The Horsewoman(101)

And now the whole thing had come down to her, and this ride. Tyler came out of the ring, head down, cursing loudly at himself. Maggie ignored him. She wasn’t just thinking about going clean. She was clearing her mind. If she thought any more about what was on the line, how much this all meant to her, she might feel as sick as Becky said she had before her first round in the individual.

In all ways, she wanted this so much that it hurt. Becky had her gold medal. Now Maggie wanted her own. She didn’t think she was owed one, or deserved one, because of her own crazy journey, and everything she’d gone through to get here.

She just wanted to nail this one last ride.

No issue with speed at the start. None with the rollback. Her knee was killing her now, even worse than it had in the schooling ring. How much time did she have left at the Olympics? Twenty seconds?

But as they came out of the combination, next fence, Coronado over-jumped, landed harder than he should have, and jarred her enough that her left foot came out of the stirrup.

Again.

Seriously?

This time there was no surprise or hesitation. After everything that had happened in this ring, to her and to Becky, Maggie was ready for anything and everything by now. She jammed the foot right back in. But as she did, she felt as if it sent a shock wave all the way up her left leg.

Focus.

Last rollback now. She went inside, no hesitation, she hadn’t come this far to finish second again. She knew this was the fence that had just gotten Tyler. Such a cheap rail. Just a touch.

Now Coronado touched it with a hind leg. No idea which one. But Maggie heard it, felt it, and for one split-second felt herself die a little.

Waited one final time to hear it from the crowd. Up or down?

It had stayed up. Then Coronado was over the next jump, coming up on the last vertical.

He was over that, and clear.

Maggie didn’t even wait to slow him down, just whipped her head around as soon as they were through the timers. It only made her neck and back hurt even more.

Maggie didn’t care.

Her time was 38.3. Half a second better than Eric.

Feeling no pain now.

She’d won her gold medal.

Last week at the individual medal ceremony, when Becky had gotten her gold, it was her daughter who had stood a little higher on the platform. There was a bigger platform today, room enough for her and Becky and Tyler, all three of them standing higher than the other two teams.

The woman from FEI placed one gold medal around each of their necks. Maggie got hers last, right before the national anthem began to play. She was fine, totally fine, with sharing the gold medal. She knew what she’d just done, with what felt like her career on the line.

She wasn’t just sharing the gold medal. She was sharing the Olympic ceremony moment with all the athletes, in all the sports, when the camera came in close to show them mouthing the words to the anthem.

She felt Becky reach over and take her hand. She looked over and saw their faces on the huge screen, saw the tears on her cheeks and the smile shining through them.

Once and for all:

For this one day, she’d been the best horsewoman in the world.





ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-NINE



GRANDMOTHER WAS NEVER ONE to invite a jinx but had booked a private room at L’Atelier de Jo?l Robuchon, the restaurant connected to her hotel. After we’d done our interviews, we’d gone straight there, changing in her room.

Gus was there, too. And the grooms. Tyler Cullen and his trainer. Charlie Benedict. And Rich Grayson, our alternate, and his trainer. The private room, though, was just off the main room and it didn’t take long for us to get very loud, almost ugly American for a classy room like this. Champagne toasts preceded wine flowing in waves as our party turned up the volume. Even Grandmother allowed herself a glass of champagne.

About an hour in, the ma?tre d’ asked us to please keep it down, citing complaints from other customers. At this point Charlie Benedict, who spoke fluent French, had a word with the guy.

When Charlie came back to the table, I asked what he’d said.

“Tu peux redevenir calme demain soir,” he said.

“I hope that means go screw yourself,” Gus said.

“I told him he could have quiet again tomorrow night,” Charlie said.

Then Gus was clinking his fork against his glass and telling everybody to quiet down for one second. When we did, he raised his glass of whiskey and said, “To the Atwood women, for giving me the greatest goddamn week of my whole goddamn life.” Right before Mom leaned over and kissed him.

It was about the time when we thought we should at least think about ordering some food to go with the wine that I saw Grandmother smile as she picked her phone up off the table and walked out the door toward the front room.

She came back a couple of minutes later and stopped in the doorway, wearing a much bigger smile now as she was the one asking for everybody’s attention.

“These are the Olympics, right?” she said.

“Last time I checked,” Gus said.

“Well,” she said, “I think we might be taking part in the best miracle since that hockey team in Lake Placid.”

I thought she was talking about all the medals we’d won and the way we’d won them, and how it might be her turn to make a toast. But she wasn’t.

She stepped aside to make way for Dad and Daniel.