High Hurdles
“We’ll be home Sunday night.”
DJ sagged against the wall. “Not funny, Gran. Not funny at all.”
The next message was from her mother. “If you get home before 4:30, call me. Otherwise we’ll plan on going out for dinner; you choose the place.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it.” DJ checked the clock. It was already 4:45. She looked down at her clothes. If her mother caught her looking and smelling like horse and the woodsy ground she’d lain on, they’d never go out.
She shucked her clothes by the washing machine and threw the shirt and jeans in, along with others in the hamper. Then while that started running, she charged upstairs to shower.
Where should we go? Pizza? Nah. She thought of places and discarded them as fast while the water pounded on her head and shoulders. By the time she wrapped a towel around her stringy wet blond hair, she’d decided on Chinese.
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