Page 21 of Double Bucked

“Most of it is pretty standard—breeding expenses. Horse care. Equipment for the stables. Salaries.”

“Mmhm.”

“But he’s been sending money to something called the Semper Fi Fund.”

Twigs snap under my feet. My thighs burn, and I push through the pain.

“What’s that?”

“I don’t know. Some sort of…nonprofit for veterans. Military fundraiser bullshit.”

“I didn’t know he served.”

I scoff. “He didn’t. Ever. I don’t think he’s ever even voted. Daddy hated politics.”

“Maybe he became patriotic in his old age.”

I take a couple of seconds to inhale. Exhale. Jog. “It’s just…it’s just off.”

We’re coming up to a river. “Left or right?” James asks.

“Right. We can circle back to the house.”

We swoop to the right like geese on a migration path. James’s feet fall quickly and quietly in line with mine, and for a minute, we pick up the pace. I let the beating of my heart do the talking.

But then I say, “What if it’s a front?”

James’s breath is light. I can hear his soft inhales and exhales.

“A front for what?”

“I don’t know. Maybe Daddy was…cheating on his taxes. Something. He always thought he was invincible. Better than everyone else. What if he was doing something illegal…and it caught up with him?”

“You think the tax man killed your father?”

A strand of hair springs free from my ponytail. I blow it out of my face. “No…I don’t know. It’s just a theory. But it’s strange, isn’t it?”

James is quiet for a minute. “You said it yourself,” he says. “You really didn’t know the man in the past five years.”

“So?”

“I think you’re reaching.”

I stop. I put my hands on my thighs.

James stalls. He keeps moving, though, jogging in place. “Are you okay?”

My chest is tight. I grip my knees and lift so I can look him in the eyes.

“Daddy is dead,” I tell him. “He had his head blown off in his own bed. What part of that sounds normal to you?”

The edge of his mouth tucks downward. He says nothing to his own defense.

I bow my head. Air hurts. Breathing hurts.

Being alive hurts.

When I stand up again, my gaze moves beyond James. We’re almost back to the house. And then I see it—three familiar figures perched like flamingos in front of the gate.

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