Page 9

CHLOE

“Chloe, you gotta see this!” Jerry shouted down the barn aisle.

I rubbed my temples and whimpered. “Dude, I’m so hungover this morning. I almost died in a storm. Can we please, please, please keep it down.”

“You want to see this! Trust me!”

Jerry handed me his phone, standing with hands on hips as I watched the video. It took me a minute to recognize the person on the screen, but I soon realized this was one of our own. A girl in trendy sunglasses stood before a horse I knew from recent days.

“That’s the one who is trailering up from DeKalb?” I asked. “The cute OTTB?”

“Yeah,” Jerry said. “They got hit hard, I think.”

“So, we lost everything last night,” she said. “My Dad’s barn and arena are gone. His truck and car are totaled. We lost a bunch of fencing. We only have one small pasture that works right now.”

She panned the camera. “My Dad is trying his best to fix the fence now. We have too many horses here and no hay, so we’ve really got to hope the grass survives. It’s a mess. Everyone out here lost things.”

She turned the camera back. “I’m going to go show you what is left of our barn.”

She walked, the horses following.

“Doobs, move your butt!” She pushed against a loud black and white horse who nibbled at her hair playfully. “Everyone, that is Doobie. No, we didn’t name him.”

I snickered.

“That’s her dad’s stallion,” Jerry said. “He’s some sort of big deal, I guess.”

“Really? With that color?”

“He’s a paint horse. They show western, I think. Well, she wants to ride english and the mom is a fucking head case, but the kid has chops.”

I smiled, aware of what that was like.

“So, this is our barn.”

She turned the camera, showing a building with no roof, no doors, and very little standing. She walked through the destruction.

“This is where Cash was. Dad and my uncle had to pry her out with a crowbar. I swear to God, I’ve never been so worried.”

That hurt my heart.

“And if you think the barn is bad, guess again!” She continued through the large barn and onto a hill. “The arena is just… gone. The round pen is all twisted and broken. It’s a mess. And then the house.”

She turned in another direction. “It’s totally gone. My Dad and I were in the basement. He made me wear a helmet. He was so freaked out. I thought he was crazy.”

I smiled, then teared up. The idea that you might lose your child overrode all else, didn’t it?

“That’s something Dad would have done,” I admitted.

“We literally lost everything. They’re saying it’s going to be like 6 months before they can put up a new barn or house. And…”

She turned the camera around, voice breaking. “And… it’s just so painful. Because I was supposed to debut in First Level at Lamplight in September and show Opal at the NSBA worlds in three weeks. And now, it’s all gone. We don’t even have a trailer. I don’t know what to do. Dad is calling everywhere but… if you have a barn with a few stalls or even a run in, can you please message me? We have nowhere to go. And if we cannot find something… I gotta give up my horses and move in with my mom. I cannot do that.”

Tears ran beneath her sunglasses. She removed them and wiped with her sleeve. “I’m just… I start school in a month. It’s all totally fucked up. Please, people. Anywhere in Chicagoland? Just help us. I will shovel stalls and hold horses for the farrier. I’ll even start cleaning sheaths if I must. I’ll band and braid manes. Just please help me!”

The video ended. I fought tears. That poor baby needed us!

Riley, our head trainer, peeked in. “What’s up?”