The Horsewoman(93)

Which had now blessedly arrived. There were still two hours before the competition would begin. But we were all out walking the course. You got out there a lot earlier at the Olympics.

“Long way from Wellington, right?” Charlie said to me.

“I keep looking around for Marie Antoinette’s horse,” I said.

Mom said, “Here’s hoping things work out better for us in the end than they did for her.”

Seventy-five riders today, from all over the world, in the qualifying round. By the end of the afternoon, that number would be cut down to the thirty who’d compete for the individual gold medal two days from now, on Friday night. After that there would be a two-round competition for the team gold medal, beginning Sunday. It meant that after everything that had happened over the past few months, it all came down to these six days and nights. Yeah. Charlie Benedict was right, I thought. We are one hell of a long way from Wellington.

If there was any kind of favorite here, it was the Irish team, just because both Matthew Killeen and Eric Glynn had had such tremendous years, not just in the States but all over the world. But the draw for the qualifying was random. I was going forty-eighth in the order. Mom was going tenth.

We had moved over to the schooling ring, waiting for Seamus to arrive with Coronado. Gus was with Mom and me.

“Listen,” he said, “I’m not going to tell you that this is just another ring. You’re not idiots and neither am I. But once you get out there, then this does become every qualifier you’ve ever ridden in. You’ve got one job: Get to the next round. Today that means getting into the top thirty and living to fight another day.”

“Sounds easy when you put it that way,” I said. “Piece of cake, really.”

“French pastry,” Mom said.

“But you need to know something else,” Gus said. “Everything is going to feel bigger when you get out there. Look bigger. The jumps will probably look higher. Just the way it is, for you and the horses. So you gotta be ready for anything. And everything. It’s the Olympics. Shit happens.”

Seamus came walking into the ring with Coronado. Gus spun his chair around, heading over to where the ring announcer sat. When he was out of earshot Mom said, “I want this for him.”

“Not as much as he wants it for you,” I said.

“Hey,” she said. “He’s your trainer, too.”

“He likes me,” I said. “He’s in love with you.”

“As somebody I know likes to say,” she said, “blah blah blah,” before Seamus helped her up.

Gus was out in the middle of the ring by then, next to one of the practice jumps, his focus on her so intense as she began to canter Coronado, I was surprised she wasn’t bursting into flames. I knew how excited and scared she was. Probably more scared than excited. I felt the same way. But she looked happy that the waiting was almost over, and she was up on her horse. For once, she was probably thrilled that she was going early in the class.

Before long, they were calling out the names of the first six riders in the ring. I knew by now that Gus wanted to watch alone, from his usual spot to the right of the gate. I had my competitor’s badge around my neck—at the Olympics the badge only came off when it was time to compete. Or went to bed. And maybe not even then. I knew I had plenty of time before Emilio brought Sky up here. So I made my way down to the opposite end of the ring, in the grassy area between the outside fence and the stands. Struck one more time by the size of the place, and how everything inside seemed to be perfect, from the different-colored rails to the fresh white paint on the oxers and skinnies to the shrubbery, which looked as if it had been planted that morning. Even the footing, which had just been dragged in anticipation of the first horses and riders, looked brand new.

I kept taking in the whole scene in front of me, thinking, It isn’t just the stakes that are as high as they’ve ever been and might ever be for Mom and me. Gus was right: even the damn jumps look higher. My heart suddenly made me feel as if I’d run all the way here from the Village.

I’d been in college eight months ago. Now we were both here. I found the small, roped-off area where competitors could watch, past where the photographers were set up. I heard someone shouting my name from the stands, realized it could only be the voice of Steve Gorton, with whom we’d had to endure one drink a few nights ago at the Hemingway Bar at the Ritz. I ignored him. Maybe he thought we were about to have a moment. We weren’t. In the end, he didn’t know anything about us, or what was about to happen in the Royal.

About twenty minutes later, having watched the first riders into the ring, I looked down at the in-gate and saw Mom and Coronado. The PA announcer told the crowd who she was and where she was from and who owned her horse. There was a polite cheer for them. Then it was briefly as if the sound had been turned off. I stared at Mom. For one last moment, she and Coronado were completely still, before she moved the big horse away from the gate and out into the middle of the ring.

She’d finally made it to the Olympics.

Then, as she waited for the buzzer to sound, Coronado suddenly spooked and reared up.





ONE HUNDRED SEVENTEEN

Maggie



MAGGIE DIDN’T PANIC, even as she was holding on for dear life, managing to stay on her horse the way she hadn’t been able to hold on that day on the trail when it had been a fox spooking her horse.