“You’re still full of surprises,” I said. “And it’s not even my birthday.”
“It’s not?” he said.
He looked exactly like, well, Dad. Maybe a little extra gray in the hair and beard since I’d seen him at Thanksgiving in New York. Despite the heat, he was wearing a blue blazer over a white button-down shirt and jeans, and looked nothing like the legal heavy hitter he’d become.
In New York he was known as Black Jack McCabe, now head of the firm he’d taken over when my grandfather had died suddenly of a heart attack. To me, he was just Dad, and I didn’t mind telling him that even though he wasn’t in a business suit, he was still overdressed.
“I heard there was some snob horse race down here tonight,” he said, “and thought I’d stop in and check it out.”
“You know they don’t call them races,” I said. “And you’re the one who sounds like a snob calling everybody else one.”
“Force of habit,” he said. “The only time I ever really like this sport is when you’re in it.”
“What about Mom?”
“The feeling passed eventually,” he said.
He grinned then.
“So how we lookin’？” he said.
“Not much on the line tonight,” I said. “Just Mom’s horse, is all. And maybe the barn.”
“And this used to be such a quiet little town,” he said. “Now it sounds like a reality series.”
“Lot going on, no doubt,” I said.
“How soon before you go?” he said.
I told him where I was in the order, so I had some time before I’d be up on my horse.
“I never liked bothering you once you had your game face on,” he said.
“Just because you’ve watched me ride so often,” I said.
He shook his head.
“That’s my girl,” he said. “Don’t give an inch.”
“You never do,” I said. “And by the way? Can’t you see I have my game face on already?”
“I thought that was your normal RBF,” he said.
We both knew he meant resting bitch face.
“And people wonder where I get my smart mouth,” I said. Then I grabbed him by both shoulders and shook him and said, “Holy crap, Dad, I can’t believe you showed up!”
“You know me,” he said. “Always would have dressed up like a rodeo clown to get a smile out of my kid.”
We took an empty table at one of the outdoor cafés on Vendor Row.
“Your mom told me you pulled one out in the qualifier like my Yankees in the bottom of the ninth,” he said.
“Not gonna lie,” I said. “That one didn’t suck.”
I asked him how much he knew of the whole story with Coronado. He said that Mom had pretty much caught him up before he swore her to secrecy on his plan to be here tonight. Then I asked how much he knew about Steve Gorton.
“The only thing that amazes me is that this guy isn’t a lawyer,” he said.
“Wait,” I said, “you’re a lawyer.”
He put a finger to his lips.
“Don’t let that get around,” he said.
As nervous as I was, I laughed. It felt good. He was never around, my dad, at least not enough to suit me. I didn’t get to New York as much as I’d like to. But he was here now. All that mattered.
We were both silent then. I looked down at my phone to check the time.
“So how are you doing, really?” he said.
“Other than being scared out of my mind right now?”
“Yeah.”
“I actually like my chances tonight, crazy as that sounds,” I said.
“Doesn’t sound crazy to me,” he said. “I’ve seen you ride.”
“It’s mostly because of the way we finished on Thursday,” I said. “I honestly think I’ve got more horse than anybody.”
When the PA announcer welcomed everybody to the $500,000 Longines Grand Prix, I said, “Now it’s time for me to put my game face on.”
The two of us walked down Vendor Row and were about to head into the tent when one of the golf carts that shuttled guests from the VIP parking lot pulled up and Steve Gorton got out with a blonde almost as tall as he was who looked about my age.
Not now, I thought.
Dad and I felt obligated to walk over to him. He introduced his date as Blaine. I introduced both of them to Jack McCabe.
“Heard a lot about you,” Dad said to Gorton.
Gorton looked at him, then at me, then back at him. Grinning. “Well that can’t possibly be good for me,” he said. “Don’t believe everything she says about me. No matter what she told you, I never slashed the tires of her car.”