Free Horse Play by Bonnie Bryant

out the back door.
    “Would you like to help me shuck the corn?” her mother suggested as she flew by.
    “No, I’m going to help Dad,” she said. The screen door slammed behind her.
    “With the
grill
?” her mother asked. Mrs. Atwood never touched their grill. Lisa knew that her mother felt barbecuing was a man’s job. Lisa wasn’t so sure that her father felt the same way.
    “Here, Dad, let me help,” Lisa offered. He was about to remove the dusty used charcoal.
    “Don’t get dirty, honey,” he said.
    She shrugged. “I don’t mind. Besides, I need you to help me with something in return.”
    He looked at her quizzically. Lisa put the lid of the grillon the ground, removed the grate, and began sifting through the debris for reusable charcoal. Her father held the plastic bag where she deposited the dusty ashes.
    “It’s about Mom,” she said, scooping a small shovelful into the trash bag. A cloud of gray ashes rose out of the top of the bag. “Looks like a volcano, doesn’t it?” she asked. “The ashes, I mean, not Mom.”
    Her father nodded, patiently holding the bag. Lisa continued.
    “It’s like she can’t leave me alone,” Lisa explained. “She has this idea of things she ought to be doing, and that I ought to be doing—”
    “And that
I
ought to be doing,” her father said, nodding towards the barbecue grill. “She’s always been that way,” Mr. Atwood reminded her.
    “But it’s getting
worse
,” Lisa said. She took the cleaned-out grill and set it straight up again.
    Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that her mother was fretting while she watched Lisa work with her father. Her mother probably didn’t want Lisa to get dirty. Lisa thought she was a little old for her mother to spend time worrying about things like that. She told her father so. He agreed.
    “I tried to figure out what’s going on, Dad,” Lisa said. She swallowed uncomfortably. She didn’t want to ask the next question, but her father waited while she collected her thoughts—and her courage. “Dad,” she began. “Is Mom pregnant?”
    Her father smiled and then chuckled.
    “Is she?” Lisa asked, bolder now.
    “No, hon. She isn’t. I was just laughing because I remember when she was pregnant with you. She just sort of put her feet up for the whole time. It was just the opposite of this flurry of activity.”
    He poured fresh charcoal into the grill and put the electric starter onto the coals. Lisa readjusted it so that it was touching as many of the coals as possible. “Works better that way,” she explained.
    “Thanks,” he said. “You’re better at this than I am. You should do the outdoor cooking.”
    “Mom would
die
,” she said.
    He nodded in agreement. “Listen, Lisa,” her father said, putting his arm around her shoulder. “I know Mom’s being sort of a nuisance these days and I’m not sure what it’s all about myself. I do know that she loves you, and me, and I have the feeling this will all work out. For now, have patience. I don’t know why I’m saying that to you. You’ve got loads of patience. I have an idea. But sometimes you have to be careful what you wish for; it might just come true!”

T HAT NIGHT , S TEVIE studied the bottles of nail polish in front of her. Carole and Lisa were at her house for an after-dinner Saddle Club meeting. Stevie had decided that they could polish their nails while they talked about horses.
    “Carole, you try the sparkly pink. I’m going to use the deep red. Lisa, you get green.”
    “Green? Why
me
?”
    “It’ll be good for you,” Stevie told her. “You always want to do what people expect you to do. So, do something different. After all, it’s the silly season, isn’t it?”
    Without further comment, Lisa reached for the greennail polish and unscrewed the top. She took out the little brush and began painting her nails a deep forest green. She finished one nail.
    “I don’t know if it’s still the silly season,” she said,