by R. S. Kovach
Ali sighed. Her head was now throbbing, and she needed to stay sensible. “Fine. Thank you.” She stood. “Can you just tell my friends I’ve gone and maybe see they get home okay?”
Hank nodded. “Sure.”
The single word meant both nothing and everything at the same time. He had been undeniably polite, yet the way he uttered the lone syllable was full of pity. Ali just wanted to sink into the ground and scurry under the nearest rock. Instead, she forced herself into the tiny backseat of Jackson’s sporty Mazda. Her plan had worked: Hank had definitely noticed her. But she’d made a complete fool out of herself in the process. This wasn’t her. This wasn’t the Ali she wanted him to notice. What had she been thinking?
Alejandra Barros wasn’t used to failure, and it was clear she wasn’t yet past this unusual low point. Perhaps Pebble Creek was just what she needed; a little rest and self-reflection never hurt anyone.
Fine. She’d stay and focus on her own well-being.
Hank Mathis had been a brief—and probably necessary—distraction on the way here. She’d needed to crash and burn with him so she could see the situation clearly, but now she had to shake off the handsome cowboy’s allure and move on.
But when she caught the lingering scent of cologne on her shirt where he’d touched her shoulder, a tingle ran through her body. This resolution would probably be easier to make than to keep.
Sunday was a complete wash or a total success, depending on how Ali looked at it.
She spent almost the entire day in her suite doing what she rarely allowed herself time for otherwise. After sleeping in, she moved to the sitting area and stayed in her pajamas to read a book she’d bought months earlier until her upset stomach would finally allow her to eat. Not wanting to discuss last night’s events—or face anyone human for that matter—she took food back to her room before binge-watching a sci-fi series on demand. And in a fit of what must have surely qualified as temporary insanity, she not only willingly called her mother but also didn’t mind listening to Grace ramble on about which of her friends was getting divorced next.
Finally feeling relaxed and somewhat caught up with life, Ali was ready for company by the time the nightly bonfire was in full swing. Holding a steaming mug of hot chocolate topped with marshmallows, she sat around the burning logs shoulder to shoulder with other guests she hadn’t yet taken the time to get to know. The experience was eye-opening. Although the faces were the same as those from the lakeside a day earlier, the atmosphere was completely different.
The glowing embers crackled, sending sparks into the starry sky as people talked, laughed, and sometimes even cried. Their stories—whether deep, personal revelations or lighthearted anecdotes too strange to have been true—were universal. Soft-spoken Lin was a biotech company founder whose recent epiphany regarding the questionable ethics behind his company’s research gave him hives every time he went into the office. The much more boisterous Crash, who earned his living as a mixed martial arts fighter, was now taking time off between seasons to resolve his bouts with insomnia. Malika—who admittedly hid tear-streaked cheeks behind perfectly applied makeup—was a Dallas socialite who needed support for a few weeks each year around the anniversary of her late daughter’s tragic murder, while life-of-the-party Lars was still trying to decide whether to fully transition to Lara. All in all, love and loneliness, success and failure, indulgence and deprivation were common themes uniting the individuals huddled around the open fire pit and reflecting on their reasons for being at Pebble Creek.
Staying silent, Ali wasn’t ready to participate so freely, but she showed her support with genuine smiles, sympathetic tears, or enthusiastic pats on the back to those who shared their stories. Emotionally drained in spite of not having done anything physically exhausting all day, all she could do was fall into bed by the time she returned to her room.
Sleep, however, eluded her. Perhaps she was over-rested, or her body was getting used to the now properly administered medication, but Ali’s mind couldn’t shut off. She tossed and turned for hours, picking apart every random thought that entered her consciousness. Whether it was the amount she’d tipped the cabbie or the fact that she hadn’t given her assistant a proper good-bye, the only common thread was the blame she placed on herself for not being good enough.
She seemed to have just drifted off when her alarm rang, signaling her scheduled early-morning yoga class. Not in the mood for a zooful of animal poses, Ali skipped the session, vowing to go at the next available time. When she finally rolled out of bed, she took an awkward shower—she still wasn’t comfortable with holding her cast out of the way and washing with one hand—before dutifully sitting down at her room’s desk.
This wouldn’t do. She’d only been here for a few days and she was already falling out of line. If she was going to get through the next month, she needed to approach her stay in a more organized manner.
Pulling out the complimentary pad of paper and finding a pen, she used the in-room brochure and Liz’s prearranged itinerary to plan her time at Pebble Creek. By the time she’d filled three sheets front and back with a detailed schedule ranging from massages and marshmallow roasting to sailing and wild mushroom collecting, Ali felt more like her old self than she had since the accident.
After lunch, which included a bizarre argument between Pete and Harriet about the merits of corsets while Wylda was inexplicably unwilling to look her in the eye, Ali headed to her first therapy session. The door to her designated psychiatrist’s office, however, was locked. Instead, it held a note directing her to look for Jane Sacher, MD, PhD, in the stables.
The day was cool and overcast, but a small group had just left on a trail ride. Ali caught enough of a glimpse of the departing horses as they slowly meandered up a narrow path into the mountains to see Hank wasn’t leading the outing. His truck also wasn’t in the vicinity, and she wasn’t sure whether that made her relieved or disappointed. But judging by the fact that now that she’d thought of him she couldn’t stop, it was probably the latter.
Taking a deep breath to help her focus on the reason she was at the stables, she headed inside and found a lone woman who must have been Dr. Sacher brushing down a gray mare in one of the stalls.
“You’ve done your homework.” She nodded toward the animal, which bore a striking resemblance to her Lippi.
“I wanted you to feel as comfortable as possible.” The lanky woman patted the horse’s side.
The admission sent an odd chill down Ali’s spine. “What else do you know about me? Apart from what horse I’ve been riding for the past three years.” She raised her brows. “My favorite pizza toppings? Or the name of my high school English teacher, perhaps?”
“I can understand your resistance, Ms. Barros. It’s quite a natural response to any traumatic incident. Rest assured, when you’re ready I will be here to help you.” The therapist exited the stall and motioned for Ali to follow. “But for now, I’m going to rely on your expertise to help me saddle Kokomo. Can you do that for me?”
Walking to a wall containing two neatly arranged rows of riding equipment, she removed a saddle blanket before handing it to Ali. For the next ten minutes, the two women worked in silence to prep the animal. When the Thoroughbred had been fitted with the standard riding gear and every buckle had been tightened, Dr. Sacher took the reins. “To answer your earlier question: no, I don’t know what you like on your pizza, although since you’re from New York, I’m guessing you prefer a thin crust. I would, however, like to talk to you about why you’re here.”
Ali crossed her arms. “I’m here because my job depends on it.”
“You sound like you wouldn’t have come willingly.” Dr. Sacher extended her arm, offering the leather lead to Ali. “Does that mean you don’t think you should be here?”
A day ago, she would have definitely said yes. “No. Not anymore.” She accepted the reins.
When the
woman shrugged in confusion, Ali clarified. “I mean, yes. I think being here was probably the right call.”
The therapist gave her a surprised but approving smirk. “Really? What made you reconsider?”
“I’m not sure,” she lied, stroking the animal’s nose. Saturday night’s drunken epiphany would definitely stay her secret.
“Fair enough.” Dr. Sacher turned. “Walk with me.”
Ali followed, stepping alongside the woman while leading the horse out of the stables. When they reached the paddock, the therapist spoke again. “So, you had an accident. Is that correct?”
She kept her eyes focused straight ahead as they strolled the inside perimeter of the enclosure. “Yes.”
“How did it happen?”
“Does it matter?” She kicked up a cloud of dust from the hard ground. “The results are the same either way.”
“Let me be the judge of that.” Dr. Sacher’s tone remained unnervingly even, mimicking the cadence of their steps. “How do you feel when things don’t go the way you’d like them to?”
Ali shrugged. “The same as others, I suppose.”
The therapist continued to prod. “Which is how, exactly?”
“Disappointed,” she said, blurting out the first word that came to mind.
“Anything else?”
“It depends on the situation.” Ali gripped the reins tighter in her increasingly sweaty hand, remembering that brief but significant moment in Aaron Lassiter’s office just days earlier. “I guess I could add angry, as well.”
“All right.” The woman nodded. “So would you agree that being here is necessary for you to return to work and consequently succeed?”
Ali swallowed before replying. “Yes.”
“Then tell me what you think you’ll need to achieve during your time here.”
Without slowing her steps, she turned her head toward the woman. “I just need a bit of time off so my wrist can heal and I can stop taking my meds.”
The therapist pursed her lips and raised her brows. Pausing to stroke the horse’s mane, she glanced at Ali over the animal’s nose as she followed up with another question. “What kind of effect do you think those pills have on you?”
Ali looked away again and sped up. “Apart from making me really sleepy, they dull my ability to think. But I’m managing better already. I just needed to find the right dosage.”
“So what you’re saying is that what you need to overcome is purely physical?”
The doctor’s intonation was dripping with skepticism, but Ali held her ground. “Absolutely.”
Stepping in front of the horse, the therapist grabbed the bridle and steadied the animal. She hardened her expression and looked Ali in the eyes. “Get on.”
Ali frowned and cocked her head to the side. “What?”
The woman nodded. “If your problems are only physiological and you truly don’t have a need for my help, then prove it. Get in the saddle and take a lap around the pen.”
“No.” Ali stepped back, dropping the leather straps. “I have nothing to prove to you.”
“You’re already proving a lot, Ms. Barros.” Dr. Sacher patted the increasingly agitated horse’s snout in reassurance.
“This is absurd.” Ali shook her head. “I didn’t come here for riding lessons.”
“True. You came here to resolve the reasons you can’t do your job the same way as you did before your accident,” the woman stated matter-of-factly. “Facing the cause will let us find the solution.”
“I already told you. The solution is for my wrist to heal so I can stop taking the drugs, which keep me from thinking straight.” Ali felt her pulse quicken and struggled to keep her voice even. “With all due respect, Dr. Sacher, that’s the solution.”
“I see.” The woman pursed her lips and looked down on her boots. After thinking for a second, she raised her head and took another approach. “Tell me about the events that led up to you breaking your wrist.”
Ali pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut. “No.” She looked up. “I’m going on a run.” She turned on her heel and began to walk away.
“But I’m not done here,” the therapist called after her.
She didn’t break her stride. “Too bad, because I am.” Ali bent at the waist to slip through the corral’s horizontal beams. She retreated, breaking into a jog halfway past the stables and building speed as she rounded the structure before nearly running into two people standing on the other side.
“Whoops! Sorry,” she called out to Liz, squeezing between the startled lodge owner and a bearded cowboy who—with his worn hat and bushy beard—could have easily passed for an old-time gold prospector.
“It’s not a good idea to be heading into the mountains right about now, ma’am,” the man called after her.
The unexpected warning made Ali turn, but she kept jogging in place. “Why’s that?”
Liz nodded toward the sky while pulling a walkie-talkie out of her windbreaker’s pocket. “Winston is right. We’re expecting a storm. I’m actually considering calling back the group that recently rode out with Jules because the weather could turn anytime.” She eyed the gray clouds gathering in the distance.
“I won’t go far.” Ali shook her head. “I’ll be fine. Promise.”
Turning away, she ran up the incline toward the tree line. “Just stay on the path, and get back as soon as there’s even a hint of rain,” she heard Liz call from behind.
Ali put up her hand in acknowledgment and kept running.
Both the rebellion and the activity felt good. The physical exertion of her feet hitting the rocky soil raised her heart rate and invigorated not only her body but also her mind. Her head quickly cleared of the frustration and anger the session with Dr. Sacher had brought, and she broke into a smile as she dashed between the mighty evergreens lining the trail.
Back among the trees, the path was composed of a darker, more nutrient-rich soil, and the higher amounts of peat and other composted vegetation made it soft enough to better display the equine hoofprints scattered along the way. Secretly thankful for a sign she was on the right trail, Ali followed the tracks as they led through the trees before the path opened again into a wide meadow. Wildflowers here dotted the landscape in rich purples and oranges, and the fresh scent of pine mingled with the sweet aroma of native clovers and copper mallows.
Ali took a deep breath, relishing the rich fragrance in her nostrils. The last few weeks of relative inactivity, however, were apparent as the muscles in her sides twitched from the strain. But she pushed on despite the increasing ache now also forming in her calves. Only the cool rustling of the wind in the treetops and the rhythmic stomping of her sneakers broke the silence.
Concentrating on where to place her feet among the roots, ruts, and rocks while trying to keep a steady pace, Ali jumped when a low rumble erupted from the sky. Looking up, she saw the clouds were denser and darker than they’d been just minutes earlier. When a gust whipped a strand of hair out of her tight ponytail and across her face, she tucked the lock behind her ear and sped up. She hadn’t even run another two hundred feet before the sound of approaching hooves got her attention.
Riding through the valley below, the group—probably at Liz’s urging—was heading back toward the lodge. In a spur-of-the-moment decision, Ali ducked into the shadow of a knotty oak before watching the slow procession pass below her. She took the welcome opportunity to catch her breath but frowned when broker Dave came into view.
Although he was focused on chatting up a ball-cap-wearing soccer-mom-type woman, spotting the man whom she had successfully avoided since Saturday night at the bar made Ali glad she’d ducked out of sight, a decision further reinforced when she saw the group’s leader motion for the riders to pick up the pace. The wrangler—probably the Jules that Liz had mentioned earlier—would no doubt have also as
ked her to return to Pebble Creek out of caution, and Ali wasn’t ready. The release and sense of freedom running had given her in just a short amount of time were much more useful than any forced therapy session. A little summer shower wasn’t about to scare her into hiding now.
Ali waited for the horses to pass before continuing on her way in the opposite direction. She followed the ridge above the valley, occasionally climbing over smooth boulders and rounding scraggly bushes as she made her way farther and farther up the mountain. Dust covered her bare legs and sweat dripped down her face in sticky streaks by the time she realized the trail below was nowhere in sight. Stopping to survey her surroundings, she wiped her brow with the back of her hand just before a cold water droplet landed on her nose. Another hit her shoulder, followed by a steady stream as the sprinkles quickly developed into a heavy rainfall.
Ali sighed. At some point, she must have turned off the marked route without even noticing and now everything around her looked the same. Pines and meadows, grasses and rocks intermittently covered the whole area in every direction, leaving no well-worn paths or other telltale signs to follow.
A bright streak of lightning struck against the darkened sky, causing Ali to instinctively flinch in preparation for the inevitable thunder. Seconds later, its force reverberated through the air and made the ground shake.
Disoriented and keenly aware of Liz’s warning, she looked around but was only positive of one thing. Pebble Creek had to be somewhere down below. Finding the exact way she came would be nearly impossible and probably wasn’t worth the effort, so Ali started down the grassy embankment, cautiously avoiding rocky outcrops slippery from the rain. A wrong step would add a broken ankle to her already useless wrist, but hesitating was out of the question while the ominously swaying trees signaled the worst was yet to come. Halfway down, a thorny branch snagged her soaked shirt, and Ali reluctantly paused to free herself. She tried to wipe the cold water off her face, but the wind threw it back into her eyes, distorting her vision.