Dark Horses

by Susan Mihalic

“I’ve known you all your life,” Vic said, “and since you were little, you’ve had long hair, so I have to ask, what’s with the haircut?”

  I replicated the laugh that had preceded my answer the first time he’d asked. “Long hair’s a lot of work. I wanted something easier to take care of. The less time I spend on my hair, the more time I can spend on my horse.”

  Beside the monitor, Daddy wore a faint smile, a single father bewildered and out of his depth with his teenage daughter. We were practically a Disney movie. All that was missing was a horse that acted like a dog and a pretty veterinarian who’d steal his heart and love me like I was her own.

  “I can’t say Daddy’s too thrilled,” I added, lending authenticity to his single-dad act.

  “You want in on this, Monty?” Vic asked.

  Daddy held up one hand, shaking his head.

  Vic moved on to Sheridan Academy’s rigorous academics, which led to a brief discussion of my grades. Then he said, “High school’s a whole different world. You’re always the youngest rider when you compete, but at school you’re with people your own age. Do you find it easy to be in both worlds? And just between us”—there was a low laugh from the crew—“are you dating anyone?”

  Daddy had made him ask, but I was prepared. “If I don’t have time to blow-dry my hair, I don’t have time for dating. As for being in two worlds, I’m on a short schedule at school, so I’m in and out—go to class, come home, and ride. School is school—but riding is my life.”

  Daddy hadn’t scripted that answer. I was being honest.

  “Tell me,” Vic said, “about your mother.”

  I arranged my expression into something neutral, reserved. I’d practiced in the mirror, and I could see myself in the monitor. “There’s really nothing to tell.” I’d practiced that cool tone, too, channeling Grace Kelly in To Catch a Thief. Hitchcock didn’t scare me anymore. “My parents are divorced. My mother moved away. My life is here.”

  We broke for lunch at noon. In the dining room, we served ourselves from the sideboard, where Gertrude had laid out bread, cold cuts, cheeses, and condiments. I assembled a big, thick sandwich.

  Daddy took his plate to the head of the table, but Laura had taken my seat, so I found myself in Mama’s old spot, slightly removed from the conversation. I’d never sat here before. I squinted to blur out Vic and the crew and tried to see the table as Mama had, Daddy at a distance and me between them, the same way we’d been as a family.

  Daddy never even looked my way. I took a reading on his mood: still furious over the haircut but pleased with my performance. I’d come across as spontaneous and authentic. More important, we’d presented that indivisible bond we were known for.

  At one, lights, cameras, crew, and Daddy followed Vic and me to the barn. Owen shot B roll along the way. Our mics were off and we were being shot from the back mostly, but Laura had said to be animated.

  I gestured toward the pastures and the arenas. “You’ve seen it all before.”

  Vic turned his head toward me and laughed. In the footage, we’d appear to be having a delightful conversation. They’d slap on some voice-over, maybe Vic talking about the generations Rosemont had been in the family.

  “Good job,” Laura said when we got to the barn.

  Eddie had a moment’s astonished reaction to my hair, which fortunately was not captured on camera.

  “What the hell?” he said under his breath.

  “Not you, too.”

  “Whatever, girl.”

  He greeted everyone, introduced himself, and helped Owen get the shots Priya and Laura wanted, leading my horses out one by one to a knoll above the memorial garden, where I stood close to them while Eddie held the lead rope and Vic and I chatted about each horse.

  Jasper was first, giving a shrill whinny when he spotted me, performing for the cameras like a true Montgomery. I laughed, and Vic chuckled on cue.

  “Jasper’s your newest horse, but you had an unprecedented season on him last year. How would you describe the development of your partnership?”

  I stood in the curve of Jasper’s neck and felt the heat from his body. I’d missed touching him. If the camera weren’t on us, I’d have leaned against his shoulder and closed my eyes and just breathed him in.

  He nosed my hand for the carrot stick I’d swiped from the tray at lunchtime. I held it out, palm flat, and he skimmed it up.

  “The way we’ve grown together has been amazing. It isn’t only under saddle. I’ve bonded more closely with him than I’ve ever bonded with another horse.”

  Daddy caught my eye.

  “But a rider’s only as good as her team,” I said. “Eddie and Mateo and everyone else who works at Rosemont are a huge part of my success. I never forget that.”

  Vic asked Eddie a few questions, but even after three decades as Daddy’s groom and then his assistant, Eddie remained uncomfortable on camera. He offered up a couple of halting answers.

  “Should we bring Vigo out next?” I patted Jasper goodbye, and Eddie, looking relieved, led him back into the barn.

  Vigo posed like the equine royalty he was, and then Diva was up. Eddie led her out on a short lead rope, but one hind hoof flashed backward, fast as a lightning strike, and she’d have made contact with Ruby if she hadn’t misjudged the distance, a rare miss.

  Her behavior led naturally to a conversation about her temperament. I described the special accommodation she required at shows. Vic knew about that, but the audience might not.

  “You’re both Olympic prospects, both descended from Olympians,” he said. “Look into the future. Is she the one who gets you there?”

  “If I’m lucky enough to make the team, which would be a dream come true…” I hesitated so I’d sound as if I regretted what I said next. “I don’t see it happening on Diva.”

  Daddy looked interested, as if my opinion were news to him but worth taking into consideration.

  “Why is that?” Vic asked.

  I nodded at Eddie, and he led her away.

  “She’s an incredible athlete, but mind-set’s as important for the horse as it is for the rider.”

  Daddy couldn’t argue with that.

  “Who do you think it’ll be?”

  “Horses come and go. I might have another horse this year, next year.”

  “You’re being coy.”

  “Okay, okay,” I said as if I were giving in, but I wanted everyone to know my answer. “When I visualize riding in the Games, I’m on Jasper.”

  We shot all afternoon. There were more questions, and Laura wanted additional B roll. She invited Daddy to join us on camera. We retraced the route of Friday evening’s tour, walked up and down the driveway under the oaks, and sat on the front steps like we hung out there all the time. Much of the footage featured Daddy and me alone together. Vic’s voice-over was writing itself: “Montgomery is not only coach and father but also mother to his sixteen-year-old daughter.” Gag.

  At sunset, the crew packed up the van and everyone left except Vic and Laura. In his study, Daddy poured drinks for the three of them. I excused myself and went upstairs to take some aspirin and chisel the makeup off my face. Walking and talking and smiling had worn me out, but the heavy-as-rocks feeling was lighter—and then I checked my phone and found a text from Will: We need to talk.

  * * *

  I TRIED TO follow the conversation at dinner and failed.

  “You poor thing, we wore you out,” Laura said.

  Daddy noticed my lack of participation and appetite for the first time. “Go to bed, darlin’. Tomorrow’s a school day.”

  “See you next week,” Vic said as I stood up. “Great job today.”

  “Thanks. Good night.”

  What good would talking do? I thought as I went upstairs. Nothing had changed since Will and I had broken up.

  That wasn’t true. Just today, I’d changed. I’d put Daddy in his place.

  In my room, I looked at my phone to see if Will had responded to the message I
’d sent before supper: Can’t tonight.

  He had. In person. I’ll be in the bleachers before homeroom tomorrow.

  I texted back OK. Then I turned off the phone, hid it, and got ready for bed. I’d have to find a reason to go to school early, which would make Daddy suspicious. I shouldn’t have weed-whacked my hair. No, the haircut was good. It was giving me courage. I’d think of something.

  I was drowsing when I heard voices from downstairs. Vic and Laura were leaving. I peered at my clock. Just after midnight.

  Distantly, I heard Daddy set the alarm, his tread on the stairs, my door opening.

  I squeezed my eyes shut.

  “Gertrude will take you to school tomorrow.” His voice was flat. “I’m riding out on Jasper.”

  Why didn’t he ride out on his own horse?

  Grow up. Jasper would be in excellent hands—better hands than mine. Lighter. Quieter. And I could lie to Gertrude more easily about going to school early.

  “Thanks.” I made my voice sound sleepy, but I opened my eyes.

  The doorway was empty.

  Down the hall, the floorboard creaked.

  He’d left my door open. After he closed his own door, I got up and shut mine again, the latch clicking softly.

  I stood there, uncertain, unsettled, and then I dragged my desk chair to the door and wedged the back under the doorknob.

  - twenty -

  GERTRUDE HAD PUT the tackle box in my bathroom, so Monday morning after my shower I examined the contents, but my hair was already dry, untouched and randomly spiky. Gutsy.

  In the kitchen, I told Gertrude we needed to leave early because I had some teacher conferences before homeroom.

  “But your breakfast—”

  “I’ll eat in the car.”

  I smeared peanut butter on toast and retrieved my backpack from the dining room. I carried it in both arms, not letting on how severely the weight tweaked my ribs, or she’d insist on carrying it into the building, where she might find out I wasn’t meeting my teachers.

  “Do you have everything?” she asked as we got in the station wagon. “Books, homework?”

  Daddy never asked. Mama never had, either.

  “I do. Do you know who won Greensboro? I want to send a note.” I’d already drafted it in my mind. I could have written it and filled in the name later—it was that generic—but I hadn’t wanted to take the time this morning.

  “Eddie didn’t say. That’s nice of you, though.”

  Not really. I wanted to remind the competition that my injuries wouldn’t keep me down for long.

  At the end of the driveway, she looked left and right before pulling onto the road. “How do you think the interview went yesterday?”

  “Fine.”

  “I’ve never seen your daddy so upset—and right before you had to go on camera.” She slowed to take a curve. “How’d you do that? Everyone heard him blow up at you, and even though he was sorry—he apologized to all of us—”

  Not me, I thought.

  “—he was still furious, and you went out there and put on this performance like he hadn’t yelled at you.”

  “I’m a pro,” I said lightly.

  “You’re a kid.” Straight vertical lines creased between her eyebrows, like the number 11 had been etched there.

  “It’s fine. He was worried about the sponsors, but he’ll make it right with them.”

  “You always say everything’s fine.”

  “It is.”

  “If it ever isn’t,” she said slowly, “do you promise you’ll tell me?”

  I gave my answer no thought at all. “Of course.” Not.

  “Are you picking me up, too?” I asked when we stopped in front of the school.

  “I’ll check with your daddy. And, sugar—”

  I slid out of the car and bent down to look back at her.

  She smiled a little, but the 11 was still there. “Have a good day.”

  “You, too,” I said, and suddenly my eyes and nose stung like I was going to cry. Gertrude cared about me, not about my performance in the arena, in front of a camera, or in the classroom.

  I gave a little cough. “See you later.”

  The school smell hit me when I went inside, books and toner and industrial floor wax. I put my backpack in my locker. Voices and laughter came from the faculty lounge down the hall, but students wouldn’t start arriving for another half hour.

  I went out the front door. Student parking was empty.

  Will didn’t owe me a conversation, and since we were already broken up, I didn’t see how things could get any worse even if he’d changed his mind about talking, but when I reached the stadium and found him waiting for me at the top of the bleachers, all the assurances I’d given myself that I was fine without him and that the hell of the past week had to be the worst of it—all of that vanished.

  I climbed the steps, wondering whether we’d hug when I got to the top. I ached to feel the strength of his arms—or maybe my ribs just hurt. I didn’t need his strength. I was strong myself.

  His eyes widened as I climbed the last four steps. “When did you cut your hair?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “Wow. It’s hot.”

  He shouldn’t be saying that.

  “How’s your headache?” I asked.

  “How’d you know I have one?”

  I hadn’t—I’d been referring to his excuse for leaving Friday night—but I said, “I know you pretty well. How bad is it?”

  “Worse over the weekend than it is now.”

  He didn’t mean anything by that—for example, that seeing me with my hot haircut was so wonderful that his headache had spontaneously disappeared.

  “Let’s sit down,” he said.

  Back in the winter, we’d huddled together side by side, partly for warmth but partly because even through woolen clothes, the feel of his thigh pressed against mine or my arm looped through his had been intimate. Today we left several inches between us.

  Will observed the space without comment. “How are you feeling?”

  “Okay.”

  “How’s your father?”

  Daddy asked about him sometimes, too, just to see my reaction. I wondered if that was what Will was doing now.

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Does he always drink like he did Friday night?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Normally how much? Like, on a typical night?”

  “I don’t keep count.” I always had a general impression of how much Daddy consumed, but I measured it by his mood.

  “Does he have a problem?” Will asked.

  I laughed, a sharp Bailey-bark that was louder than I intended. “No, he’s perfect.”

  “I mean, is he an alcoholic?”

  No one had ever suggested that. He had a reputation as a hard drinker but one who could hold his liquor, never obnoxious or indiscreet or unkind—in public. I turned over the word alcoholic in my mind. “Probably.”

  “You never mentioned it. You told me about your mom, but all you ever say about your dad is he’s strict.”

  “He is.”

  “I noticed. But he’s more than that.”

  I didn’t like where this was going. “What’s your point?”

  “What kind of drunk is he?”

  At one time, I would have said, It mellows him out, but he’d been noticeably irritable Friday night.

  “Roan, I’m trying to ask if he hurts you.”

  He spoke carefully, almost reluctantly, but the fine hairs on my arms stood up.

  “No, that’s ridiculous. He loves me. You don’t hurt someone you love.”

  Will’s smile was wry.

  I had hurt him, but it couldn’t be helped. “Is that all you wanted to talk about? Daddy’s drinking?”

  “Not all.”

  Here it came—the plea to get me back.

  He sat forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped. “I want you to know I get it. You. Your father.”

&
nbsp; My brain automatically generated a denial—“No, you misunderstood—but I couldn’t get the words out, and Will was talking again.

  “When I saw what Rosemont is, I finally got who you are and who you have the potential to be and what you have to do to get there. I’m in the way.”

  “What?” I said faintly.

  “I thought about this over the weekend. You know how you had conditions for our relationship? I have conditions for our breakup.” He turned his head toward me and gave me a crooked smile. “No weirdness at school. We don’t ignore each other. You keep the phone. Call or text anytime you want.”

  He didn’t know anything.

  I gave a weak laugh. “We won’t even notice we’re broken up.”

  “I’ll notice.” Pain cut through his steadiness. “But it won’t be like it was last week. I won’t turn off my phone. If I don’t answer, leave a voicemail and let me know if it’s okay to call you back.”

  “Why are you being so nice?”

  He paused. “Because there’s nothing you could do, nothing you could say, that would ever change the way I feel about you.”

  The rhythm of his words was like a heartbeat.

  “And how is that?”

  “I love you,” he said quietly.

  Daddy and I told each other that all the time, and it didn’t mean anything. But it sounded different when Will said it. It felt different. It felt like I’d lost something valuable.

  “Like you said,” he added, “you don’t hurt someone you love. I get that you don’t have room for a boyfriend, but maybe you could use a friend.”

  Friendship shouldn’t make me weepy. I rolled my eyes skyward. “I probably could.”

  And just like that, we were in the friend zone.

  * * *

  AFTER CLASS, WILL walked me to the door. Beyond the portico, rain drizzled down.

  “See you tomorrow.” He held out my backpack.

  I took it, careful not to touch his hand. “See you.”

  The day had been hard, but he was putting genuine effort into being friends. I would, too. Most anything worthwhile, Daddy said, was hard.

  I waited under the portico, and mercifully, Gertrude was on time.

  “How was your first day back, sugar?”