Edgewater

by Courtney Sheinmel

  “Silly,” Gigi said. “Of course you remember Ginger. She was the rat Susannah found at the wildlife center.”

  I shook my head. I had absolutely no memory of it. Not that I particularly wanted to remember a rat.

  “Go on, give Ginger some flowers,” Gigi said.

  “It feels too weird to put flowers on the grave of something I don’t remember,” I told her. “Maybe because it’s vermin and didn’t belong in our home in the first place.”

  “A rat is just a squirrel without fur on its tail,” Gigi said. “You wouldn’t call a squirrel vermin, would you? That wasn’t poor Ginger’s fault.”

  “I have nothing against rats, or squirrels, or whatever other member of the rodent family you feel like defending. As long as they stay in their space and don’t come into mine.”

  “You know, Lorrie,” Gigi said, “being strong-willed is a good thing, but it doesn’t mean you should always be so stubborn and so cold. There’s so much out there to love. If you’d just let things in.”

  “I love Orion,” I told her. “And I loved that poodle you had—Katie.”

  It occurred to me right then, standing on the edge of the pet cemetery, that I had no memory of Katie’s death. How didn’t I remember the death of the one childhood pet I’d actually cared about? Maybe Gigi was right. Maybe I was hardened, just a little.

  “I’ll put flowers on her grave, all right?” I said a little more softly. “Just tell me where it is.”

  But Gigi’s face had changed, and now she was the one who was stony.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Your mother took Katie with her when she went.”

  “Mom took Katie?”

  How had I not remembered that?

  I guess if your mom up and leaves you and your little sister without so much as a kiss good-bye, you have bigger issues than a missing dog.

  “Why?”

  Gigi shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you,” she said, her voice thick with despair.

  “God, I can’t believe it,” I said. “I can’t believe her. You know, it’s not even easy to take a dog with you to England. They quarantine them first, for like six months. Did you know that?”

  There was paperwork and red tape for Katie, which, apparently, my mom had been more than willing to deal with, but she couldn’t be bothered with her own kids? And now she had no idea what had become of us.

  “I don’t know why anything I hear about Mom surprises me at this point,” I said. But I was speaking to Gigi’s back. She’d walked past me toward the house, not bothering to leave flowers on the rest of the graves.

  In the other direction, there was Susannah, sitting on the ground by the freshly turned dirt of Wren’s grave. If Mom had stayed, surely my sister would be a different kind of girl. And Gigi wouldn’t be headed back to the house of horrors in tears. And I wouldn’t be standing here, lost between them. All while Mom was gallivanting around London with Nigel, strolling through Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens, maybe pretending to be a tourist and taking in the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace.

  “Was it worth it, Mom?” I asked.

  But of course I was asking it to the air, to no one, because my mom had long ago abdicated the job of giving me any answers.

  12

  ACCLIMATION

  I HADN’T OFFICIALLY CONFIRMED MY NEW JOB AT Oceanfront with Naomi Ward, but I showed up bright and early Monday morning, hoping that Jeremy had taken care of the logistics and that everything was set.

  My cell phone still didn’t work, my horse was still stranded, there was next to no food or toilet paper in my house and absolutely no money to get any more, but I walked with as much confidence as I could muster into Naomi’s office behind the main stable. Pictures of every horse Oceanfront had ever boarded covered the walls like wallpaper. As with Susannah and her cats, if you pointed to a random shot and asked Naomi to name the horse in the picture, she’d be able to do it.

  “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Naomi said, standing to embrace me. She could’ve been a model—that was what everyone said when they saw her: tall, with deep red hair down to the center of her back and cheekbones that could cut glass. Plus, she was model-thin. Though I’d seen her down cheeseburgers plenty of times. It was just that she was almost always in motion; when she wasn’t riding a horse, she was grooming one or mucking a stall. Every inch of her body was pure muscle, and her sinewy arms gave me one last squeeze before she released me. “I hear we get to put you to work this summer.”

  “I’m glad I can be of use,” I said. “I told Jeremy I don’t want to cramp your style.”

  “Nonsense,” she said. “We can always use another pair of hands—especially since Sara Nichols left us in the lurch. Got a nanny job in the French Riviera, if you can believe it. All sorts of perks, along with not killing her knees and her back and her shoulders and not smelling like horse shit all day long.”

  “I love the lingering smell of horse shit,” I said.

  “I was counting on it,” she said. “How many days a week are you good for?”

  “How many do you want me?”

  “Five?” she asked. I nodded. “And a rotating schedule is all right with you? I’m sure you know, weekends are often our busiest days, so I can’t guarantee you’ll get every Saturday and Sunday off, but I’ll do my best.”

  “It’s fine,” I said. “I’m totally flexible. I could even work more days if you want—six . . . or even seven.”

  “I don’t want you to burn out. But I can count on you for five days—at least until something better comes along? I mean, I know how these things work. Like falling dominos.”

  “You know I’m not going to think anything is better than being around horses all day,” I said.

  “It’s good to have you,” she said. “So, you’ll officially be a stable hand, but if you want to assist some of the young-riders groups, I’m sure Jen and Altana would love it.” Jen and Altana were the riding instructors, former Olympians both. Jen had once brought her medal in to show us—bronze, not gold, but still as heavy as a doorstop. “And I’d love it if you could help exercise some of the younger horses. They’re too green to use in lessons, but they do need to get out more.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  “We’re nearly at full occupancy. Forty stalls, two pastures.”

  “Nearly full means there’s still room for Orion, right?”

  “Yes, of course. We always have room for Orion.”

  “Oh, that’s great. Thank you. And, um . . .” How should I say this? I’d never had to ask for anything like this in my life. I put my hands on my hips. My palms were clammy. The power pose wasn’t having its intended effect. “If I’m working here, his board is at a discount, right?”

  “That’s right,” Naomi said.

  “And there’s a salary?” I asked. Because until I figured out where the trust was, I was going to need it.

  “I think we can work something out,” Naomi said.

  “Cool. I’m conducting a little experiment this summer, trying to pay for everything myself and not rely on my family. It’s all part of my attempt to feel useful, which is partly why I want this job. But the other part is, I really do want to be here at the barn. You know, it’s basically my favorite place. I shouldn’t have left to go to Woodscape anyway.”

  I was nervous, and I was rambling. I didn’t need to explain so much.

  “Anyway”—I took a breath and slowed down—“Orion’s still in North Carolina, and I want to pay for his transport on my own, so if there’s any way to advance me a little bit . . .”

  “No worries,” Naomi said. “I’ll cut you a check today.”

  “Actually, maybe you could even wire the money directly to the transport service. The faster they get the money . . .” The faster my horse would be home with me.

  Naomi looked at me funny. Like everyone else in Idlewild, she knew my family was different, but all she said was, “Consider it done.”

  For a
few seconds an awkward silence hung between us like something you could touch, a mist in the air.

  “Thanks,” I said. “I just want to, you know, feel useful.”

  Shit, I’d said that already. I blushed lamely.

  “I think we’re set,” Naomi said. “Now I’m putting you to work. There are horses that need to be tacked before morning lessons, and after that, if you could turn Allegria out, maybe even put her on a lead line, that’d be great. Tesa hasn’t been in to ride her for a month, although rumor has it she’s flying back from Aspen at the end of the week and will come by then. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  “I’m on it,” I said.

  “Great, let’s check in with each other around lunchtime, and I’ll take care of the money wire.”

  “Thanks,” I said again.

  A PART OF ME HAD BEEN RETICENT TO BE AT Oceanfront without Orion, even for a couple of days, because I feared I’d miss him too much. But as soon as I walked back to the barn, I felt better. The day flew by, both my body and my brain engaged the whole time. I couldn’t worry too much about the trust or my house; I had these creatures to attend to. I cantered Allegria on a lead line, and I tacked a dozen horses. Later in the day Lennox came by to take a private lesson with her horse, Pepper. From a distance Pepper looked gray, but up close you could see he was white with a thousand tiny black flecks peppering his coat. They came out more in the sun, like freckles. Afterward, we showered him together. I had to muck out his stall, so Lennox turned him out for me. Then she came back to help me. I used a shavings fork to remove the bigger droppings and wet spots, and Lennox sifted through the rest with a pitchfork.

  “Did you see my blog about the Copeland party?” she asked.

  The mention of the Copelands made something involuntarily burst inside me. Charlie!

  Not that I needed Lennox or anyone else to mention the Copelands for me to think of him. I’d wake up in the morning wondering if he was still sleeping. I’d squirt ketchup on a hot dog and wonder about his favorite condiment. Back at Wren’s graveside, I’d wondered if Charlie had ever had a pet he’d loved.

  Thinking about Charlie was a little bit like dreaming: I just couldn’t help myself.

  “You didn’t post anything about what I saw, did you?” I asked Lennox.

  “Of course not,” she said. “I blogged about what I saw—Julia’s announcement, which is all over the place now anyway. And even if it wasn’t, they couldn’t be mad about it. I didn’t use any unauthorized pictures or anything, and even the Copelands can’t violate the First Amendment and issue a gag order on all their guests.”

  “That probably wouldn’t be good for her political career,” I said.

  “I got a hundred comments,” Lennox said. “That’s a record for me. I underestimated how polarizing the Copelands are—people either love the idea of Julia running or they hate it.”

  “I can see that,” I said. “Here, push the rest of the shavings aside.”

  She did, while I swept the floor. “The haters say she lacks political experience.”

  “I imagine she’s had a lot of political experience being married to Franklin Copeland all those years.”

  “That’s what I wrote in reply,” Lennox said. “And then a dozen other people wrote back that she should’ve spent more time at home and then maybe Charlie wouldn’t always be getting into trouble. Speaking of whom—have you heard from him?”

  I felt my cheeks flush, and I looked down and shook my head. “I don’t have a phone that works, remember? But it’s fine. We were just playing for a night.”

  It was a version of Cinderella—I was dressed up for the night and out at a fancy party, complete with a handsome prince, as if I belonged there as much as anybody else. But the clock had struck midnight, and the magic had ended. Charlie remained in his proverbial castle, but I was here, back in reality, mucking a stall and wondering what the hell was going to happen to me. No fairy godmother was going to pop in to solve things. My heart began to race, and my breathing quickened. I didn’t want to let on to Lennox, but I had to pause and press a palm against the stall door to steady myself for a moment, while I repeated my mantra in my head.

  “There could be something real between you and Charlie,” Lennox said, oblivious to the shit-storm of terror going on inside me. “If you want there to be.”

  I did. Of course I did. More than I’d ever admit. My heart pounded like hoofbeats in my chest, and I honestly didn’t know if it was due to Charlie or my missing trust fund.

  “I have so much family stuff to deal with right now.”

  “Even more of a reason—you deserve something good to take your mind off things.”

  I shook my head. “Actually, I need to stay focused. You know Gigi’s never going to grow up, and Susannah may never wake up. Figuring out my family’s finances is up to me.”

  I stepped out into the corridor, and Lennox followed. “It’s all going to work out,” she said. “I know it will.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because it always has.”

  “I hope so,” I managed.

  “You know, I’m pretty sore from that lesson earlier. Altana had me riding without stirrups.” I knew from experience that was one of Altana’s favorite exercises—she swore it was the best way to strengthen your legs and improve your balance. “Wanna come with me to the club for massages—my treat?”

  “Can’t,” I said. “I have to do Charger’s stall.”

  “All right,” Lennox said. She rolled her shoulders and wiped her brow. “Let’s do it.”

  “You don’t have to,” I said. “Naomi’s paying me to do this, but you’re paying her so you don’t have to.”

  “Today Naomi gets two for the price of one,” Lennox said.

  “What about your massage?”

  “I’ll get it later,” she said. “Right now I’d rather be with you.”

  We headed down the corridor and started over, in Charger’s stall, picking out the droppings and wet shavings. Horses may be majestic works of art, but they’re also a bit gross. “So,” Lennox said, “you want to know something weird?”

  “Always.”

  “I Googled Victor Underhill, and I didn’t find anything. Not one single thing about him.”

  “He’s not a politician,” I said as I swept shavings to the side of the stall. “He just worked for one.”

  “But everyone has a footprint on the Internet these days,” Lennox said. She picked up Charger’s water bucket and dumped the old water out through the drain in the floor. “Even Pepper has one. I think it’s strange that there’s not a trace of him—strange and suspicious.”

  I leaned against the stall door. “You’re always looking for things to mean something,” I told her.

  “That’s because they usually do.”

  MY SECOND DAY ON THE JOB WAS MORE OF THE same, sans Lennox. In the morning, I fed and groomed and tacked. In the afternoon, I helped Altana corral the bunch of ten-year-olds in her young-riders class. Basically I was just a safety blanket for one particularly anxious rider who was sitting atop Donut, the most docile horse boarded at Oceanfront. You practically had to cattle-prod Donut to remind him to breathe. I held the lead line as Donut plodded around the ring, and my mind wandered to the letter I could write to Kathleen Strafford in the Hillyer Admissions Office:

  Dear Ms. Strafford,

  As we discussed last week, my aunt has not sent in my tuition check for my senior year. Please know it does not reflect a lack of my commitment to Hillyer, just that my family is in a bad financial state right now.

  I recently heard Julia Copeland give a speech about quality education, and as I listened, I couldn’t help but think about how choosing to attend Hillyer in ninth grade was one of the best and most important decisions I have ever made for myself. I know you said there’s no money left for scholarships, but would a loan be possible? I just want to spend my senior year at the school I think of as my home. I promise to pay you back as soon as I can.<
br />
  Sincerely,

  Lorrie Hollander

  A little hand tapped mine. “Excuse me. Excuse me,” a shrill voice said.

  “You’re doing great,” I told Lyle. “Keep it up.”

  “Okay,” he said shakily, clearly not convinced. “But I think someone wants you.”

  I’d been so busy composing the letter in my head that I hadn’t heard Jeremy calling me from outside the ring. He waved me over to him.

  “I’ll be right back,” I told Lyle.

  “You’re leaving me?” he asked, eyes widening.

  “You’re fine,” I assured him. “Totally fine. Just do what you’re doing. Follow the line. Let Donut know who’s in charge. He’s looking for a leader. That’s you.”

  Lyle clutched the reins so tightly his knuckles turned white, and I jogged over to the fence.

  “Naomi was looking for you,” Jeremy said.

  “Can you tell her I’m in a lesson?”

  “She needs you now. You have a phone call in her office.”

  I’d never gotten a call in Naomi’s office before. I’d always had my cell phone for private calls. Not that my cell phone was working, but who would need me so badly that they’d track me down at the barn? My stomach muscles tightened in fear.

  “Help!” Lyle called.

  “I’ll deal with him,” Jeremy said. “You go on.”

  13

  GOOD-BYE AND HELLO

  MY TERROR ONLY INCREASED DURING THE WALK across the pasture to Naomi’s office, and with it came a horrible sense of déjà vu: I’d starred in this movie before—the girl heading from the stable to the administrative office, where the rug was about to be pulled out from under her. My mind raced as to who might have called Naomi with news so important that she had to summon me. The distance to her office seemed endless, and yet all too soon I was standing at her door. I said my mantra in my head: yim, yim. All these dumb Aunt Gigi lessons, and I was hanging on to them for dear life, like a drowning man to a life raft.

  Naomi’s door was slightly ajar, but it opened all the way with the lightest knock. Naomi was sitting back in her beat-up red leather wing chair, her feet propped up on the reconditioned barn door that served as her desk, ankles crossed. She looked perfectly at ease. She wouldn’t be sitting like that if she was about to deliver really bad news, right?