Chapter Thirty-Seven
Curtis
I was the only one who didn’t drink that night. The way Lindsay and Allie were going to town over at the bar, I figured they would need a designated driver. We only stayed for a couple hours before Lindsay slumped over in a corner, laughing. When she tried to stand up, her legs gave way beneath her.
Realizing I needed to get Lindsay to the car, but not wanting to leave Allie alone even for a few minutes in the crowded bar, I hooked their arms in both of mine and led them out. It was a warm night, and a warm wind blew on our faces as we made our way across the parking lot to my pickup.
When we reached home, I carried Lindsay out of the car while Allie stood on the front steps fumbling with her key ring. After two or three failed attempts to unlock the door, I grabbed them away from her and unlocked it myself. Without even bothering to turn on the lights or take off her boots, Allie flung herself down on the bed while I carried Lindsay to the sofa, River, Pheonix, and Gandalf sniffing curiously around her. I went to get her some water, and when I came back less than a minute later, she was fast asleep.
My bones ached from the trail ride earlier and all the dancing we had done that night. It was with a feeling of great relief that I took off my boots and sweaty socks and climbed into the bed beside Allie. I had thought she was asleep, but after I’d lain there for a moment, she reached over and rubbed my forehead in a soothing manner. By the light from outside, I could see her smiling as my eyes struggled to stay open.
“Love you, girl,” I heard myself whisper, just before I fell asleep. I never knew whether she replied or not.
When I got up shortly after sunrise, they were both still asleep. Quietly as I could, I put on my boots and crept out of the room, down the long drive toward my house. Having fed Jake, I returned a few minutes later carrying a package of bacon, two packages of breakfast sausage, a container of biscuit dough, and some orange juice. I was just frying up the bacon in my skillet when Allie stirred and rose from the bed.
“What’s going on?” she asked. “Why does it feel like nails are being driven into my skull?”
“Probably because you have a hangover,” I said. “I’d be surprised if you can remember much of anything that happened last night.” I came over and handed her a glass of water and two aspirin. “These should help a little. Breakfast’ll be ready in just a couple minutes.”
“Poor Lindsay’s going to be so confused when she wakes up,” said Allie, but when Lindsay stirred a few minutes later, she looked around cheerfully at each of us as though we had been having a slumber party.
“So what’s on the agenda for today?” she asked. “And why is my head killing me?”
I came over carrying another glass of water and two tablets. “Take these. By the time we hit the trail, you’ll be feeling better.”
Allie grinned. “You sure you’re ready for this, Lindsay?” she asked. “Last night, it was all you could talk about.”
“I was born ready,” said Lindsay proudly. “Me and horses, we have this special bond. I don’t even have to communicate with them because they can read my thoughts. The last time I went out riding, in Florida, was the summer before my fifteenth birthday. The horse’s name was Sharon, and we were best friends.”
But when we actually got out to the stable after breakfast, Lindsay looked like she had never seen a horse in her life. “So, how does this thing go on again?” she asked, holding up her saddle. “Forgive me; it’s been a while.”
“You sure you wanna do this?” I asked with an amused look. “It’s not too late to quit. Mama’s making a red velvet cake for tonight.”
“I’m not going to be the girl who turned down an adventure so she could stay home and eat cake,” said Lindsay in a tone of defiance. Banging her fist on the saddle, she shouted, “Let’s hit the trail!” Kinko glared at her in annoyance.
As she had warned us, though, Lindsay turned out to be a decent rider. She knew how to direct the horse and stayed in the saddle even when the terrain got bumpy as we approached the river. I would have been impressed if she hadn’t complained the whole way there and back. She complained about the heat, the gnats, and the queasy feeling in her stomach that might have been nerves or might have been the alcohol from last night.
“This reminds me of the one cruise I went on in my life,” she said in a dark tone as we reached a rocky outcropping strewn with large boulders where almost no grass grew. Shaking her head, she said, “Never again.”
Allie and I, who had been riding a few paces behind her, exchanged amused glances. “You mean you don’t like riding a horse for hours through the Texas heat?” asked Allie, feigning surprise.
“Please, no,” said Lindsay. “Set me up in a cool, air-conditioned room surrounded by velvet cushions and double dark chocolate cake.”
“Told you, you could have stayed with Mama,” I muttered. But she rode on in silence as if she hadn’t heard me.
She didn’t even bother sticking around for cake, but left as soon as we reached home; her own car had been parked in my driveway for the last day or so. Allie was still smirking as she helped me put up the horses.
“Honestly,” she said, “it was like having a child tagging along with us the whole time we were out there.”
“I’ve known kids that behaved better than that,” I said, shaking my head in annoyance. “I hope to God my own kids aren’t whiners. If I ended up raising an ornery little cuss like Darren, that I think I could deal with. But I can’t stand whining.”
It was the first time we had ever raised the subject of children. Allie grew strangely quiet, and I could sense the wheels turning in her head. “Would you ever want to have kids?” she asked finally.
I had to think about it for a long moment, but finally, I settled on, “Yes.”
Allie raised one eyebrow shrewdly. “Must not want ‘em very much if it took you that long to decide.”
“Well, kids are a risk. You never know what sort of personality they’re gonna end up with. I’d like to have a boy I could go shooting and fishing with.”
“What about a girl?”
Once again, I hesitated before answering. “I wouldn’t mind a girl,” I said. “As long as she wasn’t a whiner.”
Allie laughed and pulled me along toward Mama’s house, where the cake was waiting. But long after we had gone to bed that night, long after Allie had fallen asleep, I lay there next to her in the darkness, still pondering the answer to her question.