Bloodless Day

Before Pt. 2

"Hey, change the station," Wes complained. "Some of us aren't completely tone-deaf, you know."

I shot Jack a victorious look as I leaned forwards to toggle the radio until it swapped to a country station.

"I don't know how y'all don't like Led Keff-"

"Zepplin," I corrected with a grin.

"And quite easily," Wes chimed in from the backseat, accepting a high-five from me.

A colicky horse had held back Willifred, and Mr. Piperson wasn't heading up to Churchill Downs for another week, so it was only the "kids" that drove the priceless Thoroughbreds to the track, Lilac and Ned in one truck and Jack, Wes and I in the next. For once, BD had been voted the saner horse and loaded with Goodie, while Spain rattled belligerently in the trailer behind us.

"We should've aced him," Wes muttered as the truck lurched.

Jack snorted as he corrected the steering wheel, not caring if he rattled the horse at all. "That would've gone over well with the officials."

"Two strikes and you're out, I guess," Wes added bitterly. Jack and I had no response to that, so we drove on in relative silence until the famed racetrack came into sight, fighting back yawns.

Evening was beginning to dust the sky with gold and black by the time we reached Churchill Downs. Silhouetted by sunset, it looked more temple than track. The silence became reverent rather than awkward as Ned and Lilac pulled in front of us to the guardgate.

"I'm nervous," Wes suddenly confessed. "We- my parents- have never gotten this far with a horse before. Are you?"

"Yes," I said immediately.

"I don't really get nervous," Jack admitted. When I smacked him on the shoulder, he shot me a glare. Not a mean one. "No, really. I don't see the point in it.  I'm racing either way, so why be nervous?"

"It also helps that you don't really stand a chance," Wes observed. There was something in her voice that reminded me of Jack's glare- not mean, really. Just a statement. "It's worse if you do, because you have all the more to lose.

Jack and I exchanged glances as the truck lurched forwards again, partly because Spain let out a blood-curdling scream and partly because of Wes. She was right, in a way. BD hadn't touched a single hoof to the track since the Santa Anita, and though he was perkier, the steadiness of Lilac's trailer in front of us proved he wasn't one-hundred percent yet.

I looked away from Jack as the guard ushered Lilac and Ned, and then us, through. "We'll just have to see."

We drove on, and the track unfolded before us. Green shedrows, trimmed grass, evenly cut shrubbery. No horses. "Where is everybody?" I asked, pressing my nose to the glass. "The reporters and stuff? Trainers and jockeys?"

"It's Sunday night," Jack said flatly, steering carefully behind Lilac and Ned. "Be here bright and early, tomorrow morning, and try again. Believe me, you'll be longing for the quiet."

I believed him. I also rolled the window down. There was something comforting about the drowsy heat, the occasional whinny and glint of golden sunlight against stable roofs. This was the Kentucky I loved, the kind I couldn't find in California.

As usual, a sharp pang, but it was more sweet than bitter. I was healing, well and truly.

"It's a good thing the reporters aren't here anyways," Wes added. "We're not exactly arriving in style."

"True." Goodie was the only horse tolerable enough to put a cooler on, a nice purple-and-blue with his owner's stable name monogrammed onto it. BD had balked at the sight of his Piperson colors, and Wes and her parents weren't dumb enough to even try it with Spain. Neither did they travel in large semi-trucks, which was a common route for racehorses to take.