Halt at X: A North of Boston Novel

by Sally Ann Sims

  “They treated me like a socialite at first, but they’re coming around.”

  “Tori,” Lucinda said after Tori had placed a slice of pie and a steaming mug of coffee in front of her. This would be, what, her sixth cup today? “We need to do something for Thea. Her parents are divorcing and she needs a place to stay. Since Ramsey’s not living in now, what about your empty caretaker’s apartment? How about offering it to her?”

  “I didn’t know she was looking. I’d love to have someone upstairs, and she would get a kick out of it.”

  “She says things aren’t so spectacular with her mother.”

  “She can move in immediately,” Tori said. “Well, after it’s cleaned out.”

  “That’s great. One thing to cross off the list,” Lucinda said. She wished everything were that easy to handle.

  “Maybe she can help clean it out. There’s still show stuff in there. I’ll call her tomorrow.” Tori gestured toward the pie, offering Lucinda another piece. Lucinda shook her head. “Have you heard from Bart?”

  “Wouldn’t I tell you if I had?” It came out sharper than she’d intended.

  “Sorry.” Tori held up her hands, fingers splayed. She got up to clear the dishes. Lucinda put a hand on Tori’s arm.

  “Hey, I’m sorry. It’s just I miss him, and he won’t answer my calls. And it hurts every time I think about him. I still don’t know where he’s living.” She looked at her dessert plate, then into Tori’s face. “So what happens now?”

  “We’ll find him,” Tori said. “Martin is looking.”

  She made everything sound so easy. Was life easier for her? Did Martin’s money take away the struggle? Of course that was now in jeopardy. But Tori never did dwell on the negative, even back when they were scraping together money for beginner riding lessons.

  Tori continued clearing away the dishes. Lucinda nibbled the remains of her pie crust and said nothing else until Martin wandered into the dining room.

  “Where’s Tori? I need today’s paper for Skyline’s bed. She — ” he said.

  “She’s in the kitchen making me kitty bags,” Lucinda said. “How are you?”

  When Lucinda first met Martin at a P-H fundraiser he reminded her of a river otter. Playful, industrious, and savvy. He managed to combine the sensibility of an artist with the grit of a businessman in building his equine architecture firm. Son of an Italian artist and a Bostonian doctor, he was groomed to be comfortable and competent moving among multiple worlds — the horse set, the arts, architects, hospitals, board rooms.

  One of those worlds — his livelihood — was now dissolving underneath him. His facial skin seemed stretched more tightly over his features than the last time she saw him, and his usually sleek, light brown hair stuck out strangely, like he’d been leaning his head against his left hand for hours.

  “Ok,” he said. “Much better than Skyline. Did Tori tell you?”

  “Yes. I’d love to see her.”

  Martin nodded and led the way back to an enclosed, insulated porch with a southerly exposure facing Salt Marsh Stable. Along the south facing wall with a large window was a medium-sized dog carrier with the top cut out. Lucinda peered in over the top, holding her breath. The female eagle lay among the newspaper strips, her head on its left side. Her steady green-yellow eye peered back at Lucinda. Lucinda looked up at Martin in awe.

  “I know,” he said. “Seeing one so close up is amazing.”

  “But so heartbreaking,” Lucinda said. “Will she make it?’

  “Well, we got rid of the lice. Her wings are broken in two places. And her legs are tender — not sure why. If the universe wants her around, I’ll do everything I can to help her heal.”

  Lucinda watched something pass between the mutual gazes of Martin and the eagle.

  “Makes my problems seem irrelevant,” he said, watching Skyline breathe.

  Lucinda put a hand on Martin’s shoulder to comfort him. Or herself — it was hard to look at such a broken soul so close up.

  “They could take Hyperion away, and you’d come up with something even better,” Lucinda said. She removed her hand from his shoulder and straightened up. “Oh, I meant to tell you. Remember that advice you gave me on the beach about men in business meetings? I tried it out on Frank, and he might have actually listened. For a minute anyway.” She chuckled.

  Standing now, Lucinda watched Martin. It didn’t seem as if he’d heard her. Elbow on the carrier, he was resting his left hand against the left side of his head and whispering something. He was drawing life force from this bird, and she was doing the same with him.

  Gull’s Eye

  Early Thursday evening Martin spotted Bart’s name in the window of Rapid Shutter Gallery over a blowup of a photograph of a gull’s head, its eye reflecting a whole harbor village. How the hell had he done that? Martin hadn’t seen Bart since Ben Marshallton’s retirement bash and had left a dozen messages on his phone. Hey, man, if you’re still on the planet, call me. Nothing.

  Martin was headed back home after round three with his lawyer, ruminating the newly emerged fact that his former undergrad roommate Kirk Weston had skimmed off more than $2 million during his time as Hyperion operations manager, according to the forensic accountant. The fact that he even needed a forensic accountant made Martin queasy. He was about to cross the street for the parking garage when he suddenly noticed Bart’s name. He quickly changed plans and stepped inside the gallery.

  Next to a coat rack stood a thirtyish woman in a matte silver sheath dress holding a clipboard. She considered Martin, he must have passed some unwritten test, and handed him a sales list with prices. Martin smiled at her, and she breezed off toward someone signaling her from across the room to put another green dot sticker on a photograph title card. Martin glanced at the list — Bart Beck, Sealands. Prices ranged from $300 to $4,500 for 4- by 6-inch up to 36- by 40-inch photographs. He scanned the room but didn’t see the photographer.

  Responding to a firm hand on his shoulder, Martin turned around.

  “You found me. On my debut to society,” Bart said. He was dressed in black jeans and some kind of woven Peruvian-looking shirt in turquoise and silver.

  “Despite your attempts to elude me,” Martin said. They eyed each other. Bart gulped red from a plastic wineglass.

  Martin glanced around the gallery. The walls were a pale gray-lavender, and there was a row of trapezoid and triangular windows above the framed photographs on the wall facing the street.

  “What a crowd,” Martin said.

  “Yes, and people I don’t actually know either. That counts double,” Bart said.

  “Where are you living now?”

  “Multiple places,” Bart said, scanning the crowd. “Nowhere.”

  “We miss you.”

  He turned to face Martin, his eyes swimming in alcohol and pride.

  “Cinda misses you.”

  “Does she? She’s got lots of company, lots of friends to — ”

  There was a noisy surge of people toward the entrance when one of the state’s U.S. senators strode in.

  “I hear he likes the beach,” Martin said. “Wind surfs.”

  Bart stared at the senator, gray head above the crowd, as he made his way slowly around the room.

  “I gotta go,” Martin said. “Tori’s expecting me. Let’s go out for a drink some night. I’m being swindled so I’m often in town visiting my lawyer.” Not even a glance from him.

  The senator, his handlers, and hangers-on washed up in front of Bart.

  Martin did not stay to be introduced. He’d expected at least a nod in departure, but Bart was caught up in his own reflection in the attentive eyes of people who, as he said, he didn’t know. It must be delicious. And addictive.

  Martin clipped along the sidewalk toward the parking garage, flipping up his black microfiber collar against the wind that drove tattered bits of litter into small whirlpools. With the glass-and-brick buildings blocking out the moonrise, he considered that he could
just go back to being an architect for hire. After Skyline could stand up.

  * * * * *

  Pogo cleared the five-foot six-inch oxer easily, flexing his powerful back to bring front and hind legs over the wide spread of the pyramid-shaped jump. Tori sat it like a dream. She was always a pretty rider over fences, whether hopping a brook or leaping a six-foot wall. Three strides after landing she pivoted the big bay ninety degrees and headed for the last line — an in-and-out. A two-jump combination with three strides in between. Pogo cleared the green-and-white poles of the second five-foot ten-inch jump by a good three inches and tore past Lucinda and Margo to the end of the arena, where Thea clicked a stop watch. “One whole second better!” Thea yelled. “Way to go!”

  Tori, bending at the waist, wrapped her arms around the gelding’s neck. “You’re the best!” she said. Pogo flipped his head a few times pulling out rein. He’d barely broken a sweat.

  “He agrees,” Lucinda yelled from the entrance to the indoor. “That was fantastic. Watch out Wellington!”

  Margo stood next to Lucinda, fluffing out curls flattened by her riding helmet. “I don’t know how she does that with such short legs.”

  Lucinda turned to Margo. “Can you just once admit someone else did something well? A hell of a lot better than we’ll ever do?”

  Without waiting for a reply, Lucinda turned and strode back into the stable. Margo sat decently on Bally, but she wouldn’t jump anything over three feet six. It was Saturday, they were off work, and Lucinda did not feel like being civil. She stopped at the second stall beyond the tack room, Lady Grey’s new digs. The mare had settled in quickly and checked out every horse led down the center aisle.

  Lucinda let herself into the stall to give the mare a quick brushing, which Lucinda found probably more relaxing than the mare did. Although the mare’s coat was still a bit funky from the steroids, it was beginning to turn a light white-silver. Lady Grey nickered as Nanogirl walked toward her stall, a mini-Frisbee in her mouth. The mare reached down and Nanogirl reached up, but their muzzles still didn’t meet. Glancing at Lady Grey’s neck over the stall door, Lucinda wondered how it would look braided. She decided to start the mare off with some basic dressage training so that by spring, hopefully, she could enjoy rides on the beach and through the pine woods at gaits other than a gallop, which is why she moved her to Tori’s stable to be closer to Holly Spear, a trainer Tori had recommended.

  Nanogirl moved on to Ramsey, who was wiping down Pogo in the wash stall, so the mare pulled her head back into the stall and dipped her muzzle into the water bucket. She sucked up water and then raised her head, chewing and splashing. The clear ring of shod hooves on the center aisle sent her back to the Dutch door. A horse she’d never seen before approached at a confident walk, looking around with curiosity. He was a large dark brown horse with black mane and tail, three white socks and white hooves, and one black lower leg and black hoof.

  The mare’s eagerness drew Lucinda forward. What a horse! Some serious breed from Europe she was sure, but didn’t know which one. Then she noticed him and gasped. She shrunk back noiselessly in the stall, short of breath, her heart throbbing painfully in her chest.

  “Oldenburg.” Lucinda heard the Irish accent in answer to Margo’s query. A powerful German-bred eventing horse with an even temperament.

  “He’s gorgeous,” Margo said. “When’d you get back, Jay?”

  “Caitlin and I flew back last week,” he said. “She’s calling him Kildaire. I’m really looking forward to working with this fella now we’re past quarantine.”

  Not here, I hope, thought Lucinda, but as she looked over the mare’s back through Bally’s stall, she saw Jay hand off the horse to Ramsey, who led the stallion toward an empty stall in the opposite aisle.

  Tori approached Lady Grey’s stall on her way toward the tack room.

  “Hey!” Lucinda said. She tilted her head toward the stall, indicating Tori should join her. “Did you know he was coming back?”

  Tori shook her head. “I’m sorry, Lucinda. Caitlin didn’t say she’d be working with Jay here. When she called to tell me about buying Kildaire, she mentioned looking into getting a new trainer. I guess she didn’t find one yet.”

  “Shit,” Lucinda said. “I was just starting to feel… . Hell, I just churn when I see him.” She focused on picking shavings out of the mare’s tail.

  “Look, I can’t ban him from the barn, he hasn’t done anything wrong. Yet. Just synch schedules with Caitlin so you don’t overlap. Or you could — ”

  “It’s not your problem to solve, Tori. I’ve made my own bed, as they say. I just wondered if you knew before today.”

  “Hey, Cinda,” Tori said. “We both know this charmshark all too well. He either leaves a swath of destruction, or makes some dumb mistake, and gets kicked out of wherever he shows up. People ignore his ridiculousness if he’s making progress with a horse. He’s still a gifted trainer, especially with the eventing horses, much as I despise him as a person. But he doesn’t have a steady barn gig because he’ll screw up with people somewhere along the line and — ”

  “G’afternoon, ladies,” said Jay from the aisle, in that voice Lucinda now dreaded. “Tori, Cinda. It’s fine you’re both looking. Very fine.” He winked at Lucinda and laid his arms along the top of the lower Dutch door.

  Lucinda willed herself to look directly at him, to feign nonchalance. He met her gaze with that mischievous smile she used to find attractive, magnetic even, but now it provoked pure disgust. Rage. More lava. She must teach herself not to respond to this one who danced with such glee on her feelings, to make that wretched break from him final, in body and soul. Tori moved out into the aisle.

  “Let me show you where to put Kildaire’s stuff,” she said. Bless Tori, Lucinda thought, as Tori led Jay away down the aisle. “We haven’t had a stallion here for about a year,” she heard Tori say before they turned the corner to the north wing of stalls.

  Lucinda leaned against the mare, peering out over her withers. Damn it. She was not going to be pushed out of this stable just to avoid him. But seeing him several times a week was not going to help put the whole mess behind her either. Although she had no intention of going back to him, she didn’t trust him not to try to mess with her. She heard a kick at the Dutch door, but did not see anyone when she looked over. The mare stuck her head over, joined by Lucinda. Nanogirl was back, wielding a long, fat carrot, frustrated she couldn’t get her mouth around its thick middle.

  Lucinda smiled. She reached down and broke the carrot in thirds, giving two pieces to the mare and one to Nanogirl. She thought of Peter, before he left for the monastery, mentioning how Nanogirl could provide comic relief. His most recent communication, a rare e-mail, was not as full of fresh buoyancy as his first letter because, he claimed, he was too busy meditating, studying the sutras and teachings, working around the monastery, and helping his abbot sort out monastery finances. Now immersed in the slog of training, he was not sure whether he was cut out for Buddhist practice. The e-mail said he daydreamed often about the women he talked to on Your Money Man — there was a Molly whom he fondly remembered — and eyed the nuns who slept in a separate dormitory. “I think I’ve wrecked myself working in corporate America,” he concluded. “Can’t go back, and don’t know where forward is. Not sure I fit anywhere. Lonely, horny, which the second-year monks say is typical, confused. I’ve ruined myself for monastic life.”

  So, it was not what he thought it would be. How many things are? Lucinda wondered. She decided to walk the mare around the property, letting her graze and get used to the sounds and smells of the Salt Marsh property. Damn Jay! She was ready to get on with things.

  It was cool but not windy, and the sun lit up the bronze oak leaves, the only leaves still on the trees. One hardy soul was schooling in the outdoor ring, and she led the mare over to watch. It was Paz with Thea onboard. She steered the gelding to the rail for a chat.

  “How’s he doing?” Lucinda asked.
>
  “Great,” Thea said. “We’re starting extended gaits soon. Who’s that new horse I saw coming in? Man!”

  “Kildaire, an Oldenburg stallion. Caitlin McCool is boarding her while she trains with Jay Parnell.”

  Thea leaned forward in her hunt saddle. “Jay Parnell’s going to train here? Wow!”

  Ignoring the question, Lucinda let the mare graze by the fence.

  “Didn’t he win that open jumper class at Dublin last year?” Thea asked.

  “Did he? I wouldn’t know.”

  Thea looked at her quizzically.

  “How’s your apartment?” Lucinda asked.

  “Awesome! Thanks for arranging it with Tori. I couldn’t ask for a better place to live. I can sit in my jammies in the observation room watching people like Jay Parnell schooling horses in the indoor!”

  That’s a scary thought. Lucinda knew now how partial Jay was to adoring young horsewomen. And young horsewomen in pajamas… .

  “And ‘cause people know I’m here, they’re calling to ask me to exercise their horses when they can’t make it out here. For money! Plus I have more time since you brought Lady Grey here and I don’t need to be at your place. Though I’m missing Catcher big time.”

  “He misses you too.”

  “Thanks for helping.”

  “I’m just glad I thought of it, though you should be thanking Tori. Not me,” Lucinda said. “I’ve got to head back home. Great to see you’ve settled in.”

  Thea smiled and squeezed Paz back into a smart trot along the rail. As Lucinda led the mare past Caitlin’s white-and-gold horse trailer, Jay leaned out from a narrow door in the tiny tack room behind the truck cab.