Blue Ribbons

by Kim Ablon Whitney

  She met the first jump right out of stride and Tyler curled around it, rounding his back and snapping his knees up in perfect form. Sometimes when you were watching someone ride a great trip you felt like at any second things could change and the rider could miss a distance. But, as Jane continued, I knew there would be no missed distances. She nailed every jump and Tyler didn’t put a toe out of place. Jane had time to style in the air over the jumps, giving Tyler a generous release. As they landed off the last jump, Susie and Tommy erupted in whoops. Everyone in the tent clapped, too, although some I’m sure had been hoping Jane would make a mistake.

  Jane brought Tyler down to a walk, patting his neck and giving him his head.

  The scores lit up the leader board, confirming what we’d all just seen.

  “Wow,” Hailey said as we read the numbers: eighty-eight, eighty-seven, and ninety.

  Even the announcer had excitement in his voice as he said, “Top scores of the day for Jane Hewitt and Woodland’s Tried and True, giving them the win overall in the medium pony hunters.”

  As she left the ring, Jane threw her arms around Tyler’s neck. That photo would appear in the next issue of The Chronicle.

  Hailey and I ran from the tent to the in gate, where Jane was being mobbed by people congratulating her. A reporter from The Chronicle waited nearby.

  I broke through the crowd. “That was amazing! Best round ever!”

  Jane reached out to me. “Thank you, oh my god, thank you!”

  Chapter 58

  * * *

  Jane posed for plenty of photos that day. She was medium pony hunter champion and overall grand champion. Hailey had made the top thirty.

  The small ponies finished on Friday and the large ponies went on Friday and Saturday. I did really well with Drizzle, placing third in the model, tenth in the hack, fourth over fences, and fifth overall. Jane rode a large pony for another trainer and placed fourth overall. On Sunday, we all had the Pony Medal Finals. I rode Sammy and got called back for the second round, but finished just out of the ribbons. Jane rode Coco and had a really good round, except for a few strides when she cross-cantered, which killed her scores. I knew Jane wasn’t happy because on the right pony she could have won, but at least she had done so amazing in the hunters.

  Hailey did the best out of all of us, making the test of the top ten, and finishing fourth. The test asked riders for a halt, a trot jump, and a few tight roll back turns and Hailey nailed every hard part, but then was deep to the last jump. I could tell Susie was disappointed because otherwise Hailey might have had a shot at winning and while having a rider win the Pony Medal Finals wasn’t the same as having a rider win the Medal or Maclay Finals, it was still pretty cool. Tinley Haskell ended up winning.

  It was hard to get on the plane home after all the buildup and excitement. But, for the first time in a while, home was where I wanted to be.

  If you’ve never had someone you know well die of cancer, if you’ve never been there seeing them over the last few weeks, it won’t really make too much sense how it happens. You’ll think how could a regular, healthy person get so sick that they just fade out and finally die? But it’s like that person keeps replacing themself with someone else, a sicker, lesser version of themself till they’re just gone. Mom got weaker and weaker. She slept more and talked less. A hospital bed was installed in the downstairs sunroom and soon she never left it.

  It was tradition that every year after Pony Finals we’d have Pony Finals video night at Hailey’s. Jane and I would sleep over and her mom made us mango smoothies. We would watch our rounds and basically just relive it all over again.

  This year, though, Mrs. Mullins had been asked out for a third date by a guy she’d met at the café at her hospital. After all her online dating, she’d met him as they commiserated over the poor selection of sandwich bread. He’d been visiting his mother after her hip surgery and he was dentist. He didn’t have much hair, but he had really good teeth.

  Mrs. Mullins made us smoothies, then spent the next half hour running between her bedroom and the TV room getting our advice on what she should wear. Her first outfit was a black dress. It looked good, but we decided it was too much. He said they were going out to dinner, but she didn’t know how fancy the restaurant was. We settled on black pants, cute little heels, and a rose-colored sweater that she’d just gotten on sale.

  The doorbell rang but it wasn’t her date yet. Milo barked and ran to the door. It was the teenage girl who lived next door who was coming over to “babysit” us. Her name was Bronwyn and she was nice, even if she didn’t know anything about horses. Sometimes she’d tell us about her boyfriend—we loved that.

  Mrs. Mullins poured Bronwyn a smoothie and asked her how her summer was going. Bronwyn was working as a counselor at a creative arts camp. Bronwyn was into arts and crafts stuff. Sometimes she’d wear a shirt she’d sewn herself or bracelets she’d beaded and she was always trying out for some play or another.

  The doorbell rang a second time and Milo barked again.

  “Some watch dog,” Mrs. Mullins said. “An intruder wouldn’t ring the doorbell.” She smoothed back her hair. “Do I look okay?”

  “You look fine,” Hailey said.

  I added, “You look really nice.”

  She let the dentist in. He leaned down and let Milo lick his face, which I thought was a very good sign. He was wearing jeans and Mrs. Mullins gave us a quick look, which I took to mean she was grateful she didn’t go with the dress.

  “Okay, Bronwyn, I won’t be back late. Hold down the fort. Girls, have fun. Sorry I’m missing out.”

  “Bye, Mom,” Hailey said.

  We spent the next hour playing the videos over and over while Bronwyn read a book in the kitchen and made us trail mix with pretzels, raisins, nuts, and chocolate chips. Sometimes rounds on video looked worse than they felt in real life because you had more time to see every little blip like a rider’s jiggling leg or a pony’s flattened ears. But Jane’s round on Tyler was absolutely flawless. She sat back on the couch as she watched.

  “Did it feel as good as it looked?” Hailey asked her.

  “Pretty much, yeah. After the first line I just knew we were going to nail it.”

  Hailey looked at me. “Are you going to show him again or sell him, or what?”

  I shrugged. “I’m not sure.” I didn’t want to show Tyler, but selling him didn’t feel quite right either. Dad and I hadn’t talked about it yet. It was one of the many things that got pushed to the after pile. It was just a question of how soon after would come.

  I was critical of my round with Frankie, but I was still so proud of how he’d gone.

  “He would have totally run through that last hedge with me,” Jane said.

  Tommy had gotten some calls on Frankie after Pony Finals and people were coming to try him next week. I thought about asking Dad if maybe we could buy him instead and I could finish out his green year and then show him in the mediums next year, but I didn’t want to push my luck. Still, I couldn’t imagine him not being in the barn—I really understood what Jane went through time after time.

  We watched the Pony Medal and Jane was bummed about her cross-canter.

  “Next year you’ll make the test,” I said.

  “Dad wants me to qualify for the Medal/Maclay Finals,” she said.

  If she rode in the Medal Finals, Jane wouldn’t be able to ride in the Pony Medal Finals and you couldn’t ride in the Pony Medal and the Medal at the same show. It felt like Jane might be leaving us behind—would we still be best friends if she was doing the big eq and we were still in the ponies?

  The doorbell rang again and Milo leapt up, barking.

  “I hope my mom didn’t have a date from hell,” Hailey said. “He probably told her he has three other wives or something.”

  But why would Hailey’s mom ring the doorbell at her own house? Before I could say that out loud, we heard someone come inside. I recognized Dad’s voice and I just knew.


  In the kitchen, I saw Dad first, before he saw me. He was trying to be strong, I could tell. But when he saw me, his face crumpled into tears. I ran to him and we hugged for a long time. He didn’t need to tell me she was gone.

  I didn’t officially get to say good-bye to Mom. There was no scene where TVMG tells her mother she loves her. Mom never held my face in her hands and told me to have a wonderful life. And we never got to have the real conversation about riding Frankie and how I never wanted Tyler in the first place. I guess I could have said those things to her when she was sleeping or unconscious during that last week. I could have also whispered good-bye. But I didn’t. The closest we ever got to saying good-bye was the day we talked about spirits and stayed on her bed together for hours. Maybe Dad or friends like Wendy officially had their good-bye moments, but that day was mine. I just didn’t know it at the time. At first I was mad that I didn’t have a more powerful good-bye moment, but then I realized it made more sense this way. That last day when we snuggled on her bed, she gave me something she’d never given me before—her. And that was better than any other kind of good-bye. And anyway, what girl should ever have to say good-bye to her mom?

  Chapter 59

  * * *

  I looked everywhere for signs from Mom that she was watching over me. I thought I might feel her at the funeral, but all I felt was sadness there. I thought I might feel her when we got back to the apartment in the city. A few times I kept looking at my phone and the time was always something thirty-three, but I couldn’t figure out what thirty-three meant or why Mom would be trying to say something to me through the time of day.

  I felt some relief in the fact that everything in life kept on going. It felt wrong in a way, but comforting, too. She was dead, and here we were, still living, still eating breakfast, still getting dressed. Dad and I were surviving. Maybe we weren’t exactly okay, but we were here.

  Dad made me go to a support group even though I swore I had Jane and Hailey and that was all the support I needed. There was one for kids who’d lost a parent to cancer that ran at the same time as a group for spouses, so when Dad told me he was going, I couldn’t really say no. And even though just being in a support group was cringe-worthy in itself, there was something different about talking to those kids. Hailey and Jane would always be my best friends, but no matter how hard they tried they couldn’t understand what it was like.

  Like she had promised, Mom left me some things. That scarf and a few other pieces of her clothing and jewelry, most for when I was older. Dad gave me a beautiful framed photo of her to put in my room. She also left me a small package with a beautiful leather dog collar inside. There was a short note: For when the time is right. Find a dog that needs you. XOXO, Mom.

  I guess I could have been mad that she didn’t leave me a longer letter filled with poignant memories and maybe advice for all the things I’d face without her help: dating boys like Alex, falling in love, applying to college. But I liked her short little note, too. It felt less like an ending. Like maybe I would meet up with her again, or somehow our conversations would continue, even if it was just me talking to her, or thinking about what I’d say to her. At first I thought the short note was the sign. Then, it began to feel like not enough of a sign.

  I wouldn’t get a dog right away. It felt better to wait and like she said, find the one that needed me. Maybe finding the dog would be the sign. I drove myself crazy for months afterwards looking for signs, and they never came or never felt right. Then I was really angry that there was no sign. Why couldn’t she bother to send me a sign that was recognizable? Like a sign in big flashing lights that I couldn’t possibly miss. Would that be too much to ask from my dead mother? What other things was she so busy with?

  I thought about how she’d said we’d be really sad if there wasn’t a way for people to reach each other through their spirits, and I refused to believe that the reason there was no sign was that she wasn’t able to talk to me. That just seemed too cruel to be possible. So I kept looking for signs.

  I decided not to show at Indoors, even though all my ponies were qualified. I just needed a break from it all. Some people would have thrown themselves into their riding even more and I didn’t stop riding—I rode every day—I just didn’t want to go to a show without Mom yet. Who would braid my hair and tie in my blue ribbons? Maybe when I did show again, I’d start wearing my hair up instead. Still, for now, I couldn’t handle coming out of the ring and not seeing her there, which I knew was ironic since so many times I wished she hadn’t watched me so intensely. Dad and I decided to ask Jane to show Tyler at Harrisburg and Washington. Tommy hadn’t sold Frankie yet and since he didn’t have enough points for Indoors, I rode him a lot at home.

  One day in November after Indoors was over, I hacked Tyler when no one was around. Susie was taking a much-deserved week of vacation, Hailey was at her voice lesson, and Jane and Tommy had gone to look at a possible eq horse. I was all alone in the ring.

  After only a few minutes of warm-up, I took him out around the ring. I turned off onto the path into the woods. There was no one who would be mad at me now for taking him trail riding. Since Mom had died, Tyler had gotten to be more of a horse again, getting turned out in the big field where he loved to roll in any dirt he could find. His preferred state was filthy, which was pretty funny considering he was such a fancy pony.

  The woods were different in the late fall. The tree branches above were bare and leaves crunched under Tyler’s hooves. He perked up, happy to be out on the trail. I trotted off right away. I couldn’t wait to get to the field. I almost wondered if it was still there. Or if it had been some kind of magical mirage. Tyler wanted to canter. He pulled at the bit. I let him canter. He loved being out in the woods. It was like he came to life underneath me. Maybe he’d been born into the wrong world. Maybe his true calling would have been as an event pony.

  We reached the edge of the woods and the field opened up in front of us. We kept cantering, picking up speed. I pushed Tyler forward even more. We were near galloping, and it felt amazing. I didn’t mind that the cold air burned my face a little and stung my eyes. Tyler’s breath was visible as he puffed.

  Finally, I brought him down to a walk.

  “That was fun, wasn’t it?” I said.

  He sighed in agreement.

  I looked out over the field. It was so quiet and beautiful, just Tyler and me out in nature. I couldn’t exactly say that I felt like Mom was watching me. But I felt that, in the end, Mom had understood me more than I realized. I would continue to figure out what I wanted and who I was. That would include what to do with Tyler. I had thought being myself was a place I needed to get to while she was still alive so she could witness it. But my whole life I would be figuring out who I was and changing all the time.

  I gave Tyler a pat and picked up a canter for one more spin around the field before we headed back to the barn.

  About the Author

  Kim Ablon Whitney lives with her husband and three children in Newton, Massachusetts. In addition to writing fiction, she is a USEF ‘R’ judge in hunters, equitation, and jumpers and has officiated at the Washington International Horse Show Junior Equitation Finals, the Capital Challenge, the Winter Equestrian Festival, Lake Placid, and the Vermont Summer Festival. As a junior, she showed in the equitation, placing at the USEF Talent Search and USEF Medal Finals. She later competed as an amateur in the A/O jumpers, winning top ribbons at WEF, Lake Placid, and Devon on her self-trained off-the-track Thoroughbred. To learn more about Kim and her books, please visit www.kimablonwhitney.com.

  Want to read more about the show circuit from Kim Ablon Whitney? Here’s a sample of The Perfect Distance, available on Amazon.

  Chapter One

  * * *

  “No! No! No! What did I say about making a move at the last minute?”

  Rob’s voice was so loud, I could hear him all the way up at the barn—over a football field’s length away. What I couldn’t hear was the response from wh
omever he was yelling at. I hoped it wasn’t Katie.

  I led Tobey out of the barn and up to the mounting block. Behind me, my dad gave Gwenn a leg up onto Finch.

  “Thanks, Juan,” she said. Even though I’d heard all the riders call my dad by his first name a million times before, it still sounded strange.

  As I swung my leg over the saddle, my stomach started to tie up in knots. It was the first day of boot camp, which was what we called the weeks of training before the finals. This was when Rob got tough—tougher than usual, that is.

  Tobey swished his tail and stomped a front hoof as I tightened the girth. He was really girthy so I had to tighten it only a hole or two at a time.

  “Hold on,” I told him. “We’re going.”

  I gathered my reins, and Gwenn and I headed down to the indoor arena. West Hills was set on a hill, with the main barn, two impeccably groomed outdoor rings, and take-your-breath-away grand prix field on top and the indoor arena and half-mile galloping track down below. With all the well-kept buildings and manicured grounds, the farm was insanely gorgeous.

  “Have a good lesson, girls,” Dad called after us.

  The door to the arena yawned open, but we didn’t go in yet. That was rule number one of riding at West Hills: Wait until Rob tells you to. And it applied to most everything.

  Rob had left the sliding door open because the early-September-still-summer sun was beating down on the metal roof, heating the indoor like a sauna. But since most of the finals took place indoors, we practiced inside no matter how hot it was. Rob stood in the middle as Katie cantered a circle around him. Tara was standing on the side of the ring.

  Rob stood five foot ten, had rusty brown hair, and was a little on the beefy side. He had great posture—he never slouched or slumped. No one knew his age for sure, but we guessed that he was around forty-five. If you saw him on the street, you probably wouldn’t think much of him, but in the horse show world he was basically God. Parents sent their kids from all over the country and paid a fortune for them to train with him. He was notorious for being tough on his riders, but as much as we griped about him, we all knew it was worth it because he was the best.