turned over and pulled the pillow over her head.