Learning to Fall Page 9

  “I know,” I said, not turning to look at him. Seraphim leaned into me, begging me to continue rubbing her face.

  “I can tack her up.” He moved to Seraphim’s other side, picking out a piece of shavings from her mane.

  I shook my head. “No. I’m fine.” Sera shifted, exposing her neck. I used my nails to scratch deep through the gold and red hair that glistened like burnished brass in the darkening light. “It’s been a long day wrapping up after the show. Why don’t you head out?”

  “You sure?” He was slipping into my dad’s caretaking role. I took care of the business, and he took care of the horses—and me.

  I nodded.

  “All right.” His hand rested on my shoulder, and I leaned my cheek toward his hand, enjoying its warmth. I turned and smiled at him, hoping he knew how much I appreciated him.

  “You go.” I put on my bravest smile. “Have a good night.”

  Derek stood by my side for a while longer. Finally he said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Then he walked down the aisle, turning once to look back at Seraphim and me.

  I stood for a long time with Seraphim, but I couldn’t do it. I just wasn’t ready to ride her again. I hadn’t forgiven her yet.

  It was Labor Day. The day before vet school started. My last day teaching before heading up to Davis. Corinne and Helena stood by the fence, observing the three girls cooling out their ponies after their lesson.

  “This brings back memories of my childhood,” Helena said. “In the summers, my sister and I would spend time at our grandparents’ house. They had horses, and we’d go out in the back hills of New Hampshire and ride for hours. My grandma was fine, as long as we got home before sunset. Half the time we didn’t, and she’d get so angry—by golly—you could hear her screaming at us for miles. She had this old straw broom at the back of the veranda and she’d swing it at us, threatening to beat us silly.”

  Helena’s laugh rang out, her shoulders shaking with laughter.

  Corinne laughed too. “God, I wish I’d had that opportunity. All I did as a kid was amble from one friend’s house to another. We grew up in Boston, and there weren’t many horses to be found.” A wistful far-off look crossed Corinne’s face. She was in her forties, but she looked younger, her features prominent, strong cheekbones as if an artist had drawn them into place. She adjusted her sun hat over her stylish bob.

  “Those were the best days of my life,” Helena said. Her strawberry-blonde hair, looped through her tan baseball cap, accentuated her heart-shaped face. “Brynn, thank you for setting this up. I’m so glad you’re able to give them this opportunity.”

  I smiled in response. Kennedy, Payton, and Lani had just finished their lesson when I remembered the promise I’d made to Kennedy.

  “Oh, girls! I told Kennedy you’d get to ride bareback today if you did well in your lesson. I’d say we can call your lesson a success. What do you think?”

  A chorus of cheers and squeals greeted me. The girls busied themselves with removing the saddles while I walked over to the moms.

  Mai approached me. “Are you sure they’re ready?” she asked in a hushed voice.

  “They’re going to be fine, Mai. They jump courses, they can ride bareback. These ponies are sweethearts, plus they’re tired out.” I patted her shoulder.

  “Keep your heels down, even with no stirrups!” I called. “And don’t forget to keep your distance from the other ponies!” Back on their horses, the girls picked up their canter. Kennedy’s long blonde ponytail flopped in rhythm with Best of Luck’s tail, both blowing behind them in the wind like a pair of sails. Payton laughed the whole time, her mouth wide.

  “Watch out you don’t catch any flies!” Helena called.

  The girls’ joy filled me with a huge sense of accomplishment. A few minutes later they asked us if they could take their ponies out for a trail ride, to cool them out.

  “I don’t see a problem with it as long as Brynn is fine with that,” answered Corinne.

  I nodded my approval. “Get your saddles back on and stay on the trail around the back field. But no cantering!”

  The ladies and I walked to the round oak table. The fragrance of the flowers in the earthenware pots surrounding the courtyard filled the air. Helena had brought some cheese, bread, and fruit for a snack. Her freckled arms were always busy doing something. I poured freshly brewed coffee. Horses neighed in the barn as Derek wheeled in the afternoon hay. The sharp, sweet smell and sound of the cart always brought the horses to excitement.

  Corinne tore off a piece of French bread. “So Brynn, have you called Chris yet?” Of course she’d ask. She always wanted to know everything and wouldn’t allow for anyone else to get the news first. I was surprised it took her this long.

  “Corinne!” Helena looked over at her friend, clearly surprised by her forward question.

  All eyes turned toward me.

  “Nope.” I didn’t want to feed the rumor mill, so I hoped my one-word answer would shut it down. I stared out into the distance, keeping an eye on the three ponies and their riders.

  “Well, I guess it’s none of my business, but everyone’s speculating about why he left the East Coast,” Mai chimed in.

  “Ladies, I think we better leave the gossip out,” I said, holding my hand up.

  “Well, he is a handsome catch—I wish I were young enough to scoop that one up!” Helena laughed. Mai and Corinne joined in.

  “If Brynn doesn’t want to hear the gossip, she doesn’t need to.” Corinne cocked her head sideways, and I was almost lured into asking what she knew, but I bit my lip and turned my head. It wouldn’t be that easy. Corinne, noting I didn’t take the bait, tossed a grape in her mouth. “So, who’s got a good erotica book recommendation?”

  “Ooh! I read a juicy one last week,” Mai leaned in, peering over her shoulder before continuing.

  I stood up, grabbing the coffeepot. “It’s been wonderful afternoon, ladies, but I’ve got to get to Davis tonight. First day of school is tomorrow, and I want to make sure I have everything ready at my apartment.”

  “We’ll see you next Friday!” Helena replied and the others nodded, wishing me a happy first week of school. Their voices trailed off behind me as I walked to the barn.

  My cell phone chimed. Text message from Chris. Still waiting. Stop by my place tonite.

  I stared at the cell phone, my thumb running over the text. Maybe I needed the distraction after all.

  After taking a shower and packing for Davis, I took one last glance at my dresser to see if I’d missed anything. My musical jewelry box lay hidden beneath the silk scarf draped over my dresser mirror. I picked up the box, my fingers grazing the silver unicorn stitched into the lid. Inside were items I’d collected as a little girl: a strand of my first pony’s hair tied with a pink ribbon, a wallet-sized picture of Mom and Dad with me and my pony at my first show, the heart pendant from Dad, goofy photo-booth pictures with Derek, and the beaded necklace Chris had given me at our first show at Del Mar.

  I hesitated only a moment before texting him that I’d stop by. His place was on my way to Davis, and it wouldn’t take me more than an hour to get to my apartment from there.

  I placed my two suitcases and a duffle bag into the trunk of my car, gave Subira one last pet goodbye, and went back into the house.

  “I packed a little something,” Mom said, holding out a basket for me. It held a jar of my favorite jam, a container of tomato soup, and my favorite sweet bread from the local deli. I gave her a kiss on the cheek, and she pulled me in for an embrace. She said she’d do better next weekend, and she’d go shopping for more of the things I liked.

  “This is more than I expected,” I said. It had always been an elaborate dance, me leaving for school at the end of August, Mom packing food and supplies for my apartment, filling the trunk of my car with a couple of throw cushions and a fleece blanket, “for those long nights studying,” she would say. She was more excited than me at the start of each semester. “You’re g
oing to have that DVM behind your name soon,” she’d chirp. “You just wait and see. It’ll feel so good to have your own freedom. To be independent. To follow your dreams.” Dad would wait for me to go down to the barn to say goodbye, busy with riding or teaching or working at his desk, making sure I knew how displeased he was that I was leaving. I was caught in between their dance steps—a third wheel in a cumbersome waltz. But I knew they had both wanted the best for me. Today it all seemed like a hasty rendition of that dance, a mock performance, but at least she was out and about, her depression seeming to lift—and that’s all I needed to keep moving forward. I had to fulfill my duty. I had to be the good girl.

  My last moment before heading off to school, I had to finally confront Chris.

  Driving, I started reminiscing, how I’d met Chris at a show in third grade, how we’d been friends for years, going to Del Mar and other horse shows as friends and teammates. What stuck out in my mind most was a moment during the summer after I turned seventeen. Chris and I sat leaning behind a barn at the Spruce Meadows show where we had competed for the West Coast Young Riders Team, when he lit up and passed me a joint. I wanted to say no, but I also wanted to spend time with him like we used to, to feel like his girlfriend. Before I knew it, we started kissing, his hands slowly moving up my shirt. Our kiss made my head reel, though looking back it was probably the pot, and by the time we fell back on the ground, I said I wanted him.

  Chris pulled away from me, holding me at arm’s distance, staring at me as if seeing me for the first time. He told me I was the most innocent and precious person he’d ever known, and he would never spoil that by sleeping with me. I felt like someone had punched me in the gut. We walked back to the party, and he talked and laughed with all the riders, and pretended like nothing had happened, and we never brought it up again.

  After that, I was busy with college, then vet school, and the last thing I needed was the complication of a relationship. Not that he was interested. Until now.

  As I drove through the gate I had to pause to make sure I was at the right address. The old Hendricks Ranch had been transformed. It had always been one of the barns where weeds grew taller than the fence, and the paint chips gave eye splinters to anyone driving by. Now the asphalt reflected the mauve sky, the barns gleamed with a fresh coat of white paint, and the barn entrances, adorned with wisteria, reminded me of a Spanish hacienda. The footing in the arena had only ever been good enough for growing crops, but now the white silica sand glared back at me as two riders walked their horses side by side, chatting. The place belonged on the cover of some sort of Architectural Digest for barns.

  I pulled up to the last of the three barns on the left and stepped out of my car. A staircase wound to the apartment above the barn, and as I climbed, my hesitation grew. The girls riding in the arena stared at me, making my climb intolerable. My pet peeve about this business, again—the gossip. No doubt they knew who I was, and by tomorrow rumors would be flying. The hunter-jumper community left no place for privacy.

  “Brynn! God, it’s good to see you!” Chris pulled me toward him as soon as he opened the door. We hugged for a moment, his scent reminiscent of tall city skyscrapers and the surf, of a Ralph Lauren ad. His hair fell over his forehead and I resisted an urge to brush it aside. Instead I ran a hand through my own hair, which I wore down for the occasion, feeling out of place in my plain blue jeans and UC Davis sweatshirt.

  He wore the necklace I had given him when we were at Del Mar, the sister necklace to the one back in my jewelry box. We’d exchanged them at our first Young Riders competition. I ignored the sudden tightness in my throat.

  He came close, as if to give me another hug, but I turned to take in the apartment.

  The loft had exposed wooden beams, arched windows with blue tiled accents recessed into the white adobe walls. Skylights streamed in ribbons of the setting sun. A ladder led up to a second split level. The smell of fresh paint and brand-new carpet filled the room. The oak cabinets in the kitchen appeared new, and though the apartment was small, it didn’t seem crowded due to the sparse contemporary furnishings, which were, not surprisingly, well organized. Chris had always been a neat freak.

  “Wow. They did a great job fixing this place up. Last I remember it was a hay barn.”

  “You like? It’s not quite finished, and obviously it’s a bit small and needs a certain je ne sais quoi.” He pointed to several boxes on the floor. “A woman’s touch, maybe?”

  “I’m sure you won’t have a problem finding that.” I walked toward the leather couch, running my hand along the back.

  He followed me. “I can show you upstairs. It’s right here.” He gestured toward the wooden ladder steps. Seeing the look on my face, Chris laughed. “Well, come on. Have a seat and I’ll bring out the grub.”

  I sat on the sofa. “This is nice, but why in the world didn’t you finish your year with McLain Ward? And why didn’t you move into your parents’ guesthouse?” His parents owned a three-acre estate in Tiburon, and the guesthouse spanned almost two thousand square feet.

  “It’s not far enough away from my mother,” he called from the kitchen, his voice muffled as he poked his head in the fridge.

  “Besides, being here works out perfectly, since this is where De Salle is stabled. I don’t have to wake up too early to train. Want one?” He held up a bottle of beer.

  “No thanks. I’m driving to Davis, remember?”

  I picked up an East Coast–based show jumping magazine from the coffee table, interested in the fresh faces and big shot names of riders who didn’t frequent the West Coast shows. A story titled The Benefits of Ayurveda and Yoga for Hunter Jumper Riders, by Jason Lander, caught my eye. Ayurveda and yoga for riders? I peered at the small photo insert of the author who stood in a field of wildflowers, his arm around a gray horse, yellow sun lightening the field behind them. Uncle Ian’s friend, the man at the funeral whose eyes I hadn’t been able to get out of my head.

  I turned the page. Photos of Chris going over a huge black-and-gold jump, a close-up of him laughing with his hair ruffled, and one of him with a group of people at a party took up a two-page spread titled The Jumper Rider to Look Out for Next Year.

  “Hey! You’re in here, Chris!”

  “Oh, that. Whatever. It’s nothing.” He carried in a tray of food and drinks. He sat next to me, his face clouded.

  His lack of interest surprised me. Normally he’d be bragging about this kind of thing. “What are you talking about? This is so amazing!”

  “Seriously. It’s nothing.” He grabbed the magazine out of my hand and tossed it on the end table. “Mother’s having a conniption fit that I want to switch to jumpers. As if I ever wanted to be a hunter rider to begin with. It was always her dream. But, whatever. It’s time for some dinner.” He placed the tray of rolls in front of me. “I haven’t had good sushi like this since I left California.”

  Our eyes met, and he seemed to lean in. I could almost feel his breath. He reached and brushed my hair behind my ear. “So now you know the real reason for my coming back.”

  I held my breath.

  “It’s the sushi!” He sat back up and laughed.

  I closed my eyes. I hadn’t realized how much my body would react to his. And I thought that if I let myself, I could have fun and be young with him. But how could I, when so much responsibility lay on me? I sat up and picked up a piece of a rainbow roll with my chopsticks.

  “Shit. I forgot the music!” Chris jumped up, almost dropping his plate, and turned on the surround sound. A Train song filled the room. I leaned back and with the sound of the music, Chris’s laugh, and the sushi, the past few weeks faded. I curled my feet up on the couch, wanting to hide from the world in this loft.

  After dinner, in the bathroom, I stared at myself in the mirror. My eyes sparkled, my cheeks had color, my complexion glowed. Take it down a notch, Brynn, I told myself.

  I dried my hands, scanning the shelves for hand cream. His bathroom had more salon sha
mpoos, conditioners, and moisturizers than I ever used. Having a tough time finding a simple lotion, I picked the closest one. Its musky scent reminded me of Chris, and a part of me wished he’d ask me to go upstairs again. This time I’d say yes.

  When I got back, Chris had already put away the sushi tray and plates. He tapped the sofa next to him. “Don’t go yet. Let’s talk about your plans.” He cleared his throat and added, “What with your dad gone and all . . .”

  I felt the blood drain from my face. I didn’t want to talk about my plans. I’d have preferred to go upstairs instead, to not analyze, to not think. I picked at the ends of my hair, tearing apart a split end. “You still haven’t answered my question. Why are you back?”

  Chris eyed me for a minute, leaning in, brushing my hair off my shoulder. “Let’s just say it was best.”

  “Best? For what?”

  Chris stood, and busied himself with wiping the counter. “Can we not talk about it?”

  “Chris. It’s me. Brynn. Remember?”

  “Don’t worry about it. It was nothing. Just got mixed up with the wrong crowd, that’s all.”

  “What the hell? Did you get caught smoking weed or something?”

  “Just drop it.” He moved across the room, his fists clenched at his side, his jaw tight.

  “Fine.” I stood. “It’s probably time I get going anyway.”

  We said our goodbyes, and Chris asked me to stop by the following week. He gave me a cool kiss on the cheek, and whatever I’d felt between us had dissipated.

  I wound my way down the stairs. “Is that you, Brynn? What are you doing here?”

  I squinted into the darkness. “Vivian?”

  “Funny to find you here.” She glanced at the stairs leading to Chris’s apartment and I felt heat rising in my cheeks.

  “Visiting an old friend,” I said.

  Vivian nodded, then walked closer. “I teach lessons here sometimes.”

  I gave her a questioning look.