“You keep hoping, Mom. Something will turn up that can make that happen if you really want it.”
Julia had smiled warmly. “You’re absolutely right. You never lost faith that this would happen. I’ll do the same.”
* * *
IT WAS THREE days and counting to the Kentucky Derby, and the city was overflowing with visitors, trainers, owners and horses. Olivia was astounded at the hustle and bustle. It was as if the residents were preparing for the triumphant return of a hero. In a way, she supposed, they were.
The streets were clogged with florists’ trucks delivering floods of roses to hotels, restaurants and offices. Invitations to Derby parties, both private and for charity, sat in stacks at the reception desk in the Trophy office. Actors, famous musicians, politicians and sports stars had booked every hotel suite.
Private homes played host to Hollywood celebrities and socialites from all over the country. Five-star restaurants were packed. Long lines ringed the streets around nightclubs where top-selling rock bands had been booked for over a year.
Albert stood over Olivia at her desk, tapping his watch. “What are doing here?”
“Editing the photos for Lucrezia’s article on Just in Time.” She pulled up a photograph of the chestnut-colored Thoroughbred. “What do you think?”
“Great-looking horse.” He peered at the shot. “I’m not sure I want to use it.”
“What? Why not?”
“Olivia, I know you’re working hard, but these photos are missing something. They’re just not as good as the ones you submitted with your résumé.”
“Rowan, you mean.”
“Is that his name? Anyway, I don’t know what it is. An essence. A spirit. Just in Time has done well this year, but I’m not picking him to win.”
“You think you can pick the winners?” she asked, studying the image.
“The winners should be standout horses.”
“But I won’t know that until they actually run the race.”
Albert shook his head as if he was trying to reason with an imbecile. This was the second time in three days that Albert had criticized her photographs without giving her a clear explanation of what she was doing wrong.
“Albert, please tell me what you’re not seeing here and I’ll give it to you,” she said, hating that she had to plead. She was exhausted, but she wasn’t desperate. Still, she couldn’t work for the man if he didn’t give her guidelines.
“You should know from looking at these horses which one will be the favorite.”
“I could check the oddsmakers in Vegas,” she mumbled sarcastically. But she thought she understood what he was saying. “You want me to find the ones that have heart, not just good lines and track records.”
He snapped his fingers. “Exactly.”
I thought I was doing that.
“Albert, by the time these horses make it to the Derby, they are all the best in the country. Every one of them is spectacular.”
He leaned in close until their noses nearly touched and his eyes pinned hers. “And it takes a very gifted photographer to single out the very best from that elite pack. I thought you were that person.”
“I am,” she assured him. With a jolt, Olivia realized Albert was right. She did know how to see to the heart of a horse, but since her move to Louisville, everything about her work, her thinking, her own spirit, was out of whack.
It was as if the void that had opened up on her last night with Rafe had shut down her ability to connect with animals...or with anything. Was she forcing her heart not to feel the pain of their separation? Was she doing exactly what she’d done when her father had abandoned her? Stuffing her heartbreak into an iron locker and praying it would never escape?
Albert straightened and turned on his heel. He took two steps and then said over his shoulder, “You’ve got a gig at the Brown Hotel in one hour with Owen and Sylvia Huet. Owners of Sideshow.”
“Okay.”
“Make sure you give me shots that Town & Country and Horse & Hound will cry over.”
* * *
OLIVIA SAT ON a gold brocade sofa in the opulent lobby of the historic Brown Hotel in downtown Louisville listening to Owen and Sylvia Huet carry on about their adventures in Thoroughbred racing. Owen was fifty-six years old and looked every minute of it, his face tanned and weathered from the Florida sun. He was trim and broad-shouldered, and looked like a working man who did not leave the training and riding to others, but chose instead to live his life through his horse.
He reminded her of Rafe, or what he’d be like in twenty years, and she felt hollowness in her heart that threatened to swallow her. She glanced at her cell phone. Still nothing from Rafe.
She raised her camera to her eye so that no one would recognize the sheen in her eyes for what it was.
Frightening, how stingingly painful it was to miss someone.
Lucrezia, who was only a year out of the University of Louisville, barraged the Huets with questions that seemed inane to Olivia, but which the older couple indulged.
Olivia rose from the sofa and took her photographs as surreptitiously as possible, trying to capture those split-second moments that flattered both Owen and Sylvia and did not reveal their suffering at Lucrezia’s inexperienced hands.
“And what are your aspirations for, uh...” Lucrezia looked at her notes and scrambled for the horse’s name. “Sideshow?”
To win, obviously, Olivia thought with exasperation.
Both Owen and Sylvia gaped at the young reporter before answering stiffly.
Olivia continued taking pictures as Lucrezia went through her list of questions, which the Huets graciously entertained.
The interview was so painful, Olivia finally interrupted Lucrezia, who slung her a killing glare. “My boss would like some photographs of you and Sideshow. How about if I follow you over there now? After you finish your drinks, of course,” Olivia said sweetly.
The relief on both Owen’s and Sylvia’s faces was blisteringly apparent. “Great!” they said in unison, setting down their half-finished cocktails. “You can ride with us, Olivia,” Sylvia offered with a tone of urgency. Olivia realized how anxious they were for the interview to be over.
Lucrezia bounced to her feet and announced, “Actually, Olivia won’t be going to the stables with us.” She whipped out a white sheet of paper from the monogrammed leather folder she carried—probably a graduation gift from her parents.
Olivia nearly chided herself for her catty thoughts. Nearly. Lucrezia was gloating. This couldn’t be good.
Lucrezia shoved the paper at Olivia. “Albert wants you to continue shooting the owners here at the Brown. He’s sending another photographer to the stables.”
Not photograph the horses?
Olivia was stunned. Albert was dead serious when he’d told her that her work had lost its spirit. Olivia smiled placidly, hoping the shock didn’t register in her eyes. She had to find her edge again.
Lucrezia smiled at the Huets. “Albert wants the best for Sideshow. Olivia has only been on the job a few weeks and is just getting her bearings. We have a seasoned photographer, been around stables forever, Albert tells me.” Her smile had turned into a leer. “Shall I follow you over there in my car?”
Lucrezia was beyond gloating, Olivia thought, but it didn’t matter. Olivia was being taken down a peg because she’d lost something vital in her work.
Olivia had always viewed life and her subje
cts through her heart. The problem was that her heart was broken.
Olivia watched the Huets and Lucrezia leave the lobby, feeling as if the earth was quaking under her feet. She looked down at the expensive marble floor. Rock-solid.
Then she turned her gaze to the blank screen on her cell phone. What was this? Twenty times today, alone, she’d checked to see if Rafe had texted or called her. Never in her life had she spent so many minutes and hours wishing that her phone would ring. She would give anything to hear Rafe’s voice.
“Olivia!” Bart shouted from across the hotel lobby, startling her out of her thoughts.
She whirled around and raised her arm in a wave. “Bart! I’m here.” She rushed toward him and the next Derby entrant owner.
This is your dream come true, Olivia. What are you going to do with it?
* * *
RAFE CRUSHED HIS mother’s homegrown mint in the bottom of a silver-plated mint-julep cup. He added a heaping tablespoon of powdered sugar and a jigger of his father’s best Kentucky bourbon and stirred the mixture until the sugar dissolved. As he added crushed ice to the cup, he stared at the bourbon bottle.
The word Kentucky swam in his vision like a hologram: illuminated, vibrating and beckoning.
Rafe’s father had often told him that you could count on one thing in life—irony.
It was ironic that Olivia, who had feared horse racing all her life, was now living at the epicenter of American horse racing. She was no doubt at the Derby today, covering the story for her new job. It was the one place in the world that Rafe had dreamed of being since he was a kid.
It was also ironic that he’d been partly responsible for putting her there right when he’d realized that what he wanted most in his life was Olivia.
Rafe wasn’t sure if all that made him foolish or simply stupid.
Probably a bit of both.
He filled the cup with more crushed ice and placed a sprig of mint on top.
One thing was for sure: Olivia had made him think long, hard and deep about his life. His goals, intentions...even his integrity.
Three days ago he had telephoned John Galway, the owner of Mr. Blue, set up a meeting and driven out to his horse farm. Because of what Olivia had told him, Rafe had decided to give the Indian Lake Hospital Race trophy to Mr. Blue. Rafe might never know who really won, but with the win at the Illinois Derby to Rowan’s credit, he felt the tally sheets should be fair and square. If there was an iota of doubt—ever—about the Indian Lake race, Rafe knew he couldn’t keep something that wasn’t rightfully his.
He could hear voices coming from the den, where the entire family had gathered to watch the race. Gabe and Liz had brought Sam. Maddie had arrived with four dozen chocolate-mint cupcakes and a very tired Nate, who’d worked past midnight the night before. Mrs. Beabots had driven out with Austin and Katia. Rafe noticed that no one mentioned Olivia or asked him if he’d been in touch with her. On the other hand, he knew that if any of them had spoken with her, they would have said something.
Gina had laid out a buffet of finger foods in the dining room. As cheerful as the event should have been, Rafe felt Olivia’s absence more keenly than he had since she’d left.
He wondered if Olivia would have liked this party at all, since all the festivities centered on racing. The little Derby Day party was a tradition in the Barzonni household. Rafe could remember being no more than five years old and going out to the herb garden to pick the mint for the juleps. His father had loved the party and in those days, they’d invited friends from The Grange.
As she’d always done, Gina had drawn up a poster board with the names of all the horses running in the race. There were three crystal bowls on the sofa table with signs designating “Win,” “Place” and “Show.”
The bets were only a dollar each and it was great fun to root and cheer for one’s favorite pick.
Rafe wondered how Olivia would feel about their at-home “betting.” He would have liked to think that she would feel enough at ease to join in and toss a dollar in each bowl. But the fact was that he had no clue how she would respond because she wasn’t in his life anymore.
Every day since she’d left, he’d thought that perhaps she might call him or text him, but she hadn’t. He’d never been one to rifle through the mail, especially since he’d moved out to the coach house, but every night after coming in from the fields or from bedding down Rowan, he’d gone straight for the basket on the kitchen table where his mother tossed the mail.
There was nothing from Olivia.
By the end of the first week since her departure, even his mother had commented on his acerbic mood. Mica started calling him “Mr. Doom.”
Oh, he’d been brave sending her away like he had. He’d meant it when he’d said he wanted her to pursue her dream. He just hadn’t figured she’d cut him out of her life as if he was cancer. He’d thought he’d come to mean something to her. But the truth was, he was just someone she’d kissed a few times. A stepping-stone on the way to better things.
She’d never told him that she loved him. She’d never said she even cared about him. He was guilty of reading emotions into her reactions to him that probably didn’t exist.
He understood that she’d spent years keeping her emotions closed off because of her childhood trauma. He’d thought they’d both helped each other—him with his grief and her with her past.
Guess not.
Laughter poured out of the den as the television commentator described some of the outrageous hats the women were wearing at the Derby.
Rafe remembered Olivia’s glorious hair and how it fell down her back in shimmering dark sheets. And the feel of her lips against his, the softness of her skin—
He grabbed the counter and hung his head between his outstretched arms. He wished someone had told him when he met Olivia that she was the kind of woman a man could never forget.
“Rafe?”
Chills swept across his back and down to his toes. It had finally happened. He’d lost his mind.
“Rafe.”
Olivia’s voice called his name like an ancient siren. If he looked up, he’d die or turn to stone or salt. Something dire. That he knew.
He gasped for air. He heard the sound of her heels against the tile floor. He knew that sound. Light, delicate steps, though purposeful and not at all timid.
“I knocked, but no one heard me,” Olivia said.
He straightened and stared at her. He blinked, but the mirage remained. Irony number three. Just when you thought you had life all figured out, it sent you a curveball. He felt as if he’d been drinking, but the bourbon hadn’t passed his lips.
“Olivia. I thought you were in Louisville.”
“I was.” She smiled.
He was confused. Today was Derby day. If she was working for a magazine that revolved around Thoroughbred racing, why was she here?
“I don’t understand,” he finally said. “Your new job is what you’ve always wanted. You moved there. You cut all ties to us here in Indian Lake. No phone calls. Not even a text. To anyone.”
“I was overwhelmed with work,” she began. “I can’t tell you how many times I picked up the phone to call you—”
“But you were busy.”
“I was, but truthfully, I was afraid you’d never talk to me again. You were so mad at me when I left.”
He folded his arms across his chest, thinking it would keep his banging, thudding, galloping heart at bay. She was r
ight; he’d been livid with her that night. Probably, he’d overreacted. Not probably. He did overreact. He was hurt, disappointed and shocked that she would leave town. Leave him behind. The fact that she’d even considered a life without him had sliced him to the core. He’d acted defensively. He might have even been guilty of wanting to hurt her back. Not a lot. But enough that she’d feel a sting while he felt as if he was dying inside.
But now, looking at her with those soft lights in her eyes, his heart melted. He didn’t care what she said or did; he just wanted this moment to last—forever if he had his way.
“Mad? I suppose I was—then.”
Olivia titled her head and peered up at him from beneath long, dark lashes. “And now?”
“Not so much,” he replied in a low whisper. His eyes burned, but he didn’t dare let her see that she had such an immense effect on him. “So, Olivia. Your job. How’s that going?” he asked, hoping to distract from his sensitivity. He had to get ahold of himself. He vacillated between sadness and anger. Pain and revenge and then back to fear that he’d say something that would cause her to walk away. Again.
He wanted the illusion to stay.
“My job isn’t quite what I thought it would be,” she replied. “I love bonding with animals through my lens, and I was so sure that with all those magnificent horses in Kentucky for the Derby, I would take pictures like the world had never seen before. I know that sounds pompous, but it’s what I’d dreamed for myself.”
“What happened?”
“That’s just it. Nothing happened. I looked in their eyes and everything was empty. I couldn’t see them anymore. I realized when I looked objectively at my photos on the computer, they were heartless.”
Rafe heard the sincerity in her voice and read the imploring expression on her face. “I see.”
Fear of Falling Page 22
