The Mare

Ginger

I came downstairs and saw her sitting at the table drinking juice and playing Uno with Paul. She said, “When are we going to go to the horses?” It was eight o’clock and her lesson was at eleven. She wanted to go over anyway. I said she had to eat breakfast first and made her bacon and eggs. Then I got her to help me with the dishes, mostly because I could feel her attention going out the door, and I wanted to feel linked with her again.

When we were all done, I said, “What are you going to do over there for two hours?”

First she said, “I dunno,” and then, “Talk to Fugly Girl.”

“Be careful,” I said. “You heard Pat. Stay back from the stall.”

“I will. I want to see the other horses too.”

I walked over with her. Pat was there leading a baby horse outside. I didn’t see any other kids. “We came early,” I said.

“Good,” said Pat. “Want to come out to the round pen with me and Jimbo?”

I said I would be back to watch Velvet ride and left her following Pat to the corral, smiling and looking at her feet.

When I got back to the house, I was surprised to hear Paul speaking Spanish into the phone — or trying; he didn’t really know the language. “Qué?” he asked. He looked like he was struggling to understand what was being said — and then he held the phone away from him as angry words poured from it. He put the phone back to his ear and then hung it up. He looked at me with a baffled face. “That was Velvet’s mother,” he said. “I’m not sure what she was calling about. At first it sounded like she was saying she was in trouble. Then it sounded like she meant to say we’re in trouble. She was talking too fast for me to understand, but I’m pretty sure she called me ‘stupido’ before she hung up.”

We laughed, but uneasily. We decided to call the office of the organization that had brought Velvet out. No one answered; we left a message that we needed a translator to speak to Velvet’s mom.