Read Online Chaos Theory by M Evonne Dobson - Free Book Online

that pony. Peggy banned it, and the buyers had to take it somewhere else.
    â€œAfter that, he only came once to see Julia off to the Iowa State Fair, and only because she begged him.”
    Trish rubs her face with her hands and they tangle in her hair. She pulls at the strands. “She loved him more than anyone—way 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.”
    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. “It’s all Daniel’s fault. He abandoned her.”
    I say, “Julia had a part in it too, Trish. She made choices—bad ones, but she made them.”
    Apparently, Trish isn’t interested in putting blame onto Julia. She jumps up from her seat, and changes the topic. “Do you want to see her horse?”
    I’d 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, “Julia’s horse is still here?”
    â€œYeah. Her dad’s so freaking rich; he probably doesn’t remember he’s paying the board bills. Can you imagine that? Can you imagine having that much money?”
    More likely, he’s grief-stricken every time he writes the check, but I don’t 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. She’s nice, but she isn’t as leggy as the dressage horses, and she isn’t in top shape. Her muscles are slack and not rock hard like Fiona’s 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.
    â€œI thought a Jamison would have a dressage horse or a jumper.”
    â€œNo. Diamond’s a non-marked paint. Can’t even show her for breed points. Julia started her as a two-year-old.”
    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, “Dee told Julia that she couldn’t 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 didn’t want that. Maybe if she had, she wouldn’t have had time for…all that other stuff.”
    Another if-I-only, but none of this makes sense. Julia’s life wasn’t full of tragedy—just normal crap. What had made her snap?
    I settle on repeating what Trish had said. “What other stuff, Trish?” She hasn’t said a word about drugs, but I can see her expression. “I want to help, but I didn’t know Julia, or anything about her.”
    Trish plays her toe boot in the alleyway shavings. “I can show you her tack locker.” It isn’t a question.
    Hell yeah, I want in that locker. “I’d like that, Trish.” I follow her to the locked tack room where she pauses like she’s 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.
    â€œJulia never changed her combo. She knew I’d never give it to anyone.” Trish