Sliding On The Edge (7 page)

“
Oh, Kay, what have you
gotten yourself into?” she asked aloud.

The gray snorted.

“
I know. We have to try.
Right, girl?” Kay leaned over the gray and laid her cheek against
the warm gray neck.

Chapter 12

Shawna

I’m forking clean straw into the
stalls when Kay walks in, leading the gray horse, both of them in a
sweat. The gray doesn’t walk like the other horses. She struts with
her neck curved and her tail in a high arch. When I first saw her
in the barn with the other horses, I told Kenny how I thought she
moved. He told me she was a princess, and when I laughed he drew up
very serious, saying, “An Arabian princess.” Then he spit. “And
don’t forget it.”

Kay stops in front of me. “Walk her
around the barn a few times; then wipe her down,” she says, and
turns the gray over to me.

Walking a horse is way easier than
pitching hay. I walk her real slowly to give her a chance to cool
down, and to give myself a chance to rest before going back to
finish up in the barn. I’ve been working for four days, doing the
same thing over again and again.

“
This is wack!” I shout to
the sky, like somebody might actually care.

The gray noses me from behind, and I
stumble.

“
Dumb horse!” But then who’s
the dumb one here? I’m doing all the work, and she’s about to get a
rub down from yours truly.

When I tie her off, she leans into me
and I feel her sweat against my arm. I should be weirded out but
I’m not. Horse sweat isn’t what it was four days ago.

I slip the gray’s saddle and blanket
off, then wipe her down like Kenny’s shown me. She shakes her long
neck and nuzzles her head against me.

“
Like that, huh?” I
ask.

She nuzzles harder like she
understands me. She pushes her nose against my hair and snuffles so
my scalp tingles.

Too bad she’s just a
horse.

“
Hey now,” I say, as she
dips her head. If she were a person, she could get a massage
whenever she wanted one. I know some massage parlors that would go
wild over her.

She snorts and shakes her
head.

“
Horsing around, are you?”
Shawna, you are ready for stand up on the Vegas Strip.

I finish with the gray and put her in
her stall.

“
Bye, beautiful,” I whisper;
then I slap my face to bring myself around.
Get a grip, Shawna. This is a temporary gig. No bonding with
the locals, okay?

By six my arms give out like always,
but that happens conveniently at the same time as my jobs are done,
so I consider it my lucky day. I’m dragging myself back to the
house when I hear a loud crack, like a gunshot. I drop to my knees
behind a barrel Kay’s planted with geraniums. When I look around
the side, I don’t see anyone bearing down on me with a six-shooter.
So I get up slowly and look across at the shack on the other side
of Kay’s fence, where the sound came from.

A man is staggering out of
the barn and toward the fence. The three sick-looking horses are
huddled together at the fence closest to Kay’s property. I can’t
see their eyes, but I know they’re wide because their ears are laid
back and they’re being what Kenny calls
skittery
. I never know if he’s giving
me real words, but I use them anyway.

The man holds a coil of rope in his
fist. He stops before he reaches the fence, lays the coil out in
front of him, then raises his hand and yanks on the rope until it
cracks overhead. It’s a whip, not a rope. And, most important,
there’s not a gun in sight. The horses crush into each other, and
the black horse slams against Kay’s fence so hard that the posts
wobble.

I walk closer. Either the man doesn’t
see me or he’s blind. I’m at the fence, and, if I want, I can touch
the black horse that’s pressed hard against the rail. It tosses its
head and shies away from me. It’s actually stuck between a rock and
a hard place. That old man with the whip is coming up from one
side, and I, a stranger, am standing on the other.

The horse reminds me of a kid I saw
once, who got caught between a gang and the cops. Their eyes look
the same and, like the horse, the kid pressed himself against the
building as if by pressing hard enough he could get on the other
side of the bricks and escape. I never knew how that standoff ended
because the cops dragged me down the street to ask me
questions

“
Hey!” I yell across the
horses’ backs. The black horse tries to rear, but the other two
have him pinned. He can’t do more than raise his head and dig into
the dirt with his front hooves.

The old jerk sees me all right. He
isn’t blind, but he’s totally smashed. He stops and nearly loses
his balance. The whip trails from his hand like a tail he’s lopped
off of some poor animal.

“
Git outta here!” he
slurs.

“
You git outta here, you old
jerk! And leave these horses alone.”

A sick grin spreads across his face.
I’ve seen those kinds of faces late at night outside the
casinos—mean drunks on their way to do something bad to anybody who
gets in their way. Weaving on his feet, he coils the whip and
starts toward me. The horses bolt around his backside and disappear
behind the barn. I hold my ground as he comes closer. I’ve seen
enough drunks to know that all I have to do with this one is give
him a shove and he’ll fall flat on his butt.

Now here’s something I never thought
I’d hear myself say: “How about I call the cops, old man? You like
the idea of going to the slammer?” I must sound like I know what
I’m talking about, because he draws up short and stands unsteady
like he’s in a shallow boat.

Even from across the fence, the smell
of gin and stale tobacco make me want to puke. When he opens his
mouth I take a step away, but his stench follows.

“
Stay off a . . . my prop .
. . property.”

“
She’s not on yer property,
Floyd.” Kenny Fargo’s voice is loud at my back.

I scream and spin around. “Man, you
about gave me a heart attack!”

Kenny ignores me and walks straight at
Floyd. “Yer drunk. Go to bed or I’ll call the cops myself.” Then
Kenny turns to me. “You ought not take on Floyd when he’s drunk and
has his whip. Now, go on inside. I’ve got some things to do. Tell
Kay I’ll be late for dinner.” Kenny flings his leg over the top
rail of the fence and jumps down onto Drunk Floyd’s
side.

He walks alongside Floyd, his hand on
his back until they reach the shack. Then Floyd staggers up the
steps, dragging the whip like a dead snake, and disappears inside.
I stay put, ignoring Kenny’s orders about going in the house. Kenny
walks to the water trough and, one by one, the three horses come
out from hiding. They nuzzle Kenny’s back, then dip into the trough
for a drink. Kenny goes into the barn and the horses follow
him.

Country people are way
weirder than city ones
. I start toward the
house. Kay puts dinner on the table at the same time, so I figure I
have ten minutes to clean up. It feels weird to know what’s going
to happen every day and when it’s going to happen.

At dinner, there’s no mention about
Drunk Floyd or my little meeting with the neighbor, but the clothes
subject rears up when Kenny Fargo asks what we did all
day.

“
She’s going to give us a
fashion show a little later. Right?” Kay levels her eyes at
me.

“
Why?”

“
Because Kenny and I want to
see what you chose.”

“
I got good
stuff.”

“
I know you did, but we
still need to see the things you bought.”

“
Hell.”

“
I thought you understood
about the language, Shawna.”

“
Sh . . .”

“
I wouldn’t push it,” Kay
interrupts. “I mean it.” She points her finger at my
face.

I shove my plate forward and rock my
chair backward on two legs. What is with her, anyway? I don’t think
my language is bad. I’d cleaned up all the F-words so I didn’t
sound like Mom, and so my teachers wouldn’t stick me in the hall
anymore. Compared to the real world, I sound as clean as an elf in
Santa’s workshop.

“
I’ll get the dishes
tonight,” Kenny says, standing up from the table and carrying his
plate to the kitchen sink. “You two duke it out without
me.”

“
There’s nothing to fight
over. I’ll give you your dumb fashion show.” I remember Mom’s
advice. Pick your fights. Besides, I’m way too tired to go toe to
toe with Kay tonight.

I put on one outfit after
the other, and stomp back and forth between my room and the
kitchen. They inspect me like they do their horses, but they don’t
say anything.
Well, duh! Nothing new about
that.

“
This is the last one.” I’ve
saved my Diesels and the halter top to the end.

“
Too tight across the
backside and too skimpy on the top. Those go back,” Kay
says.

I open my mouth but I don’t get a
chance to say what I want.

“
The rest are good choices,
Shawna.” She gets up from her chair. I almost expect her to stamp
approved on my forehead, but she doesn’t even glance at me as she
walks past.

Kenny Fargo smiles. “I thought the
first one was the best, the black and red. Good colors on you.” He
turns back to the sink and sprinkles cleanser over the scarred
surface.

I liked the Diesels. I wanted the
Diesels. Now I want them even more, since they have to go back. I
stomp back into my room and slam the door.

Who does she think she is
anyway, the fashion police? I’m outta here. I’ve given this dump
four days of my time and that’s all the patience I’ve
got.

I grab a shopping bag and stuff the
Diesels inside. She can keep the rest. Screw her. I’m down the hall
and past her office before she can say anything. Out the door, I
give it a good bang. I pound down the front steps and go around
Buster, who’s stretched out at the bottom. He jumps up and follows
me. “Go away, flea bag.” He sits on the road and whines, just like
I’ve hurt his feelings.

In the dark it’s hard to miss all the
ruts in this road, so it’s very slow going. I’m picking my way like
I’m on the edge of the Grand Canyon. Finally, when I get to the
paved road, my brain decides to wake up. This is a big mistake,
Shawna. It’s totally black out here.

No cars. Nobody to hitch a ride from.
I’m stranded. It’s miles in any direction. Where’s a cab when you
need one?

I’ve got no choice. I turn back down
the road, to the house where Buster thumps his tail and jumps,
doing his midair spin.

“
Stupid dog.” I scratch the
back of his neck and he settles down.

Stupid Shawna is more like
it.

I bang my way back into the house,
stomp down the hall, ignore Kay who is still sitting behind her
desk, and she gives me a look over the top of her glasses. I slam
the door when I get to the end of hall.

Just one more little
button push for the day.

Chapter 13

Shawna

When September shows up, Sweet River
turns as hot as asphalt on a Vegas parking lot. I’ve survived three
weeks of Kay’s summer camp for stray grandkids, made it through the
high school entry exam, and endured long nights with the windows
cranked wide and the fan whirring above my bed while I read what
the long-gone Mark Twain had to say on just about every topic in
the world.

I caught some kind of bug—probably
from that fan whipping air down on my head all night—so I’ve
already missed the first week of school. But tomorrow Kay and I
have an appointment with the school principal. I considered begging
off and playing like I’m still sick, but Kay has a nose for liars
that would land her a security job at the Casino Royale.

I close the book on Mr.
Twain’s advice and turn out the light. Round as one of those old
Vegas dollars, the moon hangs above the trees. It spreads silver
across the floor and the end of the bed. If I melted all the money
Mom dropped in the casinos, it might look just like this. The fan
drones overhead; it sounds like a tired helicopter.
Frap. Frap. Frap
. I bury
my head under the pillow.

“
Damn.” I reach up and turn
the fan off. I’d rather roast than hear it droning
overhead.

A coyote howl travels from a corner of
the ranch, across the pasture, past the barn, and through my
window. It’s a lonely sound that catches me in the stomach. My
memories are stored right there, behind my belly button, just under
the skin, instead of in my brain, like where normal people have
them.

Sometimes they gather up and push
hard, like they want out. I’d pierce my belly button in a sec just
to shake the total dork image, but what happens if those memories
ooze out?

Stop it. Don’t think so
much. That always gets you in trouble.

I bury my head under my pillow. That
used to work when I was a kid and alone, waiting for Mom to come
home. Waiting. That was hard sometimes, and scary.