Wild Horses

Chapter Seven

Emma knew how deeply Jim loved the sprawling Pentecostal church where he was baptized, with its exuberant embraces, the singing with hands lifted high, the hour-long preaching that left preacher and listeners alike drenched in sweat and joyful tears. But its emotional stimulation pushed Suzy's frail psyche to its limits. So, this Sunday morning, Emma, Suzy and Jim sat in a small neighborhood church whose congregation would be chagrined to know their soporific sedateness was the reason for the family's presence.

Except this Sunday, the little church wasn't sedate. Without previous fanfare, the minister had just announced a Sunday of action -- a drive to replenish the local food pantry.

"Everybody get the list for the Wilkinson Center?" he asked from the pulpit. "Anybody need one?"

Four or five people in the congregation raised their hands. Ushers rushed to them with grocery lists.

Over Suzy's head, Emma and Jim exchanged looks of consternation.

Flanked by her ever-present doll, Suzy had continued coloring. In the confusion following the pastor's announcement, she dropped her favorite sky-blue marker. It rolled off the edge of the pew, onto the floor. Her face crumpled. A wail escaped her, audible even over the bustle of parishioners stampeding out of the sanctuary to dash to the nearest grocery store in search of nonperishable food.

A girl in the next pew, whose black nail polish had flashed as she texted furtively during the service, returned Suzy's lost marker but her helpful smile dissolved at the renewal of Suzy's cries. Murmuring excuses, Emma and Jim gathered Suzy and her markers and eased out of church, dodging cars whose drivers were overjoyed at this break in routine. But for Suzy, routine was balm and peace. Now that peace was lost.

Jim drove them home in Emma's Honda sedan. Usually, after church, they picked up burgers for lunch, then drove to the equestrian center's stable to let Suzy visit the old white horse she claimed as her own. But the chance of Sherman's presence at the stable had already made that comfortable routine impossible.

At least the spring semester of therapy sessions was  nearly at an end, shutting down before the worst of the summer heat. Emma had promised Jim she would find a substitute for the rest of the session so she wouldn't need to visit the stable until the problem with Sherman was solved. She couldn't bear to think about what might happen if it wasn't.

"I'll take your car to work" Jim said. "You use the SUV if you need to go out. And if that bastard accosts you, run him over."

He swung the Honda off the wooded lane and into their driveway where he'd left his red SUV, and slammed to a stop. The SUV's tires were slashed, its body garish with spray paint, its smashed windows stars of broken glass. Emma smothered a scream.

Around the corner of the garage came the sound of more glass shattering.

"Oh, God!" Leaving the key in the ignition, Jim leapt out and raced toward the garage sheltering the black Porsche that was the light of his life.

Wriggling across the hump of the Honda's gearshift, Emma eased into the driver's seat and crept up the driveway. Near the house, the racket of the dog Wookiee's barking resounded. The front door shuddered under his futile attempts to escape the house. She wanted to scream to Jim to come back, that he may be getting into a situation worse than vandalism. But she had to stay calm, at least pretend to be calm. Any more excitement might send Suzy into a seizure.

Telling Suzy to be a good girl and wait, she got out and unlocked the house door. Jim's big mutt flung himself past her and dashed around the garage. There was the sound of thrashing in the undergrowth that encroached on the house's grounds, then a splash of something tumbling into the small creek feeding into White Rock Lake.