that she had never worn or a haircut and makeover at a new salon when she was entirely content with the people who took care of her now.
So she paid little attention. Bill, sitting next to her and familiar with her ways, commandeered her evening bag and extracted her ticket. Toward the end of the drawing, he nudged her and passed her the ticket. "You won."
Jill peered up on the little emerald-and-white draped stage where Susannah had been drawing numbers. Susannah was in a beaded gown that must have cost more than a medium-sized Chevy and next to her was a bay horse.
"Oh, my God..."
The people at Jill's table pushed her out of her chair.
Jill did not want to win a horse. If she wanted a horse, she could go out and buy one. People living in hotels did not need horses, especially this horse. He was the strangest looking creature with a thick neck and a deep sway in his back. He was so slab-sided that he was almost rectangular. He was probably part draft horse and part... well, God might know, but Jill didn't.
She stumbled up the stage steps. Susannah had her arms out, her best lead-actress smile in place.
"Jill!" Susannah's voice came out in a little hiss so that it would not disturb her smile. "You have a new dress!"
They embraced, Susannah keeping her face toward the photographers, Jill happy to hide hers in Susannah's flowing hair. "I'm going to murder you," Jill whispered into the auburn mane. "I haven't won that animal, have I?"
"Goodness, no," Susannah hissed back. "They use him at the school." Then she stepped back, dramatically leading Jill to the odd-looking animal, then spoke loudly enough for others to hear. "You get to name him."
Jill was deeply relieved. Now that she was assured that this horse was not going to be part of her life, she revised her opinion of him. He might look funny, but he had a kind eye that spoke of intelligence. His ears were forward, not laid back suspiciously. He looked like a good, solid, blue-collar horse, the kind that you could roll a wheelchair up to. He wasn't going to bolt when you put a C.P. kid on his back.
Pokey, that was the first name that came to her mind. Pokey.
No, that wasn't fair. How could you be John Wayne on a horse called Pokey? She had an obligation to wheelchair children everywhere to give this horse a thrilling name. Killer. No, their parents might not like that. Warrior. Daredevil. She needed something dashing and gallant, full of mischief and courage.
"Let's call him Bix," she said decidedly. "Bix Ringling."
"Would you look at this?" Randy Casler folded back the issue of the People magazine and handed it to Doug. "Here's a picture of my Aunt Jill."
Doug fitted a plastic lid on his coffee before taking the magazine. As always he and Randy were at the 7-Eleven, getting their morning coffee. There was a regular crowd who turned up around five every morning: farmers who had finished the milking, the carpenters, electricians, and roofers who had found work in the housing developments in the counties that ringed Washington, D.C. They needed to be on the road early to beat the traffic. Randy and Doug were egg men. They got up early because Randy's three hundred thousand chickens got up early.
Usually everyone took their coffee out into the parking lot, leaning against their trucks, passing the time of day before getting on with things. But today it was raining, and most of the men grabbed their coffee and sprinted back to their trucks. Those heading into the suburbs knew that their long drives from the Valley were going to be even longer. Only a few lingered inside the store, staring at the magazines or scratching off the numbers on lottery tickets.
Doug looked down at the People. Three black-and-white pictures were printed in a row above the text. All had been taken at the same party. In the center photograph the actor Payne Bartlett, dressed in black tie, was leaning against a fake board fence, and sitting on a bale of hay at his feet was, according to
So she paid little attention. Bill, sitting next to her and familiar with her ways, commandeered her evening bag and extracted her ticket. Toward the end of the drawing, he nudged her and passed her the ticket. "You won."
Jill peered up on the little emerald-and-white draped stage where Susannah had been drawing numbers. Susannah was in a beaded gown that must have cost more than a medium-sized Chevy and next to her was a bay horse.
"Oh, my God..."
The people at Jill's table pushed her out of her chair.
Jill did not want to win a horse. If she wanted a horse, she could go out and buy one. People living in hotels did not need horses, especially this horse. He was the strangest looking creature with a thick neck and a deep sway in his back. He was so slab-sided that he was almost rectangular. He was probably part draft horse and part... well, God might know, but Jill didn't.
She stumbled up the stage steps. Susannah had her arms out, her best lead-actress smile in place.
"Jill!" Susannah's voice came out in a little hiss so that it would not disturb her smile. "You have a new dress!"
They embraced, Susannah keeping her face toward the photographers, Jill happy to hide hers in Susannah's flowing hair. "I'm going to murder you," Jill whispered into the auburn mane. "I haven't won that animal, have I?"
"Goodness, no," Susannah hissed back. "They use him at the school." Then she stepped back, dramatically leading Jill to the odd-looking animal, then spoke loudly enough for others to hear. "You get to name him."
Jill was deeply relieved. Now that she was assured that this horse was not going to be part of her life, she revised her opinion of him. He might look funny, but he had a kind eye that spoke of intelligence. His ears were forward, not laid back suspiciously. He looked like a good, solid, blue-collar horse, the kind that you could roll a wheelchair up to. He wasn't going to bolt when you put a C.P. kid on his back.
Pokey, that was the first name that came to her mind. Pokey.
No, that wasn't fair. How could you be John Wayne on a horse called Pokey? She had an obligation to wheelchair children everywhere to give this horse a thrilling name. Killer. No, their parents might not like that. Warrior. Daredevil. She needed something dashing and gallant, full of mischief and courage.
"Let's call him Bix," she said decidedly. "Bix Ringling."
"Would you look at this?" Randy Casler folded back the issue of the People magazine and handed it to Doug. "Here's a picture of my Aunt Jill."
Doug fitted a plastic lid on his coffee before taking the magazine. As always he and Randy were at the 7-Eleven, getting their morning coffee. There was a regular crowd who turned up around five every morning: farmers who had finished the milking, the carpenters, electricians, and roofers who had found work in the housing developments in the counties that ringed Washington, D.C. They needed to be on the road early to beat the traffic. Randy and Doug were egg men. They got up early because Randy's three hundred thousand chickens got up early.
Usually everyone took their coffee out into the parking lot, leaning against their trucks, passing the time of day before getting on with things. But today it was raining, and most of the men grabbed their coffee and sprinted back to their trucks. Those heading into the suburbs knew that their long drives from the Valley were going to be even longer. Only a few lingered inside the store, staring at the magazines or scratching off the numbers on lottery tickets.
Doug looked down at the People. Three black-and-white pictures were printed in a row above the text. All had been taken at the same party. In the center photograph the actor Payne Bartlett, dressed in black tie, was leaning against a fake board fence, and sitting on a bale of hay at his feet was, according to
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