Learning to Fall

by Anne Clermont

  “You did great!” I said, grabbing the pony’s reins and patting his neck. He nosed my pocket. I pulled a sugar cube out and gave it to him. He moved his lips over my hand, satisfied, once he found what he was searching for.

  “Let’s move out of the way and talk about your round.” I led Kennedy and Best of Luck away from the arena. Corinne waited at a distance. At least she had learned not to approach until I’d had my time.

  “So, I loved how well you remembered your course, Kennedy, and your ability to make it through that diagonal line at the right speed. But do you know what I noticed?”

  “Um, no . . .” But it appeared that she actually was thinking about it.

  “You forgot to go into your corner at the back of that ring. That will cost you points. You also didn’t steady Lucky enough to the last jump, and so he rushed it. Overall, it was a fantastic round. Now I better go get Payton warmed up.”

  Kennedy nodded. “Hey, Brynn?”

  I scanned the dozen or so kids atop their ponies for Payton. “Yeah?”

  She bowed her head and mumbled, “I really like riding with you.”

  I had to turn my head up at Kennedy, still atop Best of Luck. I studied her face. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah. I just love how you always explain things so clearly to me, you know? And you never get mad at me. Even when I screw up.”

  “That’s my job.”

  “Well, it’s just that you don’t even seem to care if I win or not. Mom . . . she’s always pushing me for those blue ribbons. Sometimes, well, I, ummm, I feel I disappoint her.” She played with her reins, then lay forward on top of Best of Luck’s neck, hugging him.

  Well, there was that side to Corinne. She seemed to expect the worst, always analyzing and calculating everything. Once she’d even presented Dad with Excel spreadsheets reviewing classes and points—for Kennedy and each of her competitors. I had laughed when Dad had told me about it, though he hadn’t found it funny.

  “You know what, kiddo?” I said, lifting Kennedy’s chin up. “All I care about is that you’re listening to me, improving, and—most importantly—you’re having fun. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

  “Yeah. I guess. It’s just not as fun as riding the ponies back at the barn out in the field. I like that much more.” She glanced around, as if to make sure her mother wasn’t within earshot.

  I leaned toward her. “Sometimes, I like that best too.”

  Her eyes rounded in surprise.

  “Shhh. It’ll be our little secret, okay?”

  She nodded again, and I saw a spark in her I hadn’t detected before.

  “Now you go wait over there with your mother and sister. And if you do well this weekend, maybe I’ll give you and the other girls a bareback lesson back at the ranch. What do you say?”

  Her big smile said it all. Maybe Kennedy wasn’t such a brat after all. Maybe I could teach these kids a life beyond their day-to-day luxuries. A life of caring about animals and teamwork. Competition.

  As I walked with Payton toward the arena, I noticed that instead of talking to Kennedy, Corinne was watching Vivian warm up her clients over the jump.

  Kennedy ended up with a coveted first place in one of her rounds. With fourteen kids or more in each class, that was quite an accomplishment. Corinne said she deserved a reward from one of the traveling tack shops. Helena’s daughter, Payton, got a fourth, and Lani got an eighth. Mai had taken about thirty pictures of Lani and the girls, Lani and the pony, Lani and the girls and the pony and me, in every configuration, until I told her the ponies had to go back to their stalls.

  As I led Best of Luck, Vivian and her group passed me, her mouth drawn into a tight line.

  “You guys need to smarten up,” she said to them. “If you’re going to ride with my barn, you better get it right or not even bother.”

  The kids slumped in their saddles. The moms trailed behind, their hands carrying only cameras and no ribbons.

  “Got it?”

  The girls nodded.

  Back at the stalls Derek came over to give me a hug of congratulations. “Hellacious job, B. And your first time as the head trainer too.”

  “Oh, please. Like I haven’t helped Dad at these shows for years,” I muttered, then sat in one of the cushioned patio chairs, trying to shake off the tightness in my neck from the earlier incident. To distract myself I polished the arena dirt from my boots for the second time that day. As if there was anything to be proud of. It’s not like I’d won a Grand Prix, or anything. That would be something to feel proud of. I shook my head. Where had that thought come from? Graduating vet school. That was something to be proud of.

  Our barn awning and seating area faced the main corridor where people walked back and forth with horses, to and from the show rings. Helena walked over and sat down across from me.

  “Where’s Payton?” I asked.

  “She went with Corinne and Kennedy to the tack shop. I told her she could look around.” Helena had been riding on the A circuit herself since the age of thirteen or so. She never went overboard buying hundreds of dollars’worth of gear. Payton was always “pleases” and “thank-yous.”

  “This is the best advertising for you. Right here,” Helena said, leaning back on the couch, placing her arms up behind her head, piling her curly strawberry-blonde hair on top. She reminded me of Goldie Hawn, but with gray eyes. “Everyone who walks by will catch sight of our barn and all the ribbons.”

  She was right. Our show stalls were located along the horse show throughway. It was all here: people walking, others riding their horses to and from the show rings, grooms leading done-up horses covered in sheer netted fabric with barn logos—and of course the golf carts. It wouldn’t be a show without the dozens of golf carts zipping by, loaded down with excited kids, teens, moms, and trainers traveling between the show office, show rings, and stables. Between now and Sunday hearts would soar and hearts would break. People would vow never to come back. In the end, they always did. They craved the adrenaline rush of the competition—and the camaraderie. There was something to be said about being with people who shared the same passion as you.

  “Speaking of which.” I turned and hung up the new ribbons on the side of our show tent, right above the Redwood Grove Stables banner.

  “We’ll collect plenty more over the next three days,” Helena said. “I’m happy, though I think Payton wanted a blue.” Helena’s voice held a hint of melancholy.

  I watched her from under my hat. “There are plenty of chances for her to get one . . .” I hesitated. “You’re a pro, Helena. You’ve done the show thing. You know what it’s like. She probably won’t win any classes at this show.”

  Helena lifted her feet up and rested them on the coffee table. “I know.” She picked up a copy of Riding magazine and started flipping through it. “Although it sure would be nice . . .”

  Here we go. It was time to have another talk. Dad had already had one with her a few months ago, but now I would have to go at it alone.

  “It’s not that she’s not a good rider, Helena—”

  “Oh, I know. It’s that she doesn’t have the six-figure pony.” She smirked, as she continued to flip through the magazine. I couldn’t see her eyes behind her sunglasses, but I knew they were hard. An exemplary corporate wife, married to the successful CEO of a booming biotech company.

  “Exactly. You know how this works.”

  “I refuse to do that. I refuse to buy her a pony that costs more than a car.” She sat up and threw the magazine on the table. “And it’s not the money, Brynn. You know that. I just think she should be judged on her skill, not how expensive her pony is. I want her to learn to win based on merit, not on money.”

  “And I don’t blame you.” A pause filled the air, as I pondered how to make her feel better. “Jumpers will be good for her,” I finally said. “As soon as she’s ready, we’ll put her in those classes. Her personality will suit that better, anyway.”

  Helena exhaled. “Yea
h. You’re right.”

  And even though outwardly Helena agreed, part of me worried. When a client started wishing for the blue ribbons, yet didn’t want to spend the money on a horse that could make those possible, problems followed. All I could do was hope that she meant what she said—and that she really did care more about skill than ribbons.

  I made my way down our row of stalls, checking on each horse and pony, making sure none were exhibiting signs of colic. The horses swished their braided tails and munched their hay. I went into Dolce’s stall, fixed up a loose braid. Then I sat on one of the eight tack trunks that stood in front of one our horses’ stalls, closing my eyes, happy for this reprieve before the next wave of classes, the next bout of craziness with my adult lady-riders.

  The women were more demanding than the children in many ways. Luckily Stuart wasn’t showing yet, since he was a complete beginner and his goal was to trail-ride around the property within the next year. But the ladies? They’d lose their confidence at the last minute, panic, forget their courses, pretty much forget how to ride. With time they would get better, but sometimes I compared watching their show to watching some reality-TV disaster, and when the older ones fell, they never bounced back as easily as the little boy had.

  The sound of the grooms chatting filtered toward me from the stalls behind our row. Their voices mixed with the sound of a Spanish song on the crackling radio made me smile. Shows were a home away from home and I half-expected Dad to round the corner, yelling at me to hurry up because I was in the next class.

  “Not this time,” I whispered. I wouldn’t be riding in shows anytime soon.

  Mom and I had finally had our talk last week. She wasn’t back to normal yet, but she was up and about. We sat at the oak kitchen table overlooking the barn and rolling hills. I brought out my notebook, filled with numbers and calculations and ideas, and laid out my plan. I would do both: go to school and train the clients on the weekend. Derek would ride the ponies and horses Monday through Thursday, and I’d come home on Friday and ride, teach a few lessons, then do the same on Saturday and Sunday. Derek would get Sundays off, and me . . . well, I told her I didn’t need any time off. Just being home with the horses would be break enough for me. I didn’t tell her that I wasn’t sure how my professors would handle the news that I couldn’t be on call during the weekends.

  “This way,” I said, “I can finish school and run the business.”

  Mom looked down at her hands, circling her thumbs round and round each other. “I don’t want you to ride anymore, Brynn. There’s too much risk—remember Christopher—”

  I had to cut her off. To stop her from going down that path, the path that would likely lead to more tears. “Yes, Mom. I know. It’s terribly sad, but accidents happen.”

  Mom shook her head, placing her head in her hands. “Brynn, darling. Let’s make it work some other way. There has to be another way.”

  “There isn’t, Mom. And it’ll work. You’ll see. I’ll handle the accounting side of things, too. I know you don’t have time for all of that—but I promise to keep you updated. I’ll work with Mr. Armstrong to try to keep things on track.” I tried not to let my eyes meet hers, in case she sensed the doubt and fear I felt with this plan. I had to make it seem like I was really on board. Like I knew what I was doing.

  Mom bit at her lower lip. “I don’t like it, you know. I always wanted you to focus on school,” she finally said. “I wanted you to make something of yourself, to make money on your own terms. To be safe on the ground. I really don’t like this at all.”

  I took her hand. “Give me a chance, Mom. I owe Dad this—”

  “You don’t owe him anything. He should have planned better for you. For me. I gave up my entire life for him, and what has he done? He left us. He didn’t love me enough to quit this sport. Even though I begged.” I had to calm her, getting her a prescription pill, helping her into bed. I told her we’d be fine. That I could handle it. That it was only temporary. I would graduate at the end of the year, and all would be back on track. We could figure things out from there. And then I prayed she couldn’t hear how my heart fluttered or sense how much I wanted to run away from it all.

  The dressing room was a converted stall filled with a portable clothes stand, a wardrobe, a full-length mirror, a rug, and a few pictures to add warmth. A couple of chairs stood in opposite corners for the comfort of the clients. I checked my white polo in the mirror for horse goop, and confirmed my tan britches were still clean. I had on my favorite blue belt, silver thread weaved through, and although I didn’t follow fashion, I always knew the latest trends in the hunter-jumper world. I readjusted my large-brimmed sun hat, and forced a smile, telling myself that I had to keep up appearances for only a bit longer. The day was almost done.

  A horse neighed, then another. The conversations the horses held between each other amused me. Sometimes I would imagine they remembered each other from previous barns or shows, checking in how the other had fared since they’d last seen each other: some complained about their owners, others raved and bragged about how good they had it. Most had nothing to complain about, especially on show days, where the owners had nothing to do but spend extra time and money pampering them.

  A male voice drifted toward me, followed by a laugh. That laugh. Chris. He’d sent several text messages asking me to dinner, and I wanted to see him, but I needed to get through this day without any distractions, and he was always a distraction for me. Always wanting to have fun, never understanding I had work or school or some responsibility, and I couldn’t allow myself to get pulled into that right now.

  Saturday afternoon I glanced at my phone. Four thirty. I rubbed my hands over my face trying to wake myself up. My arms and legs felt like rubber that had been left out in the sun too long. Besides having to manage the worries of the clients, avoiding Chris had taken its toll.

  At least all the adult riders did well in their classes. Helena and her horse d’Artagnan had scored enough points to place her in second for the Amateur Owner Hunter division. We still had a day of showing, so she could walk away with a Reserve Champion, maybe even a Champion ribbon. Corinne on Dolce had won a first in her Equitation over fences class, but was disqualified from her Low Adult Amateur Hunter over fences class for forgetting her course. That had soured her mood, and no matter what I said, she seemed too upset at herself to be consoled. It had been a relief when Derek had come over to grab Dolce and fawn over her first-place ribbon.

  One more day. Then we pack up the horses, their corresponding supplies, and of course, the tent, patio set, planters, signs, and fountain to head home.

  School started in two weeks.

  I called the braider to confirm he was still on for the night. Each night he braided the manes and tails of the hunter horses and ponies, and the next day, Derek would take them out as soon as the classes were done. Every day they had to be redone. Frizz or rubbed-out braids were cause for docked points in the eyes of the judges. I double-checked the entries for the next day’s classes, then made my way toward the office to adjust a few before the five o’clock deadline. I was a couple of hours away from my shower, a pair of comfy yoga pants, and the new Barbara Kingsolver book that Aunt Julia had dropped off for me—not that I was likely to stay awake for longer than fifteen minutes.

  As I passed the food tent, smells of hamburgers and french fries made my stomach rumble. I realized I hadn’t eaten lunch yet. I pulled out my phone and called Helena. “You ladies hungry?”

  “We’re going to go watch the Grand Prix—it starts in ten minutes. Aren’t you coming?” Helena asked.

  “Right . . .” With everything else going on I’d forgotten.

  “Why don’t you come watch with us?”

  “Nah. I’m fine. But have a great time. I’ll see you first thing tomorrow.” I hung up and walked back to the stalls. I’d find something to eat at home. I checked the horses one more time and headed out.

  Walking toward my car, I spotted Chris chattin
g with a group of girl riders who were brandishing hips and doe eyes, and taking selfies with him. He was beyond handsome in his navy blue dress shirt, white tie, and white riding breeches, the kind reserved only for Grand Prix and the highest amateur classes. A tightness grew in my chest as I remembered what it was like to walk through here with him, talking about strategy for classes, laughing, hanging out together. I shook my head. Until I figured things out on my own, I couldn’t have him clouding my judgment.

  I pivoted on my heel to walk up a different path before he noticed me. The turn took me past the Grand Prix complex. A small crowd gathered near the in-gate and in the stands. Corinne, Helena, Mai, and the girls were easy to spot. I made my way past the warm-up arena, where Ruth was parking her golf cart. Her straw-like hair escaped from under her sun visor in wisps.

  “He’s handsome, isn’t he?” she said as I passed.

  “Who?”

  “Devil’s Slide, the chestnut there.” She nodded toward the red-haired horse going over warm-up jumps. I recognized the rider, Roman Kuzara, one of the best on the West Coast. Roman was rumored to be a party animal and a ladies’ man—supposedly having moved to America after meeting an American rider in France at a World Cup competition. She dumped him shortly after. He said he loved America too much to go back to Poland.

  “He is nice,” I said, trying to act interested, yet wanting to get home.

  “He’s by Darco. Quite fancy. Roman’s client picked him up at Spruce Meadows last week. Lucky ass,” she added almost as if in afterthought, obviously referring to the trainer. She rubbed her hands on her jeans, then hooked her thumbs through her belt loops.

  My curiosity got the best of me. I loved Darco, an amazing stallion. He’d been to the Olympics, and had been the winner of the World Cup on two occasions. Dad and Uncle Ian had always kept an eye out for his foals.

  “Roman’s doing a good job with him,” I said. “How old is he?”

  “Only seven, I reckon.”

  “And he’s taking him in the Grand Prix?”