When Happily Ever After Ends (17 page)

“Maybe we should rig a hoist to keep him upright.”

“Dr. McClelland will be by soon. We’ll see what he has to say.”

“I can’t lose him, Mom. Not like I lost Dad.” Shannon wrung her hands.

Her grandmother gently led her back to the blanket and sat her down. “Let’s not think such negative thoughts.”

“It’s all my fault, you know,” Shannon confessed miserably.

“I don’t see how—”

“I should have been exercising him more, working with him,” Shannon said, interrupting her mother’s protest. “He’s my pet and I was supposed to be taking care of him. But I didn’t.” She hung her head.

Her mother reached over and touched her shoulder. “Blaming yourself won’t help. You love that horse and we all know it. You’ve been very upset this summer. It’s difficult to think about duties and responsibilities when you’re all torn up inside.”

Shannon’s gaze flew to her mother’s face. Then, to her grandmother’s. “Isn’t that what my father did about Vietnam? Think about his duty to go above all else? I should have done the same for my horse.”

“He had a confused sense of duty,” Grandmother said slowly. “I see that now. Your grandfather and I somehow made him feel that appearances were more important than his moral obligation to do what he knew was right. That’s not the same as acting dutifully toward the things we care about.”

With her grandmother’s statement, Shannon felt the awakening of a new understanding about life and its complexities that she had not grasped before. No matter how bad things were in a person’s life, the person had a responsibility to himself and to others to keep going on. Life’s circumstances changed, bad things happened, but that didn’t mean someone could check out just because he couldn’t handle those changes. Zack’s parents had abandoned him, but it had made him stronger, more determined to make something out of his life.

“Dad had a moral obligation to keep on living,” she said, echoing her grandmother’s words. “He had no right to check out.”

Shannon realized then that her father had indeed checked out—killed himself—because for all his valor during the war, for all his medals for bravery, he had lacked the courage to do what was
really
important—deal with his inner pain and continue to live. “I went to talk to your friend, Madeline, Grandma.”

“When? She never told me.”

“Why?” Shannon’s mother wanted to know. “You could have talked to me.”

She scooted closer to her mother. “I tried to talk to you, all summer. I wanted to so much, but you were hurting so bad that the time was never right. I went to Madeline because she’s been through a terrible time herself and because she understood how I was feeling.”

Shannon studied the two people she loved most in the world. Her grandmother with her rigid sense of right and wrong. Her mother with her burden of guilt and remorse. “I went because all of us are hurting, but we’re still trying to handle it on our own. Just like Dad did.”

She watched her mother’s eyes fill with tears. “Don’t you see? We all need help out of our pain.” She told them about the support group and Madeline’s belief that it would help them to begin attending.

“I don’t know,” Grandmother shook her head. “I can’t imagine airing my grief in public to a group of strangers.”

Quickly Shannon said, “I don’t know if a support group will help or not. Maybe it’ll be a big waste of our time, but maybe it won’t. Maybe it’s what we need to be a family again.”

Her mother hugged her arms to herself. “I grew up believing that ‘Love is never having to say you’re sorry.’ ” She wiped tears from her cheek. “I see now that love—real, honest love—
is
having to say, ‘I’m
sorry.’ ” She reached out to Shannon. “I’m sorry, honey. I’m sorry for not being there when you needed me.”

Shannon slid into her arms. “I love you, Mom.” She reached for her grandmother. “You too, Grandma. I want just want us to be happy again.”

“I’m not even sure what that term means anymore,” her mother confessed.

Shannon wasn’t sure either. She did know that it wasn’t a make-believe place like fairy tales promised. It wasn’t a place like Shangri-la where everything was perfect and life held no problems. Nor was it a world bought with money and family position. She
did
know that the journey to happiness was laborious and strewn with seeds of suffering. She guessed that it was probably a place each person had to seek for herself, that each heart had to find on its own.

She knew that hope was a key. She looked at her horse. It would break her heart to lose him, because Blackwatch represented all the dreams she’d once held so dear. She clung to the hope that he would be all right, that all of them would be all right. Light from the morning sun began to spread through the barn. The crisp smell of autumn filled the air.

Zack appeared at the door of the stall. He seemed self-conscious about interrupting them, but said, “I fed and watered the other horses. Would you like me to drive down the mountain and bring back some donuts?”

Shannon’s mother stood. “Thanks for the offer, but I’d rather go up to the house and cook breakfast. I want us all to eat together. Zack, please join us.”

Shannon’s grandmother rose alongside of her. “I’ll come start the coffee.”

Once they were gone, Zack came inside the stall and stood beside Shannon. “Your horse doesn’t look a whole lot better.”

“He isn’t, but I am.”

“I don’t understand. Are you sick too?”

She gazed out the barn’s front door at sunlight shining brilliantly in the crystal pure mountain air. “It’s a beautiful day, Zack. A beautiful day to be alive.”

   Shannon Campbell leaned forward, keeping her line of vision directly between the ears of her horse. Mentally, she judged the rapidly closing distance to the fence, concentrating on the powerful pull of muscled horseflesh beneath her.

From the corner of her eye, she could see where her family and friends were sitting in the giant arena, watching, cheering for her—her mother, Grandmother, Zack, Heather, all the girls from the Pony Club.

Still, whenever she looked over at the group, she kept wanting to see her father. She thought of all the things he’d never see her do. The choice he made still hurt, even now, a year later. But at least she had her mother and grandmother and together they were making it.

She was glad she’d been able to convince them to go to the support group. It had helped, just as Madeline had said it would. It hadn’t been easy to talk to strangers at first, but the loss each had experienced acted like a glue that bound them to one another. Now the members of the group were like old friends.

Shannon thought back to the day she and her mother and grandmother had opened her father’s study door. It had taken every ounce of courage they possessed together, but one autumn day, they simply threw open the door, pulled up the blinds, and let light flood the room.

Shannon had walked through the doorway holding her mother and grandmother’s hands. She’d taken in every nook and cranny with her eyes. The sofa, the file cabinets, the desk, the bookshelves—all the things her father had touched and used. Nothing could bring him back, but together the three of them could touch him again and love his memory.

They’d gone through the desk, packed away papers, reorganized files. Her mother hired a decorator and chose a pale shade of peach for the walls, new white wicker furniture, and jade-green carpeting. Shannon turned the room into her “horse room” where she displayed all her ribbons and trophies. She also hung photos of horses and friends. And of her father.

Shannon focused her attention on the barrier in the arena. It looked high and intimidating. She listened to the rhythmic sound of Black’s hooves hitting
the loamy arena dirt and sensed his prime physical condition. Her horse wanted to please her.

Shannon eased back and Blackwatch took the lead. She kept her back straight, squeezed her knees into his flank, felt him gather his stride and jump.