Friendly Foal (12 page)

I got to my feet. “Madeline!” I shouted, until I remembered I'm not supposed to shout at adults. I bit my lip and made the words come through my teeth so they wouldn't sound so loud. “We were doing so great. You scared us.”

“Well, I'm sorry, Winnie. I really am. But don't blame me. You can blame your father for being such a rude host.”

When she said
father
, she made it sound like
FAH-ther
. She ventured into the stall, as if dodging land mines, reached down, and pulled Mason away from Catman.

Mason buried his head in her shoulder when she turned to leave.

“Wait! We weren't finished!” I shouted.

She kept going.

“When can he come back?” I hollered.

“You'll have to ask your
fah-ther!”
she shouted back as she raced out of the barn and stomped off toward her van.

I'd always hated it when Madeline called my dad “Jack.” That's what my mom used to call him. But the way she was saying “your father” gave me goose bumps.

I turned back to Catman, who was already moving toward the paddock, probably to take up his watch for the North Star. “I better go see if Dad's okay.”

Catman made the peace sign and disappeared behind the barn.

Peace. It felt as far away as the North Star.

I hurried to the house. “Lizzy?”

Lizzy came out of our room. “Boy, did you miss it, Winnie. Madeline finally showed.”

“I know. What happened?”

Lizzy lowered her voice. “It was awful. Dad said Madeline didn't think of anyone but herself, that she thought
her
inventions were important, but that she wasn't even interested in his. Madeline denied it and said Dad wasn't understanding, that he should know how it is when you're on the verge of invention and you lose track of time, and she thought they knew each other well enough to—”

“Where is he?” I asked, interrupting.

“In the workshop. I feel terrible for both of them, Winnie. Dad ran straight out there. I'm making him broccoli lasagna. Maybe he'll talk to 
you.”

I doubted it. Dad and I had to work at talking to each other, even when everything was going fine. But I had to try.

I found Dad hovered over his workbench, surrounded by golf balls in various stages of disaster. Some were charcoal black, others spotted brown, others cut open. The roar of the space heater made it hard to hear. Dad had on his orange work suit that's only in fashion on death row.

“Hey, Dad. How's it going?”

Dad swung around as if I'd surprised him. “Great! Never better.”

I've never been good at making conversation with any human, especially with Dad. “So . . .” I tried hard to think of something safe to say. “That golf-ball thing sounds like a really great invention.”

“That's what
I
thought, Winnie. Until I phoned the local golf course and was informed about Ohio golf courses' no-smoking policy. No more
smoking
golf buddy. It would have been helpful if a certain inventor could have brainstormed with me. But since I'm not important enough to waste a certain inventor's valuable time . . .”

“Um . . . Dad, you want to brainstorm with me?” I suggested, worrying about the veins popping out on the sides of his forehead.

Dad glanced down at me, then took a deep breath. “Well, Winnie, as it happens, your dad didn't need anybody. No, sir. I solved this little glitch all on my own.”

“That's great, Dad!” He hadn't needed Madeline after all. I figured this might be a good time to make my exit. “I guess I'll be going back to the barn then.”

“Wait a minute, Winnie! Let me show you the new and improved golf buzzer buddy!” He sorted through the balls on his worktable and came up with a regular-looking golf ball, except for the wires. In one hand Dad held the ball and what looked like a remote control.

“Of course, I'll make the
real
golf buddy wireless. But this should give you the idea.” He made a tiny golf club out of his finger and thumb and pretended to swing at the ball in his hand. “I tee off with a long drive that hooks deep into the rough off the fairway.”

Dad tossed the ball with the others on the worktable. “Now, where is that ball? I know! I'll ask the golf buzzer buddy.” He pressed the remote, and a horrible buzzer sounded.

I had to cover my ears. It was 10 times worse than the basketball buzzer at school. “Turn it off, Dad!” I begged. When he did, I uncovered my ears. “I thought golf was this big, quiet game with everybody shushing everybody else.”

Dad stared at the remote in his palm. His face looked like all the bones had slipped down to his chin. “Golf
is
a quiet game with everybody shushing everybody,” he admitted weakly.

I felt horrible. “Dad, what do
I
know? I can't tell a golf club from a tennis club!” I faked a laugh, but he didn't.

I backed toward the shop door, wishing I'd never even tried to cheer Dad up.

Note to self: Stick with horses.

Catman was right where I thought he'd be when I got back to the barn. He'd taken up his spot in the paddock where he could see straight through the
V
of the oak tree to the North Star.

I sat beside him and stared at it too.

“How's Mr. W.?” he asked.

“Worse since
I
talked to him.”

I thought about Madeline standing Dad up, and Sal standing
me
up, and Brian standing Sal up, and Geri standing Lizzy up. “Why can't people keep their word, Catman?”

Catman didn't answer, but I guess it wasn't a real question. Instead he pointed to another part of the sky. “M.”

I didn't get it. “What?”

“M's favorite constellation, Cassiopeia. Looks like a squashed
M.”

I actually saw it, and it
did
look like someone had sat on an
M.

The stars had poked through moving gray clouds, making the sky look layered.

“What time is it?” I asked. “Never mind. I forgot you never wear a watch.”

“Don't need one,” he said, surveying the sky. “The North Star is the center of the clock. It doesn't move. Earth does. Picture this, man! A line out through Dubhe and Merak, the pointers on the Dipper.” He pointed them out. “That's your hour hand. Far out, huh?”

I tried to imagine a giant clock in the sky, with the North Star a dot in the middle. It wasn't that hard. “But isn't the hand between six and seven?”

“Right-on!” Catman exclaimed.

“But it can't be six-thirty.”

“At midnight on March 1,” he explained, “the hour hand points straight up. It moves backward. But each
hour
is two hours past midnight. So you have to subtract two hours for each month past March. You read it . . . about 6:30
A.M.
Subtract two hours for each month past March 1 . . . let's say 10. Must be about 8:30
P.M.
”

“That was easy,” I muttered. No wonder Catman got straight A's in math.

When Catman left for Barker's, I went back to the house. I was hoping Hawk would call. I wanted to tell her how well Friendly and Amigo had done today. And I wanted to know when she'd be home. Besides, it was fun to hear her talk about the party.

I'd finished my peanut-butter-and-cheese sandwich and was on my second cup of Lizzy's peanut-butter hot chocolate when Hawk called.

Right away I launched into an instant replay of the day. When I was done, I realized that Hawk hadn't said anything. “Sorry, Hawk. Tell me more about your party. Anything I can do? Maybe Lizzy can bake something? When will you be home, anyway?”

“That is actually why I am calling. I will not be home Sunday.”

“Hawk! New Year's Eve is Monday night! What if your plane's late Monday? You can't show up late to your own New Year's Eve party!”

“Winnie, my father has already entered Towaco and me in the New Year's Day Appaloosa competition in Orlando. I will not be home until school starts.” Her voice was flat, and she sounded like her mother.

I couldn't believe it. “But . . . but what about the party?”

I knew I sounded selfish. I
felt
selfish. This was just one more party to Hawk. But it was my only party. “That's not fair, Hawk! Tell your dad you want to come home!”

“I cannot hurt his feelings.”

“Then call your mom. Let
her
tell him.”

Hawk was quiet. I think I heard her sniffing. “They did talk. They had a horrible argument. I guess the separation agreement gave me to my father for the entire time.”

Gave her to her father?

“I'm sorry, Hawk,” I said. “I was being stupid. You and Towaco will knock 'em dead in the New Year's Day show. Bring back a huge trophy, okay?”

We hung up. Before I fell asleep, I prayed for Hawk. And for her parents.

Sunday morning Lizzy had green-frog pancakes waiting for Dad and me when we got up. But it made me sad because it's Geri who's crazy about frogs. And as far as I knew, Lizzy still hadn't heard from her.