Rebirth, Page 3

  “This is life or death for her. I can’t…”

  “She has to make a choice. Not you.” Nicolette had avoided looking at Silvie, but she could tell she had her full attention.

  Lydia sighed and brushed away the tears streaming down her face. “Wait, what did you mean by ‘we have work to do’?’”

  “Renatus will stay at Frisch and Hyatt will train him.” Nicolette smiled. “You will lead us to victory.”

  Lydia’s eyes gleamed through the tears, and a warm blush spread across her tanned complexion. She turned to face Nicolette and her vulnerability tugged at every molecule in Nicolette’s body. When Lydia slipped into her arms it was a long, soft embrace that made the air around them crackle and hiss.

  The next day Silvie voluntarily checked into the hospital. Lydia was shocked at the sudden turn in her mother’s attitude, but she was grateful. When she finally returned to work, it was at Frisch, where Hyatt had managed to get her reinstated as an exercise rider.

  Nicolette spent much of her time there with Lydia and Renatus. In the evenings, the two women liked to relax at the edge of the property beside the creek that branched off from the river.

  “You seem so much older,” Lydia said one day.

  “Than what?” Nicolette asked, idly watching the water ripple and dance around objects in its path.

  “Older than you are.”

  “Some of us grow up faster than others,” Nicolette said. She glanced over at Lydia, whose fine dark hair stirred in the soft wind, just like the water. Even when she was pensive like this, her aura was vivid and energetic. “But in your case, I’d say…”

  “Grow up?” Lydia offered quickly, with sheepish laughter.

  “Well, I was going to say, ‘be less combative.’”

  “Ah.” Lydia was quiet for a moment. “I almost messed things up at Albemarle, didn’t I?”

  “What do you mean?” Nicolette asked.

  “The thing with the jock’s room.”

  “What thing with the jock’s room?” Nicolette was taken aback.

  Lydia’s face turned a sharp tint of red. “You didn’t know about that.”

  “What?” Nicolette had been leaning back against her elbows in the grass. She sat up and looked Lydia square in the face. “What did you do?”

  Lydia sat with her legs crossed at the ankles. She reached down and plucked a few strands of grass, then picked them apart with her fingers. “I barged in,” she said. “I was upset, remember? From what that man said to us… so I barged in and began to lay out my things waiting for somebody to say something. And somebody did. Something about introducing myself. Or, I dunno. I didn’t answer.”

  “You couldn’t be civilized and introduce yourself to a roomful of strangers?”

  “It was just a couple guys in there at that time. Anyway, they told me there was a separate room for female jockeys.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “And I said I wasn’t going to leave because I could change wherever I wanted to.” She stared at the pieces of grass in her hands and waited for Nicolette to speak. When she didn’t Lydia continued. “They called security and I was told to remove my things and go to the next room. That’s all.”

  “That’s all.” Nicolette was incredulous. Now she wondered if they were rejected because of their inadequate facilities or because of Lydia’s behavior. It didn’t help that the bastard Adley hated her. He certainly wouldn’t have sung their praises either.

  “It doesn’t matter now.” Nicolette sighed, masking her disappointment. She’d been focusing more on positives now anyway. She could handle a few bumps. Take a few jabs. “We’re back in. It worked out well. Look at all this luxury the old boy has to bask in.” She gestured toward the land like a motivational speaker.

  Lydia regarded her coolly. “I’ve been meaning to ask something,” she said. “About what that man at Albemarle said. About you being a jailbird.”

  “I did a stupid thing,” Nicolette said abruptly. “I did stupid things for a long time.”

  “Why?”

  “What difference does it make?” Nicolette’s tone was sharper than she intended.

  Lydia shrugged, but stared intently at Nicolette. When she saw that no answer to her question was forthcoming, she got up and brushed the grass from her jeans. “You know what,” she said, annoyed. “I have to get back to work.”

  But she still stood there, looking down at Nicolette.

  “It’s almost dusk,” Nicolette said, keeping her head lowered, her eyes dark and reflective of the shift in her mood.

  “I’ll find something to do.”

  Was she waiting for an apology? Nicolette gritted her jaw and looked out at the distance. When she finally turned around she saw Lydia striding across the grass, heading toward the yellow stables.

  Nicolette remained outside for a long time, alone in the titian glow of sunset.

  Over the weeks since Renatus had moved to Frisch, he became Nicolette and Lydia’s sole focus. They steered clear of each other outside of work to avoid another flare up between them. Something about Lydia rattled Nicolette’s new-found composure, but they were a team with the same goal in mind.

  They went back to Albemarle fired up and eager to do some damage. Nicolette stood with Renatus in the stalls before the race. He was peaceful and self-possessed, but she knew the power undulating beneath that poise. She leaned against him, her face against the broad flank of his body. It occurred to her that she hadn’t thought about many things lately. In jail she was consumed with making it through each day, and in the days and months after, she’d been buried within her own emotional shadows. But something was beginning to spring from the dark earth again.

  Something that had been suppressed and stifled, that had twisted itself into a spiny ball, a little bud of something emerging from the soil.

  She took a shot of whiskey and went out to the bleachers. Golden sunshine opened up across the track and the land, and the bugle sounded. The spectators released a roar that must have been brimming at the edge of their lips since break of day. Nicolette roared too. It was a sound that came from the hidden depths of her. She saw Lydia in the vivid green and white upon Renatus’ great back. She was light and springy in the saddle as they cantered over. She looked toward the stands and Nicolette thought she might be looking for her, so she waved, and she saw Lydia’s hand go up.

  Part Two

  An eleventh place finish left Nicolette stunned and reeling inside. The start to the race had been promising, but halfway through Renatus had lost his focus. He was lacking maturity, Hyatt said. They needed to regroup and reassess the progress of his training.

  The crew went back to Frisch with the horse. Nicolette drove home from Albemarle alone.

  After she showered and changed into jeans and a T-shirt, she went to the barn and began to dismantle the unused chicken pens. They weren’t sturdy to begin with, built years ago by her father when he’d decided to try his hand at farming. The sides came loose with one blow from the hammer. She snapped the planks apart and threw them to the ground. When she turned to take the pile out, she saw Lydia leaning against the barn door. She was wearing a green sweater dress under a black leather jacket. Black riding boots came up just below her knees.

  “Need firewood?” Nicolette asked, her voice cool. Lydia shook her head no, and went to pick up a few pieces. She followed Nicolette to the back of the house and watched as she stacked them neatly beside the recycling bins.

  “Can you use them again?”

  “They’re rotted,” Nicolette said flatly. “Which is an apt metaphor, don’t you agree?”

  “Metaphor for what?” Lydia asked.

  Nicolette didn’t respond. Instead she turned and started back. Lydia held onto

  her arm. “You’re not the only one who’s upset,” she said. “It sucked finishing like that, but there’s always the next race, and the next race.”

  Nicolette pulled her arm away and strolled into the barn. Lydia was by
her side in a flash. She grabbed the hammer before Nicolette could get to it.

  “Be careful,” Lydia whispered. “Your mask is slipping.”

  Nicolette’s cheeks burned. Tiny palpitations coursed through her body. She jerked the hammer and with it, pulled Lydia in, the distance between them closed in an instant. She had the full weight of the tool now, for it had slipped from Lydia’s hand. She leaned in even closer and wrapped her arms around Nicolette’s neck, pulling her head down. Nicolette dropped the hammer and slipped her arms around her waist. When their lips met Nicolette felt the frost of uncertainty fall from her being. It was a kiss that tugged at the root of her and pulled at the fibers of her longing for home and warmth.

  The next morning they lay tangled up in bed as sunlight filtered through the soft curtains in Nicolette’s room.

  “You realize this is the first time I’ve been inside your house?” Lydia asked, her head cradled in the nook of Nicolette’s elbow.

  “Is it?” Nicolette considered. “Hmph. I guess it is. Well, you’ve been inside my bedroom. Slight correction.” She laughed and pulled away quickly as Lydia poked her side.

  “Your decorating choices are surprisingly…” Lydia paused, “alive.”

  Nicolette’s eyes panned across the room. She had found a blue-green wallpaper print that reminded her of van Gogh’s Almond Blossom paintings. The branches were slender twines, almost like roots springing up from the canvas. The small petals seemed to glow.

  “Are you going to tell me who those people are?” Lydia asked, pulling her out of her reverie. She was referring to the picture of Nicolette and her family that sat on the dresser.

  “My sisters and my parents,” Nicolette said. “Sisters are in New Jersey at boarding school. My aunt cares for them. Parents are dead.” She let the silence hang.

  “Sorry to hear,” Lydia said, finally.

  “Mom died when I was locked up,” Nicolette went on quickly. “Dad died shortly after.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “Dad had been on the demise for some time – drinking, all sorts of ailments. With her I’m not so sure.” She paused. “She was as they say, “bohemian,” but the circumstances were unusual, even for her.”

  “What were the circumstances?” Lydia asked softly.

  “Drug and alcohol overdose.” Nicolette sighed heavily as she realized the weight of what she’d held within her all these months. The police report had indicated that Millicent and Augustus had met at a hotel that night. Other guests had confirmed an argument in the hallway between the two, and then Augustus had stumbled off on his own. The next morning Millicent was dead, alone in her room.

  Lydia shifted and wrapped her arms around Nicolette. “What was your childhood like?”

  “Adventurous at times.” Nicolette smiled at the memories. “We lived on a vineyard. It was a little chaotic with my dad trying to care for us when my mother wasn’t around.”

  “And your dad – what was he like?”

  Nicolette took a deep breath. It felt good talking to Lydia about these things.

  “You know,” she said, contemplating. “Many decades ago my grandfather stowed away in an airplane from Montserrat to begin a new life in the States. He earned that vineyard, putting his blood into it in so many ways. He was a ruthless man. One day when I was eight years old I did something wrong and my mother scolded me. She told me I was just like my grandfather and I cried for days.”

  “Why?”

  “I was terrified of becoming like him.” Nicolette turned to face her. “My father was the complete opposite of his old man, but he always reminded me of a boxer who’d been punched in the nose too many times. Punched into the rope so that he had to come out swinging.”

  She rolled over and got up. “I’m going to make us some breakfast.”

  Frisch Training Center seemed almost academic in its daily operation. The grooms and staff wore dark jeans and tan polos with a yellow crest. Their movements were brisk and decisive, though not regimented. Even the lines and shadows cast by buildings were orderly, the trees cool and contained as they ruffled in the wind.

  Nicolette sat on a stool next to Renatus’ stall inside the stables. Lydia stood across the room conversing with another jockey, and the owner of a promising Virginia-bred filly, called Sweet Star. She’d turned around several times to look at Nicolette during the course of the conversation, and Nicolette was just as guilty. She couldn’t pull her eyes away from Lydia.

  Someone else was participating in their little game, Nicolette had secretly noted some time ago. The boy Adelmo, one of the young jockeys who couldn’t have been more than eighteen years old, was partly hidden in a stall where he tended to a colt, but his eyes had rarely left Lydia.

  Nicolette had developed a strong sense of perception when it came to body language, a personal skill she discovered while in jail. Adelmo’s attention was not borne out of desire, or perhaps desire was not the primary emotion he was projecting towards Lydia. As soon as Sweet Star’s owner shook Lydia’s hand and went outside, Adelmo followed him.

  “Someone has a crush,” Nicolette said, deciding to tease her as she came over.

  “Adelmo? He is a spoiled brat.” Lydia smiled even as she said this, glancing up into Nicolette’s eyes.

  “That must be a common jockey trait.”

  Lydia laughed and took Nicolette’s arm. “He thinks he should be getting more opportunities,” she said, as they exited the stables. “Fact is, I’m better than half the jockeys here, and if I hadn’t been on hiatus from Frisch he would’ve seen jack shit.”

  “Egoism is also a jockey trait,” Nicolette said. Lydia’s mouth fell open. She tried to grab Nicolette, but she took off. Lydia chased her across the fields behind the house. When Nicolette shot off toward the fence Lydia stopped.

  “You’ve got to come in sometime,” she yelled, laughing.

  Hyatt came outside and waved at them. Nicolette crept up to the house. Lydia accosted her and they walked into his office playfully nudging each other.

  He had coffee and sandwiches laid out on a table with a mustard-colored doily. He opened his agenda book as they sat down, and began to lay out his plans for Monmouth Park.

  Summer was coming to an end. The sun sparkled against the clear sky like a jewel. It was early morning on the Jersey Shore and Nicolette and Lydia had met for breakfast in the dining terrace at Monmouth Park, then they went for a short stroll on the grounds. Lydia had only been scheduled for two races that day, the first aboard Sweet Star.

  “I’m glad we have a few minutes together,” Nicolette said. “I know how Hyatt loves to monopolize your time.”

  “It’s nice to get away from the strategy-talk.” Lydia smiled.

  Nicolette recognized Adley from behind as he stood talking and drinking with a group of men in the paddock. She wondered about his affiliation with Monmouth.

  She diverted Lydia’s attention to him with a point of her chin. “His name is Dracus Adley,” she said. “We broke into his house three years ago back in Virginia. We didn’t take anything. It was just a thrill, so to speak.”

  Lydia nodded.

  “No questions?”

  Lydia shook her head no.

  “It was dumb, I know,” Nicolette added. “Biggest mistake of my life.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “Yes.”

  The field of sixteen horses took to the gates around one o’ clock. Lydia and Sweet Star were dressed in the bright orange and gold diagonal stripes of Bradford Stables. As the gates opened, Lydia guided the filly to the outside edge of the pack, as had been the plan. At the first quarter she began to ease her forward into eleventh position, running just below the fast pace of the leaders, but gaining ground on the stragglers. At half mile she made her move again, clipping past three horses with just a few strides.

  As they approached the backstretch Lydia seemed to jolt to the side, her body akilter atop Sweet Star. She was sliding off,
falling to the right toward the grandstand. The crowd murmured in unison – a sharp, agonized sound that made Nicolette’s heart plummet.

  “Dear God, something is wrong.” Hyatt’s voice was a hollow shrill that echoed inside Nicolette’s ears. The images around her blurred. When she forced her attention to the track and found the bright orange and gold, she saw that Lydia had somehow managed to pull herself upright on the horse’s back. They were way off pace now, but that was inconsequential. Hyatt took off through the crowd and she followed. Lydia guided Sweet Star over and the track attendants led them to the paddocks.

  Hyatt almost lifted her from the horse as she swung herself down.

  “What happened?” Nicolette asked, wrapping her arms around her.

  “The saddle came loose,” Lydia said. Her voice was dry and weak, and her body shook.

  “Let’s go in,” Hyatt said. A crowd had gathered around them quickly.

  They tried to piece everything together inside the stables. The secretary and director had arrived and were just as flustered as everyone else. The small group of media being held at bay outside were like animals awakened from their slumber. Sweet Star’s owner, George Bradford, wore a mixed expression of alarm and anger. He looked around at everyone as if some explanation would materialize out of the air.

  “Who looked after this horse?” The secretary looked at his attendants. When no one answered he turned to the director. “Put a report together. Immediately.”

  Lydia was still in Nicolette’s arms, her face resting against her chest. The secretary patted her head. “I do apologize,” he said. “We will get to the bottom of this.” He went over to Bradford and offered more apologies.

  Hyatt covered his mouth with his hand. Sweat glistened on his skin. “I didn’t check it,” he whispered. “I didn’t check the saddle before you went out.” He was as pale as uncooked chicken.

  Nicolette had iced green tea and fruits brought up to the suite at their hotel. Lydia sat in a loveseat with a cold towel wrapped around her neck. She leaned over and placed her head in her hands. Nicolette was almost afraid to disturb her, but when she brought the tray over Lydia looked up.