by Orly Konig
If something happens to Rena, I can’t allow Jillian to dissolve the program. She may not be a fan of it, but it’s part of Jumping Frog Farm and I intend to keep it that way.
“Of course. I’ll swing by tomorrow morning for you and Mrs. Winn to sign the paperwork.”
“Thank you.” I open the door and let in a beehive buzz of activity from the outer offices.
Thomas steps around the desk, holding a box. “I almost forgot. This is for you. I’d planned on sending it but since you’re here…” He takes a few steps in my direction and holds out the box. “It was in a locked drawer in his office.”
I take the beige cardboard box, and finger the fake metal label frame. There’s no label giving away the contents.
“Thank you.” I tuck the box into the crook of my elbow, the shape pushing my arm out at an awkward angle, making me bump into the doorframe on the way out.
* * *
Rena’s SUV isn’t parked in front of their house or at the stable when I return. Tony tells me that Simon stopped by while I was out, then left with Rena. He volunteers that Jillian hasn’t been at the stable all day. Not that I’d asked about her or particularly wanted to see her.
I thank him and take the mysterious box to the porch, where I drag my favorite Adirondack chair to the side so I’m partially hidden behind the potted cypress tree.
My index finger traces the edge of the box, short side, long side, short side, back to the start. My thumb pushes at the corner of the lid, just enough to create a slope, not enough to show inside. One more little nudge and it pops off. Inside are two stacks of envelopes.
I take the top envelope from the left pile and pull out the letter.
August 1996
Edward,
It saddens me that you still feel the need to apologize. Your letters are never a burden.
I can only begin to imagine how difficult this period is for you. A teenage girl isn’t easy in the best of circumstances much less during the anniversary of her mother’s death.
She’s a strong girl with a good head on her shoulders. You’ve done right by her and Barbara would be proud.
Yours,
R.
It’s short and nice, and yet it ignites an anger that flares, threatening to consume everything in its path. Done right by me? When did he ever do right by me? He didn’t raise me. I raised me. Rena and Simon raised me. And when I needed them most, he sent me away and cut off all ties.
I grab the letter from the top of the pile on the right.
February 1998
Edward,
I was happy to receive the postcard. The Swiss Alps are absolutely glorious.
I’m glad you were able to go with Emma. Maybe this will be the first step toward a new relationship between the two of you. I do hope so.
It’s been five years, Edward. It’s time to forgive yourself. If not for you, then for Emma. Both of you need to move forward. Time is not in your favor, my friend. Emma is becoming a young woman and soon the window for a connection between you will seal shut. You don’t want that. I know how much it hurts you to see her withdraw deeper into herself.
Use this trip to crack that window open a bit more. Reach out to her. Connect with her. It won’t happen overnight but it can happen.
Yours,
R.
I remember that trip. My father had “surprised” me with the news that we would be spending New Year’s in Switzerland. He had a conference there in early January and “what a wonderful opportunity to make this a nice vacation. Just the two of us.”
Like it would ever be anything other than just the two of us. Although “just the two of us” and “nice” weren’t words I’d normally string together.
A pang of guilt pokes at my stomach. He had made an effort, booking an extra night in Austria so we could go to the famed Spanish Riding School. We’d sat in the darkened arena, the magnificent white stallions dancing in their spotlights. I’d been utterly mesmerized by their beauty, the precision of their movements, the relationship between human and horse. My father had spent the performance jotting notes in a tiny notebook. Maybe I’d just been conditioned to this behavior, or maybe I’d finally given up, but I remember the feeling, the heavy wool sweater of disappointment tightening around me, creating a barrier from the outside world.
After the performance I’d begged to go to the gift shop. My father bought the books I plucked from the shelves. The rest of the day was spent in the hotel room, my father working on a lecture, me losing myself in the books.
August 1993
Edward,
My heart goes to you and I so wish there was more I could do!
Separating the emotional from the logical may not be possible now. Don’t expect too much from yourself. You are still a mere mortal—my apologies for having to remind you of that—and you are entitled to feel the pain that we mortals feel when a loved one dies.
And I do understand, believe me I do. When faced with such a deep wound, it’s much easier to turn away, lose yourself in anything but. But please, Edward, please reach out. Emma needs you.
Know I am always nearby.
Yours,
R.
Two hours later I look up from the stack of letters. The world has settled in for the night. Someone has turned on the light in the lounge behind me, allowing me to read without interruption. I shiver but can’t bring myself to get up and go in. There’s one unread letter left.
October 1999
Edward,
Please don’t shut us out!
The hospital wouldn’t let us see Emma. Wouldn’t even give us her status. You don’t answer at the house. Please! You should know by now that we consider Emma a member of our family. We love her and can’t bear the thought of losing her.
We don’t believe she was responsible. We would never hold her responsible. You must know that.
Simon and I are wrecked over this tragedy and the guilt. Oh, Edward, you of all people should understand the guilt. How could we not have known there was a problem? How did this happen under our noses? What could we have done to prevent this?
Please, Edward. That’s all I can say … Please?
Yours,
Rena
34
October 1999
Emma pushes past the line of people waiting for the bathroom, ignoring their complaints. The show organizers brought in porta-potties but there’s no way she’s going into one of those. She elbows someone out of the way and pushes her hand to her mouth in a pathetic attempt to keep the retching under control. Secure behind the locked door, she vomits into the toilet, tears mixing with the lunch Drew had insisted she eat only a couple of hours ago.
Someone pounds on the door.
“Go away.” She wheezes through the sobs and doubles over as another wave races through her stomach.
“Emma, it’s Drew. Let me in.”
She grabs for the knob to make sure it’s locked, then slides down the door until her butt makes contact with the cold, dirty concrete floor.
“Let me in. I need to talk to you.”
“No.”
“Please, Emma. It’s not…”
“Don’t,” she yells, then buries her face in her hands. “Don’t say it’s not what it looked like.”
“Will you please let me in so we can talk?”
“Go. Away.”
A muffled voice comes to her rescue. “Listen to her. If you leave, she’ll come out. See this line? People want to get into this bathroom.”
Emma says a silent thank-you to the person with the full bladder.
The knocking slows to a few halfhearted taps. Her butt’s getting cold and sore from the concrete floor. She’s not sure how much time has passed, but she needs to get up and check on Jack. She can’t hide in here forever. How will she face Jillian and Drew? She’d left Jack tied to the trailer. He hates being tied to the trailer. She has to get up. It doesn’t matter how she feels. Jack needs her.
She pulls herself up and looks i
n the mirror. Her eyes are puffy and red and her cheeks are blotchy and stained. She splashes water on her face and rinses her mouth, then flushes the toilet one last time for good measure. If only she could flush herself and not have to deal with the crap outside.
But deal she must. She opens the door and sucks in a greedy breath of horse smell. The air freshener in the bathroom was starting to give her a headache. She walks away from the arena and the final jumper classes. For the first time, she doesn’t want to spend a minute longer than she has to at the show. She wants to get home and stand in the hottest shower she can tolerate until she’s washed away the smell of vomit and the feel of Drew kissing her.
There are a few stragglers around the parked horse trailers. A few people smile at her, congratulating her on a successful day. She bites the inside of her lip and mumbles thanks. Applause and a whistle signal a clear round. Someone will be happy. She hopes that person’s happiness lasts longer than hers.
Since they were the first to arrive, the Jumping Frog Farm trailer is the farthest in the field. Emma and Jillian had been so excited to come on their own for the first time. Rena had a couple of new therapeutic clients coming today and Simon was still under the weather from a stomach virus. He’d said he would try to come later in the day. Emma’s now glad he hadn’t.
Jilli is sitting in a beach chair, feet propped up on the cooler, when Emma reaches their parking spot. She’s been watching her, Emma can feel it.
“Well lookee who dragged herself out of the loo.” Jillian rolls the “u” sound, whether an exaggerated attempt at mimicking her grandfather’s accent or a side effect of the beer cans she’d seen earlier, Emma isn’t sure. “About damn time, too. I’m fed up of this place. I want to get home and changed.”
Emma bites harder on the inside of her lip until the taste of blood makes her stomach heave. “I’ll get Jack ready to go.”
Jillian takes a long drink from the Coke can and wipes her mouth. Emma’s eyes sting.
“Why did you do it?” The question bursts out of her like the lunch she’d just lost into the toilet, leaving the same aftertaste.
“Oh come on, you knew I liked him. You’re the one who muscled in at that party.”
“There was nothing between you and Drew. You were doing whatever you were doing with Chris. Drew chose me.”
Jilli shrugs, less defiant than before. “Whatever. He’s too old for you anyway.”
“That’s not your call. You’re my best friend. Why would you be so mean? Because you’re jealous that I placed higher in that jumper class today?”
Jillian’s icy eyes flash. “I guess being Little Miss Perfect didn’t get you the most important trophy, did it?” She grabs the folded chair and pirouettes, the metal and green fabric of the chair slicing a half circle around her.
Emma’s mouth opens to respond but Jillian is already tossing the chair into the tack room at the front of the trailer with a noisy clang.
Jack paws the ground and snorts and Emma moves to his side. “I’m sorry, baby. Let’s get those shipping wraps on you and get home.”
“What the hell? It’s just down the road. Seriously, Emma. Get him loaded already.” Jilli leads Tolstoy around them and loads him into the left side of the trailer.
“It won’t take me long.” She’s not trailering Jack without his shipping bandages. No way. Rena would kill her.
“You’re such a damn goody-goody.”
“I’m not.” She is. “So what if I am? At least I’m not a slut.” She cringes but squares her shoulders. She’s done being the timid little shadow.
Jillian whips around. “If you knew how to keep your boyfriend happy, he wouldn’t have been so desperate for me. It was only a matter of time anyway.”
Emma feels her stomach roller coaster again but she’s not backing down, not this time. “Why are you being such a bitch?”
For a long minute they stare at each other, contempt versus need, bitterness versus sadness.
“Like you would understand. You’ve never had to fight for anything.” Jilli flips her braid over her shoulder and latches the bumper behind Tolstoy. She steps back but miscalculates and slips off the ramp, rolling her ankle and banging her elbow into the trailer as she tries to regain her balance. She turns and glares at Emma. “What are you staring at? Get him in the trailer so we can leave.”
“How much did you drink?” Emma wants to believe that was a simple slip, it’s not like she hasn’t done that before herself, but the earlier smell of beer and the cans that disappeared while she was hurling in the bathroom are too fresh.
“Get over yourself. I tripped. Big stinking deal.” Jillian takes careful strides until she reaches the lead rope they’d strung along the side of the trailer to display the ribbons. Seven ribbons flutter in the afternoon breeze, six of them Emma’s. Jillian plucks them one by one. “Weren’t you just the little star today. Grandma will be so proud of you.”
“Hey, Jilli, you coming tonight?” a brunette Emma recognizes from school asks as she walk-skips to keep up with her three friends.
“Better believe it.”
“Want one for the road?” The brunette holds out a beer can, then quickly pulls it down and into her stomach, looking around to make sure no one saw her.
Emma’s intuition sounds the warning bell. Jillian may not be drunk like she’d been at Drew’s party, but Emma is pretty sure she isn’t completely sober either.
Jillian’s eyes dart to Emma. “Nah. If my grandma smells that, she’ll have a fit. And this one will snitch.” She tosses a nod in Emma’s direction.
The brunette turns a landscaped eyebrow on Emma before dismissing her with a shrug.
Jillian looks after the three retreating bodies. “Save some for me.” The brunette waves as she catches up to the others.
“We should call Rena to drive the rig back.”
“Are you fucking crazy? She’d kill me.”
“Why, Jillian? Because you’re drunk?”
“I’m not drunk.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Jillian flinches. There’s a stab of doubt in her eyes that’s gone with a blink.
Is the doubt whether Emma will go through with the threat to call Rena? Or is it the sudden realization that maybe this time she’s crossed the line?
“I don’t care what you believe.” The defiance is back but with more whimper than growl. “You can’t call her. She’ll be furious and ground me forever. She’ll never trust us to go on our own again.
“Then I’ll drive.”
“You can’t. You’ve never driven with a full trailer. Please, Emma? I’m sorry, okay? I swear I’m fine to drive.” Emma’s seen that look before. It’s the look Jilli gets every time her mom shows up and then disappears again.
Those are the times she’s needed Emma the most. Because Emma understands loss and disappointment, she knows the longing of wanting the love and attention of a parent. And Emma understands the crushing need to prove yourself.
“You swear you’re okay to drive?” She bites her ring finger and waits for the giant moths in her stomach to settle.
Jillian nods and Emma feels the familiar tug of wanting to please her friend. Because despite what happened, they are best friends and they will get past it, Emma will make sure of that. Jilli’s always worse right after an incident with her mom. And this time was one of the harder ones. This time she’d had to pick her mom up at the jail after her mom was arrested for a DUI. Rena had refused to go. Jilli had begged Emma to go with her instead.
“You swear you haven’t had too much to drink?”
Jillian holds her left hand, middle and index fingers together, other fingers folded into a fist. It’s their promise sign, a silent symbol of the bond between them.
Emma nods and ignores the moth of uncertainty flopping in her gut. She has to believe her H&H sister. What else can she do?
They finish loading the horses in silence.
Jillian maneuvers the truck and trailer down the lo
ng driveway and onto the blacktop. Emma’s eyes flick to the speedometer as they pass a speed-limit sign. They’re going one mile an hour over. Jilli’s hands are at the perfect ten and two spots on the steering wheel. Emma allows her muscles to relax. They’ll be at Jumping Frog Farm in less than thirty minutes.
A blue Nissan sedan honks and pulls into the oncoming lane next to the truck. Two girls hang out of the open windows, yelling to Jillian to hurry up. The brunette from the showground reaches into the car, then leans farther out the window, trying to hand Jillian a beer. It falls out of her grip and crunches under the wheels of the trailer. The driver guns the engine and pulls in front of them, saluting with a beer can out the driver’s side window. Jillian laughs and presses the gas to keep up with the speeding car.
Emma grabs at the armrest and dashboard. “Slow down.”
Jilli laughs harder and gives the gas pedal a push.
“The horses. Slow down.”
“Oh get a grip. I’m just having fun.”
“You’re scaring me.”
“You seriously need to loosen up. A few drinks wouldn’t hurt you.”
“Oh my god, Jilli. Please.” She’s hyperventilating. She can feel it. She can’t stop it. She should never have gotten in the truck. She should have stayed with Jack. She can’t undo this. “Slow. Down.”
“I want to get to the party before those losers drink all the good shit. Oops.” She taps at the brakes as their truck veers wide around a bend in the road and corrects back to the right lane.
“You’re going to get us all killed.”
“Would you relax? Jesus. No wonder Drew dumped you. Maybe they’re all right about you after all.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” An icy spear slices through her and Emma squeezes the door handle until it feels like her knuckles will break through the skin.
“I’ve always defended you but I’m starting to think they’re right, you’re just like your mom.”
“What does this have to do with my mom? She’s been dead six years.”
“Everyone thought you were weird when you first moved here. I told them you were okay. Timothy said he’d heard your mom tried to off herself. I told him it wasn’t true. They said crazy was contagious.”