Riding Lessons, Page 7

  The horse turns his head, and I have a moment of incomprehension. It's his right eye. It's too dark. Then I realize the socket is empty.

  I shriek before I can stop myself, and the horse jerks upright into a rear before shooting off at full gallop. He gets to the mouth of the chute, and then turns so hard I'm sure he's going to fall, and ends up barreling around the perimeter of the fence.

  "Oh shit," I hear Dan say. "Annemarie," he says louder now, breaking into a jog and coming around the fence. "Annemarie, I should have told you. Oh, shit. I should have told you first."

  On the way home, Eva alternates between railing against the manufacturers of hormone replacement therapy and mooning ecstatically over the foals. I hear her as a sort of buzz in the background, her fury and outrage acting as a frame for my horror.

  I am furious at Dan for blindsiding me like this, for not giving me some warning. It's like presenting someone with their dead grandmother. I could understand it better from someone who didn't know how I felt about Harry, but Dan knows. If anyone in the world knows, it's Dan.

  To see Harry like that--I stop myself, shake my head. It's not Harry. It's some poor, decrepit, damaged horse with the same coloring, but it isn't Harry.

  "Hey, Ma." Eva's voice carries across the length of the van, interrupting my reverie. "You take that stuff, don't you?"

  "What?" I say.

  "That stuff made with pregnant mares' urine."

  "No. Mine's synthetic."

  "Oh." She sounds disappointed.

  When we arrive at the house and Mutti begins the process of unloading Pappa, I realize that his paralysis hasn't crossed my mind for the entire trip home.

  That night, I dream of the accident. It's the first time in years, and I wake in a sweat with my heart pounding.

  I used to dream of it regularly, and for a long while, took sleeping pills to ward it off. It seemed such an irony--I would have given anything to dream of Harry in any other situation, but I never did. Harry only came to me as we flew over the crest of that oxer. But for almost a decade now, I've hardly dreamt of it at all.

  In real life, I lost consciousness on impact, but in my dreams, my imagination supplies all the details. I see the ground coming toward me, and feel the reins go slack as Harry's head hits and snaps backward but my hands continue to move forward. And then I hit, too, first colliding with the immovable Harry, and then sliding around his left shoulder into the ground at almost thirty miles an hour. I feel sandy grit as my teeth disintegrate in my mouth, see white and red patterns as my nose is shattered and my eyes fill with blood. I feel the pain of my helmet digging into the back of my neck, unaware at the time that only the chin harness I was wearing prevented it from snapping my spine completely. I feel--or rather, see somehow, as though I'm outside my body and watching from twelve feet in the air--my arms and legs bouncing back on impact, flapping loose-limbed like a marionette that has been dropped to the floor. And Harry, crumpled and collapsed. Open-eyed and still but for an involuntary twitching of the skin on his shoulder and flank, and one hoof that curls under like a tic, again, and again, and again.

  When I wake up, the mattress is bouncing. Although I know that it must be from the violence of my awakening, I could swear that it's from the impact of my hitting it.

  The next morning, I go to the office. It's on the second floor of the stable, directly above the lounge, and like the lounge, it has a window that looks onto the arena.

  Jean-Claude is giving a private lesson, supervising from the ground as a student takes a series of low fences on a gray thoroughbred mare.

  I watch for a moment, lulled into a state of meditation by the mare's easy canter.

  Mutti's bookkeeping is, of course, impeccable. The operation is larger than I remembered: there are five full-time stable hands, and Jean-Claude, who costs more than I would have thought. When I see his salary on the ledger, I look down at him in the arena, surprised. His resume must be in here somewhere; I'll have to dig it out and have a look.

  There are thirty-two horses; fourteen are school horses, two are Jean-Claude's, and sixteen are full-service boarders. There are regular deliveries of basics, like bedding, hay, pellets, and grain. Additional supplies such as fly spray and monthly meds, veterinary and farrier visits to coordinate, equipment maintenance for the tractors and spreaders. And, of course, a complicated system of pasture management designed to minimize hay use during the summer months and preserve two hay fields for mowing in the fall. Not to mention all the Social Security, tax, health insurance, and other paperwork associated with payroll.

  As I riffle through the financial records, I come across a pink legal-size carbon copy of a loan agreement. I pull it out and scan it, a frown forming on my face. It seems that my parents took out an equity loan two years ago to cover the cost of a new roof for the stable. I'm surprised and dismayed--even though they're no longer running an A-circuit barn and it was a large expense, I would have thought they'd be able to cover it. But in fact, they've been running this place on a shoestring.

  I suppose it's part of the Austrian psyche, but absolutely everything is in order. And clean, damn it. I think my mother vacuums the insides of the filing cabinet drawers. There's not a hope I can keep things up to her standards. It just isn't in me. My Austrian psyche has been diluted by a lifetime in America.

  By the time I've gone through all the files, I've been sitting for nearly three hours. I get up and wander over to the window. I stretch with my arms over my head, and then lean from side to side.

  Jean-Claude is teaching a group lesson now, and five adolescent girls are riding at a posting trot around the perimeter. Jean-Claude is walking a small circle at the end of the arena facing one of the girls, and without hearing what he says, I know what's going on, because the girl suddenly sits a beat and starts coming up on the proper diagonal.

  I decide to go downstairs for a soft drink. When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I see that the door to the trophy room is ajar. Instead of closing it, I step inside and turn on the light.

  No wonder Jean-Claude called me "the famous Annemarie." Even if my parents had never mentioned me, my plaques and ribbons are plastered all over the walls. Not to mention the pictures that line the hallway and lounge.

  "Hey there," says a voice, and I turn quickly. It's Dan. I hadn't heard him come in.

  "Hey," I say, feeling both fluttery and distressed.

  He takes in the contents of the room, and then is quiet. "You had quite a career," he says finally.

  "Yup. Peaked at eighteen. Lucky me," I say.

  Dan is silent for a moment.

  "Look, I, uh, I wanted to apologize about yesterday. I should have known how you'd react, but I guess I got so wrapped up in his coloring I didn't think far enough ahead."

  I go over to a tack box and open it. More ribbons, and a binder full of laminated certificates.

  "Don't worry about it," I say, trying to sound casual. "How is he, anyway?"

  "About the same. Only now he's outside, and we can't get him back in. I don't know what we're going to do if we can't get close to him soon. I'm starting to think maybe it was a mistake to get him."

  "It was not," I say fiercely, and then stop, startled by my reaction.

  Dan scrutinizes me from across the room. "No, maybe not," he says. "But his feet need work and he won't let anyone near him."

  "Do you need to get near him? I mean, right away?"

  "You saw his feet."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "I'll probably end up using a tranquilizer dart."

  "Do you have such a thing?"

  He nods. "Some pretty freaked-out animals come through the center."

  "Yeah, I'll bet."

  I'm twisting the bottom of my sweatshirt now, staring at my feet. When I look up, Dan is still studying me.

  "It's pretty remarkable, isn't it?" he says, and he doesn't need to say another word. I know he's talking about the horse's coat. I nod slowly.

  Another si
lence. Then he says, "Well, I guess I'll be going then. Is it okay if I pick Eva up at about seven?"

  "For what?" I ask.

  "For work."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Tomorrow. At the center," he says.

  "I still don't know what you're talking about."

  "Your mother called earlier and asked if Eva could help out with the foals over the summer."

  "She did?" I say.

  "Is that not okay?"

  "I don't know. Nobody bothered to consult me."

  Dan is still watching, looking concerned.

  "No, it's fine," I say, trying to recover. "If that's what she wants to do, I'd be delighted. At least I'll know where she is and what she's up to."

  "Do you want to think about it?"

  "No, I just didn't know anything about it. But it's fine. I can drop her off."

  "Are you sure? I don't mind picking her up."

  "No. I'll bring her."

  "All right then." Dan shuffles his feet, and edges in the direction of the door. "I guess I'll be going then. I just wanted to come by and make sure you were okay."

  "I'm fine," I say.

  He turns to leave, and then stops in the doorway. He drops his head, keeping his hands braced on either side of the doorframe. Then he turns back to face me. "You look good, Annemarie," he says. "It's nice to see you again."

  "You too," I say.

  And then he's gone.

  I find Mutti in the side garden, pulling weeds. Harriet is lying beside her on the grass, a bloated bratwurst. Et tu, Harriet?

  "I just saw Dan," I say, coming to a stop beside her. She looks up at me, squinting because I'm standing between her and the sun. "He tells me that you arranged for Eva to work for him for the summer."

  "Yes, this morning," she says, holding a gloved hand above her eyes to shield them from the sun.

  "And it never occurred to you to find out what I thought about it?"

  "Eva asked me to call. I thought you knew."

  "I didn't."

  "Okay. Sorry," she says, turning back to the garden and sticking her trowel into the earth.

  "No, it's not okay."

  She sets the trowel down, and turns to look at me again. "You sound angry."

  "I am."

  "Why? What harm is there in it? What else do you want her to do for the summer?"

  "There's plenty to do around here."

  "It's the same kind of work over there," she says.

  "That's not the point."

  "What is the point?"

  I pause long enough to make sure that when I continue, I won't be yelling. "The point is, Mutti, that I am her mother, and that I am the one who gets to make these types of decisions. Not you, not her. You were out of line."

  The chin sets, the lips harden, and the face assumes an expression of righteous indignation. "I did nothing wrong," she says in Germanic staccato. "Eva came to me--she asked me to call Dan and see if he could use her help, and I did, and he said yes. Naturally, I assumed she had spoken to you about it and that you didn't want to call Dan yourself. If that's not true, I'm sorry. But it's not my fault if your daughter doesn't feel she can approach you."

  "I'm perfectly capable of talking to Dan. And no matter how my daughter feels about me, you had no right to supersede me."

  "Such big words, Annemarie," says Mutti, returning to her weeds.

  I am stunned into silence. If I say anything--anything at all--this will deteriorate into something ugly.

  So I go in search of my daughter.

  I find her in the aisle of the stable, grooming Bergeron.

  The big white horse stands patiently in the cross-ties while Eva crouches by his left shoulder, massaging his leg with a rubber curry comb. Luis is in the doorway of a stall, shoveling shavings and manure into a neat pile. As I approach, Eva says something to him, and he laughs in response.

  When she sees me, she jumps to her feet. "Oh, hey, Ma! Guess what?"

  "What?" I say, as animated as a lump of coal.

  "Jean-Claude says that if I help him with Bergeron and the school horses, he'll give me lessons."

  "He did?"

  "Yeah, and guess what else?"

  "What?"

  "Mutti called that Dan guy this morning, and he said I could help out with the foals over the summer. Isn't that just the coolest?"

  I stare at my daughter. She's wearing jeans that come up to her waist, paddock boots that hide her blue toenails, and a sweatshirt that's already streaked with horse slobber. And then I look at her face, which is free of makeup and glowing with an expression I haven't seen in about two years.

  "Yeah," I say, starting to nod. "Very cool. Very, very cool."

  Chapter 7

  At quarter to seven the next morning, there's an ungodly pounding on my door.

  "Ma! Come on! I'm going to be late."

  I look at the clock, squinting against the harsh morning light.

  "Okay, I'm up," I yell, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. Harriet topples grumbling to the floor. "I'll meet you at the car."

  I grab yesterday's jeans from the chair and shove myself into them. I stop quickly at the dresser to peer into my puffy eyes, and then run a hairbrush through my hair. When I get to the door, I stop, go back, and apply a little lipstick.

  At the rescue center, we find Dan standing on the back of a flatbed truck shoveling shavings into a tractor's wagon. When he sees us, he jumps to the ground and pulls the dust mask up onto his forehead.

  "Good morning, ladies," he says, coming across the gravel. "Right on time, I see."

  "Wouldn't want to be late for my first day on the job," says Eva.

  "Absolutely not," says Dan. "I might have to dock your pay."

  "You're paying her?" I say quickly.

  "Nope," he says, grinning.

  "Oh. I see."

  He turns to Eva. "Do you want a coffee before you get started? There's some in the office. End of the aisle in the main barn," he says, pointing a gloved hand. "Then come out and I'll get you started."

  "Sure, Boss," says Eva.

  I watch her recede into the building.

  When I turn back, Dan is looking at me.

  "I hope you don't mind her having coffee," he says. "I should have asked first."

  "No, that's fine. Eva more or less does what she likes." I'm silent for a moment, thinking two things: that I probably shouldn't have said that, and also that Mutti said much the same thing about me. "Thanks for letting her help out," I continue. "It means a lot to her."

  "It means a lot to us, too. We're always shorthanded. And short-funded. And short of supplies. Heck, we're always short of everything."

  There's an awkward pause.

  "So," he says. "I gather you're here for the summer?"

  "Yes, at least."

  "At least?"

  I pause for a moment, wondering how much he already knows. "Roger and I are getting divorced, and with Pappa as sick as he is, I decided to move back."

  "I'm sorry," he says. "I hadn't heard. About the divorce, I mean."

  "It's all right," I say.

  I hear gravel crunching, and turn to see Eva returning with a white foam cup.

  "Dan," I say. "Can I have another look at that horse again before I leave?"

  "Of course. Anytime."

  "Right. Thanks. What time should I pick Eva up, in case I don't see you again?"

  "Hey," Eva says, rejoining us with a smile.

  "I'll drop her off," Dan says. "I've got to come to your place later today anyway."

  "You do?"

  "Yes. I'm floating the teeth of some of the school horses."

  "Oh, right," I say.

  The horse is standing in the paddock where I last saw him, with his neck stretched out and his ears partway back in an expression of suspicion. Dan has obviously managed to get close to him, because his feet have been trimmed, and he's shod. I look closely--they're corrective shoes, with a bar across the back. Considering what hi
s feet looked like just day before yesterday, I'm surprised they look as good as they do.

  Damn, he looks like Harry. And it's not just the white stripes zigzagged evenly across his red coat. His face is incredibly similar. Except for the eye.

  I walk around the fence again, this time prepared for what I'm going to find. Again, he turns with me so that I'm always looking at the left side of his face.

  When I get close, I approach the fence slowly and lean against it, dropping my chin on my forearms.

  "Hey," I say softly. "Hey, Beautiful."

  He turns to face me now, and once again, I catch my breath at the sight of that empty socket.

  It doesn't appear to be a fresh injury, thank God. It almost looks as though there's skin running behind where the eye should be, hair and everything, although it's hard to tell because it's in deep shadow. There are scars running down his cheek and up over his forehead, long lines where the hair doesn't grow. They look like cracks in the road, repaired with snaking strips of blacktop.

  He raises his head and stares at me, his nostrils flaring slightly with each breath. He is sniffing me.

  "What happened to you?" I say, without moving.

  He snorts and then blows, stretching his neck out to shake. Then he swivels his ears, first one and then the other, but not together, and a fist tightens around my heart.

  "Oh God," I say quietly.

  One minute later, I stride into the barn, where Dan and Eva are mucking out the foals' pen.

  "What are you going to do with him?" I demand.

  "What?" says Dan.

  "The chestnut," I say impatiently. "The brindled chestnut."

  "Uh, well," he says, coming up to speed. "I'll fix him up, and then I'll try to find him a home."

  "I want him."

  Dan leans on the end of his shovel and stares at me.

  "I mean it, I want him."

  "You sure about this? He's shaping up to be a handful."

  "Absolutely sure. Couldn't be more sure. Sure as anything."

  "Well, okay. When we've got him--"

  "Now. I want him now."

  "No," says Dan, shaking his head. "Absolutely not. For one thing, I can't even get him back in the barn. How are we supposed to get him onto a trailer?"