Chasing Dream (7 page)

14

P-R-A-Y-I-N-G

Ethan walks up beside me. I don't turn around. I can't face him. He touches my arm, and I feel his fingertip spelling out a word on my skin. I don't think he's ever done this before. It feels like whispering. I make out
p-r-a-y-i-n-g
.
Praying
.

I touch his hand and nod. I'm praying too. But Ethan is better at it.

I circle my fist over my heart, making the sign for
sorry
, then look in his direction.

Ethan signs,
What?
and acts like he doesn't know what I mean.

Coach's talk.

Ethan brushes it off like he's forgotten I promised to help him. Maybe he has.

But I know God hasn't.

Dr. Snyder gives Dream a shot. Dream doesn't jerk away like I do when I get shots. It's like she doesn't even feel the needle.

“You call me if she gets worse. Okay, Ellie?” Doc drops the syringe into a little metal case, then puts it into her black bag. “And try not to worry.”

“Thank you,” I mutter. But I don't know why grown-ups bother telling you not to worry. It doesn't do any good.

Mom finally gets back from the cat farm and finds us all in the backyard. She tells me the same thing Doc Snyder did. I should try not to worry. Only she says this in her own way. “Worry is like shoveling manure with a toothpick. Waste of time, and nobody comes out smelling like roses.”

I nod.

“Come on now,” Mom urges. “What we need is food. Can't expect an army to war on empty stomachs.”

Everybody shuffles off toward the house. Except me.

“Ellie, I brought home sweet-and-sour pork—your favorite. And enough egg rolls to build the Great Wall of China.”

I shake my head. I'm not hungry. Actually, even the thought of my favorite Chinese food makes me want to hurl. And that reminds me that Dream
can't
throw up. She has to keep everything bad inside of her.

While they're all inside eating dinner, I stay in the lean-to and talk to my horse. I'm not sure if she knows I'm here with her or not.

“I'm so sorry you have a stomachache, Dream. I wish I could do something to make it better. I'm praying. But I've done so many rotten, selfish things lately. I don't know what good my prayers are going to do you. I didn't mean to let you down. Or everybody else, either. I just wanted people to see you like I see you. You're the best horse in the whole world. So you have to get better. Okay? Please get better, Dream. Please? I can't lose you.”

I stop talking because I'm choking on my words. I swipe my eyes with the back of my arm.

Colt and Ethan come back out after they've eaten. They sit with Dream and me for a long time. But I guess they don't know what to say any more than I do. They don't even talk to each other.

A little later Mom comes out and tells us a story about Granny and a sick coyote she rescued when she was a little girl. It must be a funny story because Ethan and Colt laugh. But I don't hear much of it. I'm listening to Dream's scratchy breath. It sounds like sleet landing on a plastic bag.

Dad comes out a few times. He pats Dream's head, reaching from as far away as possible. “There's a good horse,” he says. “You get all that colic and whatnot out of you.”

Dad strokes Dream's white blaze for several minutes, murmuring to her. He doesn't even mention the barrel campaign or how his big presentation went.

I don't ask. I can't even look my dad in the eyes.

Then he goes back in, leaving Ethan and Colt and me sitting around in silence. Pinto Cat curls up next to Ethan, but she doesn't purr.

After a while, Mom and Dad come and get Ethan for bed. Mom says Colt and I can stay a little longer.

“Anybody want a sweatshirt?” Mom asks. “It's getting
chilly con carne
out here.”

I hadn't noticed. But when she mentions it, I shiver.

It seems like only a couple of minutes have passed when Mom calls from the back door, “Time for bed!”

“I can't leave Dream,” I tell Colt. Tears spring into my eyes. “You have to tell Mom I need to stay with my horse.”

Colt gets to his feet. He stamps one foot like it's gone to sleep. “Ellie, there's nothing you can do out here.”

Pinto Cat must agree with him. The calico struts out of the lean-to and disappears deep into the yard.

“There
is
something I can do. I can stay with Dream. It's not much. But I can at least be here with my horse.” The moon leaks through tiny cracks in the wood, making stripes across Colt's shirt. “I can't leave Dream. You wouldn't leave Bullet.”

He stares at me, and I think I see shiny tears in the corners of his eyes. “I get it. I'll tell your mom.” He starts to go. Then he stops. When he turns around, his whole face is lit by shiny moonlight. “And I'll pray.”

Then he turns and runs into the house.

Did Colt just say he'd pray?

Colt Stevens doesn't even like it when I talk to him about God. But he said he'll pray. He'll pray for Dream.

15

God's Lap

Mom tries calling me in to bed again. But I can't go.

“Please, Mom?” I shout. “You know I wouldn't sleep anyway.”

She shouts back some Granny quotes about sleep and clouds and brain food. But finally she gives up and goes inside.

Minutes later Mom brings me a sleeping bag and a peanut butter sandwich. And two kisses—one for Dream, the other for the top of my head.

Dad comes out later with a blanket and a pillow. He's in his striped pajamas. He kisses me good night and tells me to stay safe. I know he means I shouldn't get too close to Dream. I promise him.

I roll out the sleeping bag and lie on top of it. From where I am inside the lean-to, I have a clear shot of our house. Golden light spills from the windows and into the backyard. Shadows of my family move around inside. It looks like another world, like a TV show I'm watching.

I've let down every single person in that house. I wouldn't blame any of them if they didn't care what happened to me or to Dream.

The night gets darker. I pull the blanket over me and listen to Dream's breathing. It's heavy, but I think it might be getting more regular. I hope so.

Out and in. Out and in. Out and in.

I refuse to let myself sleep, but I do close my eyes. I need to talk to God. My mind moves somewhere between praying and talking. It zigzags between thinking and dreaming.

And imagining.

Just like I do lots of nights when I can't sleep or when I need to do more than the “God bless” kind of prayer, I imagine crawling onto God's lap.

I climb up onto God's lap. It's surprisingly easy to get here. It takes no effort at all, like sledding down a hill or floating downstream. I snuggle in and get comfortable. Then I open my mouth and let the words pour out. “Father, I know I don't deserve to have You listen to me.”

“Why?” God asks.

“You know. We both know You know everything. You've seen everything I did all week. And worse, You saw what I should have done and didn't do. I'm sorry about not coming up with rhymes for my dad like I said I would. And I'm sorry Mom had to do my job with the quarantined cats at the farm. I know she's got her own work to do there. And at the worm ranch. And the regular animal shelter. I really did mean to help Colt with Bullet. And to sign the talks at Ethan's game. But I didn't do any of that. Plus, I haven't even thought about doing math homework or studying for proficiencies like I promised Miss Hernandez.”

I take a breath and feel the freshness of getting all that bad stuff out. It feels so good to talk things over with God. I lean my head on God's shoulder. “Please help my horse even though I've been such a rotten person all week.”

I still don't open my eyes, but I'm not imagining any longer. I'm thinking. Hard. And one thing I'm thinking is that I wish Dream could get all the bad out of her like I do when I talk things over with God.

The next thing I think hard about is how much I love my horse. I don't care if she never wins a race. I don't care if she never learns a single trick or jumps a jump. I just love her. I love her because she's Dream.

I'm starting to get goose bumps, and it's not because it's cold out here. It's because something inside of me is telling me to pay attention.
I love Dream because she's Dream.

And isn't that how God loves me? God isn't on my side because I do stuff I'm supposed to. God loves me because I'm me. Ellie.

What a stupidhead I've been to think for one second that God wouldn't answer my prayers because I messed up. I mess up all the time. I know when God does answer prayers it's sure not because I'm such a perfect kid.

God answers prayers because God is God. And Jesus already took care of my mess-ups.

I drift off to the sweet sound of crickets. Their regular chirping is like music. And the lyrics are from God:
I love you, Ellie. I love you, Ellie. I love you because you're you, Ellie.

When I do open my eyes, I realize I must have been asleep for real. Things have changed in this lean-to.

On one side of me, Mom is lying curled up next to Dad. She's snoring. Dad is mumbling in his sleep. They're both tugging on the blanket they've brought out here.

But that's not all. On the other side of me is Ethan. Wrapped up in a baseball blanket, my brother is smiling in his sleep. And at my feet is Colt, all tucked inside Ethan's sleeping bag.

I let every one of them down, but they're here anyway. Just like God.

Without closing my eyes this time, I imagine myself on God's lap. I stretch out my hand to Mom, Dad, Ethan, and Colt. God and I help them climb up too.

That's when I hear it. A nicker. The best sound in the whole world. A soft, rumbling sound that would be a purr if it came from a cat. Pinto Cat hears it too. She bounds from out of nowhere and leaps onto Dream's back.

I jump to my feet and nearly trip over Mom and Dad. I stumble to my horse. “Dream? Dream!”

She nickers again.

I hug her. She's not sweaty. She's not pawing the ground. She dips her muzzle into her trough and comes out with a mouthful of hay.

“You're okay!” I fire up a prayer of thanks to God. I imagine hugging my heavenly Father around the neck while Dream jumps into God's lap with the rest of us.

“Is she really okay?” Colt is standing beside me. He strokes Dream's neck. “She's not sweaty anymore.”

Mom and Dad and Ethan join us. We all stand around my horse. Somehow we're managing to laugh and cry at the same time.

When I can force myself to take my gaze from Dream, I glance around at my parents, Ethan, and Colt. They look as happy as I feel inside.

“I can't believe you guys would come out here with me—especially after the way I let you down.”

“What are you talking about?” Dad asks.

“Your rhymes, Dad. I'm sorry I didn't come through for you and get you
barrel
rhymes like I said I would.”

“Ellie, those jingles and slogans are
my
responsibility—not yours. Besides, it all worked out. I had to go rhyme-less. And as it happens, Harvey of Harvey's Hardware hates rhymes. He loved my plain ol' slogans about old-fashioned barrels.”

I look to Mom, and she's grinning at me. “Well, I admit I could have used you at the cat farm. It's been a crazy week. But what's that got to do with the price of tulips in Greenland? We're here with you in this backyard of ours because we're family, Ellie.” She elbows Colt. “And that goes for Colt here too.”

Suddenly I burst into a laugh so hard Dream looks worried about
me
.

“What?” Colt asks. “What's so funny?”

I shake my head. “You guys.”

What's so funny about us?
Ethan signs.

“Nothing at all,” I answer. “I was just wondering what Larissa will say when she hears about this.”

“Hears about what?” Colt asks.

“That Ellie James doesn't just have a backyard horse.” I glance around at these people who have stuck it out with me through the worst day of my life.

“I have a backyard family.”