The Horse Whisperer by Nicholas Evans Page B

life, not even when very young, had Grace had so many presents. Almost everyone they knew had sent her something and Annie had realized, too late, that they should have kept some back. Grace, she could see, sensed charity and left many gifts unopened.
    Annie and Robert hadn’t known what to buy her. In recent years it had always been something to do with riding. Now everything they could think of carried an implication simply through not being to do with riding. In the end Robert had bought her a tank of tropicalfish. They knew she wanted one but Annie feared even this had a message tagged to it: sit and watch, it seemed to say. This now is all you can do.
    Robert had rigged it all up in the little back parlor and put Christmas wrapping paper on it. They led Grace to it and watched her face light up as she undid it.
    “Oh my God!” she said. “That is just fabulous.”
    In the evening, when Annie finished tidying away the supper things, she found Grace and Robert in front of it, lying on the sofa in the dark. The tank was illuminated and bubbling and the two of them had been watching it and fallen asleep in each other’s arms. The swaying plants and the gliding shadows of the fish made ghostly patterns on their faces.
    At breakfast the next morning, Grace looked very pale. Robert put his hand on hers.
    “Are you okay, baby?”
    She nodded. Annie came back to the table with a jug of orange juice and Robert took his hand away. Annie could see Grace had something difficult to say.
    “I’ve been thinking about Pilgrim,” she said in a level voice. It was the first time the horse had been mentioned. Annie and Robert sat very still. Annie felt ashamed neither of them had been to see him since the accident or at least since he had come back to Mrs. Dyer’s.
    “Uh-huh,” said Robert. “And?”
    “And I think we should send him back to Kentucky.”
    There was a pause.
    “Gracie,” Robert began. “We don’t need to make decisions right now. It may be that—” Grace cut him off.
    “I know what you’re going to say, that people who’ve had injuries like mine do ride again, but Idon’t—” She broke off for a moment, composing herself. “I don’t want to. Please.”
    Annie looked at Robert and she could tell he felt her eyes on him, daring him to show even a hint of tears.
    “I don’t know if they’ll take him back,” Grace went on. “But I don’t want anyone around here to have him.”
    Robert nodded slowly, showing he understood even if he didn’t yet agree. Grace latched on to this.
    “I want to say good-bye to him, Daddy. Could we go see him this morning? Before I go back to the hospital?”
       Annie had spoken just once to Harry Logan. It had been an awkward call and though neither mentioned her threat to sue him, it had hung heavily over their every word. Logan had been charming and, in her tone at least, Annie got as near to an apology as she ever got. But since then, her news of Pilgrim had come only through Liz Hammond. Not wanting to add unduly to their worries over Grace, Liz had given Annie a picture of the horse’s recovery that was as reassuring as it was false.
    The wounds were healing well, she said. The skin grafts over the cannon bone had taken. The nasal bone repair looked better than they had ever dared hope. None of these was a lie. And none of them prepared Annie, Robert and Grace for what they were about to see as they came up the long drive and parked in front of Joan Dyer’s house.
    Mrs. Dyer came out of the stable and crossed the yard toward them, wiping her hands on the sides of the old blue quilt jacket she always wore. The wind whipped strands of gray hair across her face and she smiled as she tidied them away. The smile was so odd and out of character that Annie was puzzled. It wasprobably just awkwardness at the sight of Grace being helped out onto her crutches by Robert.
    “Hello Grace,” Mrs. Dyer said. “How are you dear?”
    “She’s doing just great,