gone.”
“Holy… holy, ” I said. “You’ll be giving him exactly what he wants, before we get anywhere near the Grand Prix. We lose. He wins.”
“And gives us a parting gift of a million dollars,” she said. She steepled her hands together, almost like she was praying.
“I met with Andy yesterday,” she said.
Her accountant.
“And Andy told me that we’ll be lucky to make it to the end of the year if we continue trying to live on the margins,” she said.
“What’s the word you always use to describe Steve Gorton?” I said. “Transactional? You sound as transactional as he does.”
“Becky, that’s not fair,” Mom said.
“Yes,” Grandmother said, “it is.”
“We’re just asking for a little more time,” Daniel said.
“He told me to take the offer or leave it,” Grandmother said. “If there’s another disaster at the Grand Prix, we’re out a million, and he takes complete control of the horse. It will be as if we lost Coronado twice.”
It wasn’t a fair fight, from either side. Grandmother looked beaten down already.
So I turned to Mom.
“How much is first place in the Grand Prix worth?” I said.
“Honey, you know I love you to death,” Mom said. “But you can’t think we’re going from what happened today to first place.”
“I can tell you,” Grandmother said. “It’s a five-star event. First prize is two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Our cut would be more than a hundred.”
“Let’s say I do shock everybody and win on a horse we all know is good enough to win,” I said. “Wouldn’t our finances get better in the short run?”
“You’re being silly,” Grandmother said.
“Just asking,” I said to her.
“In that scenario,” she said, “yes, an infusion of cash like that would feel as if we’d won the lottery.”
I was just pulling stuff out of my butt now.
“And in that moment, at least hypothetically, the value of the horse would be as high as ever, correct?” I said.
“Hypothetically, yes,” Mom said.
“Without the one mistake,” Daniel said in a voice even quieter than normal, “they would have won today.”
“If the queen had balls, she’d be king,” Grandmother said. “And I can’t bet a million dollars on what almost happened today. Like an old friend of mine used to say, what could’ve happened did .”
She sighed again.
“The answer is still no,” she said.
“There must be something I can say to change your mind,” I said.
“Not when it’s made up,” she said. “You should know that as well as anyone.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
ATWOOD FARM WASN’T close to business as usual when Mom went to the gym in the morning.
The only glimmer of good news was that she was getting better. Starting to get her appetite back, if not regaining much weight. She’d already tossed the knee brace and only a slight limp remained as an indicator of what had happened to her, how badly she’d been injured.
Grandmother had a nine o’clock appointment with Andy, the accountant. Before she left, I’d said to her one last time, “Are you sure?”
“I’d better be,” she said.
By nine thirty Steve Gorton was due to arrive at the house to close his deal with Grandmother. She’d decided he could talk to me instead.
“You can handle him,” she said.
“Yeah,” I said, “the way I would a python.”
I’d never really been alone with Steve Gorton, but riding Coronado had made him more mine than anybody else’s, so I should be the one giving Gorton the official word.
As I sat at the kitchen table with a fresh cup of coffee, I wondered if he’d be on time for once. Hoping he would be, so I could quickly get this over with, go down the hill, and ride my horse.
When I heard his car in the driveway, I checked my phone. Nine forty-five. Not bad for him. Gorton’s version of Becky Standard Time.
I walked into the living room and parted the drapes enough to see that today he was in the red Porsche, looking shiny and showroom-new,
“Holy… holy, ” I said. “You’ll be giving him exactly what he wants, before we get anywhere near the Grand Prix. We lose. He wins.”
“And gives us a parting gift of a million dollars,” she said. She steepled her hands together, almost like she was praying.
“I met with Andy yesterday,” she said.
Her accountant.
“And Andy told me that we’ll be lucky to make it to the end of the year if we continue trying to live on the margins,” she said.
“What’s the word you always use to describe Steve Gorton?” I said. “Transactional? You sound as transactional as he does.”
“Becky, that’s not fair,” Mom said.
“Yes,” Grandmother said, “it is.”
“We’re just asking for a little more time,” Daniel said.
“He told me to take the offer or leave it,” Grandmother said. “If there’s another disaster at the Grand Prix, we’re out a million, and he takes complete control of the horse. It will be as if we lost Coronado twice.”
It wasn’t a fair fight, from either side. Grandmother looked beaten down already.
So I turned to Mom.
“How much is first place in the Grand Prix worth?” I said.
“Honey, you know I love you to death,” Mom said. “But you can’t think we’re going from what happened today to first place.”
“I can tell you,” Grandmother said. “It’s a five-star event. First prize is two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Our cut would be more than a hundred.”
“Let’s say I do shock everybody and win on a horse we all know is good enough to win,” I said. “Wouldn’t our finances get better in the short run?”
“You’re being silly,” Grandmother said.
“Just asking,” I said to her.
“In that scenario,” she said, “yes, an infusion of cash like that would feel as if we’d won the lottery.”
I was just pulling stuff out of my butt now.
“And in that moment, at least hypothetically, the value of the horse would be as high as ever, correct?” I said.
“Hypothetically, yes,” Mom said.
“Without the one mistake,” Daniel said in a voice even quieter than normal, “they would have won today.”
“If the queen had balls, she’d be king,” Grandmother said. “And I can’t bet a million dollars on what almost happened today. Like an old friend of mine used to say, what could’ve happened did .”
She sighed again.
“The answer is still no,” she said.
“There must be something I can say to change your mind,” I said.
“Not when it’s made up,” she said. “You should know that as well as anyone.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
ATWOOD FARM WASN’T close to business as usual when Mom went to the gym in the morning.
The only glimmer of good news was that she was getting better. Starting to get her appetite back, if not regaining much weight. She’d already tossed the knee brace and only a slight limp remained as an indicator of what had happened to her, how badly she’d been injured.
Grandmother had a nine o’clock appointment with Andy, the accountant. Before she left, I’d said to her one last time, “Are you sure?”
“I’d better be,” she said.
By nine thirty Steve Gorton was due to arrive at the house to close his deal with Grandmother. She’d decided he could talk to me instead.
“You can handle him,” she said.
“Yeah,” I said, “the way I would a python.”
I’d never really been alone with Steve Gorton, but riding Coronado had made him more mine than anybody else’s, so I should be the one giving Gorton the official word.
As I sat at the kitchen table with a fresh cup of coffee, I wondered if he’d be on time for once. Hoping he would be, so I could quickly get this over with, go down the hill, and ride my horse.
When I heard his car in the driveway, I checked my phone. Nine forty-five. Not bad for him. Gorton’s version of Becky Standard Time.
I walked into the living room and parted the drapes enough to see that today he was in the red Porsche, looking shiny and showroom-new,
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