Stand Tall

"Keep him under two minutes today, okay, Lance?"

"I'll try," he told her with a smile. "He has a mind of his own sometimes and a will of his own all the time."

"That's what I'm paying you to control!" she said harshly in no uncertain terms. "I'm taking a helluva chance on you. Everyone I know says I'm crazy. But after 45 years of being around horses, I can 'feel' things and you riding Window Dressing feels right. Don't make me regret it."

She turned to walk away then turned back around and just as directly.

"Or worse, don't you dare make me have to eat my words."

His smile faded as he realized she wasn't kidding. And why would she be? She was under enormous stress to win this race. Winning meant the difference between staying in business or selling everything she and her late husband had worked for their entire lives. It also meant that anyone still working for her was out of a job. So...no pressure.

"I won't, Peg. You have my word. We'll come in at around 1: 45."

She held up her 25-year old stopwatch and said, "You're on the clock, Lance. Let's get a move on!"

Lance Palmer was 26 and had been riding professionally since he was 18. Between paying for gas, hotels, food, and workouts at local gyms, he'd lost money his first two years. Looking back, that was a tradeoff he'd willingly made to try and establish some kind of reputation. He finally broke even the third year and made a modest $15,000 his fourth. The year after that he'd made a very respectable forty grand, and had averaged close to fifty since then with most of that coming from winning the biggest race of his life three months ago. And it was that win that had caught his new boss's attention and convinced her to hire him.

At 5'5" and 130 pounds, Lance had to be able to handle a thousand-pound horse flying around a track at 40 miles per hour, and that was the reason he had to stay in the gym no matter how busy he got. He was neither the biggest nor the smallest jockey around, but he was always on guard for comments about his height.

Since getting his jockey card, he'd met a lot of jockeys shorter than him. A couple were under five feet tall with most being between 5'2" and 5'6". Weight varied from maybe 115 to 135 with a few rare exceptions on either end.

It was little consolation that he was considered 'tall' for a jockey. The only good news was he'd learned to keep things in perspective after having had met quite a few 'short rounds', a term he'd heard applied to him far too many times, open up about dealing with something most men never even thought about.

Unlike 'size', a feature men could hide and therefore ignore most of the time, that wasn't true with height. Along with gender and race, it was pretty much the first thing people noticed when meeting someone for the first time. He was no longer paranoid about it, but it still bothered him.

It was still hard having guys use his height (or lack thereof) as a way to well, 'cut him down to size' anytime they wanted to put him down. It was such an easy 'go to' insult, but that's right where they went.

It was even worse when a woman he found attractive gave him that 'look'. It didn't matter that he had a very nice-looking face, great hair, and a rock-hard body. He was 'a short shit' and after years of praying for the growth spurt that never came, this was his reality, and dealing with it was his lot in life.

He'd done his best to embrace his...shortcoming...and gone into a career where he could use it to his advantage. Lance got his first big break the fifth year and won three races, collecting 10% of the winning fee. He made a hundred bucks a ride if he didn't win, place, or show, the terms racing used to denote first, second, and third places. The percentages for placing and showing were less, but still better than a measly $100 which barely paid for a day's expenses. But it was this last win that had really opened up opportunity's door, and it was Peg Winfield who'd come knocking.

Winning this high-stakes race in two weeks could mean as much as a hundred grand, and Lance was riding a rocket named Window Dressing that could tear up the track. He was the fastest three-year old he'd ever ridden. More that matter, he was also the fastest horse he'd ever been on—period. He'd won a couple of local races, but hadn't won a major event yet so he wasn't even close to being the favorite, although he had been moving up from a long shot with odds of 25-1 to his current odds of 7-1 which put in him third place in pre-race handicapping. He was Lance's first real shot at racing glory and Peg Winfield's last hope of keeping her business, so both of them had a lot 'riding' on this race.

Ten minutes later, Lance had Window Dressing in the paddock. His headset was fully functioning, and he let Peg know he was ready. She hit the open button and Window Dressing took off like he was shot out of a cannon. Lance stood up immediately to slow him down slightly forcing the gelding to hold back on this one-mile timed run. This was as close as Peg would allow her star horse to run at full tilt, and she wanted to leave something in reserve.

As they rounded the track for the final lap, Lance didn't need Peg calling out the time. He could feel how fast Window Dressing was running and also knew when to use the whip on the final sprint.

Just as he'd promised, he brought the horse in very close to the predicted time at 1:46.2 for a mile.

After walking it off and coming over to where Peg was standing and smiling, she couldn't wait to ask, "How much did he have left in him?"

Lance smiled and said, "We didn't even kick in the afterburners. I could have gotten another 2-3 seconds out of him no problem."

"Perfect!" she said, a rare smile showing on her somewhat weathered face.

Lance had heard there was a time when Peg was always smiling. Rumor had it you couldn't find her without a smile glued to her face back then. But that was before her husband had passed away and before her ex-son-in-law had convinced her only child and their two boys to leave the area to follow his dreams, and before her the financial crisis that had wiped out her savings, her 401k, and nearly everything she had. All that had happened within a three-year window, and now she and the ranch were, well, running on fumes.

Window Dressing wasn't supposed to be anything special. He came from a stud and a dam that were decent stock but nothing more than that. They'd had him gelded when he was a year old and six months later Peg was watching him run four furlongs. She stopped what she was doing and started watching closely. She kept watching for another year and that's when she knew this horse had real potential.

The next time he ran, she was there with her stopwatch and couldn't believe the time he put in. Since then he'd won several small races and finished a very respectable third in his only high-stakes race.

Peg liked the jockey who ridden Window Dressing since his first race, but something wasn't right. So just a few weeks ago, she let him go and changed horses, so to speak, before the biggest race of her life. Peg was convinced the only reason the horse hadn't won was having the wrong jockey riding him. So she'd gone looking for one she thought could win, and Lance Palmer was that lucky man.

She was literally betting the farm, or maybe ranch, on this unexpected speed demon and the relatively unknown jockey riding him. Were he to show, she could keep the ranch up and running but would be in trouble again a year or so down the road. If he placed, she'd be set for the foreseeable future. Were he to win, well, it would be a life-changing event for her and her staff.

Staff. That was almost funny. She'd once employed nearly a dozen people, but now there was just Miguel, her best trainer and groomer who'd been with here for some 20 years.

"Okay, let him cool down then turn him over to Miguel," she told Lance. "And nice work!"

Compliments were as rare as her smiles these days, so Lance felt pretty good about his effort. Of course, if they didn't win when it mattered, all the work would be for naught, and no one was more aware of that than him.

He went to answer Peg when her phone rang. She saw who the call was from and held up her hand letting Lance know she was taking it. What he didn't know was it was her daughter calling with some very important news.

"Mom?" Peg heard.

"Yeah. Hi, hon. So what's the verdict?"

There was a fairly long pause before she heard, "We're coming home."

"We?" Peg asked.

"Just the boys and me," her daughter said grimly.

The sadness in her voice was obvious, and her mom didn't have to ask why. And while it hurt her to know her daughter was in so much pain, she couldn't have been more grateful to learn the three people who meant more to her than anyone else on earth would be moving back home. And not just to their small town outside of Lexington, Kentucky, but to the ranch to live with her until she could get back on her feet.

That was just all the more reason Window Dressing had to do well. As much as the thought filled her with happiness, it also increased the pressure she felt to win the high-stakes race in just over two weeks. If she didn't, all of them would be looking for a place to stay.

"You did what you thought was best," her mom told her. "I'm really sorry it didn't work out."

"Me, too, Mom. And as hard as it is for me to admit it, you were right," her daughter said.

Peg knew how difficult it had to be for her daughter to say that. It no longer mattered that her mother had warned her about the 'dreamer' she'd married and with whom she'd had two children. She'd loved him early on, or thought she did, and now they had two kids so she'd been willing to follow him, even though she sensed it was another disaster waiting to happen. And when it all fell apart, Peg found impossible to gloat knowing what it meant to her daughter and her two boys.

"I can't wait to see the three of you again, hon," she said, refusing to pour salt into the wound. "When do you think you'll be home?"

"We're leaving tomorrow morning, and we should be a couple of days after that. If the car doesn't fall apart on us."

"Do you need me to send you some money?" Peg asked. She knew she didn't have much to spare, but she was sure her daughter had even less.

"No. We can get back just fine as long as something doesn't go wrong. I'm selling the store, and although there won't be a lot of money, it should tide us over for a while."

"All right. Call me if it does break down on you, okay?"

"I will, Mom. And...thanks for not rubbing my nose in it."

"Just come on home, hon. I can't wait to give you and those boys a big old hug! How tall are they now?"

Her daughter laughed then said, "Believe it or not, Gavin's taller than Connor now."

"Seriously? He's two years younger than his big brother!" Peg said.

"You mean his older brother," her daughter said. "It's no big deal to Gavin, but Connor's having a really hard time with it. I keep telling him not to worry, but you know how kids are. Boys especially."

"I do," her mom said. "I remember a little girl who grew to be very tall and was freaked out for the opposite reason."

"Yeah, those were a couple of tough years. I felt like a walking beanpole, you know?"

"Oh, I know. Anyway, I can't wait to see you all. Tell the boys Grandma loves them, okay?"

"Will do, Mom," she said. "And again. Thank you."

There was a brief pause before her daughter added, "I love you, Mom."

For the first time since her daughter left home three years ago, Peg Winfield teared up. She swallowed hard then said, "I love you, too, Livvie-Loo. Bye, hon."

She 'hung up' the phone then sat down and started reminiscing about her daughter and all that had happened since she and that worthless SOB-husband of hers left town to make their fortune selling marijuana out in Washington State as soon as it had been legalized back in 2012. Peg knew he'd never stopped smoking the stuff, and she knew her daughter, Olivia, also knew he hadn't. It was an unspoken secret between them and her husband, Jess Christiansen, who'd dragged them off with smoke rings of glory filling his pot-dazed head.

"We can't lose, baby!" he'd told Olivia. "We're getting in on the ground floor! They've legalized the stuff, and we'll be there to open one of the first stores."

Jess claimed to have a couple of friends he grew up with back in Seattle who knew the business side of things, and Jess had managed to put away nearly twenty grand by living rent-free at the ranch for several years. Jess had a job, but it was nowhere near good enough to allow them to save any money let alone a sum that large. Olivia had her suspicions even then but never brought it up for reasons she couldn't explain.

Olivia never shared his dream and the thought of going there and losing everything scared the hell out of her, but other than the 'weed', he'd been good to her and their boys, even if he rarely did anything with them. In addition, it meant leaving behind not only her friends, but those their boys had made as well as the life they'd learn to love growing up on a horse ranch.

So against her better judgment and her mother's pleas not to leave, she'd gone out West to strike it rich selling legal cannabis to the weed-hungry potheads of Seattle.

Their nest egg was gone within the first six months, and yet Jess was still bringing home money even when she knew their store wasn't making any. She knew because she did the books, and they were barely making enough to survive. And yet her husband would often deposit several thousand dollars in their account then tell her he'd 'sold some off the books.' But even that couldn't account for the kind of cash coming in on a regular basis.

And then gradually, Jess had started missing more and more work leaving the shop to a couple of potheads who worked for him, mostly for the free 'weed' he gave them as part of their compensation package.

Olivia knew something was very wrong, but it wasn't until a police detective came to the shop two weeks ago that she knew what it was.

"Ma'am? Is your husband Jess Christiansen?" the police officer asked after showing her his credentials.

"Yes? Is he okay?" she asked fearing the worst, imagining him in a twisted mess of steel somewhere on the interstate.

"I'm afraid he's been arrested," was the reply.

"For?" she asked, her voice tentative, thinking the answer was selling marijuana illegally in a state where it could be sold legally.

"Possession and distribution of meth-amphetamine."

"Oh, my God..." Olivia said as she sat there shaking her head.

"Did you know your husband was running a meth lab in an abandoned house out near Wilkinson?"

Wilkinson was a small town of less than 500 people in Pierce County, about 50 miles south of Seattle.

"No," was all she said.

"Seems like he thought of himself as some kind of real-life Walter White," the detective said.

"Who?"

"Walter White. From the TV show Breaking Bad," he explained. "The high-school chemistry teacher who turned to making meth after being diagnosed with terminal lung cancer."

"Oh, sorry. I don't have time for television. I do know what you're talking about though," she said quietly. "So...where is he and what is he facing?"

"Up to five years in prison and a $10,000 fine. Since this is his first offense he may only get a year in jail or maybe 2-3 years in prison. It largely depends on the judge. This is one of the most lenient areas in the country, but even here, judges won't let meth dealers go scot free. I'm sorry to have to break this to you like this, Mrs. Christiansen, but your husband is in custody and I'm guessing the bail will be at least $250,000. The judge will set that at his arraignment tomorrow morning. I'll give you the address and phone number of the facility where he's been incarcerated then I'll be out of your hair after I ask you a few routine questions."

Olivia went to visit him one time and one time only the following morning before the arraignment. Jess was unrepentant and told her he'd do it again if he had the chance.

"Baby, we were gonna lose everything!" he said. "I did this for you—and the boys!"

She stared at him coldly and said, "No, we would have lost a building and some money. The boys and I are supposed to be everything to you. Clearly we're not."

"Liv, don't be like this!" he begged. "Don't give up on me for one mistake. Please!"

She didn't have to ask whether or not he's also been using. The signs of withdrawal were obvious. Even so, she asked him point blank

"Are you using?" she asked anyway just to see if he'd lie again.

"What? Using? Me? Come on! No. I just cooked the stuff."

"Wow. You can't even tell the truth anymore. I don't know who you are, Jess, but I do know you're not the man I married, and I'll be damned if I'll let my boys be around a lying drug dealer. I put up with the pot thing because it's legal, and because I trusted you. But if you'd do something like this behind my back and then lie to me about it..."

He saw her starting to cry and wanted to comfort her, but physical contact was prohibited other than one hug at the beginning and end of the visit. He also knew she wasn't interested in his comfort when he saw her pulling on the ring he'd given her the day he asked her to marry him.

"No. Liv. Please. Don't," he continued to beg.

"You were selling meth back home, weren't you?" she asked referring to Kentucky.

"You don't know that," he said defensively.

"You're pathetic, Jess," she said as tears ran down her cheeks.

She pushed the ring across the table toward him. The guard gave her a look indicating her husband couldn't take it so she left it laying there without a word hoping it might get sold and help out some kid who'd been using meth. It would probably just get pawned, but even that was better than keeping it; a reminder of how many years she'd wasted.

Olivia wasn't wasting another day. She stood up to leave and Jess, his voice shaky from emotion and his body shaking from withdrawal said, "So that's it? It's over? Just like that?"

It took every ounce of restraint she had not to scream when she said with a surprising amount of self-control, "No. Not...just like that. It started when you made the decision to sell meth. It got worse every day you hid it from me. This was just the final straw. The fact that you successfully hid it from me all this time isn't on me. By hiding it you lied to me all day, every day for years! So, no, it's not over 'just like that', Jess. It's been over since you started cooking. You just didn't know it until you got caught I and I found out."

She stopped, thought for a moment then said, "I'll be filing for divorce and sole custody before I leave. Do your time, get yourself straight, but don't ever come looking for me or the boys again unless you've been sober for two years straight. If you can do that, I'll consider letting you see them, but you'll have to pass a drug test I administer before that can happen."

She didn't hear another word of his desperate pleas not to leave him, and it was just as well as there was nothing he could say to make her stay. There was only one place she could think of to go to, and that was back home. And she knew going home meant eating a lot of crow.

So she'd hired an attorney, filed for divorce, put the store up for sale, and broken the news to her two sons all within a two-day period after visiting Jess. It took her another ten days or so to work up the nerve to call, but to her credit, Olivia had picked up the phone and done so.

She'd not only called, she'd also apologized even though she hadn't done anything wrong. She'd been foolish, yes. But she'd done what she thought she had to do to keep her family together.