Biding Her Time. Wendy Warren

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СКАЧАТЬ feel cold all over. “It’s Dr. McFarland. I don’t have the results of your blood tests yet, obviously, but when you left my office today, I got the sense you might not follow up with the surgeon I recommended. So I’m calling because…”

      Dr. McFarland paused, and Audrey found herself hoping that the internist had mistakenly hung up or been cut off. No such luck.

      “Audrey, I’ve known you a long time, and I understand how difficult it would be if you were sick again, but I—”

      Lunging for the phone machine, Audrey pressed “skip.”

      Heart beating as if she’d already injected caffeine into a major artery, she set her jaw and breathed deeply through her nose.

      No, you don’t understand.

      “I’m not sick again.” Breathe in, two-three-four… I am not sick. Breathe out, two-three…

      The next message had already begun, and Audrey made herself concentrate on Jenna Preston’s upbeat voice, hoping it would calm the buzzing in her brain.

      “… calling to invite you to lunch tomorrow. I hope you can make it. You don’t have to call back, honey. Just come on up to the house at noon. See you tomorrow unless I bump into you before. Bye.”

      When the phone machine clicked off, Audrey closed her eyes and stood very still.

      A year ago, her dad had died unexpectedly of a heart attack at the age of sixty-four. Henry Griffin had been her only relative, her roommate, her rock. Since his passing, Jenna’s kindness had swelled into a motherly concern that made Audrey feel guilty, because she knew in her heart that it was time for her to leave Quest. The call from Dr. McFarland confirmed the instinct.

      She and her dad had moved here from Texas when Audrey was twelve. Certainly it had occurred to her in recent years that a twenty-something ought to experience more of the world than a piece of Kentucky, but until her father’s passing, she had never seriously entertained the idea of leaving. She figured that was why she took so many dang classes—so she could be an armchair adventurer. But now that he was gone, was it enough? She had a little money; she could travel, see places she’d only read about. She was twenty-four, and she’d never been in an airplane.

      Opening her eyes and abandoning the coffee, she crossed slowly to the living room, to a recliner that sat just inside the front door. Neatly positioned beside the chair, rested a pair of burgundy-green-and-navy plaid men’s slippers made soft and pliable from lots of wear.

      As if the slippers belonged to her, Audrey slid her feet inside. Her stress melted into the faux sheepskin lining. She’d given Henry the loafers as a joke Christmas gift one year—slippers that matched his favorite plaid chair. He’d worn them every night after work, claiming, “My big ol’ feet never looked better.” Memories rose from the shoes’ very soles… The way her dad laughed like a cartoon chipmunk: “Chee-chee-chee-chee.” The Sunday morning going-to-church scent of Aqua Velva aftershave. The soft expression in his eyes when she sometimes caught him watching her.

      “God must think I’m an okay sort, Audrey Lea, because He gave me an angel to love.”

      Audrey shook her head. She was no angel. Angels didn’t get so scared piss-less that they wanted to crawl under their beds and stay there.

      She’d always known her future was a big question mark. She’d never had the luxury of taking it for granted, as other people her age were privileged to do.

      What she did have was an appreciation for the fragility of life. She needed to carpe diem while there was still a diem to carpe.

      Seamus’s toenails clicked slowly down the hallway as the big lug made his way sleepily toward the living room.

      “Decided you couldn’t live without me, huh?”

      Meeting him halfway, Audrey leaned over for a sloppy kiss and a wirehaired hug. The problem with saying hello to a new life was the necessity of bidding goodbye to the old one first.

      “I love you, you big goof, but it’s time for you to find a girl your own age. Preferably your own species.” When she straightened, he whined. “Come on, I’ll make breakfast and show you some of the travel brochures I’ve been collecting.”

      As they walked to the kitchen, Audrey considered the past year of breakfasts shared only with her four-footed friend. Then she remembered the brief moment of excitement and anticipation in the bar last night.

      “To tell you the truth, Seamus, I wouldn’t mind waking up next to someone my own species, too. It wouldn’t be anything serious, so don’t get your whiskers in a knot. But I’m thinking I could combine travel with a little romance. I hear Frenchmen are a lot of fun. And they know how to let go when the time comes.”

      “Shove over, you big, beautiful nag.”

      Leaning her shoulder heavily into a shining gray filly named Biding Her Time, Audrey waited for the horse to shift her weight. Biding leaned the opposite way, forcing Audrey to drop the filly’s hoof and stand up—or be squashed by several hundred pounds of Thoroughbred.

      “Sheesh!” Pulling her gloves off her hands, she slapped them to the ground. “You are the most stubborn damn thing.”

      Showing more initiative than he ordinarily did during daylight hours, Seamus bounded off a comfortable bed of hay in one of Quest’s many stables and came to Audrey’s defense, growling at the horse.

      Biding gave him the evil eye, stamped her hoof and whinnied. Untied, she wouldn’t be above trying to knock the dog down.

      “Better leave her alone, Seamus, you know how cranky she gets. Besides, this is my job.”

      Audrey had played or worked around horses all her life, and truthfully she liked the crafty and opinionated beasts best. Biding Her Time was one of those. After several races in which she had yet to place, a number of people were prepared to write her off. Not Audrey. She knew, or sensed anyway, that the filly was testing the waters, not merely in races, but in her life. Biding paid attention to everything in the stable, in the paddock, on the track. She investigated her surroundings as if she were waiting for the click that would inspire her to think, I’m home, I’m safe, I’m ready to win.

      Pushing back the locks of hair that had fallen loose from her braid and plucking at the T-shirt that glommed ickily to her damp skin, Audrey went forehead to forehead with the filly. “I certainly hope you’re ready to get new shoes, ’cause they’re coming, whether you like it or not.”

      Repositioning herself, Audrey picked up the left front hoof, quickly shoving her shoulder under the horse. Biding relented, allowing her foot to be placed between Audrey’s bent knees and the pedicure to begin. It was a game they had played for the past year. They both enjoyed it.

      “Atta girl.” Audrey began filing and soon was immersed in the sound of the hoof being grated down, the “Classic Strings” CD on the player perched atop a stool a few feet away, and the huff-huff-huff of Biding’s breathing.

      This was the part of the job Audrey liked best—the soothing rhythm, the juxtaposition of quiet solitude and labor that was hard enough to soak her hairline, chest and back with perspiration. She’d have to finish her morning work in time for a shower before lunch. Which was a real waste of personal grooming, if you asked her, because she had two more ponies to shoe that afternoon.

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