Page 2 of My Wild Horse King

“He told me if I left Europe, he’d never speak to me again.” It’s harder than I thought it would be, repeating my dad’s angry threat.

“You’re assuming he doesn’t really mean it.” Grandfather raises one bushy white eyebrow. He may not be more than sixty-one, but his full head of hair is the color of cotton balls, and his eyebrows are twice as thick as a normal person’s.

“On the contrary,” I say. “I made him promise that he’d stand by it.”

Grandfather stares at me, frozen, for three beats. And then he throws his head back and bellows, like a bull that’s just run into a barbed wire fence. At first, I try to figure out how he was injured, standing stock still as he was.

Then I realize that he’slaughing.

When he stops, it’s equally unexpected, and it’s just as disconcerting. “Have you ever read the Bible, boy?”

I can’t help my frown. He keeps changing the subject in ways that make no sense. I shake my head, tightly, sensing this is not going well for me.

“That’s a pity. There’s a great story in there—a boy who sold his birthright.”

What’s he talking about?

“He sold it for a bowl of oatmeal.” He shuffles just a bit closer. “A bowl of pottage, they called it.”

“Why would he do that?”

Grandfather tilts his head. “Your mother sold your birthright, you know, for that parasite husband of hers. Sold it four times over.”

Oh.

“I know you’re here because you need money. It’s the only time I ever hear from anyone with the Liepa surname, but here’s the thing. I’m done giving money to all of you. You hear me?”

I nod slowly.

“But you are my grandson.” He sighs. “I imagine you need money for school at least, and that’s one thing I can respect—wanting to better yourself.”

A tightness in my chest eases. Mom always said Grandfather acted tough, but he would sometimes yield, if you didn’t push. I was counting on that still being true.

“I’ll loan it to you,” he says. “How about that? Market interest.”

I’m not exactly in a position to argue. “Yes,” I say. “I do need money for tuition and housing.”

“And, as long as you’re getting As, I’ll waive the interest,” he says. “When you graduate, if you graduate, you come to work for me. If you prove to me that you’re nothing like your father, I might even consider giving you back your bowl of porridge.” His snort is sharp.

“I plan to prove myself to you in any way I can.” I shake my head slowly. “And I’m sure that I’ll get all As, but I can’t promise to work for you.”

His scowl is terrifying, but I hold the line, because if my mother was right, this may be the most important bluff of my life. “Why wouldn’t you work for me?”

“I’m sure your company’s amazing, but it’s too risky, working for someone else. If I’m going to work my hardest to impress you, I’ll do it while building something for myself. Then if you decide that I don’t measure up, I’ll still have something to show for all my hard work.”

His lip curves upward very, very slowly. “You’re hedging your bet.”

I shrug. “My dad never bothered, but I’m not like him.”

“No.” He harrumphs. “Perhaps not.” He runs his hand over the bristle on his face. “New York University.” He shakes his head.

“I’ve read that it’s a good school, and New York City is in the middle of everything.”

He shrugs with a slightly pained expression. “It’s not bad, but it’s not Ivy League.”

“I can’t get into an Ivy League,” I say. “And paying for it would destroy me.”

Grandfather whips a phone out of his pocket and presses a few buttons. “Hey, Ulysses.” He pauses. “Uh-huh. As if I’d let you get away with that. I’ll show you on the back nine on Tuesday.” Another pause. “But that’s not why I’m calling.” He grunts. “No, not about that either, though I haven’t forgotten. Actually, I’m calling to tell you that my tall, handsome, brilliant grandson is about to start school at NYU. It looks like I may have to realign the Belmont Endowment.”

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