by Orly Konig
I stop at one image about two-thirds of the way through the notebook. “This is my favorite.”
“He spent more time staring at Jack than anyone else in the barn.”
The resolve I’d been working into a lather dries in the current of her words.
I thought coming back here would be a quick in-and-out. Gallop in as the confident adult me, deal with my father’s things the way I deal with all business, then gallop out leaving nothing but a dust cloud behind me. And how’s that plan working for ya?
“I keep looking through his sketch pads, looking for an answer.”
“What do you think old drawings will tell you?”
“That there’s more to him than I knew.”
“Isn’t that a given? There’s always more to people than we truly know. Everyone has their secrets.”
“He was the master of secrets.” I don’t try to mask the anger.
“You should give him the benefit of the doubt.”
“Why?”
She slides down in the bed like a child hoping to disappear under the covers. I snatch a glimpse at Simon to see if I’ve stepped out of line with my tone. A glance passes between them.
The conversation I had with Rena replays in my mind. I’ve gotten some insight from Ben, but I want to hear it from her. “Why were you guys in contact again?”
She flinches and the sensors on the monitor by the bed beep louder. Simon leans forward and grabs her hand. “Rena?”
She pulls in a raspy breath, the effort registering in the faster tags moving across the screen.
We fall silent, listening to the beep and hiss of the machines monitoring Rena’s vitals. Her life beeping and hissing for everyone to hear. This isn’t the woman who scares little kids and big horses.
Simon’s eyes are glassy as he looks at his wife. His oversize hands protect her fragile hand as his thumb sweeps a semicircle around the bump of the IV.
I’m hypnotized by his thumb. “This is why you stopped teaching.”
A lone tear trickles down his cheek and he looks down at their hands. “Not entirely. Knee-replacement surgery slowed me down too much. And yes.” He raises his eyes and the rest of the explanation floats away in his tears.
I close my eyes, not wanting the reality in front of me to be real.
“Where do I fit in whatever you and my father were hatching this time?”
“This time?”
I can’t tell if she’s hedging or really can’t remember. “The letters. Now the meetings.”
“I hoped you would come back. I needed you to come back. I was afraid you wouldn’t come back.”
“Why though?” I swallow impatience, frustration, dread. Please don’t say for good-byes. But what else could it be?
“I hoped you would visit and the past would be forgotten. I wanted to rewind the years. When he didn’t agree, I pushed harder. I tried forcing his hand, I thought I could appeal to him on a personal level. He came to me when your mom needed help. Now I needed help.” Another tear escapes. She swipes at it and winces when the movement tugs at the IV line.
I slap my hand to my mouth. “Oh my god, he was coming to see you when he had the accident.”
Her chin touches her chest. “Yes.”
Beside me, Simon stiffens. “I think we need to let her rest now.”
“No, I need to finish.” She grabs at my arm. “Then you were there, in front of me, and you weren’t the girl I remembered. You’re not a girl anymore. You’re a woman with your own life. One that doesn’t include us.”
“But if you wanted me back, why were you so…” I search for a softer word, then give up and finish, “hostile.”
“Because looking at you, I realized that maybe your father had been right. Maybe it was wrong to drag you back into our lives.”
I want to counter that my father hadn’t been right, that he hadn’t known what was best for me. Her eyes droop. I’m running out of time to ask my question. “Why did you want me to take your lessons?”
“Because your father wasn’t right after all. You may be grown-up but you’re still the same person inside. It’s time to come back home and follow your dream. And I need you to show Jilli how to move forward.”
26
The doctor had pulled rank and I’d been shooed out of Rena’s room. The drive to the farm was noisy, my brain refusing to settle on one thought.
What did Rena mean about teaching Jillian to move forward? How the hell am I supposed to teach her anything when she clearly hates the air I breathe?
I pull into the parking lot at the farm, ready for my dose of Jack.
The trailer is parked in front of the barn next to Jilli’s sports car. I’ve never been a big believer in bad omens, but the trailer-Jilli combination sparks a riot with my nerves. The day didn’t start well and it looks as though it won’t be getting better in the near future. Unless the trailer means she’s leaving for a few days.
My wound-up nerves explode the minute I walk into the barn office where Jillian and Ben are in the midst of an overheated discussion.
“Fabulous. Look what walked in.”
“Deal with it, Jillian.”
I take a step back, hoping for a black hole that will spit me out after Jilli drives off.
“No you don’t.” Ben traps me mid-flee. “This isn’t my call, ladies.”
“What’s happening?” I look from Ben to Jillian.
“This is bullshit,” she mutters, throwing herself onto the couch.
Ben motions me to the chair in front of the desk. I feel like a kid being called into the principal’s office. He waits for both of us to settle, then draws a deep breath before stepping into the middle of the lion’s cage.
“The two of you are going to pick up a horse for Rena.”
Nope, this day isn’t getting better.
Jillian sulks deeper into the cushions. “I can go alone.”
“No you can’t.”
“Then you go with me.”
“Can’t. I have a full lesson roster. Emma isn’t teaching until later.” He turns to me with what could be sympathy or a plea for forgiveness.
“Plus, Rena specifically said Emma should be the one to go.”
“Whuuu…” I sputter. “I was just there. She didn’t say anything about this.”
“You were at the hospital?” Jillian is ramrod straight on the couch. “Why would you do that?”
I match her stare. “I wanted to see her. It’s something people do when someone they care about is in the hospital.”
She looks as shocked at my words as I feel at having uttered them.
“Ladies.” Ben taps at the desk with a pen, the lion tamer with a very short whip.
“What about the horses that need exercising?” I grasp for an out.
“It’s nice enough today. I’ll let them out for a couple of hours. They’ll be fine.”
“Where is this horse and why does it need two people?”
I expect Jilli to jump on that wagon but she stays oddly focused on a tear in the upholstery.
“Jillian,” Ben swivels to look at her, “would you like to fill your friend in?”
“No.” The tip of her finger disappears into the stuffing.
Ben assumes the measured tone of a teacher dealing with uncooperative kids. “Jillian, you’ll drive but you’re to stay in the truck. Do. Not. Get. Out. Emma, you’ll retrieve the horse. Ask for Mark. Rena talked to him this morning. He’s expecting us. You’re to get the one horse. Chestnut gelding, comma-shaped star. He’s the one you’re to come back with. Don’t let Mark convince you to take a different horse. Understood?”
“Understood. Come on, Ben, why the secret-agent tactics?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. It’s the first time I’ve seen him look stressed.
“These guys have a bad reputation. They don’t treat their horses well. Rena has been trying to close them down. Looks like she’s succeeded. But the horses that are left are earmarked for the slaughterhouse. Th
at chestnut gelding was one of ours before his owners sold him. Rena wants him back. The owner of the place is trying to stick it to her, which is why he may try to switch horses on us.”
My pulse picks up speed. “How many horses are left there?”
“Not many, from what I’ve heard. This guy is a class-A asshole.” Though he’s talking to me, Ben is studying Jillian, who is studying a lump of couch stuffing.
“This smells worse than Jukebox. Would someone like to tell me what the hell is really going on?”
Ben and Jilli lock gazes, a clear standoff of wills.
“Let’s get this over with.” She pushes up from the couch and walks past me, not waiting to see if I follow.
The idea of getting in the truck with her makes my palms sweaty. It’s making my brain sweaty, too. Is this part of the moving-forward lesson? I feel like I’m being tested and failure looks like a heap of mangled steel.
I take three deep breaths to slow the pounding in my chest. “Ben?”
“Ask her.”
“She won’t tell me. She doesn’t want me around. She’d eject me out of the damn truck if she could.”
His mouth twitches, a smile that doesn’t mature.
I tilt my head toward the door. “Why only the two-horse trailer?”
His jaw ticks left then right. “We can’t save the whole world.”
“We run a therapeutic program. How can we turn away those who need help—human or equine?”
“If only it was that easy. The humans bring in money, the equines eat it.”
“It’s not right.”
“It’s not, I agree.”
I hear the rumble of the diesel engine and picture Jillian losing what little patience she has to begin with. “I guess that’s my cue.”
I stand and walk to the door. If I’d stuck to the original plan, I’d be on my way to Chicago right now, not facing the most terrifying drive of my life.
* * *
There’s an uncomfortable chill in the cab of the truck. I pull my hands into the sleeves of my jacket and stuff them between my thighs. Jillian pulls a sleeve over her knuckles and smirks. She’s decided to take revenge by freezing me—literally and figuratively. Not one word has passed between us during the hour’s drive.
Despite the cold, I’ve been sweating the entire time. My body is rigid from the crushing combination of fear and freezing.
I should have told Ben I couldn’t ride in the truck with her. I should have said I’d follow in my car. I should have told Rena the truth and then maybe she wouldn’t have insisted I be the one to go.
The truck jolts over a pothole and I grab the armrest, my heart pounding.
She chuckles but the sound is hollow. “Relax, we won’t be crashing today.”
She allows the rig to idle at a Stop sign, keeping her eyes on the side mirror in case someone comes up behind us.
“It’s just down that road.” She nods to the left. “I’m not supposed to be on their property. They are the lowest form of humans and deserve worse than being shut down.”
I turn to get a better look at her. Her profile doesn’t reveal much.
She sighs and I catch a flick of a look in my direction. “They have a restraining order on me. As long as I don’t get out of the truck and as long as the owners don’t get a whiff of me, I’m okay.”
“What happened?”
“Let’s just say not one of my finer moments.”
“Did it involve alcohol?” My breath makes tiny white clouds.
The diesel engine rumbles and moans. Jillian’s profile stiffens. I resist the urge to apologize for poking at an old wound.
I think I knew in the back of my mind that accusing her of being a drunk would blow our friendship to bits. I never imagined it would be the seal of death. I’d wanted to shock her into realizing there was a problem and admitting she needed help.
“No.” It’s little more than an exhale that fogs a pattern on the side window.
“I shouldn’t have said that.”
Her shoulders twitch. “I guess I can’t really blame you.” I twist against the seat belt but she holds up a hand. “Don’t.” Her left pinky moves away from the steering wheel and flicks the turn signal. The blink-ping ricochets through the truck.
She navigates the sharp turn into a driveway.
The truck heaves left as the front tire slips into a deep rut. Wood planks in the perimeter fence create awkward angles where they’ve popped away from the post. A walk-in shed in the pasture to our right is missing half of its roof.
Inside, a chestnut pony stands between the wall and a hanging aluminum sheet from the defunct roof.
“Stop.” One hand grabs for the door handle while my other fumbles to release the seat belt. “That’s him.”
Jillian slams on the breaks and grabs my arm. “Wait.”
The chestnut’s head hangs, nose almost touching the ground. His back curves up, accentuating the sharp lines of his rib cage.
He moves, and in the impossibly narrow space between him and the wall is a black pony, skinnier than any other animal I’ve ever seen, with eyes devoid of the will to continue.
I recognize the absence of hope in those eyes. I’d been too young to recognize the pain back then. But I’d seen it. In my mom. In Jilli.
“We have to find Mark. We’re taking them both.”
Jillian releases my arm and grips the steering wheel. “We can’t.”
“The hell if I’m leaving that poor pony behind.”
“It’s not your call.”
My heartbeat pounds in my ears, muffling her words and the rumbling engine. Heat burns through my chest, anger at the cruelty, desperation to make a difference. “I’ll use my own money. And find another stable if I have to.”
Jillian shakes her head but doesn’t say anything. The truck inches forward until we’re even with the iron paddock gate.
“This is as close as I’m getting.” She slams the gearshift into Park and crosses her arms in a final exclamation mark.
A man emerges from a garage at the end of the driveway.
“Get out before he gets to the truck.” She stares out the driver window, leaving me with a view of the back of her head. There isn’t even a reflection in the window to catch her expression.
I slip out and take in a gulp of air. It’s colder here. Or maybe it’s the scene in front of me that’s left me shivering.
“Are you Mark?” I meet him midway between the cluster of buildings and the truck.
“You’re Emma?” he answers without answering. “Horse you want is in there. Good luck loading him.” He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and shifts his weight to his heels, in case I had the slightest thought of asking him to help.
“I’m taking both horses in that field.”
“Not the arrangement I have with Rena.”
“What do you care? It’s one less horse you have to worry about.”
He studies me with dark, rat eyes. “Five hundred dollars.”
“I’ll be back tomorrow with your money.”
“Cash. And if you’re not, I’ll come for it.”
I refuse to flinch under his beady stare.
He releases something that sounds like a cackle. “Crazy fuckers, the lot of you. Take those horses and get off my property. And be sure you have the money here before tomorrow ends.”
He stares past me, squinting into the light, then turns and walks off. I drain my lungs and pull in air untainted by his presence. A ray of sun sparks off the truck and I realize why Jilli stopped where she did. Mark couldn’t see who was behind the wheel.
It doesn’t take much effort to load both horses. Neither puts up a struggle. Jillian drives around the half-circle by the barn, lowering the sun visor as she pulls past and turns her head away from the buildings.
A precarious peace settles between us. She’s even turned up the heat in the truck.
She waits until we’re halfway to Jumping Frog Farm before speaking. “I tried to
run over that fuckhead.”
I must have looked like a cartoon character when her mouth drops, literally, to the ground, because Jillian lets out a laugh. A real laugh.
“Seriously. He was terrorizing a pony who didn’t want to load into the trailer. I was in my car getting ready to leave the show grounds and the next thing I know, my car’s hood is crumpled, there’s an airbag in my lap, the trailer has a massive dent, and that asshole has a broken leg. I guess I’m lucky his body moves faster than his brain or it would have been worse than a restraining order.”
“What happened to the pony?”
“Grandma found him a good home.” She jiggles the car keys with her right knee and flicks at the windshield-wiper control with her index finger. A long minute later, she asks, “How much did you pay?”
“Five hundred.”
Her head whips around. “What?”
“My money, my business.” I cross my arms and stare out the passenger side window.
“Why the hell would you do that? Shit, he would have gotten rid of that thing for fifty bucks.”
A tidal wave of emotions crashes over me.
“That thing is a living, breathing animal being left to die. She deserves more.”
Jillian opens her mouth, then snaps it shut. Her right hand taps at the temperature dial.
I rest my forehead on the window and shiver at the sting from the frigid glass. The rolling farmland and patches of woods blur.
I know it’s not what she meant. She would have saved that pony as well.
How am I supposed to help Jillian move forward when I also seem to be holding fistfuls of resentment.
27
February 1996
Emma blows on her fingers. It’s too cold not to have gloves on but she can’t braid Taylor’s mane with them on. She’s already had to redo a couple that came out crooked and they’re scheduled to leave for the horse show in an hour. Rena will be blasting in at any moment. She gives a last blow, wiggles her fingers, and parts another patch of mane.
“The spacing is off between those last couple.” Jillian leans against the corner of the wash stall where Emma has the mare in crossties. The light is better here and right now, Emma needs all the help she can get.
“They’re fine.” She blows a puffy white cloud into the air. “I don’t see your horse ready.”