Joe had told us we’d need hats for three hours on the trail unless we wanted to get headaches and heatstroke, so after lunch we headed for the shop in the main building. I was glad I had my baseball hat with me because everything in the shop was really expensive. Of course, Iris and Marshall both wanted the prettiest, most expensive cowboy hats in the place. Dory acted like the prices were scandalously high and then ended up buying them just what they wanted, anyway, and getting herself one, too. She wanted to buy me one as well, but I felt funny about it. It seemed wasteful to buy something that cost so much money for only a couple weeks’ use—I wasn’t going to wear a cowboy hat once I got back to Iowa. I told her thanks, but I liked my own hat.
We were all pretty hyped up after our morning lesson and arrived back at the stable promptly at one for the trail ride. Other people were gathering, too, and Joe and a couple of other ranch hands were getting them saddled up.
As soon as he saw us, Joe said, “I told old Silverfoot and Okie you guys were coming back. They’re waiting for ya’.” Marsh got a little quiet and shaky, but as soon as Oklahoma came clopping over, he straightened up and took the reins.
“Hi, Okie. Remember me? I’m gonna ride you again!” Okie seemed fine with that idea.
It turned out Joe didn’t lead the trail rides. There were two other guys going with us, Glen and Jackson. They didn’t look much older than me, but they were pretty cocky, trotting around and showing off their abilities for the dudes. While we were saddling up, they rode their horses in nervous little circles around us, and then suddenly turned and raced each other up a nearby hill.
“Chrissakes,” Joe called out. “Give those poor ponies a rest.” He shook his head. “Couple a’ hotshots, those two.”
We started off slowly with Jackson in the lead and Glen bringing up the rear, as if they were herding cattle, which I guess they kind of were. There were fifteen of us altogether: a bunch of older women who were very nervous and kept giving little shrieks every time a horse tossed its head, two guys who looked like schoolteachers to me and talked to each other through the whole ride, and a family with three grade-school-aged kids who plodded along like they were hypnotized and hardly said a word to anybody.
The countryside we rode through was gorgeous—first we went over some low sage-covered hills, and then through a large stand of white birch trees, always with the Rocky Mountains for a backdrop. We forded several little streams—it felt good to have the water splash up on you on such a hot day.
We all had water bottles along, and every now and then Glen would ride up alongside the column of horses and remind us to keep drinking so we wouldn’t get dehydrated. Then he’d race his horse back past us to the end of the line again. It seemed like more of an exhibition than was necessary, but I had to admit he was sort of cute.
Meanwhile, Jackson had let his horse fall back a little so he could ride alongside Iris. I couldn’t get a real good look at his face, but from the way Iris was giggling at him, I presumed he was good-looking, too. About halfway through the ride, Glen rode up to the front of the line again and there was some kind of talk among the three of them. It must have been Jackson’s turn to ride in the rear because, after a few minutes, he turned his horse and trotted in that direction, with guess who following along beside him, beaming happily. I wasn’t surprised. Iris looked older than she was; a couple of times on the trip I’d noticed guys turning around to stare at her when she tossed her blond hair in their direction. I tried to imagine what it must feel like to know you’re that attractive, but I couldn’t.
Nobody fell off or anything, so I guess it was a successful ride. I’d enjoyed it quite a bit until I saw Iris cantering around with her cowboy. I told myself it was ridiculous to be jealous of a thirteen-year-old flirting with somebody she’d never see again, but it made me remember how it felt to be with Chris, how it felt to have somebody look at you that way, like you were special. And I couldn’t help wondering if Chris was looking at somebody else that way these days.
I was glad Marsh had had a good ride. It was nice to see him relaxing and smiling easily. Since the day he’d shown me his drawings, I’d started liking the kid more. After all, he was a ten-year-old whose father had just died—he hadn’t been catching many breaks lately. Who wouldn’t be mad?
Once we dismounted and led our horses into the barn, we started to feel which muscles were going to be sore by the next day. People were walking stiffly, like they still had a horse between their legs.
“I know most of you are headed for the hot tub or the swimming pool,” Joe said, “but if anybody wants to hang around I’ll show ’em how to curry and cool down their horse.”
Most people groaned at the idea, but Iris piped up, “I want to! Can I stay?”
Joe grinned. “See? I knew we had a cowgirl on our hands with you!”
“Really?” Dory asked her. “I’m heading for the hot tub.”
Dory’s idea sounded good to me, and Marshall was anxious to go to the pool. But the cowgirl and her male admirers stayed behind to “cool down” the horses. I imagined nothing else was going to cool down much.
I think Dory and I would have fallen asleep in the hot tub and hard-boiled ourselves if Marshall hadn’t come to get us to change for dinner. We were all as hungry as if we’d been mending fences or branding cattle all day instead of just roaming around on gentle horses’ backs.
Even Iris gnawed her baby back ribs down to the bone marrow and took seconds on potato salad. Both kids had had great days and were interrupting each other to talk.
“Those twins Howie and Bobby said that you can learn how to rope a calf if you go to the far barn in the morning,” Marshall said. “There’s this guy Pete who shows you how to hold the . . .”
Iris was paying no attention to him. “I love being in that stable. Everybody really understands the horses. You should hear how the guys talk to them, it’s . . .”
Marshall leaned forward so Dory’s attention was diverted back to him. “Or, you can go tubing in the river or even fishing. They have all the equipment in a little house right there . . .”
Iris spoke louder. “Tomorrow I’m going to take the all-day trail ride. Jackson and Glen lead the one that leaves at nine A.M. They pack a lunch for you and everything, and Jackson says . . .”
She had Dory’s attention now. “An all-day ride? Are you sure you’re ready for that? I know you had a good ride today, but . . .”
“Jackson says I’m a natural on a horse.”
Marshall glowered. “I don’t think a natural would fall off . . .”
Iris whirled around. “Will you stop talking about that? It wasn’t my fault!”
I put a hand on Marshall’s knee and he managed not to snap back at her.
“It’s just that a full day on horseback, if you aren’t used to it, can be pretty hard on you,” Dory said.
“Well, I’m going. We only have two whole days here and I’m not going to waste one fishing or something when I could be riding a horse.”
Just then Mel got up on a little stage at one end of the barn with a microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen! Or should I say Cowgirls and Horse Thieves? Anyway, today’s Saturday and you all know what that means. It’s Square Dance Night at the Lazy River Ranch! While you’re all prettyin’ up for the festivities, we’ll be folding up these tables and chairs and the world-famous Lazy Holler Ramblers’ll be tunin’ up their fiddles. So go put your cowboy boots on and meet me back here at eight o’clock ready to do-si-do!”
Some people hooted and yelled like a square dance was just what they’d been looking forward to all week. Our table was more subdued.
“I’m not going to any dance,” Marshall said.
“Well, it’s not exactly my cup of tea either,” Dory said, “but it might be fun to watch the other people dance.”
Iris chewed a nail. “Do you think they teach you how to do it?”
“I’m sure they do. Most people won’t know how.”
Iris looked at m
e. “Are you going to do it?”
Why was that suddenly important? It’s not as if we did anything else as a pair. She must have been self-conscious about showing up alone for something she’d never done before. I was a halfway decent dancer, so I said, “I guess. I’ll go with you.”
She actually smiled. Iris Tewksbury smiled. She ran ahead of us back to the bunkhouse and was ripping through her suitcase by the time we got there.
“Of course I didn’t bring anything to wear to a dance,” she said, then glared at Dory. “Why didn’t you tell me I’d need a skirt!”
“Well, first of all, I didn’t know there would be a dance, and secondly, you don’t need a skirt for a square dance. Wear jeans and a fancy shirt.”
“I don’t even have cowboy boots,” she wailed.
“Iris, don’t be silly,” Dory said.
“Can I go buy some at the ranch store?” she asked, pleading with her eyes.
After some arguing they agreed on a new cowboy-style shirt from the store, but not the incredibly expensive boots. “You kids have to get used to the idea that we don’t have unlimited amounts of money anymore. We have to tighten our belts a little bit now.” She sounded so apologetic, as if not having five-hundred-dollar cowboy boots was such a terrible thing.
“I don’t want any boots,” Marsh reminded her.
I had to admit, Iris looked pretty amazing even without cowboy boots. She’d picked a bright blue shirt with stud buttons and LRR (for Lazy River Ranch) embroidered in yellow on the pocket flap. Her hair was tied back, but there were a few loose strands outside the scrunchy for that slightly disheveled look actresses always have. She pulled her soft brown cowboy hat down low on her brow and tucked her shirt into very tight jeans.
“God, I shouldn’t have eaten all that potato salad,” she said. “I can hardly breathe.”
“Wear another pair of pants—you’ve got others,” I said.
“I want to wear these,” she said in her usual good humor.
I’d put on the only pair of jeans I’d brought along and my favorite shirt, which was a lime green check, and was sitting on my bed reading while I waited for Iris. I saw her go into the bathroom, but I wasn’t paying much attention until I heard the gagging noise. She’d turned on the water faucet, but it wasn’t quite loud enough to cover the sound.
Dory was in the other bedroom on the far side of the living room and Marshall was running around outside with the twins, so neither of them heard it. I knew if I knocked on the door Iris would just deny everything, so I walked right in. She was on her knees in front of the toilet with a finger down her throat.
“Iris! What the hell is going on?”
She gagged again and then coughed, but it didn’t look like she was having much luck getting that potato salad back. She got to her feet, looking furious. “None of your damn business. Get out of here!”
“No, I won’t. You’re trying to puke up your dinner so you can fit into a pair of pants. It’s ridiculous.”
There were tears squirting from her eyes as she pushed past me out of the bathroom. “You don’t know anything about it, so just shut up!”
I followed her, trying to keep my voice low so Dory wouldn’t hear. “I know it’s a terrible thing to do to your body. And I know you can end up killing yourself with this stupid behavior. Don’t you think your mother has enough to worry about right now without a bulimic daughter, too?”
“I’m not bulimic!” she said. “I wish I was, but I’m not. Most of the time I can’t even make myself do it. I can’t even do that right.” She flopped down on her bed and picked up a corner of the quilt to dry her face.
“Then don’t try! You’re thin enough already. Most girls would love to have a body like yours.”
“You don’t understand anything, Robin.”
“Well, I’m trying to, if you’d . . .”
“How can I explain it to you when I don’t understand it myself?” she said, brushing away the remaining tears. “You can’t help me—I’m just messed up, all right?”
Suddenly I felt like it was six years ago and Franny was dissolving in front of me. Except that I’d always loved Franny, even when she was driving other people crazy with her silence and her dark-lidded stares. I forgave Franny for everything because I knew she was in pain. I remembered thinking that if other people saw her heart the way I did, they’d love her, too. Did that mean Iris might possibly have a functional organ beating beneath her designer clothes, too? It occurred to me I ought to feel some sympathy for her, but it wasn’t going to be easy.
She stared up at me. “You’re not going to tell Mom, are you?”
“Iris . . .”
“Please don’t tell her. She’ll freak out.”
I thought about it. “If you promise to stop doing it, I won’t tell her, but you’ve got to stop.”
She nodded. “I will. I promise. Okay?” She stood up and tucked her shirt in a little tighter. “Okay?”
I sighed. “Okay.”
“So, let’s get going. I don’t want to miss the lessons.” She adjusted her hat, rebuckled her big silver belt buckle, and checked her lipstick in the mirror. If I’d been barfing and crying my face would look like sausage, but Iris looked like Dude Ranch Barbie with flat feet. She’d metamorphosed from pitiful weeper to poised fashionista in thirty seconds flat.
The minute we walked into the barn we saw Jackson and Glen leaning against the wall up near the front. They saw us, too, or at least, they saw Iris. Both pairs of bowlegs came striding over immediately.
“Hey, Iris!” Jackson got there first. “Can you dance as well as you ride?”
She blushed. “I don’t know how to square dance.”
“It’s easy,” Glen said, trying to get a little face-time with her, too. “The caller tells you what to do and you just follow along.”
Hello, there’s another person standing here.
You could tell Jackson was used to getting what he wanted. He tipped his hat back on his head and gave Iris a big grin. “I’m the best square-dance teacher there is, ya know.” He reached out and took her arm and led her away just as more squares were forming for the next dance.
As we watched them go, Glen looked at me uncomfortably. “Did you want to . . . ?”
“Don’t worry about it,” I told him. I didn’t feel like being anybody’s sloppy seconds, so I headed over to the row of chairs that surrounded the dance floor. I remembered the feeling that was starting to rise up in my gut, and I didn’t like it at all; I’d felt it so often before meeting Chris—that awful, lonely feeling that nobody would ever appreciate me the way I was.
But just then Jackson called, “Hey, Glen, come on! We need two more to fill up a square. Get her!”
I decided not to turn around—Glen probably wouldn’t remember my name either. But he clopped over behind me. “You want to? They need two more.”
How could I refuse such a lovely offer? “My name is Robin, by the way,” I told him.
“Cool,” he said. “Like the bird.”
Fortunately, you didn’t need to be an original thinker to square dance.
We proceeded to swing our partners, and do-si-do our corners, and honor everybody in sight, all in slow motion until we got it down. Then the band kicked in with some hee-haw music and we were off. Glen wasn’t much of a dancer, but you don’t have to be good to square dance—you mostly just have to not get in anybody else’s way and screw them up, and he was capable of that. Jackson, of course, was a great dancer and seemed to love doing it. Iris did fine, although she was self-conscious and got flustered and mixed-up once or twice.
I decided, the hell with it, I don’t know these people, I’ve got nothing to lose—I can just have fun. And I did. I danced with Glen a few times and then he disappeared into the crowd, but there were lots of ranch hands to go around. I figured they probably got paid to dance with the customers, so I might as well take advantage of it. Dory came in about nine thirty and sat and watched. She looked kind of sad, and
I wondered if she was thinking about dancing with Allen before he died.
I’d been do-si-do-ing with a tall, skinny guy who was having a ball, kicking his long legs all over the place and whooping up a storm. So when we finished a song I took him aside and explained the situation with Dory and asked if he’d dance with her a few times. Before she knew what hit her, Tall and Skinny had whipped Dory out of her seat—despite her protests—and was swinging her around the circle.
As the evening wound down, I ran into Glen again and we actually danced one of the few slow dances of the evening together. He was staring over my shoulder most of the time, out into the dark.
“So, do you guys have to come and dance with the guests?” I asked.
He gave me a quick grin. “It’s part of the job. I don’t mind.”
Thanks so much. “I don’t mind it too much either,” I said.
He ducked his head. “Am I being rude? I’m sorry. You’re a good dancer.”
“Ah-huh. How many people have you said that to tonight?”
“No, really.” He smiled again. “A few.”
“Some job.”
“Yeah. I like it. Not as much as Jackson does, though. Looks like he and your friend ran off somewhere.”
“They did?” I looked around the barn and realized I hadn’t seen Iris in at least half an hour.
“He’s a player,” Glen said. “I guess your friend can take care of herself, though.”
I stared at him. “She’s my cousin, and she’s only thirteen years old.”
“She is? God, I thought she was sixteen.”
“When you say he’s a player . . .”
He laughed. “Don’t worry. Jackson won’t do anything she doesn’t want him to—he’d get canned if he messed with a guest. Wait’ll I tell him she’s only thirteen, though! He sure can pick ’em.”
“Maybe I should go check on her,” I said. “I don’t think she has much experience with guys like that.”
He nodded and we broke apart. Then, as I turned to leave, he said, “Hey, Robin, you’re not thirteen, too, are you?”
“Not in four years,” I said.