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saying
another word.
    “ Leave the past where it
should be. You’ve got enough to manage in the present,” she mumbled
to herself.
    “ You say something?” Kenny
called from the back porch.
    “ Just thinking out loud.”
She lifted two plates from the cupboard and set them on the table.
Then, shaking her head, she took down a third one and pulled up
another chair. So her perfectly ordered life had taken a turn, and
now she was headed down a road that had more ruts than the one
leading to her property. How was she going to manage a
sixteen-year-old girl? And this wasn’t just any teenaged girl.
Shawna may not have come with suitcases, but she sure came with
some heavy baggage. This little gal was an iceberg, and Kay felt
like the Titanic .
     

Chapter 9
    Shawna
     
    “ Take a bath, Shawna. Curry
the horse, Shawna. Don’t slam the doors, Shawna. Do this, Shawna,
do that.” There are more rules around this place than at the
blackjack tables. I close my eyes and lean against the bathroom
door.
    I do not care.
    I do not care.
    I can’t shake that song out
of my head. I saw this Yoga class on TV once, where all the people
were trying to turn themselves into pretzels. When they weren’t
doing that, they were sitting around chanting “ ohm ” over and over—looking like they
were zoning out. Well, that doesn’t do it for me. I do not care. I do not care . Now that makes sense.
    I look into the bathroom mirror and
sing-song my mantra. Dorky old me shrugs back. Life is getting
better, though. Here the mirror isn’t cracked, so at least I can
see the whole dork.
    “ Well,” I say to the face in
the mirror, “I do care about one thing—the way I smell.” If I’m not
careful, I’ll be the one needing a currycomb run down my backside.
My hands smell like . . . “Ugh!” Horse!
    While the tub fills with water, I peel
off my socks, jeans, and T-shirt and kick them away. On the shelf,
I find bath salts and dump in the contents before I slip into the
hot water.
    I slide down until my ears fill with
the gurgle of underwater sounds. My hair billows like a sea
creature around my head, and my arms float up beside me. I feel
like my body is separating into parts by weight—the light parts
leave the heavier ones on the bottom.
    Maybe this is what happens when you
die. The soul rises up and strands the heavy part of you back on
earth.
    I try to imagine how the soul might
feel, suddenly set free, without the weight of a head, arms, legs,
and all the rest. It reminds me of the time I dreamed I was flying
and looked down on all the Las Vegas lights. They were so far away,
so beautiful, and I was . . . safe.
    “ Dinner in ten minutes!”
Kay’s voice comes through the bathroom door, jolting me awake and
onto my feet, sending shock waves through all my body
parts.
    My first thought is to leap out of the
water and make sure I locked the door. Then I remember I’m not in
Vegas. I’m not in the apartment. No sweethearts here. Only Kay the
Stone and Kenny Fargo, King of Spit.
    I stand in the cooled water and
shiver.
    Don’t get soft. Next time
check your locks like always .
    I grab a towel, dry off, and wrap it
around me. My clothes smell bad, even from the corner where I’d
kicked them. But then I notice the folded clothes on the back of
the toilet. Clean jeans, a long-sleeved plaid shirt, and socks.
When I pull them on they’re too big, but they smell good and I’m
not going to put my horsy clothes back on—no matter what. I roll
the jean legs and the shirtsleeves up, pull on the socks, and run
my fingers through my wet hair.
    I glance in the mirror. “God, I look
like I’m ten!” I turn sideways and study my profile. “Maybe
eleven.” It’s the clothes. Who’d ever wear stuff like
this?
    When I open the bathroom door, food
smells wake up my stomach. I haven’t had anything since that ham
sandwich hours ago and I’m in the mood for chow. I make it down the
hall, past where I’ll sleep, Kay’s office, and the