I put my hand over hers and said, “Honey, you want me to fall down frothing?”
“Yes,” she said. Then: “What is frothing?”
The question was gone from her eyes now; only the answer was there. I started to tell her a terrible lie about what frothing meant, but right then the high, fast notes of the bugle sounded, and the announcer , said the horses were coming onto the track for the quinta carreta, the fifth race.
Elena took her hand away, and I put it back, and then the horses were passing in front of us. I saw Pete in bright red-and-white silks up on Jetboy, a black five-year-old gelding with clean, graceful lines. I expected Pete to look up and nod or wave, but he went right on past, head slightly bent.
I realized I didn’t have a bet down on Jetboy, so I went down to the mutual windows
