I nodded slowly. Her perkiness was forcing me to become unenthused and dull, just to balance things out. “Things going well with Mark?” I asked her.
A big grin erupted on her face. “How did you know?”
“You just seem, ah, very happy.” I’d been her friend for a while. I knew how it went.
“Well, I am!” She trilled.
Silently, I started constructing an exit line. I couldn’t deal with much more of this, and I really, like really wanted my cake.
Suddenly Jennifer changed course. “So. How’re things with you? Got any exciting plans coming up?”
Aha, a segue! I jumped on it. “Things are good. I’m actually getting ready for a clinic that I’m really excited about. You should come!” I was just spewing words at that point, desperate to keep her from sinking back into Mark Land.
“Oh, really? I haven’t heard anything about a clinic. Who’s the clinician?” Jennifer sounded mildly intrigued.
“Lawrence Cavanaugh.” I smiled when I said the name. I couldn’t help it.
“Never heard of him. Who is he?”
“He’s in polo, and he’s really amazing. He’s won, like, a zillion high-goal matches. He was playing in Wellington earlier this year. And apart from all that, the guy can ride. You should see how he can stick to a horse. And his form is, like, textbook.” I finally managed to stop blabbering. All through that, I’d been thinking Shut up Erica, shut up, shut up, shut up now, seriously, time to shut up now….
Jennifer looked unconvinced. “Okay, so he’s good at what he does, but how does that relate to hunt seat?”
“C’mon, Jenn. Good riding is good riding. All equestrian sports are based on the same principles. Or at least, they should be. I think it’ll be really exciting to get a different perspective.”
Jennifer seemed to be contemplating things. It took her a minute. “Well, it would be fun to go together…”
“We only ever see each other at the shows,” I said. “We should go to this thing and hang out. It’ll be fun to see who else shows up. It’s all-discipline, so I’m sure we’ll see a lot of interesting stuff.”
“You know, that does sound fun,” Jennifer said. “Okay. I’m on board!”
“Awesome!” I gave her a quick hug. “I’m really sorry, but I’ve gotta run now. I’m supposed to get my mother’s dry cleaning, ‘cause she needs her dress…”
Jennifer nodded quickly. She knew the ways of Meredith. “Okay! I’ll see you later!”
“Bye!” I started walking again. When I reached the door of Indulgence, I glanced back to make sure she wasn’t looking and then ducked in.
Three weeks later
Lawrence
I stared out the window, and the light had changed. Just enough to tell me it was a different day now. It was the day, I realized with a jolt. The clinic.
This kind of thing always seemed to suddenly just happen. It had been far off. Distant. I’d had time. I’d had weeks. And now it was just here, and I didn’t have any more time.
Well, I had a few hours. But that wasn’t very comforting.
A lot had gone into this thing, already. Amber had basically created the clinic, built it from nothing and made it pretty damn impressive. There had been planning, advertising, talking up, graphic design even. None of it had anything to do with me. I had kind of watched it happen, looked on as Amber (and to a lesser extent, Dougie) orchestrated the whole thing. Now it was time for my part, and I didn’t know how to live up to what I was supposed to be. I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t even know how to make it look like I knew what I was doing.
Amber walked briskly into the room where I stood, paralyzed. She looked incredibly awake. In her hand I saw a tall, shiny silver can with violent red lettering splashed across it. Manic! New 30% larger size!
“Morning,” I said warily.
“Good morning, Cavanaugh!” Amber screeched brightly. “Ready to be awesome?”
I decided not to answer that. I figured she probably wouldn’t like my answer. “Well. Manic seems to be working for you,” I said.
“Oh, this stuff is awesomeness,” Amber endorsed. “The FDA banned it actually, ‘cause it can be a little addictive. But I bought a caseload right before they took it off the store shelves to save for special days, and today is special! So I cracked a bottle. Or a can, actually.”
“Okay…but why would you need it today?”
Amber threw me a Death Stare. It wasn’t as potent or long-lasting when she was on Manic. “I’m running this thing, or did you forget? I’m gonna be on my feet all day signing people in, getting money from chicks who haven’t paid, making sure the thing stays on schedule because I know you have no concept of time, and doing whatever else needs doing. All so you, my pretty, can focus solely on being awesome. That is your only responsibility today. Being awesome.”
I stared for a second. Just stared.
Facing silence, Amber quickly lost interest and sped past me. Nearly to the door, she came to a jerky stop and turned around. “Lawrence?”
“Yeah?” I managed.
“You really need to be awesome.”
Erica
I stepped through the early morning air. My eyes remained on the skyline as I traveled the path to the barn. Above the darkened treetops the sky was grey, with just a little pink starting to show. The night had gone by slowly, with little sleep punctuating the long stretches of waiting in the dark, tight with anticipation.
I moved quickly, nearing the open door. My heartbeat was up, and I felt a new inward spasm of nerves each time I thought about what day it was. My teeth chattered, and not from a chill. That used to happen every show morning when I was a kid, I remembered. It was a weird quirk that I’d outgrown. How long has it been? Years. Ten?
I walked into the barn and heard the horses stir. I paused for a moment and then flicked on the light, igniting a cacophony of whinnying. I was a few minutes early, but I decided to start on the feeds.
The morning crew arrived minutes later, and the horses were fed, checked on and turned out with precision. D.M. remained in the barn. He watched me, his blaze face thrust over the stall door. He knew something was up.
I walked up to him, scratched the itchy spot under his forelock, and slid a halter over his face. “Yes, D.M.,” I said, “we’re going to a clinic today.”
I led him out into the aisle and stood him up under the bright overhead lights. I inspected him all over, and then I went to work. D.M. stood happily, a fluffy pile of hay directly in front of him. He chewed it into submission, and I flicked away the clinging shavings and bits of dirt with a brush and rubbed his coat with a soft cloth, raising the shine. I ran a comb through his mane, which thankfully was lying flat on one side of his neck, and carefully finger-combed his long, full tail. I had clipped his legs the week before, so the hair had grown just enough to stop looking chopped. His hooves were trimmed and newly shod.
I took a wet rag and scrubbed his white markings, washing away any dust that lingered. Then I stepped back and took a long look at him. He was clean. There was no denying that. He was sleek and fit. He looked good. I still hovered over him, worrying over possibly imagined bits of dirt. I was neurotic about turnout, even more than usual. My hands twitched. I wanted to reach for the braiding kit. No. You can’t. You cannot braid this horse’s mane, so stop thinking about it.
I knew it was a clinic. I knew it was ridiculous to braid for a clinic. If I showed up with my horse all braided up, I would definitely look like I was trying too hard.
I turned away from the temptation of the braiding kit, and my eyes fell on the clock. I’d been working for more than an hour. My body seized up with unnecessary panic. I reminded myself that I still had plenty of time to load up and get on the road. It’s not even a long haul. There’s plenty of time. Plenty of time.
I was stressing this far too hard, I knew. It was just a clinic. I’d been to many, possibly hundreds, of clinics over the years. I’d ridden in front of Hunter Der
by finalists, Maclay winners, and Olympians. I’d ridden before the steely eyes and scathing tongue of George Morris. This was no big deal. It was just a new perspective, an experience, an enjoyable way to spend a day. No pressure. The pressure was all in my head, and I felt like it was going to split my skull.
This clinic was monumental. Daunting. Oversized, maybe blown out of proportion. But in my perception, my reality, it was a big deal. And I wanted to do well. That vague, half-assed goal everyone has for important events. I wanted to do well, and I didn’t even know what would have to happen for me to achieve that.
But I wanted to do well. I wanted it so much. So I had prepared and overprepared, worked myself into a dull haze schooling and polishing tack and organizing my freaking tack trunk. I hadn’t found much time to eat the last few days, so I was pretty much running on raw nerves. I should have lost weight from all the stress, but I knew better than to hope for that.
I made myself step away from D.M. I put the grooming stuff away, and I started booting D.M. up for the journey. It was less to protect him from injury and more to keep him clean. I threw his sheet on and then led him to the trailer. Once on board, he waited for me patiently, amusing himself with a full hay net.
Everything I could possibly need for the day (and quite a bit of extraneous crap) was already loaded, so I just had to prepare myself. Of course I left that part for the last moment.
I stepped into the trailer’s dressing room. It was cramped, but I wasn’t going back into the house. I took off my grimy sweatshirt and jeans and let them drop into a corner. Without pausing, I reached for the breeches and polo shirt hanging on the rack. My nicest clinic-designated clothes. They were newly washed and ironed. I pulled the shirt over my head and down my torso, then hauled the breeches up my legs. I stood right up against the mirror, settling into the feeling of the fabric pulling against me. Then I ducked and left the room, closing the small door behind me.
After that I went straight to the driver’s seat. I started my truck and started off down the driveway. I drove slowly, not allowing myself to pick up speed. Once on the road, I felt a strange mix of relief and even sharper anticipation.
Erica again
I turned onto Lawrence’s road with a gooseneck trailer ahead of me. A smaller tag-along followed my rig. This made me happy, because it meant Lawrence’s clinic was probably going to work out for him. And also, I didn’t have to feel like such an overeager, pathetic loser since I wasn’t the only one pulling in ahead of time.
There was signage at the end of his driveway, and a couple rigs parked in the yard already. I maneuvered to find a parking space and quickly claimed one, as did the other two people I’d seen on the road. Good thing I got here freakishly early. A woman was tacking up a stout Quarter Horse who looked fully asleep. He twitched just a little when she flung her saddle down on his broad back. I blinked at the glare coming off all that silver. Another rider was already warming up in the outdoor arena. I took a moment to take in the strange mix of horses and riders and disciplines mingling around me. I was happy to be a part of it. I was calm and at peace in the familiar clinic atmosphere, even in this new context. That horrible edge was gone, and my excitement had taken on a positive feel. I was home now, in more ways than one.
I stepped to the back of my trailer and lowered the ramp. I backed D.M. out and tied him to the side of the trailer. He took a quick look around. Yup. It’s a clinic. Then he started looking at the grass. I brought out his hay net, and he was content once more.
My ride time wasn’t until the afternoon. I had cleared my schedule for the day, wanting to see as much as possible. I felt a little guilty for dragging D.M. along at this hour only to have him stand around for most of the day. I’ll keep hay and water in front of him, and take him for walks whenever I have the chance. I grabbed a bucket from the depths of the trailer’s tack room and went off in search of running water.
I walked toward the barn, trying to recall where I’d seen a faucet. Nearly there, I saw Lawrence standing in the doorway. I walked right up to him, drawn magnetically. “Hi.”
He looked a bit startled. “Erica. Hi. I didn’t expect to see you this morning.”
I smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, well, I told you. Clinic junkie. I was going to kind of hang out all day and observe. If that’s okay.”
“Sure, of course,” he said quickly.
I glanced down at the bucket that swung below my arm. “I, uh, was just looking for water. For my horse.”
“Your horse is here?”
“Yeah, I kind of dragged him out of bed this morning.” I smiled. “He’ll be okay. He’s used to our little expeditions.”
“What were you going to do with him?”
“I’ll just have to leave him by the trailer. He’ll have food and water, and I’ll walk him as much as I can.”
“Why don’t you turn him out?” Lawrence said. “There’s a paddock I’m not using right out front. Then you won’t have to worry about him. You can just enjoy your day.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
Lawrence smiled. “It’s just sitting there. Take it.”
“Thanks.” A grin opened up my face. “You’re the best.” I spun around and went back to D.M., who followed me to the empty paddock. Once I turned him out, he ambled around, inspecting the temporary quarters. Then he started eating. The grass was a little sparse, but better than hay any day.
D.M. needed water, so I went back to the barn. Lawrence was still there. I almost got the impression he was hiding, but it didn’t seem right and I shot down my gut assessment.
I filled my bucket, watching his unmoving silhouette the whole time. On my way out, I stopped at his side. We both stood there a moment, and I watched him. I saw no cracks, but I what I did see was a whole lot of effort to keep them from showing.
As much as I saw his incredible persona, as much as it filled my head and kept me up at night, what I really loved about him was how utterly human he was. Despite the way he looked. Despite his talent. Despite everything. He was human, and humanity was prone to cracking.
I touched his arm. Felt the muscle, tighter than it should have been. I looked up into his face. “You’ll kill it,” I said.
Lawrence
I was in the house, but even from here everything looked different. I could see the trailers, nearly on top of each other. There was a lot of talk going back and forth between my horses and those who’d been hauled in.
I picked up my other boot and pulled it slowly up my leg. It went right into place. These boots were old, probably older than I was, and they were built to take abuse. They were supple, perfectly broken in, and over time they had conformed to me. I hadn’t worn them in a while. When I wasn’t part of a team and a uniform wasn’t required of me, I rode in jeans and work boots as a rule. But Amber had insisted. Actually, she’d just flat out told me what I was wearing, and I’d gone along with it.
The door banged open. I twitched in surprise and slight fear. Amber stood in the open doorway, still clutching her energy drink.
“It’s eight ‘o clock,” she said.
I nodded. “Okay. I’m on my way out.”
Amber stayed where she was. She clearly didn’t believe me.
I rolled my eyes. “Amber, go. I’m not a complete chickenshit, okay?”
She didn’t waver. “Prove it.”
I glared. And then I walked right through Amber, shoving her out onto the porch. She spat a few obscenities at me and then powered off, heading into the line of trailers to take money from someone.
I stepped down from the porch and started off for the arena. It was time for my part to begin. I didn’t let myself overthink it. I was just going to have to feel my way through this.
I glanced at my horses as I passed by them. Harry followed the fence line in a bold, somewhat hyperactive trot. His eyes bugged out at the sensory overload. Soiree had been cleared for turnout; she stood in the smallest paddock, serene and needy. I kept going.
There w
as a woman on a Quarter Horse in the arena, going around the rail at a strange, slightly mechanical crawl. A small crowd stood along the rail. Their heads turned as I approached. I really only saw one person.
Even though she was at the far end of the line, we still made eye contact. She smiled in that way that both slowed my heart rate and made my blood heat up. I should have been more nervous with her there. But somehow, I was calm.
I’m so glad you’re here, I thought as I scaled the fence with my eyes still on her. I can do this now.
Erica
I was standing at the rail watching the first rider warm up, deep in a conversation with the girl next to me. She was an endurance rider, and I had all kinds of questions stacked up in my mind about conditioning and training. I wanted to know things, like what she had done to help herself and her horse become totally self reliant, so they could ride out for miles, alone together.
We were talking back and forth when I saw Lawrence. Everyone saw him, and all our heads turned in unison. I was glad everyone stopped talking, because I couldn’t remember what I’d been about to ask. I couldn’t remember anything I’d ever said, done or heard of. Not a damn thing.
He was wearing white breeches. Not skintight, but tight enough to provide an outline, a suggestion of what was underneath. Higher up, a polo shirt, official and uniform-looking, with a number and team name and all that stuff. I didn’t remember how to read, so it didn’t mean a whole lot to me. My eyes traveled the line of his forearm. That, I could read.
And he was in tall boots, black, meticulously clean and polished. They were gorgeous, clearly old and caringly handmade, with a collection of folds at the ankle marking their heavy use. The soft leather clung to his calves, flexing with every step. No zippers. Of course no zippers.
It takes a certain type of leg conformation to slip into a skintight tall boot without the benefit of a zipper, and very few people have it. I had never owned a boot without a zipper, and nowadays they hardly made them. So to see him in boots like that, fitting him so well, was very compelling for me.
Training Harry Page 43
