by Orly Konig
“Yes, already. We can take Taylor as well. You can show her in the equitation classes and Jack in the jumper classes.”
“Against Jilli? We haven’t competed against each other in so long.” Emma chews the fatty part on her left ring finger. When they were both showing in the children’s division they’d regularly come home with first- and second-place ribbons. It never mattered who was first or who was second. Most of the time the ribbons went into one display jar that sat on the mantel in the barn lounge.
She’s not sure when the change started, but at some point Jilli began to resent sharing the stage with her. Tolstoy was Jilli’s ticket back to the spotlight. Emma didn’t have a mount who could compete at that level. Until now.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” The excited flutters give way to worried jitters. She bites harder, the metallic taste of blood making her wince.
“Come sit. Tell me what’s going on.”
Emma flips a bucket and sits next to him. “I just feel like everything I’m doing lately is wrong and she’s starting to hate me. I’m afraid that if I show Jack in the same division, she’ll hate me even more.”
“She doesn’t hate you, love. You’re part of the family, and sometimes family members get the explosive end of the dynamite stick. Jilli is having a hard time adjusting to being a teenager. Her mother isn’t strong enough to handle her mood swings. God knows she has enough of her own. And Rena and I can only do so much.”
“It’s more than that. I don’t think she wants me around anymore.” She closes her eyes, wishing she’d been able to mask the hurt in her voice.
“How could you possibly think that?”
“She doesn’t include me in anything. She’s been sitting with other friends during lunch and, like today on the bus, they stopped talking the moment I sat down, then started again when I got off. She’s always in a pack of people. People who I don’t fit in with. She’s not even riding with me anymore.”
She swallows, determined not to let the tears loose. “I don’t mind it as much here, but the way she treats me at school kinda hurts. She’s becoming a different person. And not always a nice one. I just really miss my H and H sister.”
She stops, suddenly afraid she’s said too much. Jillian is, after all, his granddaughter and Emma is the outsider.
Before she can form the words to an apology, Simon pats her leg.
“You and Jilli are so much alike and so very different at the same time. Give her time, I know she’ll come around. She loves you and needs you.”
Emma isn’t sure time will do more than widen the gap between them. If this is what being a teenager is like, she’s not positive she’s looking forward to it.
“My next lesson is here.” With a creaking of knees, Simon gets up. “Don’t give up on her, Emma. She’ll need your strength.”
She’s not sure about Jillian needing her but she is sure Simon’s wrong about one thing, she’s not the strong one.
With Jack cooled off and back in his stall, it’s time to head home before it gets dark. She hates walking through the woods in the dark and tonight there’s no one to walk her even partway.
The light is on in Jilli’s room but she resists the urge to ring the doorbell. She can see the silhouette of her friend, the curly cord of the phone anchoring her to the window seat.
A pang of hurt lodges in Emma’s throat and she picks up the pace, disappearing into the darkening woods. An owl hoots, sending her heart and feet into fast-forward.
“Seventy-two, seventy-three…” The words collide with the gulps of air she’s forcing into her lungs. With the longer strides, she should be out of the woods before she gets to two hundred.
“Hundred eighty-four, hundred eighty-five…” The light in her bedroom shines like a lighthouse beacon. Thank god she forgot to turn it off this morning because the rest of the house is dark.
She unlocks the back door and walks into the kitchen, flipping on all the lights. Dad will be annoyed about wasting energy but he’s not here. She looks at the phone, black and silent on the strip of counter her mom had called “the cooking office.”
It won’t ring tonight. Jilli is the only friend who ever calls her. And she’s busy talking to her new friends. Emma turns to the backpack hanging on the back of a chair. She has a report to write.
She won’t long for something she can’t have and she sure won’t mourn something that was never hers to begin with.
So what if Jillian doesn’t want her around anymore? And so what if the kids at school don’t accept her?
She has Jack. He’s all she needs. He’s all she’ll let herself need.
31
The morning air has a bite that sends me deeper into the collar of my fleece jacket. Jack is on the mend, Rena is home, and the barn seems to release a collective sigh.
After checking on the patient, I pour another mug of coffee and walk to the front porch. I have only three mornings left. I’ve pushed my return to Chicago to the very back of my brain. It’s there, I can’t completely forget it, but I don’t want to think about it. I’ve found a rhythm at the barn. It’s hectic and peaceful, frustrating and fulfilling. With each passing day, I’m less sure that I don’t belong here.
The October air smells musty, an earthy combination of leaves and damp ground. It rained during the night but the day ahead promises to be crisp. A perfect day for a ride. Maybe I can persuade Ben to go on a trail ride if he has time between classes.
Sandwiched between two horses, Tony walks past me to the field. There is an unspoken agreement between them as they walk, heads down, strides matched, the lead ropes draped over the horses necks.
When the crunch of gravel under their hooves has quieted, I hear the hum of a muffled conversation. Two people are sitting on a pile of jumps tucked along the side of the barn by the door to the indoor arena. Rena is shaking her head, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her upper body curled inward as though protecting her hands. Michael is staring ahead, his mouth pulling into a defeated line.
I take a quick step back, not wanting to invade their privacy. But I can’t bring myself to walk away. Has Michael had a relapse? Is Rena telling him she can’t work with him anymore? Has Michael decided to quit the program? Is she suggesting he needs different help?
The swing of a lead rope in my peripheral vision startles me. I’ve been so engrossed in eye-dropping the conversation, I didn’t notice Tony walk back up from the fields.
“They’ve been talking for over an hour. I don’t like it.” He shakes his head and continues into the barn.
Rena takes Michael’s hand in hers. She says something, then stands and releases his hand. He lets if fall onto his lap, like an unwanted gift. She turns and walks away, her gait slow, awkward over the uneven parking lot. She seems to have aged in the last couple of weeks. I’d been dumbstruck at the change in her and Simon when I first returned but time seems to have sped up since.
And stayed still for me. I’m still here when I should be back in Chicago.
I turn at the sound of a stone pinging off metal.
“Hey.” Michael stops in front of me. “I hear you’re leaving soon. Pity.”
“Thanks.” I look into his sad eyes. Asking what he was discussing with Rena feels like an intrusion. Instead, I track Rena’s slow path to her house.
“I’m going to miss this place. It’s become my salvation. I came without much hope, and found my home. It’s magical.” The corner of his mouth twitches up but it doesn’t catch into a full-blown smile.
“You’re leaving?”
He turns and I’m acutely aware of the lack of personal space between us. He’s tall, muscular, commanding. Intimidating, although maybe I’m projecting since I know his background.
“I’m leaving.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t have a choice. What’s your excuse?”
I take a step back. No, he is intimidating.
“I don’t have a choice either. I have to get
back to work. Why don’t you have a choice, Michael?”
He studies me from above and I feel my spine curl under his intensity.
“She’s shuttering the program.”
“No.” It’s as much a gasp as a word. She can’t be. This program is Rena’s passion. Even if she’s not healthy enough to keep running it, she’d never close it down. She’d find someone to help.
He moves back a step, his expression registering as much surprise as mine must have at that moment.
“You don’t know?”
“No.” This time the word limps out.
“She’s been struggling to keep the program funded for years. There was an anonymous donor but she just learned that the funding was pulled. Sucks if you ask me. But nobody asked me.”
He shrugs and turns, there’s nothing more to be done.
This can’t be happening. She can’t shut the program down. It means too much to so many people.
* * *
“Hey, Ben, do you have a minute? I need to talk to you.”
“Sure, my next lesson canceled. We can talk while we ride.” He nods, sending his thick wave of hair airborne. The action, so like the one his horse makes, brings a smile to my face.
“You read my mind.”
Twenty minutes later we leave the open space of the field and slip into the shadows of the woods, me on Wally and Ben on Picasso, an off-the-track dressage horse whose owner broke her ankle a few days ago in an unfortunate encounter with a lopsided curb.
“Hey, Ben.”
He laughs. “Hey, Emma.”
“You’re making fun.” But I laugh anyway.
“No, I’m having fun. We need a bit of that after the last few days.”
“True.” I sober, reluctant to spoil the moment. But I have to. Time is running out. “What do you know about Rena closing the therapeutic program?”
“Probably not more than you do. Only heard that her largest donor pulled out. She can’t afford to keep it running.”
“Why would someone just pull funding without an explanation?”
“Good question.”
“Do you know who it was?”
“Nope. I keep my nose out of the therapeutic program. Rena keeps a tight lid on anything to do with it. She won’t even let Jillian get involved.”
“Can you imagine? Like those poor folks don’t have enough problems in their life?”
Ben laughs. “See? You’re a natural fit here.”
We allow the rhythm of the horses to lull us into companionable quiet. Ben points to the left, where a doe is chewing slowly and watching our progress.
We arrive at a fallen log and Wally steps over while Ben’s mount jackrabbits, careful not to let the scary wood touch him.
The sun reaches a tentative ray through the branches, only to yank it back. A squirrel scurries down a tree, stopping at eye level with me, his tail swishing through the air. A bird hops along a branch, head tilting from side to side.
The smell of wet leaves and dirt mixes with the pine and wood and a far-off fireplace. I breathe in. It’s the smell of the holidays.
My eyes sting under the realization that the holidays are coming and I’m alone. Completely alone. I don’t have memories of large family dinners, lounging by the fireplace together and watching the snow fall, or the flutter of wrapping paper and oohs of delight. That wasn’t my childhood.
But even when we weren’t together, my father was still part of my life.
Wally comes to a stop and I pull myself back to present-day Maryland. Ben has dismounted and is leaning over something in the middle of the trail.
“What is it? Please not a dead animal.”
“Come look.” He remains bent at the waist but waves me over.
I dismount and bring Wally side by side with Picasso, who lays his ears back and shakes his head in pretend annoyance. Wally ignores him and Picasso pushes at Ben’s behind as though saying “let’s go, this is boring.”
Ben squats to get a closer look and points at the shed antler.
“Wow. I’ve never seen antlers in the woods before.” I lean over Ben’s shoulder to get a better look and run a finger along the velvety hardness.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” He turns his head to look at me, a mischievous smile lighting his face. “Do you feel lucky?”
I straighten. “Excuse me?”
“The antlers. According to folklore, deer represent instinctual energy, independence, and regeneration. That energy tells us to trust our gut reactions because those instincts will guide us when to fight and when to flee. If you find one and feel like you’re supposed to take it, it’s considered a gift from the spirits of the forest. That’s good luck.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“I shit you not. Way to break a perfect spirit moment.” He stands, groans, and rubs his right knee. Picasso nudges him forward.
For a minute we both stare at the discarded antlers. A gift from the spirits of the forest? For me? Doubtful. I don’t feel lucky. I haven’t felt lucky in years.
And yet, I’m out here, riding an amazing horse, with a wonderful guy, and I’ve loved every moment of the last few days. Despite what brought me here.
“What does your gut tell you, Emma?”
He’s close, close enough that I can see the flecks of brown in his green eyes and the lines fanning from the corners. I breathe in the warmth of his body, as an unfamiliar tingle shimmies up my spine.
And just when I feel the air between us compress, something wedges us apart.
“Damn you, you big, jealous moose.” Ben pushes Wally’s head out of the way, the words a cross between a sigh and moan.
Would he have really kissed me? What would my gut have said about that? “What do you think the spirits of the forest are saying?”
“They’re not talking to me. They’re talking to you.” He taps my nose with his index finger.
“Independence and regeneration, eh? I’m not sure they’re talking to me if that’s what they’re saying.”
“You don’t think you’re independent?”
“Oh I am. Always have been. Had to be.”
“That sounds lonely.”
“There’s a big difference between being alone and being lonely. I’m alone because I choose to be. Because it’s easier. This way, I don’t get disappointed and I don’t get hurt. I can focus on making the right business decisions and not about saving my sorry heart.”
“And you think that makes you independent?”
“Of course.” I don’t rely on anyone. I make my own decisions. I’ve created a careful, controlled life. One that, it turns out, mirrors my father’s. Very independent, Emma.
“Are you making those decisions because you really truly believe they are the best for you, or because they are the safe decisions?”
The earlier defiance behind my “of course” puddles at my feet.
Did I make choices because they were safe? No. I didn’t take the easy way out. I worked my ass off to get to where I am.
That’s not what he meant and you know it.
“Give me one ‘best for Emma’ decision for why you’re returning to Chicago.”
The answer is automatic: “I have a job to return to.”
Ben shakes his head. “That’s a safe decision. You’re hiding from what your gut is telling you.”
He mounts Picasso and, while I stare at the antler, looking for an answer to come to me, adds, “Look around you, Emma, then look inside. Every time you talk about Chicago, there’s a hardness that takes over. It’s not there when you work with the kids, or when you’re riding. Your gut might have something important to tell you if you’re willing to listen.”
He motions for me to mount, and without another word we follow the path until it dumps us into an open field, Jumping Frog Farm barely visible at the other end.
“Come on,” Ben says, urging his horse into a canter.
Wally chomps on his bit and jerks his head after his equine friend, asking permissio
n to follow.
What does my gut say?
My gut says the right decision is to allow my horse to gallop. And with the crisp October air pinpricking my face and the rolling of the horse’s power between my legs, I can almost hear the spirits cheering.
32
April 1999
“Hey, Jilli, what do you want to do for our birthdays next month?” Emma dunks the sponge in the murky bucket, then squeezes, watching the dark water splash home. She takes a deep breath, the smell of saddle soap and leather filling her nostrils. It’s the smell of everything she loves.
“Don’t know.”
“We could go to a movie.”
A shrug from Jillian.
“Sleepover?”
“We’re too old for that.”
Emma huffs and tosses the sponge into the bucket, secretly pleased when the splashing water reaches Jilli’s bare legs. In what world is fifteen and sixteen too old for sleepovers? “I slept at your house last week. It was okay then.”
“That wasn’t a ‘sleepover.’ You stay over all the time.”
“So why not for our birthdays?”
“Because I want to go out.”
“We can go to a movie.”
Jillian uses her fingernail to scratch at a spot on the noseband she’s cleaning.
“Is your mom going to be here?” Emma detours the topic.
“She’s busy.” Jilli’s mom has missed more birthdays than she’s been around for. Her absence is one of the subjects no one talks about. Kind of like her own mom. Except that her mom is dead and Jilli’s isn’t.
“My dad won’t be around either.”
“Nothing new there.” Jilli shrugs.
Emma bites at the inside of her cheek, the urge to chew her nail having been dampened by the film of saddle soap on her hands. It won’t help to get in a fight so she doesn’t point out—again—that her dad is busy with medical conferences while Jilli’s mom is busy in rehab programs.
“But we always celebrate together.” Emma can’t hide the pout in her voice. She doesn’t want to be alone and she doesn’t like the changes between them.
“Yeah, but, I dunno. I was thinking maybe I’d go to a party. You know, with a few other friends. Mostly juniors and seniors. People you don’t really know.”