Learning to Fall

by Anne Clermont

  I wrapped my arms around Jett’s neck. God no—not now. Everything blurred, and I knew that if he stopped us from showing now, when I’d gotten this far, I wouldn’t be able to do it again—I couldn’t come back. I squeezed Jett’s neck tighter and closed my eyes.

  But nothing happened. The official wasn’t next to me. He wasn’t telling me I had to pull Jett from the competition. I peered around Jett. Vivian was arm in arm with the FEI official, laughing, making light of something. He eyed her up and down, then shrugged. He looked at me, then Vivian again. Vivian clamped her lips as she stared at me, but when he looked toward her, she smiled her flirty smile. The official seemed satisfied, turned and walked down the ramp, his back receding into the shadows.

  I glanced at Corinne. She nodded at me, then walked toward the grandstands.

  Derek was next to me. “We’re set, B. Let’s get you on that horse.”

  You go get ’em, kid. And don’t forget the plan,” Jason said.

  I bit my lip and nodded, staring out across the International Ring. Everything appeared sharper, bigger, more colorful than I’d ever seen. The sky, the grass, the trees, the jumps. The only sound now was Jason’s voice, as he gave me his last tip. “Ride into the void . . . let it carry you.” He squeezed my boot, then he gave Jett a pat.

  Derek bent down to work on Jett’s feet, scraping all the dirt that had accumulated in the warm-up arena. He wiped Jett’s froth off the bridle and breastplate, and as I leaned over to adjust his head stall, I smiled at the new brass plate reading Victory by Heart. I smiled to myself. For the first time ever I felt Mom was proud of me, believed in me, wanted me to win.

  “You’re all set,” Derek said, winking up at me, giving me his biggest, most confident smile, the dimple in his cheek deepening.

  “Yes. Yes I am.”

  Inside the arena, Chris had just passed the halfway mark, riding faster and harder than I’d ever seen. The crowd now cheered as Chris jumped De Salle over the water jump. His laser focus honed in on the jumps as he cleared each one with ease. De Salle, the color of dark chocolate, looked graceful and poised, sailing over the jumps as if he were made to fly.

  “He has to beat Vivian’s time. Watch, he’ll try to do that last line in three strides,” Jason said.

  Chris approached the first oxer of the last line, accelerating, but De Salle wasn’t galloping fast enough. Chris spurred, but too late. A hush fell over the crowd, and it seemed that all eighty thousand people held their breath. Chris was almost to the second oxer in the final line now, but instead of clearing it, De Salle jumped headlong into it. I held my breath, watching in slow motion as they crashed straight into the rails. The splitting wood sound resounded across the stands. My stomach clenched and I clamped my hand over my mouth. De Salle fell, Chris tried to roll. The music stopped, and crew members ran across the field.

  I saw myself, on the ground, trying to free my foot at the last show. I watched, waiting for Chris to get up, my heart racing. He wasn’t moving. Paramedics arrived with their medical golf cart, and then the stretcher. I tried to inhale, but no breath came. I might as well have been winded too. I couldn’t help it, but I pulled my feet out of my stirrups, ready to jump down and run to him.

  Jason’s hand tightened over my knee. “Stay put. He’s in good hands.”

  The jump crew formed a circle around Chris, facing outward, and there was no way to see anything through their tight-knit bodies. The stadium hushed, and the giant screen now played a silent Mercedes-Benz commercial.

  Finally the circle around Chris dissolved. Chris lay on the stretcher on the extended golf cart.

  “Ladies and gentlemen. An unfortunate event, and something we never like to see happen, but it appears as though Chris Peterson will need emergency care.”

  The crowd was silent.

  The golf cart approached us now. I saw Chris as they passed, his face ashen, his neck in a brace—but he was breathing, and his eyes were open. I let out a sigh of relief. Chris waved for the driver to stop. He looked directly at me, then he mouthed, “I’m sorry.”

  My eyes welled up with tears.

  “And now we welcome Brynn Seymour back into the arena for her second round! Two have gone clear, and Vivian Young heads up the lead.”

  The crowd cheered, the music blared, but I heard nothing after that.

  It was down to Vivian, Tiffany, and me. Roman had knocked a rail and Chris was disqualified.

  Jett and I entered the arena, Jett electric beneath me. I reached down to pat his shoulder, his black coat shimmering, reflecting the gold of the afternoon sun. I tasted blood in my mouth from having bitten my cheek too hard. I started Jett off at a slow trot, remembering to take a centering breath, feeling light in the stirrups, my body feeling so much stronger than it ever had. Yoga had helped more than just my mind. The jump crew had finished rebuilding the last jump after Chris’s crash, and the grass divots had been smoothed, the mirrors of the jump reflecting the setting sun, making it appear as if it were on fire.

  “And now, in the arena we have Brynn Seymour, atop Victory by Heart, owned by Redwood Grove Stables!”

  The jumbo screen zoomed in on Jett and me, and as I saw us on the screen, I couldn’t believe we were finally here.

  Victory by Heart and Brynn.

  “Let’s ride,” I said out loud.

  Jett moved into a fluid canter. I pressed him forward, opening him up into a gallop. The wind rushed past me as we cleared the first two jumps. Nearing the third fence, I felt out of control. I wanted to rein Jett in, but I heard Jason’s voice in my mind, his instructions from before. Gallop. Give him free rein—here’s where you let go. Here’s where you repeat Del Mar. We galloped right at the fence, and even though it had been difficult for several riders, Jett didn’t hesitate. We rounded the corner around the tree, and I turned Jett sharply, cutting in between it and the jump standards only four feet apart.

  A whoosh resounded in my ear. I collected Jett, just as Jason had told me to, but Jett didn’t listen. He kept galloping. I stood in my stirrups, and used my whole body weight to lean back on him. He finally slowed. As if my life depended on it, I jumped the next three jumps. Jett rounded over each, his hooves pounding the ground, only his breath roaring in my ears, the stadium receding to background noise. But we’d lost time. I glanced at the clock. We were too slow. Vivian would win.

  I remembered Jason’s words in snippets: The final line—it’s big . . . walks a short four strides or a long three, but a long three, not quite four . . . you have to go slow . . . Jett’s stride is shorter . . . if he were larger, maybe . . . won’t work . . . you have to ride it in four.

  But to win, I had to jump it in three. It could work. I didn’t have a choice. I knew I should listen to Jason and I should be careful, but I had to let Jett go, to make up lost time. Jett could do this.

  As if he’d had read my mind, Jett’s ears perked up. His energy increased.

  The crowd buzzed. Jett’s heart pounded. He drew in deep, powerful breaths. I rounded the corner, and the next jump came up almost immediately. I gave Jett extra leg, and he rose underneath me. My hands reached forward as he stretched his head, and I was at one with him. His body ready, his lungs expanding to their fullest. I was controlling, yet letting myself go, and the colorful jump was below us, but I was already looking ahead to the next one.

  I glanced over at Jason. He stood, gripping the edge of the gate, white knuckles bright in the sun.

  “It’s going to be okay, Jason. Have no fear!” I said under my breath.

  And I knew he understood. Jason bowed his head slightly to me. I had his blessing. Fear would not control me anymore, and I fully understood the Abhaya Mudra was not something we talked about—it was part of who I was.

  I urged Jett on, leaning over his neck as we galloped toward the final big oxer to oxer line. I made myself as small as I could to give him the advantage. Four strides before we were there I sat back slightly, and slowed Jett, just a hair, and we only had two s
trides to the fence.

  Jett groaned as he landed, his knees buckling, but I used my hands to pull up on the reins, to steady him, and then he was off again, leaping like a cheetah, racing forward. One. Two. Three. And now we were up flying, and I forced my eyes open leaning as far forward as I could.

  The sound of the crowd cheering met me on the other side.

  “What a round! Brynn Seymour and Victory by Heart in a time of 45.8 seconds! Clear and fastest time to boot!”

  The Band of the Grenadier Arms, dressed in their red tunics and white leather belts, their black bearskin caps, and precisely ironed trousers, marched onto the field in a riot of tubas and trumpets and drums.

  “You owned it, B!” Derek laughed, clipping a lead rope to Jett’s bridle. I smiled, jumping off Jett, giving him a brief hug, my eyes scanning, searching. Then I found the person I needed most. Jason. Walking toward me. His arms outstretched. Tears blurred my vision, my throat clenched. We’d done it.

  “And the winner of the renowned million-dollar West Coast Gold Cup is . . . Brynn Seymour, aboard Victory by Heart! Everyone, please put your hands together as Brynn starts us off in the victory gallop!”

  Practically every single visitor that day stood, hands clapping, feet stomping, arms waving, calling, whistling, and cheering. As we cantered back into the arena for the victory lap, Jett and I floated over the ground, his hooves pounding in rhythm to my heart. He stretched his neck forward as I let the reins go, standing up in my stirrups. Jett shook his head left and right, foam flying from his mouth. He arched his back like a bucking bronco. We raced around the arena, all the other riders behind us.

  I felt lighter than I had in years, my arms buoyant, my body practically levitating above Jett. I grinned up at the crowd, tears wetting my cheeks. I rode with one arm up, the other holding the reins—and we flew.

  “This one’s for you, Daddy,” I said.

  Reds and blues and yellows whizzed by as we galloped—advertisements, T-shirts, hats, and banners people waved about.

  I knew he was there with me. Just as he’d been there the first day I sat atop my pony. Just like the day he’d taught me to trot, to canter, and to jump my first little X. He was there the day I had my first fall, and the day I had my first win. He was here now. And if I closed my eyes, just for a split second, I could see him. His dark hair, his bright smile, his worn skin, furrowed brow when he was upset, eyes crinkling when he laughed. His long legs curved around Cervantes, and they were here, cantering and soaring with me. And I laughed out loud, as we galloped to victory.

  This was Victory. Victory by Heart.

  I walked Jason to the front door, my bare feet cooled by the tiles of the foyer. It felt strange having him in our home, since we’d only ever spent time down at the barn or at shows together. As he stood against the backdrop of the glass door, outlined by the greenery and sky behind him, he seemed to belong here. Yet all we’d shared was breakfast together.

  He held his hat in both hands, spinning it around, letting the brim fall between his fingers, then deftly catching it. I fixated on the hat, not wanting to look him in the eye, suddenly shy, feeling like I did that first day I met him.

  “Thanks for breakfast,” he said. “You’re catching on to all this Ayurvedic stuff.”

  “I went over the top, didn’t I?” I’d cooked enough for at least five more. “I’m glad you’re taking some home with you.”

  “And I’m sure Derek and your mom and the clients will all enjoy some too.”

  I swallowed down the lump in my throat, feeling cheated out of time with him. “So, how long will you be gone?” I asked, trying to be casual but wanting to throw my arms around him, to beg him to stay.

  “We’re going to spend some time up in B.C. A little town on Vancouver Island. Tyler leaves for Afghanistan today. Ashley and I will take Eve there, keep her away from crowds while her immune system strengthens. She’s in remission, but she’s weak. Being up there, well, you’d have to see it. It’s so serene and healing. That’s what they both need, especially after being in the hospital for much of this past year. We’ll probably stay a couple of months. Now that she’s better I want Ashley to take a break, to rest and spend time with Eve outdoors, in the fresh air.”

  “Why Canada?”

  “My mother was Canadian, my grandma was from the Tsimshian tribe. We’re going to spend time with relatives, ones neither Ashley nor I have met before. Our mother had kept us separate from our relatives, trying to assimilate us into Los Angeles culture.”

  “I see,” I mumbled. He’d shared snippets of his life with me, but I’d been so self-absorbed in saving the barn and winning, I felt bad I hadn’t asked him more about himself.

  As if he’d read my mind, he leaned forward and lifted my chin with his finger. “It’s okay. We haven’t had much time together—like this.”

  I nodded, wishing the words would come easier. “I’m so thankful Eve’s doing better. I’d love to come say goodbye to her before you go up to Canada.”

  He shook his head. “We’re leaving tonight. And it’s probably best not to.” My heart sank, and as if sensing that he quickly added, “For Eve’s sake. It’s a confusing time for her and we’re trying to minimize how many people she sees.”

  I nodded again, biting my lips, pushing down the immediate sense of disappointment at not being close enough to Jason to be in Eve’s circle of approved visitors.

  “I’ll write you a letter,” he said.

  I laughed. “A letter? I don’t think I’ve ever received one before.”

  “I’d like to be the first.” He wound a strand of my hair that had fallen in my face around his finger, tucking it behind my ear, his hand pausing to cradle my cheek. The warmth spread like a radiant sun. I reached up and held his hand in place, then kissed the back of his fingers. I raised my eyes to his, and I knew. He understood me—better than anyone ever had.

  His fingers weaved through my hair, tugging gently, bringing my mouth closer. I reached up, clutching his shirt, pulling him toward me, wanting to feel him, taste him.

  Jason broke away, resting his forehead against mine. I stood on tiptoes, breathing his breath, strawberries and tea. He gave me a light, fleeting kiss on my forehead, brushing against my sensitive skin.

  “Goodbye, my Brynn.”

  Jason walked down the winding stone steps toward his old Chevy truck. His shirt, the color of the sky behind him, billowed in the breeze. His faded jeans, worn and comfortable, accentuated his legs. As he ducked his head to get into his old truck, I grabbed at a sharp pain in my side. He stretched out his arm through the open window, his hand in an Abhaya Mudra. I wanted to run after the truck, but this was my last test of bravery. I put my hand out in response. No fear.

  His truck turned onto the road, and I watched until it was nothing more than a blur merging with the asphalt of the road.

  I headed down the steps, leaving the front door open behind me, inhaling the crisp air into the deepest recesses of my lungs, gazing up at the sky. Chris was out of the hospital today. He’d suffered a concussion, a broken pelvis, and a couple of cracked ribs, but was doing well overall. I texted him that I’d swing by to check on him later. A few clouds whirred by, turning the driveway into patches of bright and light puddles as they passed.

  I brushed my fingers against the lavender that grew along the side of the house, filling the air with its sweet, rich scent. The path sloped and curved around the back of the house, toward the barn. Enjoying the silence of the quiet morning, I stood at the top of the hill gazing down toward the barn and the large semi-transport truck trailer parked in front. New horses were moving in today, including Helena’s and Corinne’s.

  I had used the check from the Gold Cup win to pay down all of our revolving debt, and had put the rest of the money toward the mortgage on the house. We would be fine for another two years—longer if business picked up. I still wasn’t sure what to do with the Mercedes. It wasn’t me. I thought I’d give it to Mom—she deserved to
drive in style.

  Derek came into view from behind the trailer doors. He walked an extraordinary bay out of the trailer, the horse’s coat shimmering like dark chocolate. Derek smiled and said something to the short, heavyset man carrying a bin. They laughed, Derek perfectly at ease. At home. He belonged here. We belonged here.

  I knew the path that I would now take. I had a couple of phone calls to make. One to Uncle Ian, one to Professor Dixon. And then I’d have a conversation with Derek.

  But there was one place I needed to go first. I grabbed my car keys and sweater, and headed out the door. Mom walked down her hallway toward me. “Where are you off to?”

  “To visit Dad.”

  Her silence rang loud in my ears.

  I reached for the doorknob.

  “Can I come? I haven’t been to see him.” She brushed her hands down the front of her pants.

  The light streamed in through the glass door, illuminating her. She wore her hair up and wispy blonde waves fell around her face. She looked more hopeful than I’d ever seen her look.

  “I haven’t either.”

  We took the new Mercedes, the sun shining through the sunroof, the air crystal clear. Everything looked like it had been washed clean after a good rain. We neared the Devon Creek cemetery. Mom’s voice broke the silence. “How different it all seems.”

  The place was deserted. I inhaled the scent of fresh-cut grass and rich soil. The little white stucco church needed a paint job, the red tile roof had faded and cracked. We parked and walked around back to the small plot, corralled by a low picket fence.

  We walked along a rocky path, our shoes sinking into the patchy brown grass. The gray tombstones, marbled with white from the Pacific rains, matched the gray rocks of Marin County’s coast side. Blending in, as if Nature herself had a hand in placing the rocks to mark the place where her children lay.