that pony. Peggy banned it, and the buyers had to take it somewhere else.
âAfter that, he only came once to see Julia off to the Iowa State Fair, and only because she begged him.â
Trish rubs her face with her hands and they tangle in her hair. She pulls at the strands. âShe loved him more than anyoneâway more than me. When Daniel left for military school, Julia came apart. She drifted faster into that clique. By then, I was mad at her and wanted her to screw up, Kami.â
Her hands yank at the tangled hair, and several strands come away in self-mutilation. Grief is hard. Feeling guilt after death is probably impossible to avoid, deserved or not. A memory of seeing Grandma drawing her last breath hits me. My guilt and grief washes into the silent void.
Trish recovers, and having confessed, she falls back to her mantra that lets her ease her personal guilt. âItâs all Danielâs fault. He abandoned her.â
I say, âJulia had a part in it too, Trish. She made choicesâbad ones, but she made them.â
Apparently, Trish isnât interested in putting blame onto Julia. She jumps up from her seat, and changes the topic. âDo you want to see her horse?â
Iâd rather know what pushed Julia into suicide, but Trish is done talking for now. And maybe space away from my own guilt and grief is good. I say, âJuliaâs horse is still here?â
âYeah. Her dadâs so freaking rich; he probably doesnât remember heâs paying the board bills. Can you imagine that? Can you imagine having that much money?â
More likely, heâs grief-stricken every time he writes the check, but I donât argue the point.
Trish leads me back into the main barn and flicks on the aisle overhead lights; dozing horses huff and puff. I follow Trish down the first aisle to a pretty black mare with white socks. Sheâs nice, but she isnât as leggy as the dressage horses, and she isnât in top shape. Her muscles are slack and not rock hard like Fionaâs Tracker. The mare pokes her nose out between the bars and I slip her a carrot from my jacket pocket. Down the aisle Henry fusses at the injustice.
âI thought a Jamison would have a dressage horse or a jumper.â
âNo. Diamondâs a non-marked paint. Canât even show her for breed points. Julia started her as a two-year-old.â
Then I remember the horse. Mom and I saw her ridden, apparently by Julia, one Sunday afternoon. That was apparently an exception. Trish said Julia spent Sundays with her family. The mare was a cow-horse dancing machine and beautiful to watch.
Trish says, âDee told Julia that she couldnât keep up the lessons without a different horse. Dee saw Jamison dollar signs and that meant top Olympic quality horses. Julia could have done it, Kami; I think she could have been in the Olympics. She could have kept Diamond and added another horse, but she didnât want that. Maybe if she had, she wouldnât have had time forâ¦all that other stuff.â
Another if-I-only, but none of this makes sense. Juliaâs life wasnât full of tragedyâjust normal crap. What had made her snap?
I settle on repeating what Trish had said. âWhat other stuff, Trish?â She hasnât said a word about drugs, but I can see her expression. âI want to help, but I didnât know Julia, or anything about her.â
Trish plays her toe boot in the alleyway shavings. âI can show you her tack locker.â It isnât a question.
Hell yeah, I want in that locker. âIâd like that, Trish.â I follow her to the locked tack room where she pauses like sheâs making a big decision. Then, Trish jam-punches the combo and rips open the tack room. She points out a locker with an Iowa State Fair blue ribbon from last summer hanging on it.
âJulia never changed her combo. She knew Iâd never give it to anyone.â Trish
John O'Riley
Jill Gregory
Celya Bowers
Aria Cunningham
Stephen Lloyd Jones
Christopher George
Learning to Kill: Stories
Brenda Sinclair
Karl Iagnemma
C. J. Cherryh