The Mare

Ginger

When I picked her up she didn’t look triumphant or even happy like I expected. She seemed troubled and subdued. I asked her how it went and she said, “Fine.” I asked if it was different from learning with Pat and she said, “Not that much.” We rode quietly for a while. Then she said, “Those women we met at the party in the summer, one of them is Joanne’s mom?”

“Yes,” I said. “And Joanne knows Edie.”

“And that was Edie’s mom there too?”

“Yeah. Becca.”

“Who was that other lady? The one Paul went to talk to?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I think she’s probably a new teacher at the school.” And I turned on the radio.