again.
Dadâs shoulders slump, and he looks tired. âYou have to believe me, David. I know I messed up.â He looks at me, silently pleading for me to understand.
I donât say a word.
âI have been trying to get a new job in Philly,â he admits, âbut it is so I can be closer to you and Ashley and Brian. Thatâs why I was asking Isaac Jackson for help. He might have a lead on a good jobââ
âYeah, right.â
âItâs true!â he insists. âListen, there are a lot of other places I could look for workâand places where I could probably make more money. But I donât want a job anywhere else. I know that now.â
I stare at him through narrow eyes.
âI miss you, David. I miss my family, more than I ever could have imagined. Butâ¦â He jams his hands into his pockets and rocks on his feet. âI know itâs going to take time before you trust me again.â
âHorse-time,â I interject.
âNot that long, I hope!â Dad jokes lamely.
I donât even crack a smile.
âDavid, pleaseâhear me out!â He gazes down at my face, begging me to listen. âI love you, son,â he says hoarsely. âI love all of you. Itâs just thatâ¦â He runs a shaky hand through his thick blond hair. âLately everything has been kind of confusing.â
âTell me about it,â I retort. âCouldnât be as confusing as it is for Ashley.â
Dad winces. âOK, I deserve that. But David, try to understandââ
Enough of his weaseling excuses. I cut him off. âNo, thanks. Iâm not really interested anymore.â I turn around and this time Iâm really going.
âDavid!â Dad calls after me. âWeâll talk some moreâ¦tomorrow. After you calm down.â
I whirl around. âForget it, Dad! Donât even bother to come. We donât want you at our Thanksgiving dinnerâbecause youâre the last thing weâre thankful for this year.â
Chapter Ten
I run up the driveway and grab my bike from the garage. Hopping on, I pedal furiously toward the stables. My bruised body feels every tiny bump in the road, but I donât care. Nothing hurts as badly as the way I feel inside.
I pedal harder and reach Quinnâs in record time. Tossing my bike down on the gravel, I head for Cometâs stall. I realize I forgot my new riding helmet, but I donât even want it now. Iâll just wear my bike helmet.
I donât need Dad to teach me how to jump. I donât need Dad for anything. I donât need that fancy new helmet, and I especially donât need his show-off horseâa horse he bought with money he should have sent to Mom.
Mr. Quinn doesnât seem to be around, but heâs told me I can ride Comet on my own. I brush and saddle her, breathing in her comforting horsey smell. Then I fling myself onto her back and take off.
Comet doesnât question or judge me, just goes willingly where I ask. Instead of turning into the ring, I ride away from the barn, past Mr. Quinnâs big stone house, past the duck pond, and along the edge of a green pasture until I pick up a trail. Comet seems glad to be out of her stall, and once sheâs warmed up I let her stretch out and run. It must be great to be a horse and just run because it feels good, instead of being driven by fear and anger.
We gallop and gallop along the edges of fields and up a big hill. Comet breaks a sweat and I can feel her sides heaving, but she doesnât slow down. I lean low over her neck and feel myself become part of her rhythm.
Gradually my anger burns off, and the wind in my face seems to blow away some of the pain. Finally, as it starts getting dark, I turn back to the stables.
I take Comet through the jumping arena on our way to the barn. The white stripes on the jumps seem to glow as the world shifts from color to shades of gray. The whole