by M. Garzon
I squared my shoulders and reminded myself sternly that I’d known full well what the consequences would be if I were caught, so there was no reason to panic. I’d made my money. If this was the price of getting to the Royal, so be it.
I went through the living room and into the office. Dec was in front of the desk, hands locked on hips, his glare following me as I moved to stand before him. I took deep breaths, trying to stay calm, but I could feel adrenaline starting to make me shake. I kept my eyes down.
“Jaden called today,” he said, his voice without inflection. I felt a flare of outright hatred at the sound of the name. “He told me something so implausible that at first, I didn’t believe him.”
Dec paused, maybe to assess my reaction, but I didn’t move.
“He told me you’ve been working at the track this entire week,” he continued. His voice was a growl now. “Every morning. Risking your life, without us even knowing where you were. Lying to me, and to your grandmother.”
Please God, I thought, let Jaden not have said anything about lying to him, too. If Dec knew that I’d been caught once, and had insisted on going back... that would be almost worse to him than going to the track in the first place. A repeat offense, in a sense.
“Is it true?” he demanded.
“Yes, sir,” I whispered. I didn’t bother trying to make excuses; there were none, and it would only make him madder.
Dec unbuckled his belt. He didn’t make a production of it, the way some people would have. My shaking increased as I walked to the end of the desk and braced my hands on its dark wood surface. I clenched my teeth hard — I didn’t want to make any noise — and tried to distract myself from the blows by reliving the adrenaline-soaked rush of galloping hell-bent down the racetrack. The memories were still vivid, thank God, because I was starting to think that Dec was trying to set a new world record. When it was over I turned away from him. I hated crying when he hit me, but I couldn’t help it this time. I did my best to keep it quiet.
“One more thing, Téa,” he spoke behind me. His voice was cold. “Jaden says that he warned you on Wednesday to quit, yet you persisted in going back anyway. So you can forget about the Royal this year, you’re not going.”
I gasped and whirled around, furiously blinking away tears so that I could see.
“But, Dec... the Royal... you can’t! Please...” I pleaded, my voice breaking.
His face was implacable, his eyes like chips of ice. “I can and I am. Now get out of here.”
I stumbled up to my room. Once there I started pacing; I was adrenalized, and my mind whirled chaotically. I wasn’t concerned about the strapping, though it was obviously ridiculous. I was sixteen, not six. Seth and I were resigned to it; Dec had given us the ‘as long as you’re under my roof’ speech often enough that we knew he wouldn’t change. What killed me was the Royal — I couldn’t believe he was serious. For the past two years, I’d had virtually no social life, all I did was ride and work in the barn, and he knew how hard I’d been training. He also knew I wanted to make a career of riding jumpers, although he didn’t approve. I wondered how much his decision had been influenced by his desire to see me go to university instead of ride horses for a living, but no matter the answer, this was a disaster. He could not have imposed a worse punishment, and all because of that pretentious ass, Jaden. Of course, someone like him, moving in the prosperous circles of polo, would have no idea why I’d taken the risk of going to the track, I thought bitterly. I doubted that he had ever struggled or suffered a day in his life. A caustic hatred for him seared through my veins; I could taste it, hot and metallic, in my mouth.
That evening I was lying on the bed, trying to read, when Seth came in and threw himself into the chair. He crossed his arms over his chest; he looked uncharacteristically grouchy.
“So I’m grounded for two weeks,” he announced.
“What?” I yelped. “Why?”
He considered me carefully for a moment.
“For not telling on you,” he said finally.
“I... but... that’s so unfair!” I was overcome by chagrin. The last thing I wanted was to get Seth in trouble. He nodded.
“I’m sorry, Seth,” I said fervently. “I’ll talk to Dec, I’ll make him take it back. I’ll beg if I have to.”
“Whoa, let’s not get crazy here.” He grinned, suddenly himself again.
* * *
As luck would have it — mine, anyway — I had a lesson with my coach, Karen, the next morning. I was almost more afraid to face her than I had been of Dec. Karen was an old friend of Dec’s, which is why we were lucky enough to have her teach at Shady Lane Stables. She was a former National Team member, one of the youngest ever selected, but the pressures of success had driven her down the path of substance abuse. When she was clean again she stuck mainly to coaching. She was a very gifted coach, but extremely tough and demanding — she had been known to make grown men cry in her lessons. She was thrilled that I had finally qualified for the Royal with a jumper. I’d qualified before, in the pony hunter divisions, but I hadn’t gone because that was the year my mother got sick. My chances always depended on the horses we had in training, since I hadn’t had one of my own to show, until Blaze this year.
I made my way stiffly down to the barn the next morning.
“Hey Ter, hey Jules,” I greeted the girls unenthusiastically. They were in the aisle, grooming Jazz and Picasso.
Teri looked at me in alarm. “I guess I can assume the worst, huh,” she said sympathetically.
I nodded glumly.
“What would that be?” Julia queried.
“Dec found out about Téa working at the track,” Teri told her when I didn’t answer.
“Omigod! So are you grounded for life, or what?” Julia asked.
“Worse,” I said miserably, “I’m grounded for the Royal.”
My friends’ expressions of horrified shock had barely formed when a sharp voice behind me demanded, “What?!”
I turned slowly to face Karen. For a woman of average height and build, she could be remarkably imposing sometimes. Like now.
“I’m really sorry, Karen, but I can’t go to the Royal,” I muttered, not looking at her.
“Why the hell not?”
“I’m being punished,” I mumbled.
“What for? What can you possibly have — oh, never mind, I’m going to talk to that man.” She marched away, grumbling.
“Oh, Téa, I’m so sorry,” Teri said. She put her arm around me. “But on the bright side, at least you didn’t get your butt whupped.”
“If you call that a bright side,” I said darkly. I felt bad about the fib but I thought the humiliation of telling the truth would feel worse. “Oh, and you’ll never guess — Seth’s grounded too, for not telling on me.”
“Dec’s really strict, isn’t he,” Julia said, her flawless features thoughtful. “It’s like he’s from another century or something. Have you ever thought about sitting down with him and discussing discipline options? You know, things that would work for both of you?”
I gazed at her in disbelief. “Yeah... that’s not going to happen,” I said with finality.
I couldn’t imagine Julia’s cultured, progressive parents ever laying a hand on her, so maybe the suggestion was within the realm of possibility in her world. My reality, though, was obviously different.
Karen tramped back in, looking harassed.
“Way to go, kid. The racetrack?” She scowled at me. “He won’t budge.”
At my dejected look, she softened a bit.
“Well, you never know. Maybe a miracle will happen and he’ll change his mind. Try to be an absolute angel for the next couple of weeks, okay?” she wheedled. “Who are you riding today?”
“Oh, um, I can’t ride today. I hurt my knee.”
Teri gave me a startled look of sudden understanding, but I knew she wouldn’t say anything until we could speak in private. I wished them a good ride and trudged back to the house
to do some homework. I had lessons to teach that afternoon and most of Sunday; I figured I might as well put my extra time to good use.
I’d been avoiding Dec since the day before, but on my way inside I bumped into him. He was irate.
“Did you send Karen in here to try to change my mind?” he asked accusingly.
“I... no, of course not,” I stammered. It hadn’t even occurred to me that he would see it that way. “It was her idea to come talk to you.”
“Well, I hope you realize it was a pointless attempt,” he said. He was frowning, his stocky form tense. I felt a piercing pain at his words, but I nodded and headed for the stairs.
Dec and I barely spoke for the next three days. Seth, always the peacemaker, did his best to lessen the tension, but with only spotty success. When Gran came to make dinner on Monday she noticed too; I overheard her and Dec in the kitchen.
“Declan, what’s going on? You and Téa seem to be at odds.”
He explained what I’d done and that as a consequence, I wasn’t allowed to compete at the Royal. I put on my shoes while I eavesdropped, then stood poised by the front door, ready to run out.
“That seems rather severe,” Gran was saying. Hope raised its head feebly within me. “After all, Téa showing at the Royal will benefit us all. The stable needs the exposure.”
“That may be, but what I need is to know those kids will obey me and not behave outrageously the minute my back is turned. It may seem cruel, but I need to make this point very clearly. We don’t want another Jaden on our hands.”
Jaden again. I had no idea what he’d done, but apparently my missing the Royal was thanks to him in more ways than one.
By Wednesday I was riding again; I had to get Blaze ready for a show that weekend. As we were cooling down, though, I felt a moment of doubt. I found Dec in the kitchen making coffee and kept the counter between us as I spoke.
“The Talbot Fall Fair is this weekend,” I informed him unnecessarily. He was driving the trailer, I was sure he hadn’t forgotten.
“I remember,” he answered normally. He looked at me but didn’t smile.
“Am I still allowed to ride Blaze?” I muttered.
“Sure. It’s only the Royal that you’re grounded for.” Only the Royal. He said it so matter-of-factly. Only the show that I’d been striving toward for my entire competitive career — about seven years. I felt pierced afresh at the thought.
“About that... Dec...” I looked up, suddenly, into his eyes. I couldn’t maintain my pretense of toughness anymore. He watched me impassively. “Isn’t there any way I can still go?”
He walked around the counter to face me. My heart plummeted before he spoke; I could read the denial in his expression.
“Punishment is supposed to hurt, Téa. I wouldn’t be a very good parent if I let you get away with that kind of dangerous behavior.”
“But... what’s the point? It’s not like I’ll do it again.” I stared unseeingly at the floor tiles as I spoke.
He hesitated. “I’ve seen where this type of recklessness leads, Téa, and I don’t want you going there. The grounding stands.” He sounded almost sympathetic, but I didn’t look at him, and after a moment he walked out. I felt nearly more dejected than when he’d first dropped the bombshell on me; this time, there was no hope of appeal. I remembered belatedly that I should have pleaded Seth’s case, but I didn’t have another attempt in me. I resolved to try the next day.
* * *
Teri and I stayed up late the night before the show, braiding the horses’ manes and tails. The next morning we groaned our way out of bed at five-thirty to go feed the horses who were competing.
At the showgrounds, we unloaded the horses before Dec unhooked the gooseneck trailer from his truck; he didn’t usually stay at the shows unless they were too far to drive back.
“Good luck.” He smiled at Teri and the two students who had arrived so far.
He approached me. His smile disappeared before his eyes found mine. “Téa, stay out of trouble. I mean it.”
I nodded, trying to ignore the disappointment I felt at his parting words. He hadn’t wished me luck. My mood soon lightened, though, because I loved the Fall Fair. It reminded me of the reasons I’d started competing, at age ten: for the sheer fun and excitement of it. At the fair there was no pressure, no points to accumulate toward year-end standings, and no big-name riders and trainers watching my every move. And it was good experience for Blaze, because of the strange sights and sounds that he wouldn’t encounter at most shows, like a midway with loud, wild rides, and an assortment of farm animals parading by at regular intervals. It was an ideal place to teach a young horse to focus no matter what was going on around him.
The day started off well when Emma won the short-stirrup class aboard Chocolate Chip.
“I’m going to get us some lunch,” Seth announced around midday. “Can I get you something?”
“Yeah, a hot dog and some fries would be great, thanks,” Teri said.
“Can you get me the large fries, please? And don’t forget the ketchup,” I reminded Seth. Blaze absolutely loved those greasy horse show fries, especially with ketchup. It used to worry me that he ate them — horses have sensitive stomachs and French fries are far from their ideal diet — but he convinced me over time. He was sneaky and relentless; he would stick his head over my shoulder or around my body and grab some fries when he thought I wasn’t looking, and since they never seemed to make him sick, I relented and allowed him some at every show. I untied him and he hung out next to me, sharing our fries, while I coached.
The show was a first-time experience for some of my students, so I had to explain the basics. “You’re all riding in Hunter classes, so you’ll be judged on style. The judge will look at how consistent your horse’s pace is, how they use their bodies when jumping, even their grooming and tack, and your clothing counts. In the jumper classes, on the other hand, only performance matters — how many rails the horse knocks down, how fast they go, and whether they refuse any obstacles. You need more experience to compete in the jumper divisions because the courses are bigger, more complex and more technical.”
Blaze was in a good mood as we warmed up for his jumper class. I worked on keeping him focused; he was such a happy, confident horse that his approach to jumping was downright brazen, especially considering how green he still was. I loved his courage, though, and I trusted him implicitly. He had never refused a fence. Our trust and confidence in each other probably stemmed from the fact that we’d been together since he was a year old; we’d done a lot of growing up together.
When it was our turn we walked into the ring like we owned it.
“Number 372, Téa Everson, riding Blaze of Glory,” the announcer said. I felt the usual spurt of adrenaline as we picked up a canter, but also, for the first time, an oddly calm sense of assurance. As though Blaze and I were more than equal to this course. We jumped the first fence and turned to approach a line on the diagonal. I had to shorten Blaze’s stride to squeeze in three of them, but he compressed his body easily and sailed over the oxer at the end. The next fence was an odd-looking wall, but he barely noticed it, just bounded over as though he had one at home, too. My heart was soaring. It felt as though Blaze and I were one being, reading each other’s every intention perfectly and adjusting to each other’s bodies instantaneously. There were twelve fences in all, and as we approached the last one I wished the course were longer — this feeling of oneness was so incredible that I wanted to prolong the moment. I barely registered the cheer that went up as we flew over the final vertical; I was too busy patting Blaze over and over as he ambled out of the ring, my heart overflowing with love for him.
We won the class.
There wasn’t much prize money, but somehow this win felt significant to me. We’d won classes at bigger shows, but I’d been anxious and tense while riding those courses. This was the first time that I truly felt we could handle the big time when it came. I’d gotten a taste of what i
t must feel like to be a seasoned performer on a ‘made’ horse, and I loved it.
After Blaze was cooled off I tied him up at the trailer with some hay in a net and set off with Teri to explore the fair. We got some mini doughnuts to celebrate our day — our barn had cleaned up at the show. I was looking forward to showing Dec all the ribbons we’d won. In the back of my mind shone a glimmer of hope that if he saw how hard I’d worked and how successful we’d been, he might reconsider his Royal ban. It was a faint glimmer, though, and I did my best to ignore it.
We went on a couple of rides before concluding that violent motion was not the ideal follow-up to greasy doughnuts. We decided to go investigate the auction instead. The building was run-down, the wooden pens chewed up by generations of nervous teeth, and the entire place was pervaded by the acrid smell of urine. We walked through the holding pen area, patting pigs and calves and goats and even a llama. Eventually, we came to the wooden bleachers above the ring where the animals were auctioned off. We didn’t stay long; we had to prepare the horses for the journey home.
“What the hell, Téa?” Seth’s voice snapped loudly as we came into sight.
I started at the sound. Seth so rarely got upset about anything that it was a shock to hear that tone coming from him. He was glaring from me to the small, woebegone donkey I was leading. Teri threw me an “I told you so” look and hurried off to get Picasso ready.
“I had to, Seth,” I began apologetically.
“No, you didn’t!” he interrupted angrily. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m still grounded from the last time you ticked Dec off.” My talk with Dec about un-grounding Seth hadn’t gone well.
I averted my gaze, feeling guilty.
“I know, li’l brother. And I’m sorry about that, but the meat man was going to buy this little guy. And he’s so young, only a yearling, I think...”
Seth was still glaring. “Do these words ring a bell for you at all? ‘We are not going home with any more animals than we left with’.”