Horseplay by Judy Reene Singer

Author:Judy Reene Singer
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780767919654
Publisher: Crown
Published: 2004-09-14T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-eight

“MAYBE YOU shouldn’t stay here tonight,” Diana said to me after Marshall left.

“I don’t have anyplace to go. Speed is having a business dinner with Candy.”

“Mmm,” she said.

Gail sidled over and stood next to Diana.

“Why don’t you come home for dinner with me tonight?” she asked. I suspected that her invitation sprung more from a driving ambition to get an update for her collection of hot gossip than from hospitality, but since the barn scene had just removed every shred of privacy from my life, in the great scheme of things, dinner with Gail was preferable to another public confrontation.

“I appreciate your invitation. Thank you.”

Gail was pleased. “I’ll just give my mother a call and tell her to throw a few things together for dinner. You won’t mind, will you, if it’s potluck?”

Since potluck was the menu of choice in the apartment most nights, I didn’t mind at all.

By early evening, we had finished settling the horses and were ready to go. I decided to follow Gail in my car so I could come home later.

Gail lowered her bulky frame into her faded blue station wagon and waved out the window for me to follow. Marshall’s car was nowhere in sight. He had probably gone back to his motel to ratchet up his anger for his performance in the sequel—Round Two: The Showdown. I planned to check in with Diana by cell phone and come back long after he was gone.

Gail drove along miles of highway before finally turning onto a winding, secluded road, darkened from old trees with branches that dipped so low, they scraped the roof of my car. We passed a weedy, overgrown field, then crossed a narrow, hobbly bridge over a dried-out streambed. Gail’s old car jounced and swayed, and after an hour or so, I wondered if I should have left a trail of oats behind me.

She finally turned down a rutted dirt driveway that sent clouds of dust toward my windshield. A small brown sparrow of a house sat at the end. Curtains hung askew inside the tiny front windows that flanked a broken storm door. The porch light, a bare bulb hanging from an overhead socket, cast a dim glow against the peeling brown wooden porch.

“There’s nothing like coming home to your castle at the end of the day,” said Gail, leading me inside.

The living room was small and worn but clean. A large marshmallow of a faded pink velvet couch slouched against one wall. Against a second wall was a shabby pink-and-green floral chair that sagged under a grossly overweight Jack Russell. He lowered himself to the floor and stretched luxuriously before lumbering over to meet us.

“This is Sunny,” Gail grunted, dropping to her knees and giving the dog a hug.

I started to say I used to ride a horse named Sunny, but the dog sighed deeply and threw itself upside down onto my feet.

“He wants his belly rubbed,” said Gail.

Having learned my lesson about staying on the good side of dogs, I complied immediately.

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