Chapter Twenty-three 8 page

Men with rifles and fluorescent yellow jackets were combing a hillside. Tom found it kind of touching. A mountain lion would see those jackets from about a hundred miles. He got into bed, killed the TV and called home.

His nephew Joe, the oldest of Frank's three boys, answered the phone.

'Hi Joe, how're you doing?'

'Good. Where are you?'

'Oh, I'm in some godforsaken motel, in a bed that's about a yard too short. Reckon I may have to take my hat and boots off.'

Joe laughed. He was twelve years old and quiet, much like Tom had been at that age. He was also pretty good with the horses.

'How's old Brontosaurus doing?'

'She's good. She's getting real big. Dad thinks she'll foal by midweek.'

'You make sure you show your old man what to do.'

'I will. Want to speak to him?'

'Sure, if he's around.'

He could hear Joe calling his dad. The living-room TV was on and, as usual, Frank's wife Diane was hollering at one of the twins. It still seemed odd, them living in the big ranch house. Tom continued to think of it as his parents' house even though it was nearly three years since his father had died and his mother had gone to live with Rosie in Great Falls.

When Frank had married Diane, they'd taken over the creek house, the one Tom and Rachel had briefly occupied, and done some remodeling. But with three growing boys it was soon a squeeze and when his mother left, Tom insisted they move into the ranch house. He was away so much of the time, doing clinics, and when he was there, the place felt too big and too empty. He would have been happy to do a straight swap and move back out to the creek house himself but Diane said they'd only move if he stayed, there was room enough for all of them. So Tom had kept his old room and now they all lived together. Visitors, both family and friends, sometimes used the creek house, though mainly it stood empty.

Tom could hear Frank's footsteps coming to the phone.

'Hiya bro, how's it going down there?'

'It's going okay. Rona's going for a world record on the number of horses and the motel here's built for the seven dwarfs but aside from that, everything's dandy.'

They talked for a while about what was happening on the ranch. They were in the middle of calving, getting up all hours of the night and going up to the pasture to check the herd. It was a lot of hard work but they hadn't lost any calves yet and Frank sounded cheerful. He told Tom there had been a lot of calls asking if he would reconsider his decision not to do any clinics this summer.

'What did you tell 'em?'

'Oh, I just said you were getting too old and were all burned out.'

'Thanks pal.'

'And there was a call from some Englishwoman in New York. She wouldn't say what it was about, just that it was urgent. Gave me a real hard time when I wouldn't tell her your number down there. I said I'd ask you to call her.'

Tom picked up the little pad off the bedside table and wrote down Annie's name and the four phone numbers she had left, one of them a mobile.

'That it? Just the four? No number for the villa in the South of France?'

'Nope. That's it.'

They talked a little about Bronty then said goodbye. Tom looked at the pad. He didn't know too many people in New York, only Rachel and Hal. Maybe this was something to do with them, though surely this woman, whoever she was, would have said so. He looked at his watch. It was ten-thirty, which made it one-thirty in New York. He put the pad back on the table and switched off the light. He would call in the morning.

He didn't get the chance. It was still dark when the phone rang and woke him. He switched on the light before answering and saw it was only five-fifteen.

'Is that Tom Booker?' From the accent, he could tell immediately who it must be.

'I think so,' he said. 'It's kind of early to be sure.'

'I know, I'm sorry. I thought you'd probably be up early and didn't want to miss you. My name's Annie Graves. I called your brother yesterday, I don't know if he told you.'

'Sure. He told me. I was going to call you. He said he hadn't given you this number.'

'He didn't. I managed to get it from someone else. Anyway, the reason I'm calling is that I understand you help people who've got horse problems.'

'No ma'am, I don't.'

There was a silence at the other end. Tom could tell he had thrown her.

'Oh,' she said. 'I'm sorry, I—'

'It's kind of the other way around. I help horses who've got people problems.'

They hadn't gotten off to a great start and Tom regretted being a wiseguy. He asked her what the problem was and listened for a long time in silence as she told him what had happened to her daughter and the horse. It was shocking and made all the more so by the measured, almost dispassionate way she told it. He sensed there was emotion there, but that it was buried deep and firmly under control.

'That's terrible,' he said when Annie had finished. 'I'm real sorry.'

He could hear her take a deep breath.

'Yes, well. Will you come and see him?'

'What, to New York?'

'Yes.'

'Ma'am, I'm afraid—'

'Naturally I'll pay the fare.'

'What I was going to say was, I don't do that sort of thing. Even if it was somewhere nearer, that's not what I do. I give clinics. And I'm not even doing them for a while. This here's the last one I'm doing till the fall.'

'So you'd have time to come, if you wanted to.'

It wasn't a question. She was pretty pushy. Or maybe it was just the accent.

'When does your clinic finish?'

'On Wednesday. But—'

'Could you come on Thursday?'

It wasn't just the accent. She had picked up on a slight hesitation and was pushing hard at it. It was like what you did with a horse, pick the path of least resistance and work on it.

'I'm sorry ma'am,' he said firmly. 'And I'm real sorry about what happened. But I've got work to do back on the ranch and I can't help you.'

'Don't say that. Please, don't say that. Would you at least think about it.' Again it wasn't a question.

'Ma'am—'

I'd better go now. I'm sorry to have woken you.'

And without letting him speak or saying goodbye, she hung up.

When Tom walked into reception the following morning, the motel manager handed him a Federal Express package. It contained a photograph of a girl on a beautiful-looking Morgan horse and an open return airticket to New York.

Chapter Ten

Tom laid his arm along the back of the plastic-covered bench seat and watched his son cooking hamburgers behind the counter of the diner. The boy looked as if he'd been doing it all his life, the way he moved them around the grill and flipped them nonchalantly as he chatted and laughed with one of the waiters. It was, Hal had assured him, the hottest new lunch place in Greenwich Village.

The boy worked here for nothing three or four times a week in exchange for living rentfree in a loft apartment belonging to the owner, who was a friend of Rachel's. When he wasn't working here, Hal was at film school. Earlier he'd been telling Tom about a'short' he was shooting.

'It's about a man who eats his girlfriend's motorcycle piece by piece.'

'Sounds tough.'

'It is. It's kind of a road movie but all set in one place.' Tom was about ninety percent sure this was a joke. He really hoped so. Hal went on, 'When he's finished the motorcycle, he does the same with the girlfriend.'

Tom nodded, considering this. 'Boy meets girl, boy eats girl.'

Hal laughed. He had his mother's thick black hair and dark goodlooks, though his eyes were blue. Tom liked him very much. They didn't get to see each other too often, but they wrote and when they did meet, they were easy together. Hal had grown up a city kid but he came out to Montana now and again and when he did, he loved it. He even rode pretty good, considering.

It had been some years since Tom had seen the boy's mother, but they talked on the phone about Hal and how he was doing and that was never difficult either.

Rachel had married an art dealer called Leo and they'd had three other children who were now in their teens. Hal was twenty and seemed to have grown up happy. It was the chance of seeing him that had clinched the decision to fly east and look at the Englishwoman's horse. Tom was going up there this afternoon.

'Here you go. One cheeseburger with bacon.' Hal put it down in front of him and sat down opposite him with a grin. He was only having a coffee.

'You're not eating?' asked Tom.

I'll have something later. Try it.'

Tom took a bite and nodded his approval. 'It's good.'

'Some of the guys just leave them lying on the grill. You gotta work them, seal the juices.'

'Is it okay for you to take time out like this?' 'Oh sure. If it gets busy, I'll go help.' It wasn't yet noon and the place was still quiet. Tom normally didn't like to eat much at midday and he rarely ate meat nowadays, but Hal had been so keen to cook him a burger he'd pretended he was up for it. At the next table, four men in suits and a lot of wrist jewelry were talking loudly about a deal they'd done. Not the normal kind of clientele, Hal had discreetly informed him. But Tom had enjoyed watching them. He was always impressed by the energy of New York. He was just glad he didn't have to live here.

'How's your mother?' he asked.

'She's great. She's playing again. Leo's fixed for her to give a concert at a gallery just around the corner here on Sunday.'

That's good.'

'She was going to come along today and see you but last night there was this colossal row and the pianist walked out, so now it's all panic to find someone else. She said to give you her best.'

'Well you make sure to give her mine.'

They talked about Hal's course and his plans for the summer. He said he'd like to come out to Montana for a couple of weeks and it seemed to Tom that he meant it and wasn't just saying it to make him feel wanted. Tom told him how he was going to be working with the yearlings and some of the older colts he'd bred. Talking about it made him long to get started. His first summer for years with no clinics, no traveling, just being there by the mountains and seeing the country come to life again.

The diner was getting busy so Hal had to go back to work. He wouldn't let Tom pay and came out with him onto the sidewalk. Tom put his hat on and noticed the glance Hal gave it. He hoped it wasn't too embarrassing to be seen with a cowboy. It was always a little awkward when they said goodbye, with Tom thinking maybe he should give the boy a hug, but they'd kind of got into the habit of just shaking hands so today, as usual, that's all they did.

'Good luck with the horse,' Hal said.

'Thank you. And you with the movie.'

'Thanks. I'll send you a cassette.'

'I'd like that. Bye then Hal.'

'Bye.'

Tom decided to walk a few blocks before looking for a cab. It was cold and gray and the steam rose in drifting clouds from manholes in the street. There was a young guy, standing on a corner, begging. His hair was a matted tangle of rat's tails and his skin the color of bruised parchment. His fingers spilled through frayed woolen mitts and with no coat he was hopping from one foot to the other to keep warm. Tom gave him a five-dollar bill.

They were expecting him at the stables at about four, but when he got to Penn Station he found there was an earlier train and decided to take it. The more daylight there was when he saw the horse, he thought, the better. Also, this way maybe he could get a little look at the animal on his own first. It was always easier when the owners weren't breathing down your neck. When they were, the horses always picked up on the tension. He was sure the woman wouldn't mind.

Annie had wondered whether to tell Grace about Tom Booker. Pilgrim's name had barely been mentioned since the day she saw him at the stables. Once Annie and Robert had tried talking to her about him, believing it better to confront the issue of what they should do with him. But Grace had become very agitated and cut Annie off.

'I don't want to hear,' she said. 'I've told you what I want. I want him to go back to Kentucky. But you always know better, so it's up to you.'

Robert had put a calming hand on her shoulder and started to say something, but she shrugged him off violently and yelled 'No Daddy!' They left it at that.

In the end, they did however decide to tell her about the man from Montana. All Grace said was that she didn't want to be up in Chatham when he came. It was decided therefore that Annie would go alone. She'd come up by train the previous night and spent the morning at the farmhouse, making calls and trying to concentrate on the copy wired by modem to her computer screen from the office.

It was impossible. The slow tick of the hall clock, which normally she found comforting, was today almost unbearable. And with every long hour that limped by she became more nervous. She puzzled over why this should be and came up with no answer that satisfied her. The nearest she could get was a feeling, as acute as it was irrational, that in some inexorable way it wasn't only Pilgrim's fate that was to be determined today by this stranger, it was the fate of all of them. Grace's, Robert's and her own.

There were no cabs at Hudson station when the train got in. It was starting to drizzle and Tom had to wait for five minutes under the dripping iron-pillared canopy over the platform till one arrived. When it did he climbed into the back with his bag and gave the driver the address of the stables.

Hudson looked as though it might once have been pretty, but now it seemed a sorry sort of place. Once grand old buildings were rotting away. Many of the shops along what Tom supposed was its main street were boarded up and those that weren't seemed mostly to be selling junk. People tramped the sidewalks with their shoulders hunched against the rain.

It was just after three when the cab turned into Mrs Dyer's driveway and headed up the hill toward the stables. Tom looked out at the horses standing in the rain across the muddy fields. They pricked their ears and watched the cab go by. The entrance into the stable yard was blocked by a trailer. Tom asked the cabdriver to wait and got out.

As he edged through the gap between the wall and the trailer he could hear voices from the yard and the clatter of hooves.

'Git in! Git in there, damn you!'

Joan Dyer's sons were trying to load two frightened colts into the open back of the trailer. Tim stood on the ramp and was trying to drag the first colt inside by its halter rope. It was a tug-of-war he would easily have lost had Eric not been at the other end of the animal, driving it forward with a whip and dodging its hooves. In his other hand he held the rope of the second colt who was by now as scared as the first. All this Tom saw in one glance as he stepped around the side of the trailer into the yard.

'Whoa now boys, what's happening here?' he said. Both the boys turned and looked at him for a moment and neither answered. Then, as if he didn't exist, they looked away again and went on with what they were doing.

'It's no fucking good,' Tim said. 'Try the other one first.' He yanked the first colt away from the trailer so that Tom had to step quickly back against the wall as they went by. At last Eric looked at him again.

'Can I help you?' There was such conten in the voice and the way the boy eyed hin. down that Tom could only smile.

Thank you. I'm looking for a horse called Pilgrim. Belongs to a Mrs Annie Graves?'

'Who are you?'

'My name's Booker.'

Eric jerked his head toward the barn. 'Better go see my mom.'

Tom thanked him and walked away to the barn. He heard one of them snigger and say something about Wyatt Earp but he didn't look back. Mrs Dyer came out of the barn door just as he got there. He introduced himself and they shook hands after she'd wiped hers on her jacket. She looked over his shoulder at the boys by the trailer and shook her head.

'There are better ways to do that,' Tom said.

'I know,' she said, wearily. But she clearly didn't want to pursue it. 'You're early. Annie's not here yet.'

'I'm sorry. I got the early train. I should have called. Would it be okay if I had a look at him before she gets here?'

She hesitated. He gave her a conspirator's smile that stopped just short of a wink, meaning that she, knowing about horses, would understand what he was about to say.

'You know how sometimes it's, well, kind of easier to get a fix on these things when the owner's not around.'

She took the bait and nodded.

'He's back here.'

Tom followed her around the back of the barn to the row of old stalls. When she got to Pilgrim's door,

she turned to face him. She looked agitated suddenly.

'I have to tell you, this has been a disaster from the beginning. I don't know how much she's told you, but the truth is, in everybody's opinion except hers, this horse should have been put out of its misery long ago. Why the vets have gone along with her I don't know. Frankly, I think keeping it alive is cruel and stupid.'

The intensity took Tom by surprise. He nodded slowly and then looked at the bolted door. He'd already seen the yellowy-brown liquid oozing from under it and could smell the filth beyond.

'He's in here?'

'Yes. Be careful.'

Tom slid the top bolt and heard an immediate scuffle. The stench was nauseating.

'God, doesn't anyone clean him out?'

'We're all too scared,' Mrs Dyer said quietly.

Tom gently opened the top part of the door and leaned in. He saw Pilgrim through the darkness, looking back at him with his ears flattened and his yellow teeth bared. Suddenly the horse lunged and reared, striking at him with his hooves. Tom moved swiftly back and the hooves missed him by inches and smashed against the bottom door. Tom closed the top and rammed the bolt shut.

'If an inspector saw this, he'd close the whole damn place down,' he said. The quiet, controlled fury in his voice made Mrs Dyer look at the ground.

'I know, I've tried to tell—' He cut her off.

'You ought to be ashamed.'

He turned away and walked back toward the yard. He could hear an engine revving and now the frightened call of a horse as a car horn started blaring.

When he came around the end of the barn he saw one of the colts was already tied up in the trailer. There was blood on one of its hind legs. Eric was trying to drag the other colt in, lashing with the whip while his brother, in an old pickup, shunted it from behind, honking the horn. Tom went up to the car, flung the door open and dragged the boy out by the scruff of his neck.

'Who the fuck do you think you are?' the boy said, but the end of it came out falsetto as Tom swung him sideways and threw him to the ground.

'Wyatt Earp,' Tom said and walked right on past toward Eric who backed away.

'Hey listen cowboy…' he said. Tom grabbed him by the throat, freed the colt and took the whip out of the boy's other hand with a twist that made him yelp. The colt ran off across the yard, saving itself. Tom had the whip in one hand and the other still clamped on Eric's throat so that the boy's frightened eyes bulged. He held him there in front of him, their faces not a foot apart.

'If I thought you were worth the effort,' Tom said, 'I'd whip your no-good hide from hell to breakfast.'

He shoved him away and the boy's back thumped against the wall, knocking the wind clean out of him. Tom looked back and saw Mrs Dyer coming into the yard. He turned and stepped around the side of the trailer.

As he came through the gap, a woman was getting out of a silver Ford Lariat parked beside the waiting taxi. For a moment he and Annie Graves were face to face.

'Mr Booker?' she said. Tom was breathing hard. All he really registered was the auburn hair and the troubled green eyes. He nodded. 'I'm Annie Graves. You got here early.'

'No ma'am. I got here too damn late.' He got into the cab, shut the door and told the driver to go. When they reached the bottom of the driveway he realized he was still holding the whip. He wound down the window and threw it in the ditch.

Chapter Eleven

It was Robert who finally suggested going to Lester's for breakfast. It was a decision he'd worried about for two weeks. They hadn't gone there since Grace started school again and that unspoken fact was starting to weigh heavily. The reason it hadn't been mentioned was that Lester's excellent breakfast was only part of the routine. The other part, just as important, was taking the crosstown bus to get there.

It was one of those silly things that had started when Grace was much younger. Sometimes Annie came too but usually it was just Robert and Grace. They used to pretend it was some grand adventure and would sit at the back and play a whispered game in which they took turns elaborating fantasies about the other passengers. The driver was really an android hitman and those little old ladies rock stars in disguise. More recently they would just gossip but until the accident it had never occurred to either of them not to take the bus. Now neither was sure if Grace would be able to climb onto it.

So far she had been going to school two and then three days a week, mornings only. Robert took her there by cab and Elsa collected her by cab at noon. He and Annie tried to seem casual when they asked her how it was going. Great, she said. Everything was great. And how were Becky and Cathy and r

Mrs Shaw? They were all great too. He suspected that she knew full well what they wanted to ask but couldn't. Did people stare at her leg? Did they ask her about it? Did she see them talking about her?

'Breakfast at Lester's?' Robert said that morning, in as matter-of-fact a voice as he could muster. Annie had already left for an early meeting. Grace shrugged and said, 'Sure. If you want to.'

They took the elevator down and said good morning to Ramon, the doorman.

'Get you a taxi?' he said.

Robert hesitated, but only for a beat.

'No. We're getting the bus.'

As they walked the two blocks to the bus stop, Robert chattered away and tried to look as if it was natural to be walking this slowly. He knew Grace wasn't listening to him. Her eyes were locked on the sidewalk ahead, surveying its surface for traps, concentrating hard on placing the rubber tip of the cane and swinging her leg through behind it. By the time they got to the stop, despite the cold, she was sweating.

When the bus came, she climbed in as though she had been doing it for years. It was crowded and for a while they stood near the front. An old man saw Grace's cane and offered her his seat. She thanked him and tried to decline but he wouldn't hear of it. Robert wanted to scream at him to let her be but didn't and, blushing, Grace relented and sat down. She looked up at Robert and gave him a little humiliated smile that smote his heart.

When they walked into the coffee shop, Robert had a sudden panic that he should have called and warned Lester so that no one would make a fuss or ask embarrassing questions. He needn't have worried. Perhaps someone from the school had already told them, but Lester and the waiters were their normal brisk and cheerful selves.

They sat at their usual table by the window and ordered what they always ordered, bagels with cream cheese and lox. While they waited, Robert tried hard to keep the conversation going. It was new to him, this need to fill the silences between them. Talking with Grace had always been so easy. He noticed how her eyes kept drifting off to the people walking past outside, on their way to work. Lester, a dapper little man with a toothbrush moustache, had the radio on behind the counter and for once Robert felt grateful for the constant, inane babble of traffic news and jingles. When the bagels arrived Grace barely touched hers.

'Like to go to Europe this summer?' he said.

'What, a vacation you mean?'

'Yes. I thought we could go to Italy. Rent a house in Tuscany or somewhere. What do you think?'

She shrugged. 'Okay.'

'We don't have to.'

'No. It'd be nice.'

'If you're good, we might even go on to England and visit your grandmother.' Grace grimaced on cue. The threat of dispatching her to see Annie's mother was an old family joke. Grace glanced out of the window then back at Robert.

'Dad, I think I'll go in now.'

'Not hungry?'

She shook her head. He understood. She wanted to get into school early, before the lobby was crowded with gawking girls. He knocked back his coffee and paid the check.

Grace made him say goodbye on the corner rather than walk her down to the school entrance. He kissed her and walked away, fighting the urge to turn and watch her go in. He knew that if she saw him look, she might mistake concern for pity. He walked back to Third Avenue and turned downtown toward his office.

The sky had cleared while they had been inside. It was going to be one of those icy, clear blue New York days that Robert loved. It was perfect walking weather and he walked briskly, trying to drive away thoughts of that lonely figure limping into school by thinking of what he had to do once he got into work.

First, as usual, he would call the personal injury lawyer they'd hired to look after the convoluted legal farce Grace's accident seemed destined to become.

Only a sensible person would be fool enough to think the case might boil down to whether the girls were negligent in riding on the road that morning and whether the truck driver was negligent in hitting them. Instead of course, everybody was suing everybody: the girls' health insurance companies, the truck driver, his insurance company, the haulage company in Atlanta, their insurance company, the company that the driver had leased the truck from, their insurance company, the manufacturers of the truck, the manufacturers of the truck's tires, the county, the mill, the railroad. No one had yet filed suit against God for letting it snow, but it was still early days. It was pure plaintiff-attorney paradise and it felt odd to Robert to be looking at it from the other end.

At least, thank heaven, they'd managed to keep most of it away from Grace. Apart from the statement she'd given in the hospital, all she'd had to do was give a deposition under oath to their lawyer. Grace had met the woman socially a couple of times before and hadn't seemed troubled by again having to go over the accident. Again she had said that she could remember nothing after sliding down the bank.

Early in the new year the truck driver had written them a letter, saying he was sorry. Robert and Annie had discussed for a long time whether or not to show it to Grace and in the end decided it was her right. She'd read it, handed it back and said simply that it was nice of him. For Robert, just as important a decision was whether or not to show it to their attorney who naturally would seize upon it gleefully as an admission of guilt. The lawyer in Robert said show it. Something more human in him said don't. He'd hedged his bets and kept it on file.

In the distance now, he could see the sun glinting coldly on the towering glass of his office building.

A lost limb, he'd read recently in some learned legal journal, could nowadays be worth three million dollars in damages. He pictured his daughter's pale face, looking out of the coffee shop window. What fine experts they must be, he thought, to quantify the cost.

The school lobby was busier than usual. Grace did a quick scan of the faces, hoping she wouldn't see any of her classmates. Becky's mom was there, talking to Mrs Shaw, but neither of them looked her way and there was no sign of Becky. She was probably already in the library, on one of the computers. In the old days that's where Grace would have headed too. They would fool around, leaving funny messages on each other's E mail and would stay there till the bell rang. Then they'd all race up the stairs to the classroom, laughing and elbowing each other out of the way.

Now that Grace couldn't manage the stairs, they would all feel obliged to come with her in the elevator, a slow and ancient thing. To spare them the embarrassment, Grace now went straight up to the classroom on her own so that she could be sitting at her desk when they arrived.

She made her way over to the elevator and pressed the call button, keeping her eyes on it so that if any of her friends came by they'd have the chance to avoid her.

Everyone had been so nice to her since her return to school. That was the problem. She just wanted them to be normal. And other things had changed. While she'd been away, her friends seemed to have subtly regrouped. Becky and Cathy, her two best friends, had gotten closer. The three of them used to be inseparable. They would gossip and tease and moan about each other and console each other on the phone every evening. It had been a perfectly balanced threesome. But now, although they did their best to include her, it wasn't the same. But how could it be?

Date: 2015-12-17; view: 601