Dark Horses

by Susan Mihalic

  Something about that line of reasoning felt wrong, but I squelched the feeling.

  Daddy was right when he said normal was another way of being average. Ordinary.

  I wasn’t average or ordinary, and I knew it.

  In my mind, I tore off the pages of a calendar one by one, all the way back to November, when Will had first noticed me. Mentally, I set fire to the pages, and winter, when my hormones had run away with me, turned to ash. Now it was spring, and I was back in control.

  * * *

  THE NEXT AFTERNOON, after some resistance—who even blogged anymore?—I labored through the first post I’d written in ages. I titled it “When Accidents Happen.” In it, I accepted responsibility for not giving my full attention to my lesson, and I gave Daddy credit for anticipating that I needed to give Diva more leg. Next time Monty Montgomery tells me to do something, I concluded, I’ll do it!

  At supper, Daddy read it with a skeptical eye. “It doesn’t sound like you.”

  “But I wrote it.”

  “I’ll fix it when I post it.”

  I looked down at my plate. “How can you sound more like me than I do?”

  “Practice. The image we put out to the public is to protect you. People think they know you, but what they really know is your persona—funny, a good student, a good athlete.”

  “But I am a good student and a good athlete. Or are you saying I’m not?”

  “No, the real you goes into it, but what you present publicly is a façade. Speaking of which, we should run through some interview questions.”

  He started to drill me immediately: Tell me about the accident. What are you doing to stay on top of your game? How have things changed for you since your mother left?

  “Why would Vic ask about Mama?”

  “Because I think he should.”

  “You’re telling him what to ask?”

  “I’ve made a few suggestions.”

  “I don’t want to talk about her.”

  “Adversity is an opportunity to show strength.”

  Like my broken ribs, Mama’s abandonment was something we could use, although the opportunity hadn’t presented itself until now.

  He reached for his water goblet. “What about boys?”

  He was trying to throw me with that one.

  “What about them?”

  “Anyone special?” He adopted Vic’s come-on-you-can-tell-me tone. Now and then Vic got a rider to say something embarrassing or overly personal. People like that probably didn’t have a façade.

  “There has to be someone.” He’d nailed Vic’s technique.

  “Why? Are you jealous?”

  It was only a smart-ass remark, but once I’d said it, it took on a different meaning.

  His face became stone. “You’re suggesting Vic’s attracted to you. That’s inappropriate.”

  Both of us knew I hadn’t meant Vic.

  “I was trying to be funny.”

  “That wasn’t.”

  “I’m sorry.” There was enough regret in my voice for him to give me a short nod.

  Since he had all the answers, I appealed to his ego. “What should I say? And what should I say about Mama?”

  “I’ll work with you on that, but you need to think about what you want to convey.”

  The chances Mama would see the interview were slim, but if word got back to her, I wanted to make sure she understood how I felt.

  “That I’m tough,” I said. “I don’t need her.”

  “Think resilient instead of tough. And don’t say you don’t need her. It’s too hostile. We’ll work on it.”

  For the rest of the meal, we made small talk, and then I went to my room. He’d get over the jealousy remark, and by not continuing to apologize, I was giving him room to save face, allowing him to buy into it being a snappy comeback gone wrong. Daddy the Invincible was jealous of a boy he’d called a “snot-nosed high-school punk.”

  I scanned the pages of my lit book and forced myself to make notes, because otherwise I reached the end of each page without retaining the information, but I kept seeing Will in Mrs. Kenyon’s classroom, sitting one row over and one chair ahead, his head bent over his book.

  Daddy tapped on my door and stuck his head in. “Want to do the walk-through?”

  I was tired and various parts of my body reminded me I was injured, but I said, “Sure.”

  My side twanged, so while he walked through all the barns, I hung out with my horses.

  “It was my fault,” I said to Diva, dropping chunks of carrot in her bucket and withdrawing my hand before she could bite it. “You did what I told you to do.”

  She nosed around in her bucket and ate some carrot, her ears so flat against her head that she looked earless. Still chewing, she slithered into the recesses of her stall.

  Two doors down, Jasper pressed his muzzle against the bars of his stall door and breathed on me. I reached through the bars and stroked his ears while he ate. “I’ll try harder.”

  Back at the house, Daddy and I went upstairs together.

  He paused in the doorway of my room and looked at my desk. “Keeping up with your homework?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  His eyes roamed around my room and landed on the daffodils on my nightstand. I should have thrown them out.

  His hand went to the back of my neck. His fingers slid the elastic from my ponytail and wound through my hair, loosening it. Then he held the elastic out to me.

  I started to take it, but he pulled it out of reach. I had a hundred ponytail holders in my bathroom so there was no need to reach for it—except he wanted me to, so I did, which brought my mouth within an inch of his.

  “Don’t stay up too late.” He pressed the elastic into my hand and kissed my forehead. “Love you, darlin’.”

  He turned and went down the hall.

  The feeling that I’d been subtly humiliated kept me standing there for a moment. One of these days, I’d be the one who walked away.

  I considered texting Will, but what would I say? Don’t come. Do come, but play by Daddy’s rules, if you can figure out what they are. I wish I hadn’t broken up with you.

  That last sentence was reason enough not to text him. I ignored the ache swelling inside me and resolved to focus on being who Daddy and I wanted me to be.

  - seventeen -

  I GOT THROUGH Thursday and most of Friday by doing homework, drafting another blog post, practicing for the interview, auditing lessons, and making notes about where I needed to improve. All day Friday, I felt alternately feverish and chilled from nerves.

  In the afternoon, Daddy finished working Diva. I climbed down from the bleachers to accompany them to the barn.

  “Go change, darlin’. Your guest will be here in an hour.”

  My jeans and T-shirt were clean, mostly. Earlier Vigo had blown a big horsey raspberry as I’d passed by him in the crossties, spraying me with grass-colored saliva, but my shirt was only slightly spattered. “What’s wrong with this?”

  “Go change.”

  “Into what?”

  “Something more appropriate for company. Do you want me to pick it out for you?”

  His agitation caught me off guard. He’d been masking it well the past few days.

  “I’ll find something,” I said.

  Changing clothes wouldn’t be enough. Even though I wasn’t riding or grooming, I’d picked up the horse smell. I showered and washed my hair and strapped myself back into the rib belt. My ribs made it impossible to keep my arms up long enough to use the blow-dryer, so I towel-dried my hair and braided it while it was still damp. It was a fat, lopsided braid, but it was off my face and out of the way.

  I’d been trying to demonstrate that Will wasn’t worth dressing up for, but Daddy, keen on my being appropriate these days, would find meaning in whatever I wore. I chose gray linen pants and a gray-green cotton sweater Mama had brought home from one of her shopping marathons. I took the scissors from my desk drawer and snipped off the tags,
slipped on a pair of ballet flats I’d never worn, either, and looked at myself in the mirror. Modest. Drab.

  With luck, the whole evening would be drab. Daddy would see nothing, and Will would… I had no idea what Will would see or say or do. I imagined whispering in his ear, The reason I can’t keep seeing you is that I can’t keep fucking both of you.

  In my mind, I saw his horror and disgust. He wouldn’t understand. No one would. In many ways, I didn’t understand, either, so why should I expect anyone else to? I’d chosen cooperation and obedience, and I had to live with everything that meant, including keeping the secret. I would not allow my carefully constructed life to fall apart. The only people who needed to know were Daddy and me.

  The grandfather clock in the hall chimed five o’clock, and I turned away from the mirror.

  In the study, Daddy was checking his email. He’d showered and changed, too.

  “That’s better.” He paused. “Your hair looks pretty.”

  Saying I hadn’t been trying to look pretty would be like clipping a precariously balanced rail. I didn’t want any rails coming down tonight.

  “Thanks.” I sat in one of the leather chairs and paged through the current issue of Classic Equine. Daddy clicked through his inbox, sometimes typing a reply before moving on to the next message.

  I turned the page and spotted an ad for barn blueprints. “What if I write about that toy barn I had when I was a kid?”

  “Why?”

  “A lot of kids play with them. I could write about always having this dream, and how a dream turned into goals.”

  “You have advantages other kids don’t. The finest horses money can buy. Me.”

  “Even a kid with a backyard pony can work on being a better rider. Not everyone wants to go to the Olympics.”

  “I’m not sold. Keep trying.”

  “You said you’d help me with content.”

  “I’m helping you by telling you to keep trying.”

  What if I write about what you do to me?

  Will’s engine grumbled in the distance. My stomach dove toward my knees, and Daddy’s ears all but swiveled toward the open window. I folded down a page corner to mark an article on hoof care.

  “What if I did a how-to video? How to groom a horse.”

  “Too elementary.”

  I looked back down at the magazine.

  “I believe your guest is here,” Daddy said.

  “You keep calling him that. He’s not my guest. He’s yours.”

  The engine stopped outside the window. The door to the truck opened and closed, and I heard—we heard—someone coming up the front steps.

  The doorbell rang.

  “Answer the door, darlin’.”

  In the few steps it took me to get to the door, I thought, You’ll get through this, but one look at Will and I had my doubts.

  His eyes hadn’t become bluer in the past four days; I’d forgotten how blue they were to begin with. I remembered well, however, how flinty they’d been when he’d left on Tuesday. The flint was gone. I’d worried that if he didn’t look angry, he’d look wounded, but his expression was composed.

  My irritation with him ebbed, but in its place was the emotional rawness I’d buried all week—and now wasn’t the time to feel it, either, much less show it. I had to keep control of everything tonight, starting with myself.

  “Hi,” he said.

  How could he sound the same?

  “Hi.” I sounded the same, too. Maybe that part wasn’t so hard. “Come in.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “Better, thanks.” I closed the door, my back to him. Wow. Heartache was an actual physical thing. “This way.” I led him through the wide double doors into the study.

  Daddy was typing. “Be right with you, darlin’.”

  Will stopped at the medal case, as if he’d never seen Daddy’s medals before. He leaned over to examine them, and his hair fell forward. He wore khaki pants and a blue oxford shirt. I almost made a comment about his shirt being tucked in, but conversation needed to be impersonal and polite, like he was a stranger.

  He straightened and caught me watching him. “Are these what I think they are?”

  “Depends on what you think they are.” Good. Flippant.

  “Olympic medals.”

  “Then yes.”

  “Among others.” Daddy clicked the mouse with finality, stood up, and came around the desk. “These”—he tapped the glass, indicating the cluster of medals displayed in the center—“are the Olympic medals.”

  Will eyed the cups and trophies on the shelves. “How many of these do you have?”

  “A few. Some are my father’s and grandfather’s. Some are hers.” He indicated me with a tilt of his head. “Thanks for coming, Will. I always like to get to know Roan’s friends.”

  He’d had approximately zero interest in getting to know Roan’s friends until now, not that there were many to know.

  “Thanks for inviting me,” Will said.

  They shook hands.

  “Thought you might enjoy a tour of the farm before supper. You up to a walk, darlin’?”

  “Yes, sir.” I’d crawl, if I had to, to keep them from spending time alone with each other.

  With Will on his right and me on his left, Daddy launched into tour-guide mode, pointing out different parts of the farm as we made our way toward the barn.

  We approached the field where the yearlings were turned out.

  “You’ll have seen this year’s foals on your way in. These are last year’s.” He vaulted lightly over the fence, showing off.

  Even the youngest foals knew and trusted Daddy; he imprinted on them as soon as they were born. The yearlings trotted up to him eagerly. Will and I waited outside the pasture as he moved among the horses, rubbing an ear here, scratching a shoulder there. A bay nudged his arm. “Hi, Sadie.” He stroked her neck and began telling Will how she’d colicked and lost her foal the night before Thanksgiving. “If I remember correctly, that’s the day you gave Roan a lift.”

  “That’s right,” Will said.

  I braced myself.

  “When Sadie recovered, I put her with this group. This mare here, Marvel”—Daddy nodded toward another bay—“is her mother, and that dark colt with the star is her brother Buddy. Marvel took care of Sadie, which was what I’d hoped would happen, but the bond between Sadie and Buddy surprised me. You’d see that in a band of wild horses, but not on a breeding farm.”

  “Do you think they knew they were siblings?” Will asked.

  “Could be. I’ve been around these animals since before I could walk, and I’ll still never know everything about them.”

  He distributed some farewell pats and rejoined us outside the fence.

  “Will you breed Sadie again?” Will said.

  “Already have. All these mares are in foal. By the time the babies drop, the yearlings will be two-year-olds and ready for sale. Since we only breed any given mare every other year, we keep the mothers and foals together for two years. I have a real resistance to treating horses like they’re on a production line.”

  I could find fault with Daddy for a lot of things, but the way he bred and trained horses wasn’t one of them, and it was good, I guessed, that he and Will were talking.

  At the barn, the grooms had begun their evening chores, mucking, bringing horses in from the pastures and paddocks, and tending to any small ailments. The horses pinned their ears and showed their teeth. Diva pawed at the bottom of her stall door in a steady, deafening rhythm that made everyone cringe.

  “Feeding time,” Daddy said over the banging.

  Eddie poked his head out of the office. “Evening, boss.”

  “Eddie,” Daddy said, “this is Roan’s friend Will. Eddie’s my assistant.”

  “Nice to know you.” Eddie smiled broadly and pumped Will’s hand.

  Daddy’s eyes took on a shrewd vigilance; Gertrude had told Eddie about Will.

  I pressed my hand to my side. �
�Ow.”

  All eyes turned to me.

  “You all right?” Daddy asked.

  “Little uncomfortable.” My ribs didn’t hurt worse than they had all day, but the interruption served its purpose: diverting attention from Eddie’s overly warm welcome of Will. “I’m okay.”

  “Hey, boss,” Eddie said, “you got a minute? I have some questions about the new supplements.”

  “Darlin’, why don’t you show Will your horses?”

  Will followed me down the aisle to Diva’s stall. She stopped pawing at her door long enough to rake her teeth against the bars, making the metal ring.

  “Jesus.” He took a step back.

  “This is Diva,” I said.

  “The one who threw you?”

  I felt Daddy watching us, even though he stood with Eddie outside the office.

  “Yeah. Moving on.”

  We stopped in front of Jasper’s stall. He came immediately to the door and pressed his muzzle against the bars.

  “This is Jasper,” I said. “Sorry, no treats. Dinner’s on the way.”

  “He’s huge,” Will said, playing along with the charade that this was the first time he’d seen him.

  I introduced him to Vigo, whom he’d seen before, too. I’d ridden him to one of our meetings on the fire road.

  He studied Vigo through the bars. “You okay?” he said quietly.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Diva’s banging made it impossible for anyone except Will to hear me, but I was annoyed he’d asked. A boy who hardly knew me wouldn’t have asked that, not in the way Will had.

  He shook his head, as if he shouldn’t need to explain why I might not be okay, as if breaking up with him should have devastated me.

  “You said you could pull this off,” I reminded him.

  “I can.” He looked past me and smiled.

  “Let’s get away from this racket,” Daddy said from behind me. Chills rippled through me. “I’ll show you the breeding stallions.”

  His expression was pure tour guide, but he put a firm hand at the small of my back and kept it there even when Will and I fell into step on either side of him.