Unhappy Appy (14 page)

“You should bring him back,” I said. “Today. And eat.”

Note to self: In the history of Thanksgiving dinner invitations, there has never been a stupider one than this.

She didn't say anything.

I didn't want to like her. I still didn't want her to be part of our Thanksgiving. But she was Dad's friend. “Lizzy's fixed a ton of food. And Lizzy and Dad and I can't eat it all by ourselves.”

“Does . . . does your father still want us to come?” She asked it so softly I could barely hear over Peter's chattering and the gerbil wheel and the lovebirds' cooing.

“Yeah, he wants you to come.”

“Thanks, Winnie. We'll be there.”

One down. But the hardest one was still to go.

By the time I got back to the barn, Catman had Towaco bridled. I slipped Nickers' hackamore over her ears, and we led the horses outside. I jumped on my Arabian's back, and Catman handed me Towaco's reins.

I didn't know what to say to him. Catman had managed to show up every time I'd needed him. “Happy Thanksgiving, Catman.”

“Right-on.”

Leading Towaco behind me, I trotted Nickers toward Spidells'. As we got closer, I prayed,
God, I'm asking you for one of those detail things again. I need you to help me figure out what's going on with Hawk. Help me see through her the way Catman sees through me. I know you've got a lot going on today, so thanks for caring about this.

I brought the horses down to a walk when we got to Spidells' long driveway. We passed Volvos, a Mercedes, a yellow BMW, two long black limos—fancy cars lining both sides of the drive.

A live band played, and well-dressed people clustered in groups across the lawn, under the warmth of big, open tents and flaming torches. At the edge of the yard, I spotted Hawk with Summer and Richard Spidell, Summer's big brother.

Summer was the first to turn around when I rode up. “What are you doing? Get those horses off the lawn! Can't you see we're having a party? For
people
?”

“Happy Thanksgiving to you too, Summer!” I said it just like Lizzy would have, only she would have meant it.

Richard's gray eyes narrowed, thin as his pencil-line lips. He's a junior in high school, almost six feet tall, but he still looks like an overgrown kid. “Winifred. Why aren't I surprised?”

“Because you knew I'd want to ride over and wish you Happy Thanksgiving in person?” I suggested.

“I'll be going now,” Richard said, “in search of more suitable, mature company.” He strutted off.

“Don't tell me,” Summer said. “You want Victoria to ride with you. How
parasitic
of you. She's selling that problem horse anyway.”

I turned to Hawk. “You're not, are you, Hawk? Not Towaco.”

She shrugged, not looking at me.

“But you can't! Towaco's not just a horse! He's your friend! He's—!”

“No!” Hawk shouted so loud, heads turned. “Towaco and I
aren't
friends! We're not like you and Nickers. Maybe I wish we were, Winnie. But Towaco is not Nickers, and I am not you. It is not the same. Towaco and I . . . we . . . oh, I don't know what we are!”

“Hawk, you and Towaco are what you are. Can't you just enjoy your horse? Enjoy your friendship, even if it's not everything you think it should be?”

I stopped, hearing my words as if someone else were talking to me . . . about me. I'd been down on Hawk because our friendship wasn't like Lizzy and Geri's, or Catman and Barker's, or even Hawk and Summer's. I'd been so hung up on what a best friend was
supposed
to be like that I hadn't enjoyed the bits of friendship we did have—the little things, the details.

“Hawk, come and ride Towaco. You don't have to go home with me if you don't want to. Just enjoy your horse right now.”

Towaco had been munching grass. He picked up his head and ambled over to Hawk.

“My mother will be waiting for us,” Summer said, moving toward the house.

Towaco nuzzled Hawk. She scratched his chin, then looked from Summer to me . . . to Towaco. “Summer, tell your mother I have gone for a quick ride, please.” She swung up on her horse.

I tossed her the reins, and we rode off, with Summer yelling after us.

I led the way to a clearing on the edge of town, and we both broke into a canter. We galloped up a dirt road, passed through an open field, and splashed through a creek, crunching ice crystals at the edge of the water. The wind bit my cheeks and made my eyes water.

Hawk didn't talk. It wasn't the ideal ride with a best friend, not like I'd imagined. But I chose to appreciate it, to be glad Hawk and Towaco were there, to enjoy the padded thud of our horses' hooves and the honking of geese overhead. I'd never thought of joy as something you choose, but that's what it felt like as we rode through the hills.

I breathed in the cold air, amazed by the purple clouds swirling through the sky, promising snow. I chose to enjoy the feel of Nickers' muscles carrying me so fast that the leafless trees blurred like tangles of crooked arms.

I glanced at Towaco and grinned at the little swish of his fetlocks. I remembered how much my mom had loved horse whiskers and velvet muzzles.

Before I even realized what I was doing, my heart was telling God thanks. It was as if I'd unlocked a door inside me, releasing a flood of thanksgiving—for fetlocks and purple clouds, for Hawk's friendship, whatever it was.

Then Hawk pulled Towaco to a dead halt.

I cantered Nickers back to them. “What's wrong?”

“I rode. Now I am going back to Summer's.” Her face looked carved in stone.

“Hawk, what's going on? Look at Towaco! He's come out of his sadness or whatever it was. So what about you? You have so much to be thankful for!”

A rabbit hopped behind Towaco. Two squirrels chased circles around a big oak tree. Hawk didn't seem to notice any of it. She kicked Towaco and trotted toward Summer's.

“Hawk?” I thought about just letting her go. Then I pictured Mason, staying with Towaco, walking from side to side until the Appy let him in.

“Come on, Nickers,” I whispered. We overtook them easily. I pulled up right in front of the Appy.

Hawk sucked in her bottom lip. “You don't know anything,” she said quietly.

She was right. I
didn't
know what was making her like this.
God, please help me understand.

Things rushed into my head, details of the past week, little things I hadn't paid attention to because I'd been feeling sorry for myself. I thought about the look Hawk's mother gave her father when they dropped off Hawk. I remembered how they'd made it clear which present was from which parent.

“Hawk, where did your parents go?” They'd said Nevada, but I couldn't remember the specifics. I'd figured they were off on a romantic holiday.

Towaco stirred under Hawk. “Where?” Hawk repeated. “Reno. Ever hear of Reno, Winnie?”

I had heard of it. From TV or other kids. “Isn't that where people go to . . . to get a . . .” I let my voice trail off as everything came together.

“A
divorce!
Say it, Winnie! By this time tomorrow, my mother will be just like Madeline Edison.”

I cringed, remembering what I'd said about Madeline being divorced. “I'm so sorry, Hawk.”

“Don't be! Summer says she wishes
her
parents would get a divorce. She says most parents do sooner or later. And it works out just fine for the kids. Summer says they compete over you, let you do whatever you want, have anything you want.”

I urged Nickers closer. She and Towaco blew into each other's nostrils, friends again. Towaco stretched his neck over Nickers' neck.

Then Hawk leaned onto the Appy's mane, wrapped her arms around his neck, and cried.

Nickers and I stayed beside them, totally still.

After a few minutes with no sound except Hawk's quiet sobs, she sat up and stared right at me. “I'm sorry, Winnie. I have behaved so horribly toward you.” She stroked her horse's neck. “And toward Towaco. I never wanted to sell him. But I don't want to get too close—not to Towaco or to you.”

“Why?”

She fixed her gaze on me. “Because it is easier that way. It doesn't hurt as much to lose things you are not close to. It's why I don't let myself have close friends.”

“But you and Summer—”

“Summer and I will never be close. That's why we hang out. I have not told her how I really feel about the divorce. I couldn't get away with that around you. Summer and I have fun together, but that's it. That is how we both want it.”

I couldn't believe how wrong I'd gotten everything.

Hawk wiped her eyes on the back of her sleeve. “But I do not want my parents to be divorced. My dad is moving out, Winnie. We might have to move. Nothing will ever be the same.”

I knew what she meant. “You're right, Hawk. It won't be like it used to be, but you still have two people who love you. I know it won't be the same. Nothing has been the same for me since my mom died. But it hasn't all been sad, not all the time. There's been a lot of good too.”

“Do you know why I didn't stay and help you with Mason yesterday or this morning?” Hawk asked. “I look at that little boy, with so many things he could be sad about, and I feel even worse.”

“But, Hawk, Mason's the happiest person I know!” I struggled to get the thoughts and the words out. “Couldn't you almost see joy pouring out of him when he got near Towaco?”

She almost smiled.

“He loves that funny, saddle-shaped spot on Towaco's shoulder. And when Towaco sneezed once, I thought Mason would never stop laughing.”

Now Hawk definitely smiled.

“Mason grabs on to the little things and doesn't let go. That's what I want to do. I don't want to miss all of God's little surprises because I'm tied in knots over something I can't change.”

“I do not understand, Winnie. What surprises?”

“Like Peter's green-and-yellow wings, or Towaco's spots, or Nickers' nicker, or the way Lizzy snores . . .”

She laughed. She must have heard my sister too.

“Or Mason's dimples! Or friendship—with your horse or with another person, even if it isn't what you thought it would be. If we're so hung up on what it isn't, we lose what it is.”

Hawk stared down at Towaco's shoulder. I wondered if she was looking for Mason's favorite spot.

A flock of geese flew over us. We looked up at the crooked
V
and listened to their honking. I prayed it would mean something to Hawk, that she could feel the joy I felt watching those geese.

“My mom loved geese,” I said. “She used to say, ‘God's in the details, Winnie.' ” It had never made that much sense before, but now I understood at least a little of what she meant.
“He delights in every detail of their lives.”
If I paid attention, God was everywhere. And so was joy.

We sat on our horses, Towaco's neck lopped over Nickers', until Hawk said, “I am starving. You think Lizzy has that turkey ready yet?”