by Tudor Robins
I chew on a piece of tender steak, barbequed to perfection – island steak, Carl tells us – and watch Carl smile, and shake his head while he listens to my mom’s stories. See Betsy lean back in her chair and grin. Notice my mom’s shoulders loosen, her eyes sparkle.
I remember Slate’s mom telling me, “Your mother is a hoot,” after they’d been to some fundraising dinner together. I’d said a polite “Oh, yes?” and silently wondered how much wine Slate’s mom had drunk. Maybe she wasn’t crazy, though. I guess my mom can be funny.
She pauses to swallow a mouthful of tangy salad made of new potatoes, sun-dried tomatoes, and chives fresh from Betsy’s garden. “This is delicious, Betsy. Better than anything I’ve tasted in any restaurant for ages.”
“Oh, that salad is Meg’s.” Betsy reaches over and squeezes my wrist. “She just threw the ingredients together. The only potato salad I know how to make is the old-fashioned kind with mayonnaise, but I like this one much better.”
My mom turns to me. “Really, Meg? You made this?” Her eyebrows are so high they lift her hairline. Thanks for being so shocked, Mom. The words are right there, and if it had been just her and me eating dinner alone, I would have said them. But I look at Betsy beaming with pride at the salad I made because I don’t know how to make the kind with mayonnaise, and Carl who helped cook this meal after a long day of work in the gardens, and I just nod. “Yes. I’m glad you like it.”
Betsy gives my wrist another squeeze and then winks at me. “Anyone for rhubarb pie? Meg picked our first harvest of the season this afternoon.”
**********
After dinner, I walk down the path to the cottage while my mom drives the car around by the road. I wait in the driveway so I can grab one of her bags.
We clump along the porch and, as soon as we get in, I set her bag in the hall, yawn, and stretch. “I’m tired. And stuffed. I think I’m going to head up and read in bed.”
“Not so fast, Meg Traherne.”
Busted. I pull my foot, already planted on the bottom step, back to the floor. And wait. Don’t fidget. Don’t sigh.
“Since when do you have a horse?”
I keep quiet on the grounds that I don’t believe how long I’ve had Salem is what’s really bugging her.
I’m right.
“And where did you get this horse? How are you paying for it?”
“Her.”
“Pardon me?”
“She’s a mare. Her. Sorry. Just saying.”
“Why do you have a mare? You don’t even like mares.”
I don’t particularly like appaloosas either …
“What are you going to do with her? What’s going to happen at the end of the summer? And Betsy says some guy is boarding her for you. An older guy. Who is he? Why would he do that for you?”
That does it. Restraint gone. Mouth open. “Maybe because he likes me, mom?”
She stamps her foot, opens her mouth to use this ammo I’ve just given her.
I jump in, fast. “Not likes me, likes me. Likes me as a person. Wants to do something nice for me.”
“Why …? What’s …?” She starts and stops several times.
I throw my head back, stare at the ceiling for a minute, then look back at her. “Listen, Mom. I get it. This is all a bit unexpected. It was for me too. But things are different here. Having a horse here is kind of like having a cat at home. So think of it like Jared’s keeping a kitten for me. And, we just picked her up yesterday, so I don’t have exact, detailed plans yet, but probably something like school her, and maybe take her to a show, and then sell her for a bit of profit.”
“And Jared’s just a very nice person, with a very nice mother, and I’m sure if Betsy told you about him, she also told you she likes him, and I’m sincerely hoping you trust Betsy’s judgment in people because she likes me, and she likes you, too.”
My mom tilts her head to the side, then sighs. “Anything else?”
“Well, now that I have her – Salem – I could use my saddle and some of my other riding stuff from home, but from your reaction, I’m thinking you’re probably not interested in getting those to me.”
She stoops, picks up her work bag. “It’s been a long day, and I have quite a bit of work to get through. So, let’s both sleep on this and we can talk in the morning. OK?”
I wait until she’s taken a couple of steps toward her room before I mutter. “Nothing I’d like better.”
The floor creaks and she turns back. “Meg?”
Crap. Now what? “Yes?”
“I assume these sheets are clean?”
“I put them on after you and Dad left.”
“Fine, then.”
“Hospital corners.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“You’re welcome!”
“Good-night, Meg.”
It takes restraint not to stomp as I climb the stairs. Typical.
I yank my t-shirt so hard it sticks around my ears. “Ow!”
My mother is so wrapped up in her own world – facilitating corporate mergers, earning promotions and bonuses, and spending the resulting money on endlessly redecorating the house – that I just go ahead and do my own thing until …
Where is my nightshirt? Where could it have gone since this morning? I drop to all fours and fish it from under the bed.
… until she notices I’m doing something that doesn’t fit her life brand. Like choosing Major: she wasn’t happy about him, couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t just buy the push-button, championship hunter Craig was retiring. Or taking Woodworking as an elective – “Meg, it’s hardly relevant to your future plans, is it?” And, now, Salem.
I got to keep Major, but had to drop Woodworking. Looks like Salem’s going to be the tiebreaker.
If you had asked me this morning how I felt about the little mare, I would have shrugged. Dunno, would have summed it up. Not involved. Not committed. She was a horse. I would always look after any horse that needed looking after. That was about it.
Then we lost her, and my heart twinged, and I haven’t felt that for a long time.
Then we found her, and my heart swelled. Ditto.
Now my mom’s opposition worms her just that little bit deeper into my feelings. I want to keep her. For now, anyway. She’s sweet, and Jared found her for me. My mom shouldn’t get to take her away.
I sit on my bed and rub the braid of Major’s hair back and forth between my palms. Maybe it’s time to find a better place for it.
The breeze blows the curtains in, and I walk over to the window. There’s an old nail on the side of the windowsill – who knows what it was for – and I push the strands of the braid around it.
There. That’s good. I can lie in bed and see it, and think of the horses I’ve loved. Of the first pony I ever rode – sweet little Willow – and of Obsidian, who has a special place in my heart, and of Major – of course – and, now, of Salem too.
Chapter Fourteen
I blink my eyes open after a one-hundred-percent uninterrupted night of sleep. Wow, I’d forgotten how good that feels. Was it having my mom here – an extra body under the roof with me – that helped me sleep right through? I don’t know for sure; I just know I’m full of energy.
Which makes it easy to run up and check on Salem before work. She’s safe and sound in the stall Jared and I banked with extra bedding for her yesterday, but the way she shifts her weight from foot to foot, and the agitated flicking of her ears, tells me keeping her inside isn’t going to work long term.
When I get back to the cottage, my mom’s already commandeered three-quarters of the breakfast table. She has a rhythm going: sip – from her coffee, chew – from her toast, then swish – with her highlighter over a chunk of text.
She looks up after a sip. “Good morning Meg. There’s a spot for you here.” She shifts an encroaching stack of papers away from my cereal bowl.
While I get my cereal, and boil the kettle for green tea, and cut up an orange, she keeps u
p her sip-chew-swish, sip-chew-swish.
Until the second my bum hits my chair. That’s when she puts down the highlighter, sits up straight, takes one last sip and folds her hands. “So, should we talk?”
“Yes. Sure. OK.” Because, really, what else am I going to say?
She glances at a note-covered sheet of paper by her side. Oh my God. She’s prepped for this discussion. Then again, I’m not sure why that surprises me. If I was smart, I probably would have spent last night prepping myself.
Instead, I slept.
She starts. “Meg, I’m your mother, and I only want what’s best for you …” I swallow some cereal and nod. This will go on for a while. I tend to think it’s a good thing my mom’s not the kind of lawyer who appears before juries in court; I’m convinced she’d put at least one member of each jury to sleep.
I pay attention again when I hear the word “horse” – it means we’re getting close to the actual point of the discussion.
“… this situation seems strange to me. I thought if you got another horse, we’d buy it for you. In Ottawa. And you’d keep it at Craig’s. Just like Major.”
Like last night, with the salad, a retort jumps into my head; So you thought you’d control it.
Also like last night, I remember how keeping my mouth shut avoided a blow-up. I could do without a blow-up now.
I don’t take another spoonful of cereal, but I don’t open my mouth either. Not right away. I shift from one seatbone to the other. Push back on my chair until the front legs lift from the floor.
My mom’s lips purse, and it must be killing her not to say what she always does when I do this – Do not rock back on your chair, Meg!
I settle the chair legs back on the ground and tap my fingers on the table. “Would you like to meet her?”
“Pardon?” She waves her arm like she’s shooing a fly away, but there’s no fly there. “Meet who?”
“Salem. The horse.” Why did I even bother? “Forget it. It’s no big deal. You have to go, and I have to work …”
“OK.”
“What?”
“I said, ‘OK.’ But we’d better go now so we can both get to work.”
Why did she say yes? Maybe for the same reason I made the offer in the first place; she couldn’t figure out what else to say.
“Um, uh, sure. Great.” I reach for her cereal bowl. “I’ll just do the dishes.”
Even though it would save time to leave them soaking in the sink, I’m relieved when she says, “Fine. I’ll get my things together while you do that.”
I can only handle so many surprises in one morning.
**********
From the passenger seat, I tell my mom when to slow and where to turn. We roll in beside Jared’s truck, dusty, and quiet, telling me he’s somewhere nearby. When I bang the car door shut, Salem sends out a ringing whinny, cutting through the bird song, and the sighing of the wind, and Rex’s happy whining.
It already feels like home.
“This way.” I pull one of the big double doors wide and latch it against the barn wall, sending light spilling across the concrete floor. It’s clean-swept, as always, with the unused stalls bare and tidy.
My mom steps inside, looks around. “It seems like a nice barn.”
I ignore the surprise in her voice. “Jared works really hard to keep it in good shape. It’s a big job.”
“It sounds like you like him.”
“Of course I do. He’s very likable.”
“Meg, you know what I mean …”
“Mom. Don’t go there.” I step toward Salem’s stall.
“It’s just that you’ve always been so busy with riding; you’ve never had a boyfriend, I worry …”
“Mom! Come meet Salem.”
Salem’s ears flick to us, her nostrils flare. She whiffles me all over – my hands, then up my arms, then pushes her nose over my shoulder reaching toward my mom, standing a good few paces back from the stall door.
“She wants to say hi.”
“You know how I am with horses, Meg.”
I shrug. “Suit yourself. I’m going to grab a flake of hay for her.”
There are a few bales under the hayloft hatch. Like Jared was throwing them down and got interrupted. I heft them into the end stall, where he keeps the feed, and split one open to separate out a flake for Salem.
When I turn back with the hay, my mom’s one step closer to the stall. She has her arm outstretched and Salem’s licking her hand.
“She likes you.”
“Don’t be silly. She likes the salt on my skin.”
“Think what you want, but she wouldn’t do that if she didn’t like you.”
The hay I’m carrying overrides any interest Salem has in my mother – salt or not. She noses at it, and I open her stall door, nudge her out of the way, and spread the hay in the far corner of the stall.
As I turn back I hear a squeak. “What was that?”
“What was what?”
“I don’t know. I thought I heard something from the loft.”
It comes again. Squeak, thud, thud then “Hay!” and a bale hurtles to the barn floor.
Jared. My mind races, ‘It sounds like you like him,’ and ‘You’ve never had a boyfriend.’ Did he hear all that?
“Meg? Who was that?”
Jared walks around the corner, shaking hay from his t-shirt. He nods at me, “Meg,” then takes his cap off with his left hand, holds his right out to my mom. “You must be Meg’s mother. Pleased to meet you. I’m Jared.”
I almost don’t recognize this serious Jared. If my mom was worried before, she’ll be terrified now. He’s so handsome it takes my breath away. So grown-up he seems to be a generation ahead of me. If he hadn’t been laughing when I’d first met him, I don’t think I’d have had the courage to talk to him.
My mom, though, is smiling. “I’ve seen quite a few barns in my time and I was just telling Meg how impressed I am with how you keep yours.”
“Thank you. It helps that Meg always sweeps up too.”
She cocks her head to give me a sideways look. “Yes, you’re not the only one telling me how helpful Meg is. Betsy says she’s a hard worker.”
I’m tallying points in my head now. Producing a horse out of the blue definitely put me in negative territory. Betsy’s praise helped me back up. Jared’s the wild card. Does he earn me points for being polite, and charming – and for looking amazing in his work jeans – or does he lose me points for the exact same reasons?
My mom’s not going to let me know now. She looks at her watch. “I’d better go. I need to drive Meg back to the B&B, then get in line for the ferry if I’m going to make it to Toronto for my meeting.”
“Oh, I’d be pleased to drive Meg to work.”
My mom opens her mouth, inhales, hesitates.
Jared runs his hand through his hair, shifts from foot to foot. “If that would help, I mean. By saving you time.”
She purses her lips back together, nods once and says, “Yes, thank you Jared. That would help me, and I’m sure Meg would prefer it.”
“Not at all, Mom.”
“Don’t push it, Meg. I’m not stupid.”
I walk my mom to her car to say good-bye. No kisses or hugs. I half-raise my hand in a weak wave and she acknowledges it by brushing my arm with her hand.
“I’ll stop over again the next time I’m on my way to Toronto.”
“OK. That would be nice.” I kind of mean it. The good night’s sleep alone made her visit worthwhile.
Right before she closes her car door she says, “I’m glad I met Jared. It was very interesting.”
I’d like to ask her more but she probably wouldn’t explain, and Jared’s coming toward us anyway, ready to drive me to work. So, I settle on saying, “Oh. Good. I think,” and then wave as she rolls away down the driveway.
**********
Seven hours later I’ve got Salem slip-tied to the fence for her big clean-up. After establishing that the occas
ional fly bugs her more than water, I’m soon sloshing away liberally, soaking everything but her face.
When I’m done, she shines. She wanders from one clump of green grass to another, ripping, chewing and then ripping some more. Every now and then she tugs on the lead shank, and I take a few steps after her.
There are few things in life as happy as a grazing horse, and, for me anyway, there are few things in life as relaxing as the job of just following Salem around while she eats.
The low-slanting sun and ever-present breeze have been doing a good job of drying Salem’s coat – and a less-great job drying my t-shirt – but it doesn’t really matter. Wet, or dry, this shirt’s heading for the laundry.
“Did you just scrub all the dirt off her, and transfer it onto yourself?” It’s my familiar, joking, Jared again. A Jared who isn’t too clean himself, but dirt sits well on him. It makes his skin look tanned. It defines the muscles in his arms.
“Something like that.” Even without being able to get a full-length view of myself, I know I’m filthy. Smears on my t-shirt, splatters on my legs, and goodness knows what my half-soaked-and-partially-air-dried hair looks like.
I jut my chin toward Salem. “Feel her.”
“What?”
“Touch her coat. See how it feels.”
“I don’t know anything about horses.”
“You’ll know.”
Jared strides over, runs his hand along her neck. “Oh! Soft! I had no idea.”
“Told you.”
He backs up, tilts his head, and his eyes travel over her from tip to tail. “She looks great. So, now what? A show?”
I keep waiting for the idea of a show to be interesting. To motivate me. It still doesn’t. But it’s also still easy to put off. For now, anyway.
“It’s not quite that simple. There’s some work to do first.”
“Like making sure she doesn’t run away again?”
“Well, quite a bit more than that, but it’s a good start.” I hold the lead out to Jared. “Here: you want to hold her while I work on her tail?” I start from the bottom, using my fingers to tease out tangles and the occasional burr twisted deep in the hair. “I had a thought about the running away.”