The Horsewoman (20 page)

DANIEL WAS NOW SEEING
from Maggie what Gus had been seeing on a daily basis.

That she had lost her confidence.

She didn’t need a full psychological work-up or a therapist to explain to her that she had come back too quickly from the accident. Maggie was smart enough to know why she was in this dark a place, this quickly. A perfect storm.

Perfect shitstorm.

Gus had seen it even before she’d gotten back into the International. He’d tried everything to get her past this, or through it. He’d even admitted that he’d invited her to the Trophy Room on purpose the night he’d been there with Daniel. He’d wanted to challenge her pride. Nothing had changed the next day in Gus’s ring. She’d circled again. It’s why he’d suggested to Daniel that they switch riders.

Gus said his thinking was simple enough:

Maybe Daniel could get through to her, because he sure as hell couldn’t.

But she was still circling. No Gus, no audience, not even the grooms at Gus’s barn, or other riders. Just her and Daniel. It should have been a pressure-free setting. The worst part was that she wouldn’t know she was stopping the horse until it was happening again.

Somehow she hadn’t stopped yesterday, as she’d made it through the qualifying on Wednesday. When Daniel asked her afterward what had been different, she said, “I…don’t…know.”

That night she’d even spent an hour on the phone with Dr. Bob Rotella, an old friend of Gus’s who’d become the most famous sports psychologist in the country. He’d worked with other riders, some of them friends of Maggie’s. And worked wonders with them. Everything he’d said made perfect sense to her. The hour flew by. It did feel like being with a great therapist.

She’d come out this morning and circled again.

She was taking a break when she said to Daniel, “I will not humiliate myself again on Saturday night. Nope. Not happening, Daniel. Can’t do it to myself. Can’t do it to this horse. Can’t even do it to you.”

They were in the middle of Gus’s ring. Daniel said for her to remember that she had made it to Saturday night, that she’d made it through yesterday’s round with no circling, even if she’d gotten two early rails. She’d fought through that. And, for one day, fought through her fears.

She just didn’t know why.

“Maybe for once I didn’t give the poor horse mixed messages,” she said.

“The horse has never been the problem, Maggie,” Daniel said. He made a sweeping gesture that took in the whole ring. “The problem is not even in here.” He pointed to his head. “The problem is in here.”

“So how do I fix it?” she said.

“I have an idea,” he said.

“I’m all ears,” she said.

“You need to take a trail ride,” Daniel said.

THEY HAD BROUGHT
Coronado back in Gus’s trailer, had saddled him up at Atwood Farm. Then Maggie went out alone, the way she had the day of the accident. Breaking the rule about an unaccompanied trail ride one more time. Maybe one last time.

“I can follow if you want,” Daniel said.

“No,” Maggie said. “If I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it.”

She left the barn behind her and made the left turn before she got to Stable Way, walking Coronado at first, slowly picking up speed, not pushing it.

Not yet.

She remembered every detail of her ride that day. She noticed all the familiar geography now. Imagining it was a course without jumps. But knowing exactly where the finish line was, past where the new barn was going up, past the barn owned by Tyler Cullen’s owner, past another new construction site.

Feeling everything starting to happen fast now. Feeling a dryness in her throat. Feeling the tension in her back, legs, arms. Knowing it was probably just more of her craziness, knowing that the red fox wasn’t coming out of the bushes this time.

Still afraid that he might.

Had Daniel been right?

Was that the fear driving all the others?

She slowed Coronado now, nearly to a full stop. Closed her eyes. Drank in some air. The inside of her mouth felt like sawdust.

The exact spot was right up ahead.

She didn’t hesitate now, kicked her horse back into motion.

Started to pick up speed.

Coming up fast on the scrub and bushes to her left where she’d seen the fox that day, blowing past where she’d been thrown and where she knew Becky had found her, blowing past all of it like she’d cleared the last jump of a round and now was just making sure to clear the sensor and finish the course right.

Only then did she slow Coronado back down, feel herself smiling, then take a last look around and turn for home.

SIX HORSES MADE
the jump-off on Saturday night. Coronado was one of them. Maggie had gotten around clean for the first time since last year. Now Seamus had Coronado in the schooling ring. Becky, going just six places after Maggie in the order, was on her way into the International on Sky.

Maggie and Daniel stood on the other side of the in-gate from where Gus was. But once Becky was into her round, Maggie also kept sneaking looks at Daniel. He was trying to act calm, detached from what was happening in the ring. But he kept betraying himself. It was there in his face, in the tension in his body. Everything about him revealed how much he wanted Becky to do well.

Maybe even beat her own mother.

“I sometimes forget what a beautiful rider she is,” Maggie said.

Daniel’s eyes stayed on Becky and Sky.

“Beautiful,” he said. “Yes.”

They heard Gus from across the way keeping up a steady stream of conversation, as if Becky could hear him even when she was at the far end. Maybe she could. Telling her to keep her hands up. Yelling
“Right!”
more than once as Sky began to drift to the right.

Yelling at her not to rush.

“Come on, kid,”
Maggie said to herself, in a quiet voice, only loud enough for Daniel to hear.
“Come on.”

Becky finished clean. Maggie let out a whoop that had people in the immediate area staring at her. She shrugged. “My kid,” she said in explanation because, even after all the drama of the past few weeks between her and Becky, she
was
still her kid.

One who’d just finished with the best time of the class so far. For now, Maggie’s time was second. It was where they finished and meant Maggie would go second-to-last in the jump-off order. Becky would go last.

“Can’t make it up,” Maggie said to Daniel.

“Not any of it,” Daniel said.

By now she was back up on Coronado in the schooling ring. When Becky came back in on Sky, their eyes met, briefly. Becky didn’t change expression. Maggie had to fight to keep herself from smiling at what they’d always called her daughter’s resting bitch face.

Wouldn’t have it any other way, Maggie thought. Then she gave Coronado a little kick. Letting the big boy know it was time.

And put on a bitch face of her own.

ONLY TWO RIDERS
had gone clean in the jump-off. One was Tyler Cullen. Tyler had the best time at 36.14, relatively slow for this particular course. But he’d watched the others put rails on the ground and played it safe, going right before Maggie.

Down to Maggie and Becky now, Maggie next in on Coronado. Becky was right behind them in the in-gate. Maggie didn’t turn around. She was studying the course one last time, replaying recent advice from Dr. Rotella by way of his old friend, a basketball coach.
When a game looked even, always bet the team that needed it more.

Maggie knew how much
she
needed this.

The money was nice. They could always use the money at Atwood Farm. At least they hadn’t been consumed lately by the subject of money once Becky had won on this horse. But Maggie knew it was more than that now. Way more.

“This is a good course for you,” Daniel said. “It favors a horse with a longer stride.”

Longer than Sky’s, he meant, but didn’t come right out and say it.

“Trust yourself,” he said. Then added something, she thought, about the trail, but Maggie was no longer listening. She studied the first two jumps. All noise had dropped away now. Sometimes it was true. All you really could hear was the sound of your own heart.

Maybe she’d get scared again before the round was over.

But not now.

On the fourth jump, she used Coronado’s length, knew she’d picked up time, shortening the line from seven strides to six. At the last moment, before he was in the air, she yelled
“Yeah!”
Knowing she’d been close to the rail with his front legs. Feeling it.

But they made it.

Came up on the rollback, a tight, dangerous one for a horse as big as Coronado. She still took the riskier lane, the inside one.

Made it.

Not overthinking things. Riding her horse. Letting this part of the course come to them.

Still not afraid.

One more jump. Seven strides to the finish. One last time, she asked Coronado to do it in six.

He did.

Cleared the last jump.

35.7.

Now Maggie was in first place.

She didn’t celebrate, didn’t pump a fist or change expression. Didn’t show anything at all. Just patted the side of Coronado’s head as she slowed him down and moved him back toward the in-gate as Becky went past her.

“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
!”

“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.”

He pointed again at the barn. “Now go get the horse ready while I set a course. Tiny’s in the fourth stall on the right.”

Just Gus and Tiny and me in the night, for the next hour or so. The only sounds came from the horse, and Gus. He’d set six jumps. I don’t know how he did it as quickly as he did. But he was Gus.

I’d finish a round and even if I was clear, this is what I’d hear:

“Again.”

One time I knocked down the first rail. After I had finished, he raced the wheelchair over to me and said, “You acted like the rest of the round didn’t matter.”

“Is that what you think you saw?”

“What I know I saw,” he said.

Spun the chair around and took off, spraying dirt on me this time.

“Now do it again,” he said.

It was midnight when we finished. I hopped down off the horse, gave her an extra mint I had in my pocket. The horse seemed fine. I was exhausted. But wasn’t going to show him that.

I walked the horse over to him as he shut the lights in the ring.

“Gotta ask you something,” he said. “Do you really want this? Or does it just sound good when you say it?”

“Now you are joking,” I said. “Of course I want it.”

He stared at me.

“Are you sure?”

At which point I had heard enough from Gus Bennett. Felt like I’d been riding all night—and yelled at just as long.

“Yes!”
I yelled back now.
“Yes, I’m sure!”

He smiled.

“See you in the morning,” he said. “You can lock up.”

And rode away.