The Horsewoman(17)

“You don’t need to win first time out of the gate,” she said. “I’ll take any kind of ribbon.”

“Did you used to think that way?” I said.

“Well,” she said, “you got me there.”

She was already out of her wheelchair. Classic Mom.

“No, thanks,” she had said, when Dr. Garry suggested that she stay in it a few more days. “Not my kind of ride.”

She’d leaned her crutches against the fence and draped her long, lean arms over the top rail. My mom had an awesome figure. Anyone approaching her from behind, in her breeches and a T-shirt, would mistake her for a college girl. But the riding pants, which usually looked as if they’d been spray-painted on her, same as mine did, looked loose today, signaling how much weight she’d lost since her fall.

“Coronado is ready,” I said, “to jump the big-boy height right now—”

“You’re not,” Grandmother said.

“Let’s get through the first event,” Daniel said.

“Keep reminding yourself you’ve never ridden a horse this big or strong in competition,” Grandmother said. “You’re a career prop-plane pilot who’s taken control of a jet.”

“Keep your voice down,” I said, grinning at her. “Sky’s in the barn, waiting for me to ride her. She’ll hear you.”

I was still on Coronado, the only horse in the ring right now. “Coronado doesn’t much like being close to other horses, even in warm-ups,” I said. “I’ll need to watch out next weekend, when the schooling ring at WEF will look like rush-hour traffic on Southern Boulevard.”

“Doesn’t play well with others,” Mom said, feigning confusion with an exaggerated scratch to her head. “Now who does that remind me of?”

“May I answer that one?” Daniel said.

“I’ll try to be good,” I said to both of them.

“We’re looking for great,” he said.

“On it,” I said.

Mom said she’d stay and watch me trot Coronado, and then look at the video she’d taken of our round. Grandmother headed for the house, Daniel for the barn. As I watched Daniel walk away, I said to Mom, “Ask you something?”

“Ask away.”

“Do you think he likes me?” I said. “Like in a way he might like me if he wasn’t my trainer and didn’t work here?”

“Now that, kiddo,” she said, “is something only he knows, and you need to find out, at least if you want to.”

“Don’t you think it would be weird?” I said. “Sometimes I get the feeling he knows me better than I know myself.”

“He might,” she said. “But I’ve got news for you. They’re all weird.”

I put Coronado back in motion, easing him into a trot toward the far end of the ring. Mom was still hanging over the fence, clearly happy to be outside, happy to be back in this world, even on the sidelines. Her next stop, I knew, was the gym.

Coronado and I were rounding the far end of the ring when I brought him to a stop.

“He’s limping!” I yelled.





EIGHTEEN

Maggie



IN A BLINK, Daniel and Emilio both came running, Maggie Atwood trailing behind on her crutches, feeling as slow as a plow horse. Emilio got to Coronado first, helping Becky down.

“Which leg?” Daniel said.

“Hind left, pretty sure,” Becky said.

The horse could not be hurt, Maggie repeated to herself. Could. Not. Be.

“What did I do to get the horse gods pissing on me this way?” she said to Becky, borrowing an expression from Caroline.

Daniel had taken the reins and was walking Coronado, noticeably limping now, slowly back to the barn. Emilio ran up to the house to get Caroline Atwood.

When they had Coronado in his stall, Emilio took off his saddle and Daniel carefully removed the horse’s boots from his lower legs. All Maggie and Becky could do was stand and watch helplessly.

“Somebody should call Dr. Howser,” Maggie said.

“I already did,” Daniel said without looking up.

Maggie hadn’t even noticed him on his phone. She had been too focused on her horse.

Maggie heard Becky say, in a voice that wasn’t much louder than a whisper, “Please don’t let it be bad.”

“Back at you,” Maggie said.

“I wish we could ask Coronado,” Becky said.

“You always want to ask,” Maggie said. “But they never talk.”

Then they both heard Daniel say, “Maybe here.”

He was in a crouch next to Coronado’s hind left leg, the boot from the lower leg still in his hand. He pointed to an angry-looking red spot, the size of a show ribbon, some dirt caked on it. To Maggie, a former high school soccer player, it looked like turf burn.

Emilio carried a bowl, sponge, and clean white towel from the tack room. Daniel gently went to work soaping the bruise, already looking hot and painful and swollen, while Emilio patted Coronado’s head and spoke softly to him in Spanish.

“Did I do something wrong?” Becky said to her mom. “You can tell me if I did.”

Maggie put her hand on her daughter’s shoulder.

“You rode your horse,” she said.