by Tudor Robins
“Well, put your foot down then. I have a new sand ring to try out while it’s still dry.”
Wearing my matching dark leather saddle and bridle, with her legs carefully wrapped in dark green polos, Salem would fit right in at my old stable – even with her bright, white bum.
Leading her out to the new ring makes this feel like a proper schooling session, unlike the quick ride I took up and down the road yesterday just to try her out with my newly arrived saddle.
The footing feels good under my feet. It has give, without being deep, or sucking. Today is a feeling out day. Our first formal schooling outing. Me getting to know her, getting to know the tack, getting to know the ring, her getting to know my leg, seat and hand. A great big exploration.
I loose-rein her in the walk a couple of laps each direction, letting her stretch her legs and neck, feeling the natural rhythm of her gait. Then gather the reins, sit up straight and push my heels down.
She flicks her ears back, then forward again, and as I’m gathering the reins, she’s reaching for the contact. I like her natural head carriage. It suits me, fits where my elbows naturally bend and my hands naturally rest. This is something Major and I disagreed on, and had to work on for months and months. It’s something we fought about every time we had a dispute. Finding it working right from the start is a gift. I relax, and Salem relaxes back.
“Good girl.”
We spend a solid ten minutes doing walk-trot transitions. The test for her is to respond quickly and sharply. Not surprisingly, she starts out slow and sloppy but, by the end, I just have to think “trot” and there she is, and when I think walk again she drops down instantly, but does so without dying; striking out immediately into a forward, reaching stride.
The test for me is to learn her. How she feels, moves, acts. I close my eyes on each upward transition, pick up my diagonal without checking. Don’t open them again until I think I’ve got it right. I start off missing every third one. By the end I’m solid. I’ve absorbed her rhythm enough to know when it’s right, and feel the jar when it’s wrong.
She’s not conditioned to ring work, so we take a breather before I play an equine version of Simon Says with her. I back up my seat, leg and hand aids with the commands stated out loud. Which makes me sound ridiculous. “Simon says halt!” It doesn’t matter if she’s not perfect the first time because “Halt” will come up again, and again, and again. The trick is, she never knows when. Neither do I. I run through walk, trot, halt. Try “Back” and find she’s great at that, nearly tripping over herself to back up. It’s not just paces either. I ask her to circle: big and small circles, one direction, then another. I keep the commands as random as I can.
“Simon says trot!” It’s Jared, standing in the shade cast by the barn over the ring.
We obey. Salem jumps up into a balanced, energetic trot and I rise on the correct lead from the first stride. I take her through the corner and down the long side, and ask her to walk. Let the reins slide long.
She points her nose way out, stretching her neck. I lean forward and pat her from ear to withers, feel the heat coming off her. She’s tried hard.
“Was it good?”
I slide off her back, loosen her girth, run up her stirrups. “It was great.”
He falls in step beside me as I walk her around the ring. I kick a bit of sand in his direction. “Nice footing, eh?”
“If you say so.”
“I do. Speaking of which, where did all this sand come from, anyway?”
Jared grins, looks at me sideways. “I know a guy.”
“Do I owe this guy money?”
“You already bought him pizza, and promised his daughter you’d let her jump Salem.”
“Yeah, she’s pretty persuasive, isn’t she? I guess it’s a good thing I’ve already started getting Salem ready for her.”
A massive raindrop smacks the middle of Jared’s forehead. Then one torpedoes my arm. They’re so big, they’re visible as they fall through the air around us.
“It’s coming!” Jared waves for me to follow him, runs ahead to pull the barn door wide.
The yard darkens like someone’s slid a dimmer switch, and lightning snakes through the sky. Salem doesn’t have to be told twice to turn and jog beside me into the barn.
We run in just as the follow-up thunder cracks through the air. Rex dekes around the door, tail between his legs, and disappears into the closest stall.
I lift off the saddle, replace her bridle with a halter, and leave Salem cross-tied in the aisle while I join Jared in the still-open barn door.
The rain hammers on the steel roof, and against the sides of the barn. It bounces off the ground so hard it splashes our legs. Tree branches wave and bend as the wind gusts around them. Every time lightning flashes, it forms a different pattern across the sky.
Jared breathes deeply. “Smell that.”
I fill my lungs with the scent of lighting-born ozone, and cool air pushing out the heat, and the earth, opening up, releasing everything that’s been baked into it by the searing sun. Dirt. Life. Country. Summer.
Jared takes a step forward and turns his face to the sky. I wait a minute, then join him. The constant stickiness of the last two days, the dirt of our morning’s work, and the sweat of this afternoon’s ride wash away under the steady raindrops.
I close my eyes, and open my mouth, and rain, sweet and soft, courses into my mouth.
And then Jared’s hand brushes mine.
I hold my breath. Was that a mistake?
He hooks my pinky finger with his.
Oh. Wow. It wasn’t a mistake.
My stomach flips, and my breath comes so short and shallow that it dizzies my brain.
“Meg?”
“Yes?”
“What are you thinking?”
How does he expect me to think when he’s just laced the rest of his fingers through mine and there’s a tingle running up my arm, and trickling through the rest of my body?
I squeeze his hand. “I’m thinking I could stay like this for a while.”
His shoulder bumps mine. “Well, I could stay like this until the rain stops.”
I lean against him, “Oh yeah? I could stay like this all afternoon.”
He props his chin on the top of my head. “Well, I never want to walk away.”
Thunder cracks so powerfully I can feel it in my chest, and we both yelp and leap back into the barn.
“Wow!” he says.
“Wow is right.” I can still feel exactly how our fingers intertwined. “Wow.”
Just before I fall asleep I send Slate a text:
Experienced intensely romantic, hand-holding moment with tractor-driving cowboy. What next?
Chapter Twenty
Slate: Extreme awkwardness, followed by avoidance and escalating angst.
Me: Thanks, BFF. Your support means the world.
It’s my day off, and the heat’s broken, and I have all day to ride Salem. She lifts her head, and nickers as I lean on the fence. Rex trots over, and shoves his wet nose in my warm palm, and I flashback to Jared’s touch on that same hand. Nice …
Rex is happy with me for about two seconds. Until he whines, and pulls away, and his ears flick to Jared’s back, disappearing into the barn.
Rex runs off after his favourite person in the world, and I follow.
“Hi!” I call.
No response. He’s in the end stall – the one with all the feed, and the salt licks, and supplements in it. Maybe he didn’t hear me.
I walk along the aisle, stick my head into the stall to find him pouring something from a sack into a bucket. “Good morning.”
He lifts his hand, and turns his head partway over his shoulder, but doesn’t answer. Slate’s text flickers into my mind. Please don’t let her be right. I hate awkwardness.
I step back from the stall door. “OK, well, I’ll be out with Salem if you want me.”
“Meg!”
His voice is weird, muffled. Stra
nge enough to make me wait while he sets down the bag he was pouring from and turns all the way around.
He immediately presses one of his free hands against his jaw. His eyes are bloodshot.
“You look terrible.”
“’Sanks.”
“What’s wrong? Why can’t you talk properly?”
He points at the side of his mouth. Winces. “Tooth.”
“Oh.” I step into the stall, under the lone light. Circle his wrist with my hand. He allows me to pull his hand away, but there’s not much to see. “How bad is it?”
“S’OK.”
But the furrows in his forehead tell me differently. I reach for the bucket he’s still gripping. “Leave that here. We’re going to go in and call your dentist.”
Jared’s agitated, and not very helpful.
“Where’s the dentist’s number?” I’m scanning the corkboard by the phone.
“Mom has it.” He shifts from foot to foot. “’Isten, Meg …”
I cut him off. “Great. So I’ll call her.”
While I punch in the main number of the big hospital where his mom works, and then her extension, Jared walks back and forth. “Stop pacing,” I whisper. “You’re driving me crazy.”
“Human Resources. Jane Strickland speaking.”
“Oh, hi Mrs. Strickland. It’s Meg.”
“Meg? Is it Jared? Is he …” The fear in her voice reminds me this is a woman who lost her husband not that long ago.
“He’s with me, Mrs. Strickland. He’s fine. Except for his tooth – that one that’s been giving him trouble – that’s why I’m calling; he can’t really talk. I know he has a dentist appointment soon, but he needs to go in today.”
There’s a sigh on the other end of the line. “And has he agreed to that?”
“Well, there’s really no choice. My aunt had an abscess, and it was just like this. They’re really serious …”
“Oh, I know, Meg. It’s not me you have to convince. I’ll be more than happy if you can get Jared to the dentist.”
This dentist phobia of Jared’s is ridiculous. I should probably feel sympathy, but instead I’m angry. “Oh, I’m taking him.”
Mrs. Strickland surprises me by laughing. “Good for you, Meg. You go get in the ferry line and I’ll call the dentist’s office and tell them you’re on your way.”
“Great, thanks.”
“No, Meg. Thank you. Very much.”
“I need your keys.”
Still holding his jaw, Jared just stares at me. “I … I don’ wan’…”
“Yeah, well, too bad. I’m a perfectly fine driver. Better than you, in this state. So hand them over. I promised your mom I’d take you, and I’m going to.”
Jared makes small noises now and then, on the way into the village, but I don’t take them personally. I drive well; as smoothly as I can on the cracked highway. Now that we’re moving, my anger’s dissolved; I have more patience for Jared’s pain, and his fear.
“There, all in one piece.” I slide us into the ferry line and put the truck in park. “On the way back you’ll feel so much better, we can get an ice cream.”
He still doesn’t smile, though. Just closes his eyes and leans back.
“Is it that bad?”
His hand reaches out and I meet it halfway, in the air between us. He wraps his fingers through mine and squeezes so hard my bones crunch. But I don’t say “Ow” – my fleeting pain is nothing compared to his.
The boat’s quiet, with the morning commuters already on the mainland. The traffic in the morning is mostly to the island – deliveries and contractors – they won’t start heading back for another couple of trips.
We’re one of the few vehicles to load on. I recognize the ferry worker as someone Jared introduced me to at Rod’s party – an older brother of one of his friends. He does a double-take as I ease the truck over the ramp onto the ferry deck – must be strange for him to see somebody else driving Jared’s truck – but when I wave he nods, smiles and motions me forward.
Jared flinches when the ferry sounds one long blast as it moves underway.
“Do you want to get out?”
A line of muscle tenses up the side of his face. He shakes his head. “Nuh-uh.”
I’ve never seen him so white. His face, and the knuckles on his fisted hand, too.
I remember the thing that comforted me in those long, concussed days after my accident with Major; it was just waking up, or turning around, to see Slate there. To know she was sitting with me. To have someone in my corner.
I adjust the visor to keep the sun off Jared’s face. “It’s OK.” I hesitate, then half stroke, half pat his arm – you win, Slate; now this feels awkward – “I’ll stay with you the whole time. I’m not going anywhere. It won’t take long, and you’ll feel so much better.”
He gives me a lopsided smile. “’Kay.”
“And I’ll just shut up now, because I’m babbling.”
“’Kay.”
I poke him. “Hey! If you weren’t in pain, I’d hit you.”
“Lucky … for … me … I … am.” His words are slurred. He closes his eyes again.
I slip out to stretch my legs, circling around the other cars on board; always keeping the truck in sight.
I come back to the truck on the passenger side. Jared’s still resting; his head pressed against the seat. I know him so well, but I’ve never seen him asleep before. I step closer and my heart wrenches.
There are tracks of tears down his cheeks.
I may not totally understand everything he’s going through, but he’s clearly suffering.
I climb as quietly as I can into the driver’s seat, grab the steering wheel at ten and two o’clock and stare straight ahead, jaw clenched, willing the ferry to go faster.
I can’t wait to get to the dentist.
The dentist wears a pink shirt and has a bushy moustache and talks to both of us like we’re three years old.
“So! What do we have here? Ooh … a nasty abscess. That must hurt!”
Jared nods faintly.
“Well you’re lucky this lovely young lady brought you in. We’ll make you good as new, but it’s never good to leave these things.”
When he speaks to the hygienist, giving her instructions, asking for instruments, he’s much calmer, quieter, and I find that reassuring.
I just naturally followed Jared to the room when they called him in and, as soon as he sank into the chair, he reached for my hand. Now that the dentist has his gloves and mask on, I speak up. “I should probably go to the waiting room.”
Jared’s eyes widen. He shakes his head. “You said …”
The dentist laughs. “You’re not in my way. And if you keep the patient happy, we’re glad for you to stay.”
So I do. I try to smile at Jared every now and then, without staring into his mouth. While not exactly romantic, it’s a bizarrely intimate experience to share.
It doesn’t take long, and when it’s over the hygienist hands me a pack of gauze and a prescription for antibiotics, while Jared pays the balance not covered by his mom’s insurance.
I head back to the ferry dock, coming to full, careful stops. Indicating for every turn. Nursing Jared’s precious truck.
“Nice driving.” Jared’s words are still muffled from the freezing.
“How is it?”
“Much better. No more pain.” The part of his mouth that can move, smiles. “Thanks to you.”
“I think it’s more like thanks to the dentist.” But my heart swells. I pull into a parking spot, and tap his phone, lying on the seat next to him. “Text your mom and tell her everything’s OK. I’m going into the pharmacy to fill your prescription, and we can get back on the ferry.”
It’s only as I’m washing my hands in the bathroom on the ferry that I realize I’m tired. And hungry. I shake my hands dry.
Maybe a sandwich at the bakery.
Find the paper towel dispenser empty.
And a lemon squa
re – I’ve earned one.
Wipe my hands on my shorts, push the door open with my hip, and run straight into Betsy.
“Meg! Doing some shopping on your day off?”
I fall into step beside her and we both head for the door at the end of the aisle. “No, actually. I just got back from the dentist.”
“Are you OK?”
“Fine. It wasn’t for me. It was Jared. He had a terrible abscess. He could hardly talk.” I’m halfway through the door, and Betsy isn’t following me. “Betsy?”
She stares at me. “Did you say Jared? As in, he went to the dentist in Kingston with you?”
“Yeeesss.” I review my last few sentences in my head. They all seem straightforward. “Why?”
We stop at a spot by the railing.
“Jared doesn’t leave the island.”
I nod. “Yeah, I hate leaving the island too, but sometimes you just have to.”
Betsy lays her hand on my arm. “No, Meg. Listen to me. Jared has not left this island since his dad died. Since the wake, to be exact. It was in Kingston. Then he came back for the funeral, and he hasn’t left since.”
I laugh. “How is that even possible, Betsy? There are some things you just can’t get on the island.”
“It’s been done before. One woman was banned from the ferry after she jumped off it. Twice.” Betsy shakes her head. “Of course, even she got a ride over in a private boat now and then. But, if you think about it, between Jared’s mom, and packages getting sent over on the ferry, and the stores in the village, you could manage.”
“Unless you got a tooth abscess.”
“Well, yes. I don’t know any dentists who make house calls.”
“And, if you needed a birthday gift for your mother, you could ask a friend and she might get it for you ...”
Betsy claps her hand over her mouth. “Is that how he did it? Jane loves that necklace. She figured he must have ordered it online.”