North Oak, Book 1 - BORN TO RUN

Chapter 2: Six O'Clock Somewhere

SIX O'CLOCK SOMEWHERE

Fifteen-year-old Brooke Merrsal stared at the electric blue numbers on her alarm clock in the darkness. 3:59 a.m. She sensed the seconds ticking down to the next minute. Her hand shot out the instant the clock turned four. 

This was her favorite time of day. Most of the world still slept, but at North Oak there were horses waiting to be ridden. Horses that went really fast. With a grin, she threw back the covers and headed to the kitchen. 

The house she and her grandfather shared wasn't much bigger than an apartment. Green shag carpet stretched corner to corner in the living room, reaching toward faux wood panels on the wall like out-of-place grass in a worn-down stall.

The linoleum in the kitchen was a pattern that made you motion sick if you looked at it too long. Clearly North Oak's head trainer, Joe Hendricks, was perpetually stuck in the 1970's as far as home decor went. Brooke didn't mind though. Their home was warm and cozy, and she had been born on that hideous yellow couch in the corner.

She scratched the seat of her sweatpants and poured a cup of coffee from the pot sitting in the coffee maker by the sink. Stooping down, she opened the cabinet by her left knee, grabbed a bottle of Jim Beam whiskey, poured some into the cup, then put the bottle away. 

When she rose, her eyes met with some tupperware in the corner of the countertop whose lone inhabitants were cookie crumbs. She noted she should probably return it to the Showmans after school. Right now, Pop needs his coffee so we can get down to the barns.

Brooke was particularly looking forward to getting on North Oak's Breeders' Cup Distaff nominee, Venus Galaxies. There were only a few weeks left to get ready for the race. 

I wonder if Pop will want her going five furlongs, or six today, Brooke thought as she took the mug down the hall to the den and turned on the only lamp in the room. The brass fixture sat on a table between two armchairs and glowed beneath a cream shade. 

Her grandfather squinted from the armchair to her right. His white whiskers moved with his face in a grimace. Brooke gave him the mug and curled up in the armchair adjacent. 

"Morning, Pop."

Joe grunted and sipped his coffee. His eyes widened.

"Just how you like it." Brooke smiled. "Hey, what are you thinking for Venus Galaxies today? Five furlongs? Six, nice and easy?"

Joe merely grumbled something beneath his breath.

Brooke reached over to the table between them and took the sports page from the newspaper to browse the racing form. "Air Guitar looks good in the sixth, eh, Pop? Can't believe they're running her this close to the Breeders' Cup, though."

Joe took another deep slug of his coffee. "That paper's from two days ago."

She checked the date on the front page. "You've been up for how long and didn't bother to get today's news?"

Her grandfather set his mug down on the table, stood up, rubbed his hands on his hips, and looked at Brooke smugly. "Still up before you."

She rolled her eyes. "Some of us need sleep."

Joe swatted the air on his way out of the den, as if the implication might bite him like a gnat. "I'll sleep when I'm dead."

Brooke leaned forward in her chair. "That might come sooner than you think, old man."

"Good riddance," he muttered from the hall. 

Brooke crossed to the door and called after him, "You need to take better care of yourself."