High Hurdles Collection Two (68 page)

“Yours and the others—your whole class. That way you can see what the others did wrong, too.”

“Ah, Joe, you are the best.” She unbuckled her seat belt so she could kiss his cheek. “You are so good to me.”

“DJ, darlin', you are easy to be good to.” He cleared his throat and sniffed, as did she.

Telling her family about it that night was almost as good as doing it over.

“Sure wish we had been there.” Lindy looked up at Robert, who was standing right behind her with his hands on her shoulders. “Next time we plan the company picnic around the horse shows.”

“Then we better have it in January.” Robert smiled at DJ. “Sure hope you got good pictures.”

DJ shrugged. “Amy wasn't there, so I don't know. I think Bunny had a camera along. I can ask for the one they took on presentation. That'll be something.” She leaned over and mischievously pulled a flat package out from beside the cushion. “Of course, Joe did get this for me.” She waved the video in the air. “I just thought you might like to see it, but it can wait for another time if you want.”

“If we want?” Robert grabbed the video and crossed the room to insert it in the VCR. By the time it finished running, the boys were cheering, and DJ again felt the ecstasy of the moment.

Robert and Lindy stared at her, shaking their heads. “And to think you are our daughter,” Robert said.

“Thank you, heavenly Father,” Lindy whispered. She wrapped an arm around her daughter and hugged her close. “You were magnificent.”

With the videotape to review, DJ hoped she could keep the picture and feeling fresh in her mind. She'd do replays like Bridget talked about. Replay what she did right and preplay doing it right again. Now she had a
real
event to replay and preplay. They'd done it right, that was for sure.

“Maybe if there's a good shot of you jumping, you could do it over in pencil and we could frame it like the one of Stormy. That would be a real treasure.” Robert sat down between DJ and her mother and put an arm around each of them, drawing them close to his sides. “Of course, we could always take it off the video if we need to. Might get the best one that way.” The twins had calmed down again and now lay on the floor watching a
Veggie Tales
video. Their feet waved in the air in time with the excitement of the video.

DJ almost called them to join the rest on the sofa. What a cool family she had.

“I better go call Brad. They'll want to know about this, too.” She kissed Robert on the cheek and slid to her feet. “Don't go away. I'll be back.”

The next morning at 7:00, Robert dropped DJ off at the Pleasant Hill BART—Bay Area Rapid Transit—station so she could take the train into San Francisco.

“You know what bus to catch now, right?”

DJ stopped in the act of opening the truck door. “I do, and where to get off and how to get back to BART and—”

“Okay, okay, I get the point. But you can't blame me for being a bit protective. I never had a daughter before, especially one old enough to get around San Francisco on her own.”

DJ didn't tell him about the butterflies that were going at their stir-up-her-insides act. Granted, she and Gran had taken the route one day in June, but things could still go wrong. “You told me I had to learn to trust God to take care of me, remember?”

Robert grimaced. “Hung by my own tongue, right?”

“Huh?” Her eyebrows pulled her eyes wide open.

“Nothing. See you this evening. Call when you—”

“Get back here to the station, I know.” DJ blew him a kiss and, tucking her drawing case under her arm, slammed the truck door behind her. She dug the twenty-dollar bill out of her pocket and inserted it in the slot on the front of the silver-toned ticket machine. After she punched the ticket button, her ticket clicked its way out another slot. Taking the white card stock ticket that would last most of the week, she walked across to the turnstiles, stuck her ticket in the arrowed slot, and when the ticket popped up, walked through the turnstile. She was on her way.

She'd brought a book to read on the train but found watching people more interesting as more commuters filled the car with each stop. Herndon had earned the day off, that was for sure, and Joe promised to take care of him every morning just like during school. Truth was, she'd been going to school every morning all summer. But such fun schooling. First Diablo Valley College, and now the San Francisco School of Art.

DJ thought of the pots she would pick up after the final firing. If the one for her mother turned out like she hoped, she'd be really pleased. Mr. Charles had talked about her taking another class, but that wouldn't be until next summer. Instead, she now had a week of drawing with renowned artist Isabella Gant.

The little bounce she gave on the seat drew the gaze of the woman beside her. DJ settled back in her seat. Strange how the ride seemed so much longer when she was by herself.

DJ exited from the BART train at the Montgomery Street exit like she and Gran had practiced so she could catch her bus. After riding up the long escalator, she followed the commuter crowd out into the courtyard and then up the stairs to Montgomery. Waiting in the sun, DJ glanced across Market Street at the Sheraton Palace Hotel, where she and Gran had gone for tea in the Garden Court room. She remembered how the arched ceiling made of millions of panes of glass and crystal had taken her breath away and how the music flowing from the harp had brought it back. One of these days, maybe they could go back there—and she'd take a sketch pad.

The sound of a cat crying made her look down and behind her. There sat a mound of rags, the woman inside them looking older and more worn than the antique streetlamps that lined the curb. A stocking cap that was more holes than cap covered stringy gray hair and half covered one eye. The black-and-white cat on a leash and harness arched its back and rubbed against DJ's leg. A brisk wind funneled down the skyscraper canyon and made DJ glad she'd worn jeans and a Windbreaker. One could always pick out tourists in San Francisco during the summer because they froze to death in their shorts and tank tops.

“He likes you.” The mound moved, and the woman's smile showed missing teeth.

“Can I pet him?” DJ knew her mother would have a fit, but then, her mother wasn't here.

“Sure, dearie.” The woman cuddled a younger, half-grown yellow cat under her chin. “He never can get enough loves.”

DJ bent down and stroked the black-and-white cat's back. He looked up at her. His Charlie Chaplin mustache, one white ear, and one black ear gave him a quizzical look. “Most cats aren't this friendly.”

“I know.” The woman chuckled and bobbed her head again. “That's why he's my best friend. Calls him Charlie, I do.”

A bus pulled up, and DJ straightened to see if it was hers. She bent down to pat the cat again when it wasn't.
I wonder if she's had anything to eat today. The cats look better off than she does
. Charlie sat and, tail twitching at the tip, batted at DJ's leg.

Another bus arrived. This time it was hers.

DJ dug in her pocket and pulled out a dollar. She patted the cat once more and handed the money to the lady. “Here, I hope this helps.”
What a stupid thing to say
.

“Why, thankee, dearie. That's right good of you.” The woman, her hands covered by gloves with no fingers, took the dollar and tucked it into her coat. “You have a nice day now, hear?”

“I will.” After pushing her way onto the bus, DJ bent over to look out the window where the street woman now had Charlie cuddled up against her, a cat in each arm.
I wish I'd given her all my lunch money. Maybe if she's there tomorrow..
.

Thoughts of the homeless woman plagued her all the way to her bus stop. Her fingers tingled, a sure sign they wanted to draw the homeless woman. She'd been so friendly, not at all like the homeless people portrayed in stories DJ had heard.
Where does she get food for her cats? I wish I'd brought a camera
.

When the bus reached her stop, DJ stood and walked to the door.

“Hi, DJ.” Sean stepped up to greet her when she got off the bus.

“How'd you know when I'd get here?” A familiar face looked even better than usual right about then.

“Just figured it out.” He swung into step beside her. “How was the show this weekend?”

DJ spent the entire walk to the art room telling him about the horse show.

“I go to sleep remembering that incredible feeling of … of power and control and …” She paused and closed her eyes for just a second. “And flying. I've always wondered what the astronauts feel like in space with no gravity, and I think jumping is about the closest I'll ever come. Sean, you've got to try it sometime.”

“I'd have to learn to ride first.” He shifted his portfolio from one arm to the other. “Let's get seats and I'll show you my drawing. Horses aren't the easiest to draw, you know. And someone taking a header off one isn't easy, either.”

DJ groaned. “I bet.” But she studied the picture when Sean flipped it open. “Part of the problem is you have Major's neck too short.” She shook her head. “Boy, that's a great one of me. I thought you were my friend.”

“I am. But this I couldn't resist. So, okay, if I lengthen his neck, what else?”

DJ studied the drawing some more. “His legs aren't quite right.” She closed her eyes to think how a halting horse would look. “See, put him back more on his haunches and his head up more. I hate eating dirt, and that's what happened next. Felt like an idiot.”

“Thanks.” Sean flipped the pages back in place as two friends from the spring session joined them at the high table. They caught up on all their news while the others trickled in.

By the time the classroom was full, there were people of all ages.
Gran could have come. DJ
looked around and returned several smiles. She hooked her feet over the rungs of the stool and faced forward when Ms. Gant blew into the room. Like the twins, she was energy in perpetual motion, her long, more pepper than salt hair woven into a knot near the top of her head and anchored with what looked like two black chopsticks. She was dressed in black straight-legged pants and a black turtleneck. The shawl she wore held every shade of purple and pink, its threads of silver shimmering with her every move. As usual, her necklace of stones and beads and coins made DJ's fingers itch to sketch it.

How would she capture the energy that swirled about and through Isabella Gant? DJ studied her teacher through slitted eyes. The eyes, that's what it was—the eyes needed to be the central focus.

After greeting the class and calling the roll, Ms. Gant flung her shawl over the back of her chair and whipped the cover off a still life. “We will start with this. I want to see what you do before I tell you what I want you to do.”

DJ and Sean exchanged glances. They'd heard that before.

DJ laid out her pencils and flipped open her drawing pad. Did she dare cheat and draw the teacher instead?

Chapter • 6

“Ah, so you know better than the teacher?”

DJ froze. “N-n-no. I just … ah …” The drawing had happened almost of its own volition. “I … I … ah, thought to hurry with this one and then do the still life.” The words came in a rush.

“I see.”

DJ felt like crawling under the stool, but instead she chose to freeze like a bunny caught in a flashlight beam. She wanted to keep drawing. She wanted to look at her teacher. Her fingers shivered and DJ dropped the drawing pencil. The lead broke.

“I think the hair is not quite right yet, a bit out of proportion to the face and body.” Ms. Gant tapped the drawing pad as she spoke. “And what did you plan to do with the shawl?”

“Lace in bits of pink and purple, and catch the light with silver.” DJ studied her drawing through squinted eyes. “The eyes aren't right yet, either.” She looked at the woman who stood beside her, wishing she dared ask her to return to the front of the room and hold a pose like one of the models she'd brought in last spring.