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and Henri Martins. As time-consuming as they were, Jackson looked upon his horticultural interests as therapy. The fact that he was the only one on the place who wasn’t in particular need of therapy was another matter altogether.
    â€œYou know,” Sonny said finally, “I got a good feeling about that silver mare. That Jimmy Buck is a good fucking stud. I think I’ve got a winner coming here. Maybe Queen’s Plate.” He glanced over. “Maybe the Derby even. I just hope she throws a colt.”
    But Jackson was looking at his rose bushes, thinking that he would have to get them ready for winter soon.
    â€œWhat do you think?” Sonny asked impatiently.
    Jackson was still looking at his roses. “I think I got too much to do than sit around talking about races that haven’t been run by a horse that hasn’t been born.”
    Sonny looked at him and smiled. “Jack, Jack … you got the weight of the whole world on your shoulders, don’t you? When you gonna learn to relax?”
    Jackson turned at the sound of the front door opening. “I figure you do enough relaxing around here for the both of us.”
    Earl Stanton walked out onto the porch then, burdened down by several pieces of mauve-colored luggage that was clearly not his own. He was wearing creased cotton pants and a pullover, the casual attire he’d adopted since remarrying. His gray hair was cropped short, and he was lean and angular; only the stiffness of his gait betrayed his years. A limo was parked in the yard, the trunk open, and he headed for it.
    The owner of the baggage emerged a moment later. Gena was wearing tight capri pants and high-heeled mules. She had her shades perched atop her blond hair, and she was looking suspiciously younger than she had before she’d left for New York a month earlier. Her yappy miniature poodle was tucked under her arm. She showed Jackson the pained acknowledging smile she reserved for those in servitude and then, looking neither left nor right, stepped down from the porch and headed for the car. She somehow managed a goal line fumble, though, and soon the poodle was running around the yard, barking crazily like the inbred it was. Jackson watched as Earl chased the animal down, his face barely concealing the contempt in which he held the dog, and finally deposited the mutt back into the limo, where Gena was smoking a cigarette and shouting instructions.
    Earl was breathing heavily when he came back to the porch to talk to Jackson. “Damn dog,” he said in dismissal and then: “I still don’t know about running the Flash in the Queen Anne. I want him tip-top for the Breeders’.”
    â€œHe needs the work,” Jackson said. “Horse has got to run.”
    â€œAh, Jack,” Sonny interjected, “he’s just afraid we’ll put the saddle on backward with him not around to show us.”
    Earl gave Sonny a sharp look, then turned back to Jackson. “Well, just make sure he’s sound.”
    â€œI still can’t figure you missing the race,” Jackson said.
    Earl grimaced as if he were passing a stone and indicated the limo. “Oh, she’s got some big shindig happening down in the islands. Her fashion friends.”
    â€œYeah, you wouldn’t want to miss that, Earl.”
    â€œShit,” Earl said.
    â€œDon’t worry, Pop,” Sonny said from the chair. “If the Flash breaks a leg, we’ll just prop him up on crutches and stand him to stud.”
    This time Earl never even turned toward Sonny, who was still sitting in the wicker chair.
    â€œTake care of my horse, Jack,” Earl said, and he stuck out his hand. “And I’ll see you in New York.”
    The limo pulled out of the yard as the Lincoln was driving in. Dean was wearing shades and trying hard to appear sober as he and Paulie piled out of the car. Sonny came down off the porch and limped over.
    â€œWhere you clowns