Learning to Fall Page 6

  I wrapped my arms around myself.

  “It was all a foolish dream,” she continued, her eyes still fixed ahead. “I was so in love . . . and when he drove me out here, to this land, he stood proud, like a young prince. He knelt, and placed dirt in my hands.” She squeezed her eyes shut. The curtain fluttered.

  “I trusted him. His passion. His vision. It was contagious. I fell in love with this land too. And I wanted him to be happy. For us to be happy. I gave up everything. My family. New York. My writing. And it would have been fine. I was glad to do it. Your father,”—her voice wavered—“he promised me the world. I believed him.”

  Mom breathed heavily, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “And maybe it wasn’t perfect, but we were together. But I was always afraid of him riding. Of you riding. I begged him so many times to stay put.” She closed her eyes, a stream of tears running down her cheek. “How could I, though? How could I ask that of him? How could I ask a horse person to give up the one thing that made his blood course? But I don’t know if I can forgive him.”

  I sat, the mattress sinking beneath me. A prescription bottle lay on its side on the nightstand, white and blue pills sprinkled around like Tic Tacs. My hands shook like they did when I had too much coffee as I reached for the bottle.

  “Don’t worry. They’re for depression. Or anxiety. Or both. Something to numb the pain. I didn’t take too many.”

  I closed my eyes with relief.

  “How could he leave me? We were going to travel, we were going to see Paris. He was going to travel with me on book tours. He promised.” Her fingers clutched at her nightgown, as if it was choking her. “And . . . how could he keep me in the dark about the ranch?”

  “So you didn’t know?”

  Her eyelid twitched. She reached up as if to still it, her chipped nail polish splotchy against her nail beds. “I didn’t know, Brynn. God, I just didn’t know. I worked so hard—so many hours to try to make ends meet. Why would he do that?”

  He hadn’t told her.

  “He promised. ‘Just one more horse. This is the one. Just a win or two, and you’ll see,’ he’d said. I wanted him to be happy. I always put my needs second. He made me believe.”

  For a second I thought I heard the water running in the bathroom. I turned, expecting to see Dad shaving, getting ready. He would come out any minute now and this nightmare would disappear.

  I was thankful for the fresh air coming in through the window.

  “I’ll make it work,” I said. “I promise.” I linked my fingers around her arm—that’s how small she now was.

  I clicked the door of her room shut behind me and I leaned against it. I slid down, sinking onto the worn silk rug, and placed my hands over my face. There was no one to turn to but me.

  I stood at the edge of a hunter arena, my foot propped up on the low white railing, reading over the posted courses for the classes in which my young riders would be competing. I had been at Woodside since a quarter to six in the morning and had already ridden two of the ponies. Scanning the printouts stapled to the board outside the arena, I memorized all four courses. Satisfied, I noted they were all straightforward.

  The first class was scheduled to begin at eight. I inhaled the smell of sand, trees, and horses, pulling the lapel of my jacket tighter around me, enjoying the silence before the heat and fatigue of the day that was sure to follow. The show grounds were still coming to life. A jump crew set up elaborate obstacles in the higher-level hunter arena, ones that resembled hunt fields—coops, walls, gates. The bright flowers contrasted with the natural colors of the rails and standards. Two girls, eight or so, ran across the empty arena, pretending to be horses. A crew member pulled up at the entrance with a water truck. The girls squealed and ran out, the truck’s water spray barely missing them. The tractor with an arena harrow would follow to smooth the footing. On the horizon to the east lay the heart of Silicon Valley; I could just make out the white Stanford Clock Tower. To the west, a panorama of tree-blanketed hills stretched from north to south.

  Derek had offered to trailer Corinne’s, Helena’s, and Mai’s horses and ponies from our barn to the show on Monday, suggesting that I drive my car so that we could go back and forth in it, giving me the much-needed out. Without saying a word, I’d hugged him, grateful that I didn’t have to load the horses and ponies, nor drive the truck and trailer to the show.

  I’d been riding and showing our clients’ horses and ponies for three days now, doing one of the trainer’s jobs: to prepare the horses and help adjust them to a horse show setting. Today would be the first day of the week the clients themselves showed. I glanced down at my smartphone and adjusted my sun hat, which never left my head at the shows. Seven twenty-five, and I still hadn’t spotted any of my clients. Derek knew to have the ponies tacked up and ready, but it wasn’t him I was worried about. It was the rest of our barn. I’d told the parents to consider staying at a local hotel, even with home only about an hour and a half away, so that they’d be here on time. They had to put their boots on, find their crops, their helmets. A flurry of activity would ensue: “Where are my spurs? Mom, have you seen my spurs? I know I left them right here yesterday!” Panic would set in as trunks opened and shut while busy hands searched for pieces of misplaced equipment. Grooms would be grilled. Moms’ normally quiet voices would rise. Boots would be polished, hairnets placed over bobby-pinned hair, helmets put on.

  “Brynn!” A woman sitting in a golf cart called, waving wildly, as if I weren’t the only person within a hundred feet. The rising sun hit my eyes, and I had to squint to make her out.

  Ruth Stubbs, a trainer from the valley. She and her white golf cart were a fixture at the local shows, and had been for the past thirty years.

  “Did you take a look at the course yet?” Ruth inclined her sun visor toward the arena.

  “Yup. Really straightforward.”

  “Good, good.” She hesitated, picking something off her tightly stretched polo shirt. “I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to talk to you.” Ruth rubbed her palms on her jeans.

  “I was just heading over to get some coffee before the first class.”

  “I’d love a cup myself.” She heaved her heavy bottom from the golf cart with a grunt. Little clouds of dust puffed up as her brown paddock boots hit the ground.

  “How are things?” she asked as we walked toward the food tent.

  “All right.” I kept my gaze straight ahead.

  “I’ve wanted to tell you how sorry I am about your dad. Seems I haven’t had a moment . . .” Ruth’s voice trailed off as she gave me a sidelong glance. She kicked a few wood chips. The scent of cedar wafted up toward me. “I was at the funeral, but had to leave early.”

  Here we go again, I thought. Everyone was sorry and I sure as heck didn’t know how to respond to sympathy.

  Ruth continued, “It’s such a shame.” A horse show judge walked by and nodded at us. He nursed his complimentary cup of coffee as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. I nodded back. “But you know, Brynn, these crazy things happen. None of it makes sense, I know, but horses are large, unpredictable beasts.”

  An assortment of riders passed by, young and old, tall and short, dressed in show breeches, long colorful socks, polo shirts and dress shirts, bundled in sweatshirts or jackets, chatting as they checked their schedules and courses.

  “Dad always thought highly of you and he always considered you a friend.”

  “We go way back, Luke and I.” She gave a throaty laugh. “When your dad first came to California he was just a kid, you know. He’d work at any stable, as long as they gave him a meal and a place to lay his head. Well, he’d go to all the shows, even the bad ones.” She shook her head. “Luke was such a crazy fool. The craziest I ever met. He’d ride anything. And not just to make a buck, but for the challenge. God, he loved a challenge. There was no stopping him.”

  “That’s my Dad for you.” I smiled, imagining him as a teen, following trainers, riding any horse he could g
et his hands on.

  “But he changed. I don’t know when, but he changed. Well, I reckon I know . . .” She paused and glanced at me. “It was after he had you. He grew careful. Well, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he would’ve been that way anyway. Anyhow, if you need anything, just give me a holler.” We split apart as a young groom walked between us, leading a frisky horse. “I owe him.” She removed her sunglasses to peer directly at me.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. He’d help with tough horses at shows, or by dropping my name to people he’d heard might be moving down my way so that I could pick up a client or two. He was a good guy, your dad.” She nodded. “Not like half this other muck running around.”

  She stopped and took me by my arm. “You gotta watch your back.” Ruth looked past me, as if seeing herself and my dad when they were young, and she smiled and lifted the heel of her age-spotted hand to her pale eyes, rubbing them. “You just watch your back.”

  A loudspeaker above me crackled, then boomed. “Pony hunters in Hunter Ring Two. Pony hunters in Hunter Ring Two.”

  Startled, I spilled coffee over the show schedule printouts. “Dammit!” I shook the coffee off my papers.

  “Let’s go, people. I don’t see a single soul warming up here. We start at eight on the dot, so get your kids and ponies out here!”

  I rushed toward the ring, but as I rounded the corner Vivian caught my eye. She stood behind the show trailer, stubbing out a cigarette. Our eyes met, and she smiled and waved and I remembered I hadn’t called her yet about her offer to help. I waved a quick hello, then ducked away before she could ask me again, too embarrassed to tell her that I couldn’t afford her even if I wanted to.

  “Danny in one, Kennedy in two, Samantha in three.”

  I nodded toward the gate announcer’s small booth at the entrance to the arena, letting him know I’d heard. Kennedy, Corinne’s daughter, was up after the boy ready to head in.

  Where the hell are they?? I texted Derek.

  On their way, Derek texted back.

  I crossed my arms. We wouldn’t have enough time to warm up. I noticed other clients of ours—Stuart and Peggy, Patty, and Pam—were here to watch. I waved and smiled, trying to appear calm.

  Vivian and her riders approached the arena. She walked tall and proud, her client moms obediently walking behind the five ponies and riders, like a group of goslings. I had to find out her secret. Clearly I couldn’t even get our clients to show up on time.

  Finally, I picked out Payton, Kennedy, and Lani as they rode toward me in descending order of pony height: large, medium, small. I should have been relieved, but my heart raced and I regretted drinking that second cup of coffee.

  The girls, ages ranging ten to thirteen, were similar, yet their personalities clashed as much as their looks. Kennedy the relaxed, lazy kid. Payton, the anxious tall reed of a girl, opposite of her mother, and Lani, a shy, nerdy kid, who seemed to need more time outside than studying. But they all had one thing in common: their love of horses. And in this world, that’s all they needed to be best of friends.

  Danny, a boy around eleven years old or so, rode in. Derek busied himself with wiping the girls’ tall boots, while they held their feet out for him from their stirrups. Once finished, he leaned down and scraped the caked-on dirt off the outside of each pony’s hooves with a hoof pick. For the finishing touch, he coated the hooves with hoof polish—which would become encrusted with sand in a matter of seconds of riding in the arena. But the judge might notice such details, so who was I to question the rules of the hunter ring.

  A rail crashed. I jerked around just in time to see that the pony had slid to a stop in front of the rail, but still had a lot of momentum. Danny leaned back and kicked the pony. Trying to obey, the pony bunny-hopped over the jump, but in the process, dislodged the boy onto the pony’s neck. The rails toppled behind them. The pony, ears pinned, spooked and bolted, then took off in a mad gallop.

  Mai screamed. Danny’s trainer ran into the arena, yelling, “Sit up, sit up!” The saddle slid over to the side as Danny’s weight pulled the saddle with him. I gripped the railing of the fence, praying to God that Danny didn’t get caught under the pony’s legs, then realized the pony had turned away from the trainer and was headed straight toward the open gate.

  Running, I dropped the schedule and jumped the rail, headed for the gate, stretching my arms out, blocking the exit. Several people followed suit, herding the spooked pony. The pony galloped, tail streaming, and I was reminded of Mom’s fear about horses that always gripped her. How would it feel to see someone you knew, and cared for, injured? How would it feel if it was your child? I waved my arms at the pony that headed straight for me. Finally, the pony slowed enough that the boy could slide off the saddle. He rolled and jumped up. I caught the pony’s reins, and the spooked pony—nostrils flaring, ears like radar dishes, ribs heaving from exertion—pranced in place. “It’s all right, boy,” I said. “It’s going to be all right.”

  Danny started crying. The trainer and his parents ran over, but he pushed past them, wiped his nose with the sleeve of his show jacket, and pulled his shoulders back. Handing the reins over to him, I patted him on his back. “Great emergency dismount,” I said. His eyes met mine, his chin raised a little higher. The small crowd clapped and I stepped back toward the fence, opening the space in my lungs again, regaining my balance.

  Kennedy was next. I swallowed hard, trying to get my adrenaline under control. Just like Cervantes had picked up on Seraphim’s fear, Best of Luck could have too.

  “All right, Kennedy. Just ride how we always do at home. Keep your head up, shoulders back, and heels down. Make sure you take the turns wide, and whatever you do, don’t look down at the jump.”

  “Mhmm.” Her little head bobbed up and down, although her brown eyes glazed over. I had to close my eyes for a moment and count to three.

  “Earth to Kennedy.” I knocked on her black Charles Owen show helmet. Even though she was mounted, the pony was small enough that she was barely taller than me.

  “I’m here, okay? You don’t have to be so pushy.” Her pouty pink lips jutted out at me. She slouched as she sat atop her dappled gray pony, Best of Luck. I shook my head. Ten years old and more attitude than I’d ever been allowed. Dad would have put me to work mucking stalls. But as I knew from teaching her in the summer, Kennedy lost interest easily, and she’d whine about riding in the heat if it was above seventy, and the cold if it was below sixty. She did such a poor job of grooming her pony, taking twice as long as any other kid, that Corinne requested help. Now Derek did it instead. Corinne kept her kids busy with a packed schedule of activities, and I sometimes wished she would take Kennedy to a Get Over Your Attitude class.

  I tucked a brown defiant curl back into Kennedy’s hairnet and pushed both up under the helmet. “Okay, then. Can you tell me your course one more time?”

  Kennedy waved her arm about as she pointed to the jumps, describing her course, while I checked her girth. I did a once-over of her attire, inspecting her breeches for dirt, dusting specks off her navy blue show jacket, adjusting her rider number to the center of her back.

  I led Kennedy on Best of Luck toward the in-gate. “You’re ready. Now just relax and breathe. Get in there and show them what you’ve got!” The pony’s tail swished back and forth as they rode in.

  Corinne stood under the awning next to the arena, drumming her fingers on the fence, biting her lip. Her older daughter stood next to her. Kennedy yawned as she rode into the arena. I closed my eyes and counted to three. Patience . . .

  “Watch your heels!” Corinne called, leaning against the waist-high arena fence, her knuckles white as she clutched her professional camera.

  Damn that woman. Dad and I were always having to remind her not to interfere with lessons and shows. Kennedy was to focus only on her trainer. Not her mother. I turned away, making a mental note to have another discussion with Corinne later. She’d already tried to convince me
that Seraphim should go back to showing as soon as possible. The mare still hadn’t been cleared off stall rest, her injury requiring at least another month off.

  The announcer’s voice brought me back to the show. “And now, in the ring we have Kennedy Schultz from Mill Valley, California, atop Best of Luck, owned by Corinne Schultz.”

  I reached up to bite at my cuticles, my heart suddenly beating faster. I hoped she woke up. She had thirty seconds to get focused.

  Mai, a newbie to the show world, came to stand next to me by the arena entrance. She loved to learn, but the side effect was incessant questions. A recent divorcée, she spent time with Lani at the barn, and in the evenings she hunted for a new husband using Table for Six and other dating services. “So tell me again what we’re looking for?” she asked, as I scrutinized Kennedy’s every move. Kennedy started to trot a large circle. She pulled her leg back an inch and picked up her canter in a smooth, fluid indiscernible motion.

  I clucked at the pony. “Pace, Kennedy. Pick up the pace,” I quietly called as she rode past me toward the first jump.

  “So pretty!” Mai clasped her hands under her chin. This was Lani’s first show. Not a good time for me to talk, but I didn’t have a choice.

  At the hunter-jumper shows, there were two ways to be judged: on style, performance, and soundness, also called “hunters over fences”; and on speed and agility of the horse, called “jumpers.” Only jumpers were considered an Olympic sport. I wasn’t fond of hunters because of the subjective judging, but I wasn’t about to tell Mai that. Most kids started in hunters.

  “She’s good, isn’t she?” Mai asked, watching Kennedy. “Do you think Lani can do that?” Her words stumbled over themselves, then she blushed, as if she had been too forward.

  “Yes. Definitely. With practice,” I said, clapping, smiling at the out-of-breath Kennedy as she walked Best of Luck out of the arena. Mai smiled, covering her mouth with her hand.