by Orly Konig
She hangs up and drops her head into her hands. “Oh this is not good.”
“Grandma? What’s wrong?”
“Carolyn was in an accident. The roads are slick and people don’t know how to pay attention. She’s okay but her car isn’t. She’s not going to make it today. And that means I’m shorthanded for the afternoon therapeutic lessons.” She flips through the class list and groans.
“We’ll help.” Emma ignores the glare from Jilli.
She’s been watching the lessons since she started coming to Jumping Frog Farm. She likes the slow, steady pace, the focus on connecting with the horse. She’s enchanted by the Rena who leads those groups. She loves watching any and all lessons—especially the advanced riders. But there’s a pull to the therapeutic ones that she can’t explain.
“Are you nuts?” Jilli hisses at her.
Rena’s mouth pulls into a lopsided thought expression.
“Way to go, Emma,” Jilli mutters. “I have homework,” she volunteers before Rena can rope her in.
“This morning you said you didn’t.” Rena’s thought face turns to suspicion face.
“Just remembered a book report due on Tuesday. And I’m only halfway through the book.”
Rena raises a questioning eyebrow at Emma.
“I can still help.” Emma sits taller.
“Okay then. I have two lessons I could use the extra hands with.”
“I can do that.” She hears the giddiness in her own voice and doesn’t care. So what if Jilli doesn’t want to help. Until now, the only thing she’d been allowed to do was lead ponies in and out of the arena, tighten girths, cool out horses after. But never full-out helping. Like in the ring, leading-a-pony helping.
“Good. The first lesson will be here in less than thirty minutes. Can you please help Daniel with the horses? We need Jasper, Timmy, and Star. Halters over the bridles.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Emma shoots up and out of the office, ignoring the mimicking yes ma’am from Jilli.
She still doesn’t understand what Jilli has against the therapeutic program. Granted, Jilli isn’t much of a watcher even with regular lessons but there are a few that she hangs with Emma to watch. Never the therapeutic lessons, though. The only explanation she’s given Emma is that the clients creep her out. Emma doesn’t see anything creepy about the people who participate in the program but she’s never been able to convince Jilli otherwise.
Emma retrieves Star’s tack. He’s her favorite of the three that will be used in the lesson. She kisses his muzzle and slips him a mint.
They’re ready by the time the lesson group arrives. Three adults, three kids. A boy about her age is walking with the assistance of short metal crutches. A band wraps around each arm just below the elbow and he’s gripping rubber handles. He’s followed down the aisle by a girl in a wheelchair. Emma pegs her to be nine, maybe ten. The woman pushing the wheelchair seems to be out of breath already and Emma wonders how she’ll manage in the indoor arena. The third kid is tall and skinny and bald and walks slowly behind the others, his hands buried in the pockets of a coat that looks three sizes too big. She thinks he may be about her age but he looks and walks older.
Rena greets them all by name and asks questions about what each has been up to since their last lesson.
The tall, skinny boy named Nathan says he’s glad to be back after two months away.
She realizes she’s staring when he turns and stares back. She also realizes that he’s raised an eyebrow except he doesn’t have eyebrows. She tries a smile and hopes it looks less shocked than she feels.
“Emma,” Rena refocuses the group, “can you help Nathan mount, please? You’ll stay with him throughout the class but let him control Star as much as he feels comfortable.”
She nods and busies herself tightening the girth and checking the bridle. Why did Rena give her this guy? Maybe he isn’t as uncomfortable with her staring as she is. She feels her cheeks heat up.
Don’t be a child, she scolds herself. Otherwise, Rena won’t let you help again.
She leads Star to the mounting block and holds him while Nathan gets on. She fixes the length of the stirrup leathers, her eyes trained on the boy’s brown paddock boots.
“It’s okay, you know.” His voice still has the higher pitch of the boys in her class. A few of the boys in Jilli’s class have started cracking and croaking when they talk. It’s weird. She’s glad girls don’t have to deal with that. Although from what she hears from friends and what they learned in health class, she’ll have worse things to deal with.
“How old are you?” She feels less awkward now.
“Eleven. I’ll be twelve next month.”
“Almost like me. My birthday is in two months.”
They smile at each other, another chunk of unease dropping into the footing of the arena.
“What’s wrong with you?” She knows it’s rude to ask, her father would be appalled. He’d pull her aside and say, Emma, I’m appalled at your behavior. She secretly loves the idea that she’s done something her father would hate. She’s also embarrassed that she feels that way. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.” The apology is as much to Nathan as to her father.
“I have cancer.”
“How long have you had it?”
“Two years. I’m doing okay though.”
She’s never known anyone with cancer. Actually, that’s not true. Kathy’s mom’s sister had cancer. She’d met her a couple of times when she was over at Kathy’s house. That was before they moved here, when they’d still been friends.
She can’t think of anyone else although she’s sure there must be someone.
“Doctors say I should be A-OK soon.” He makes the okay sign with his left hand.
“How long have you been riding?” She gives Star’s bridle a gentle jerk to keep him from getting too fast.
“A year?”
He doesn’t sound completely sure and Emma can’t remember seeing him before. Not that that means anything. She’s not here when many of the therapeutic lessons happen. But those are usually adults who come during the day while she’s in school.
“Do you like it?”
She turns a bit to look at him when he doesn’t answer and catches the tail end of a nod.
“It’s the only time I’m not a cancer patient. At school, kids are weirded out by me. They treat me like I’m contagious. At home, my parents are terrified of me. They treat me like I’m going to break. I can’t play soccer anymore because I’m too weak. I can’t even walk my dog alone because he’s big and he pulls when he sees a squirrel or bunny. I broke my elbow last year when he jumped after a rabbit and yanked me down onto the pavement.”
“I can’t imagine.”
“Yeah, it stinks. But here I’m just a kid on a horse. Yeah, I’m in a special program and all, but the horses don’t know that. They don’t treat me any different than they do Caitlin or you. Well, maybe you because you’re an awesome rider.”
Emma stops abruptly, her mouth open. Star tosses his head, annoyed at the loss of forward momentum.
Nathan grins at her. “Busted. I’ve watched you ride.”
“Emma, keep that horse moving,” Rena bellows from the center of the ring.
They continue the slow walk around the outside of the arena. She stays by Star’s shoulder as Nathan steers him in a figure eight, then in a circle, across the diagonal, another circle, another figure eight.
At the end of the hour, Emma helps Nathan dismount with a hand on his back to keep him steady.
“That goes by faster than any other hour,” he says.
“I know, right?” She’s always amazed at how slowly time moves when she’s at school or at home. But it zooms when she’s here.
They walk together back to the tack stall, Emma on the horse’s left, Nathan on his right.
“I hope you’ll be helping more often.” He peeks under Star’s neck and grins at her again. She likes his smile.
“Me too.”
<
br /> She watches as Nathan and the others leave, then goes back to Star. He doesn’t need to be cooled off, he didn’t work up a sweat, but she gives him a good brushing anyway. He may not have worked hard but he performed like a champion.
She’s always felt more herself here than anywhere else, so she’s not surprised that Nathan feels the same. But she is surprised at the emotion in his voice when he talked to Star. For her, riding is confidence. For Nathan, riding is living.
22
I watch Michael walk to the barn, his hands loose at his sides, the fingers of his left hand playing an invisible piano. Or maybe it’s a trumpet. I can picture him playing a trumpet, soulful songs that lull your aura.
He’s an interesting character.
In the distance a siren rushes the quiet of a country afternoon. The sound gets closer until the flashing lights turn into the driveway to the stable. The horses and goat, agitated by the disruption, gallop to the far end of the field and hide under the sweeping branches of the big willow tree.
I sprint toward the barn, heart hammering even before the exertion kicks in. By the time I skid around the side of the barn, I see paramedics removing a medical bag and a stretcher from the back of the ambulance. I kick up my speed and arrive at the outdoor arena as one of the paramedics kneels next to Rena.
I stop next to Ben and Michael and a couple of people in breeches. “Oh my god, Rena. What happened?”
Ben stretches his arm in front of me, barricading the entrance to the arena. “I’m not sure.”
A girl standing on the other side of the fence sniffles into a Kleenex. “We were in the middle of my lesson. She was sitting on the jump in the middle of the ring and got up to raise the outside line for me. I came around the corner and she was crumpled on the ground with the standard on top of her.”
Simon and Jillian hover, moving a step left, two steps right as the paramedics attend to Rena.
Rena moves and I release the stranglehold on the top rail of the arena fence. The paramedics lift her onto the gurney. She gets a few halfhearted swats in, telling them to leave her alone, that she’s fine. She may be alive, but she most certainly doesn’t look fine.
“You have to let them do their job.” Simon grabs at one of her arms, only to end up with a swat to his chest. “You’ll be back terrorizing everyone in no time. Stop being such an ornery old mare.”
While one of the paramedics straps Rena onto the stretcher, the other tells Jillian to follow them to the hospital in Rockledge.
“I’m not going to the hospital. I have lessons to teach.” There’s little of the patented Rena spit in those words. She closes her eyes and appears to melt into the gurney. “I’m just a bit dizzy.”
“We’ll get an IV in her as soon as we’re in the ambulance,” the first medic tells Simon, who’s walking next to them, one hand resting on Rena’s shoulder. “We need to get her to the hospital.”
“I’m right here, dammit. I hear you. Just give me the damn fluids. I don’t need to go to the hospital.”
“Ma’am, you’re going to be fine.”
Rena grabs Simon’s arm and yanks him closer. “You tell that pipsqueak to stop talking to me like I’m a senile old goat.”
Simon pats her shoulder and eases out of her grasp, mumbling “good luck” to the medic as they lift the stretcher into the back of the ambulance.
Before the doors close Rena locks eyes with me, then turns to Simon. “Emma is to take over the therapeutic lessons until I’m back.”
Slam. Slam.
I’m trapped in Jillian’s glare.
“Jilli, we need to go.” Simon’s voice is overshadowed by the crunch of gravel as the ambulance rolls away.
Jillian turns to Ben but her attention stays firmly on me. “Cancel the lessons for the rest of the day and tomorrow. We’ll see how to divide the rest of Grandma’s schedule when I get back from the hospital.”
“Rena made that decision. Emma will teach instead.” Ben crosses his arms, challenging Jillian to contradict her grandmother in front of the group assembled around the arena.
I watch as anger and anxiety prickle Jillian’s resolve.
“She,” Jillian spits the word in my direction, “will not be taking over anything. I manage the barn. And the lessons.” In the flip of a braid she turns and strides to her car, spastically clicking the Unlock button. The car beeps spastically in return.
Simon draws in a long breath, releasing it in short puffs. “Ben, can you and Emma look at Rena’s calendar? She’s right, Emma, you’re the person to lead the therapeutic lessons. Will you?”
Jillian honks, backing the car out of its parking spot faster than is safe, then honks again for good measure.
“Jillian was adamant about not having me involved.”
Simon lifts a hand. “I still own this barn. I still have final say.”
“I’m only here two more days.”
“We’ll take it.” Ben grabs me at the elbow and pulls me aside as Jillian backs to a stop inches away.
“Thank you,” Simon mouths and gets in the passenger seat. Jillian guns the engine, sending gravel hurtling at innocent bystanders.
The small crowd watches the ambulance, followed by Jillian’s silver sports car, disappear around the bend in the road. No one speaks, no one moves.
Finally, Ben breaks the trance. “Okay, folks, we need to keep this place running. Arianna, please go check on your horse. He was pretty hot when Tony took him in. Hose him down and walk him. Emma, you and I have a schedule to split.”
I follow Ben into the office. He flips on the computer and prints a couple of calendar pages, then starts highlighting and circling and crossing names out. A shudder travels up my spine. This morning I was looking at flights to Chicago.
“Ben, I don’t know about this. I’m not a teacher and I’m certainly not qualified to work with the therapeutic clients.”
“You helped with the program before.”
“Helped, yes. But that was years ago.”
He leans back in the chair. “The boss believes you’re the right choice.”
“Why though? I don’t get it. She’s been friendlier than Jillian, but far from pleased to have me here. Why the drastic change?”
Ben doodles a bubble font question mark on one of the calendar pages. Finally he looks up. “She has her reasons.”
“Has this happened to her before?” A cold prickle slithers down my spine at the image of Rena on that gurney.
“Once.”
“What’s wrong with her, Ben?” I lean forward, willing him to tell me it’s nothing, that she just pushes herself too hard.
He releases a heavy sigh. “God, Emma, you need to talk to them about this, not me.”
“But you’re the one left to deal with me. And I’m not agreeing to anything until I know the truth. Dammit, Ben, haven’t I had to deal with enough lies and surprises lately? Why can’t anyone just give me a straight answer?”
None of this is his fault, but between my father, Rena, work, and Jillian, I can’t contain my frustration any longer. Ben looks up from his doodle. The question mark has morphed into a fat exclamation point.
“She had a heart attack four years ago. That’s why Simon stopped teaching. She refused to stop, so he became her right hand.”
I slam back into the chair, knocking the breath and words out of me.
“Will you stay and help?”
“I have a lot to do before I return.” There’s the sale of the condo, plus transferring the money in the bank accounts and finalizing the sale of the medical practice. All excuses.
I look at the calendar printout in my hands. My heart overrules my brain.
Two days. Then I’m going back to Chicago.
I hold up two fingers and Ben’s face spreads into a relieved grin.
Half an hour later, I have three lessons to teach—a “regular” lesson, as Ben calls it, and two therapeutic classes. Ben has added one more lesson to his already full schedule, and pushed two private
s to next week. I leave Ben sorting through the schedule for the following day.
The barn is eerily quiet. I walk the aisles looking at empty stalls. Most of the horses are outside enjoying the cooler weather. There’s an hour before my first lesson, a talented young rider, according to Ben. She’d started with Rena when she was six and at thirteen is now spending most weekends at horse shows, a “mini-Emma,” Ben teased. I didn’t believe for a hairy minute it was coincidence that she was the only “regular” lesson I ended up with.
Libby, it turns out, is indeed a mini-me in many ways and the hour lesson flies by. At the end she asks if I’m going to be her permanent teacher and mumbles “bummer” when I explain that I’m just subbing for Rena.
I’d been so absorbed by the girl and her horse that I’m surprised to see Michael sitting in the spectator pavilion.
“You’re still here.”
“I wasn’t ready to leave after what happened with Rena.”
I nod. I don’t think I would have been able to leave either.
He tilts his head, indicating Libby. “You’re a natural.”
“She’s easy to teach.” I walk to the fence, the excitement of the lesson pulsating through me. Together we watch as Libby rides her chestnut pony around the ring, letting him catch his breath.
“When she has a good teacher.” He chuckles. “She does great with Rena. Not so much the times Jillian teaches.”
“I’m sensing a recurring theme here.”
He grins, and a mischievous spark flashes before he blinks it away. “I better hit the road. It was nice meeting you, Emma. I hope to see you around here again.”
He exchanges heys and see-yas with Tony, who’s coming out of the barn leading two horses. Trailing behind are two boys probably not much older than Libby, but clearly out of sorts with their misfortune at being in a stinky barn. One boy tugs at the strap of his helmet and scowls at the back end of the horse. The other has his hands shoved so far into his jeans that the waistband has slipped down his hips. My first therapeutic session will not be as easy as my first regular lesson.