The Horsewoman(61)

SEVENTY-FOUR



“LOOK AT ME,” Gus said, jabbing his fingers at his eyes.

Mom had just finished. Crowd had gone wild. I was ready to get out there. But Gus had one last thing to say. He always had one last thing to say.

“You’re not here to finish second,” he said. “Got it?”

“Got it,” I said.

“Make sure that you do,” Gus said.

We’d discussed the course before leaving the schooling ring. It was built for bigger horses like Mom’s. And Tyler’s. They had longer strides. But their horses couldn’t fly the way mine could.

I’d been taking my temperature, all the way into the International, the night coming down like this to Sky and me. I was nervous and excited. But I also knew I’d won here before.

We were halfway through the course, clean, in what felt like a blink. Coming up on the rollback. I’d seen Mom navigate it with Coronado, as big as he was. It would be a lot easier for Sky, if I got her squared up in time off the inside turn.

I did.

She cleaned it.

Halfway there.

Sky was flying now, into the double combination. Cleaned that, too. Rattled a rail on the second jump. The people in the crowd would have told me if it went down. It didn’t.

Three jumps left.

Then two.

Gus said when he was riding he swore he could hear his adrenaline in key moments. Like it was ringing in his ears. I could hear it now.

The second-to-last jump was an oxer, with uneven rails, that looked as wide as a barn. Even wider than the first two in the jump-off course. To me, it just looked like an easy target.

And a place to pick up time.

I’d seen Tyler cover this distance in six strides. So had Mom. Counted down both of them. I was sure my horse could do it, too.

Three strides away.

Kept my head down, and my hands high.

Told myself not to rush.

“Go!” I shouted at Sky. “Go…go…go!”





SEVENTY-FIVE



“YOU RUSHED,” Gus said.

I’d stopped briefly at home, had half a glass of champagne to celebrate Mom’s victory. Tyler had finished second. My time, even with a rail, had been good enough to get a fourth-place ribbon. But Gus was right, of course. I had rushed. My horse knew she was too far away, tried to correct with one more small stride at the end. She always tried. But she was too close to the jump. It was too late. Clipped the rail with her hind legs, as I’d seen in the video Gus took on his phone.

Now we sat in his ring, the only light coming from the moon. I’d brought out a chair from the barn. He sat in the Zinger, a glass of scotch in his hand. He was wearing a hat that had BEIJING 2008 on the front, and the five Olympic rings.

He’d had his accident, I knew, on the way to Beijing.

“What did your mom and Daniel say?” Gus said. “Just curious.”

“They thought I rode well, and that one mistake at the end cost me,” I said. “But that’s riding, right?”

“Is it?” he said.

“Listen, I know what I did wrong,” I said. “And I’m more pissed off at myself than you could ever be. But I still got fourth. That counts for something, right?”

He drank some Scotch.

“You lost,” he said.

“C’mon,” I said. “You know me well enough to know I’m not satisfied with just making the jump-off. And I know I can ride better than that.”

“Show me,” he said.

He hit a button on the side of his wheelchair and suddenly the ring was illuminated in bright light.

“You want me to show you now?” I said. “You’re joking, right?”

“Yeah,” he said. “You know what a big kidder I am.”

“But Sky is back at our barn and down for the night,” I said.

“Go put a saddle on Infinity,” Gus said, acting as if it were eleven in the morning and not eleven at night. “We call her Tiny. Small like your horse. Not as fast, or as good. But we think she’s got a chance. She didn’t get ridden today. You can do it now.” He nodded at me. “You’re still dressed for it.”

“At this time of night.”

“Do you have some sort of curfew?” He jerked a thumb at his barn now. “You’ll find the girth and saddle and the rest of it, just inside the door when you walk in. Seamus was supposed to ride her today and didn’t.”

He took another sip of Scotch.

“You said you can get better,” he said. “Show me.”

“It won’t be the same as riding Sky,” I said.

Gus said, “No, it won’t. But here’s a heads-up for you, kid. This is about you. That magical, special horse of yours? She’s not as good as your mom’s. Or the one McGill’s kid rides. Or the bazillion-dollar horse that Gates’s kid rides. Or Bloomberg’s.”

He wasn’t yelling now. Actually sounded quite calm.

“You need to get it through your head once and for all that you’re the underdog here,” he said. “Yeah, your horse is a streak of light and full of heart. But their horses are better. So you’ve got to out-ride them. That’s your shot. And it happens to be a long effing shot.”