Full Cry

CHAPTER 27

Cold though it was, Crawford kept up with his riding. He’d go out with Fairy Thatcher, though he was beginning to prefer riding with Sam. Fairy demurred giving him advice. Sam offered guidance to him as they rode, paying special attention to Crawford’s hands over a jump.

Ambition burned in the Indiana native. He desperately wanted to be a good rider. He was surrounded by people who had been riding while still in their mother’s bellies. It made him all the more determined.

He and Sam entered the stables after a cold ride. They’d been going over Crawford’s farm, digressing into personalities in the hunt field.

“Sam, Virginia’s full of damned snobs.”

“Sure it is. You can see them coming a mile away. You don’t have to buy into it.”

“How’d you get so smart?” Crawford had a hint of humor in his voice.

“By nearly drinking myself to death. I had to be that stupid to get smart.”

Crawford’s eyes narrowed. He picked up the riding crop. “Why’d you do it, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I don’t. I suppose there are a lot of reasons for drinking, but no excuses. I thought I’d fill up the hollows in my life with bourbon. I wasn’t a prince among men.”

“Who is?”

“Peter Wheeler came pretty close. And there’s my brother.”

“I underestimated you, Sam. There’s more to you than I thought.”

“Maybe that makes two of us.”

Crawford grunted. He slapped the smaller, slighter man on the back, and left for the big house. He had a lot to think about as he strode through the brisk air.

The phone rang in the tack room.

“Sam.”

“Rory, how are you doing?”

“I’m doing.” His voice thickened. “It’s hard, man. How’d you do it?”

“One day at a time.”

“But how do you live with all the shit you’ve done?”

“That’s a bitch. Rory, you ask the people you’ve hurt to forgive you. If they don’t, there’s not much you can do about it. The hard part is forgiving yourself. And no matter what you do, there are people who will never trust you. You just go on.”

“Yeah.” A long pause followed. “I called to thank you for dragging my sorry ass down here.”

“I was glad to do it. Hey, Rory, you hear about Berry Storage burning?”

“Don’t hear nothing from home in here.”

“One of the smaller buildings caught fire. Arson. Found a body inside.”

“Jesus.”

“I thought one of our guys might have figured out how to get in.”

“Well, that’s another reason I called. About Mitch and Tony. I don’t know where they got what they drank, but funny you should mention Berry Storage. Sometimes Clay or Donnie Sweigert would come down and get us to help make deliveries. You did some of that?”

“Yeah, a little. We’d tote chairs to a house. About broke my back.”

Well, we’d go to Lynchburg or Roanoke, even Newport News. Cities all over. I remember once we delivered an expensive desk down to Bristol.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, here’s what I remembered. All of those odd jobs where they needed an extra pair of hands were deliveries to coaches. You know, like sports.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“Christ, all you cared about was horses. Yeah, we’d deliver a chair to a football coach at this high school or a sofa to a college basketball coach or maybe the trainer.”

“Odd.”

“I might have been drunk as a skunk, but, hey, the Orioles are the world, and Tech football, bro, awesome. I pay attention to those things.”

“What do you make of it?”

“I don’t. Just crossed my mind.”

“What about other deliveries?”

“None. Just coaches and trainers. And here’s one other thing, on those runs, the ones where us scumbags were used, always the same driver: Donnie Sweigert.”

“Donnie works for Berry Storage. Nothing unusual in that.”

“Maybe not, but you’d think sometimes we’d pull another driver. Always Donnie.”

“Huh.” Sam couldn’t make heads nor tails of this.

“I gotta go. They keep us pretty structured.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

Rory’s voice, heavy with emotion, simply said, “I guess I gotta grow up.”

“Grow or die.”