Blue Ribbons

by Kim Ablon Whitney

  Mom turned onto the highway. Her hands on the wheel looked skeletal, a sudden stabbing reminder of how sick she was. Sometimes, for a few moments, I’d forget. “We’re just being smart about this. Protecting our investment.”

  I was silent. Nothing I had to say Mom wanted to hear.

  We passed a few exits. The Saw Mill was quiet, no traffic yet.

  “Maybe after Pony Finals we can graze him again. It just doesn’t seem smart right now.”

  I still didn’t say anything. I just stared out the window at the passing scenery. Sometimes I would pretend I was riding and whatever I saw out the window I had to jump, like stone walls or split post fences. Right then I was too mad to even do that. I turned back to my phone. A text from Hailey. Nothing from Jane. I asked Hailey whether she’d heard how Jane was doing. Then I texted Jane to ask her.

  “Regan?”

  “What?”

  “What’s going on?”

  “He’s a pony.” I didn’t take my eyes off my screen. “Not an investment.”

  “He’s actually both. You know how much he cost.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “So we have to be smart.”

  “You keep saying that.”

  “You can graze any other pony you want.”

  “It’s not about the grazing.”

  Mom’s phone rang. The caller ID came up on the car’s Bluetooth. It was her oncologist. She pulled over so she could pick up the handset, so I wouldn’t hear. But I could still hear her doctor’s voice anyway. She’d had another CT scan. The tumors on her ascending colon and lower bowel had shrunk, but not as much as he had hoped. He wanted to do one more round of chemo. He hoped by then the surgeon would be able to get to the tumors and leave most of her digestive system intact.

  The conversation was over quickly and Mom hung up and smiled. Actually smiled.

  “This is good news,” she said.

  But good news would have been the tumors shrinking so much she wouldn’t have to have surgery. Good news didn’t include doctors using the word “hoped” repeatedly. Doctors hoping for things was bad.

  I swallowed. Grazing Tyler didn’t seem important anymore. Why had I made such a big deal about it? Mom had more important things going on and didn’t need to be arguing with me about grazing Tyler. Still, I felt so mad. Poor Tyler. He hardly got to be a horse at all. And why did Mom have to be so old anyway? Young mothers didn’t get things like ovarian cancer, did they? She had to be stick-thin and career-driven and wait forever to have kids. Why couldn’t she be like Hailey’s mom? Chubby and messy and loud . . . and healthy. I took a deep breath, feeling the guilt rush over me for the terrible, selfish thoughts running through my head.

  “I won’t graze him,” I said. “I promise.”

  Chapter 33

  * * *

  I didn’t remember Mom’s hair falling out last time. I just remembered all of a sudden she had a wig. I found out after she’d gotten it. Typical Mom, she’d immediately sprung into action. She’d gotten the name of the top wigmaker in the city from a friend, a TV reporter with thinning hair. With the referral, she’d booked an appointment right away so he could see her hairstyle and take a sample to match the wig to. Once two wigs were ordered, she’d gone out and had her head shaved. This time, for whatever reason, Dad had been enlisted to do the honors, and I was getting a front row seat.

  She sat on the marble island in the kitchen, her legs dangling off the side. She looked young all of a sudden, like my sixteen-year-old cousin, Kat. Dad had pinned an old sheet around her neck and it hung down past her waist, a makeshift smock like the kind you get at a hair salon. She touched her hand to her hair, feeling the texture one more time. It hadn’t started to fall out until just recently.

  I was standing in the corner of the room, unsure if I wanted to watch. It felt like an accident on the side of the road—I’d look for spider webs in windshields and twisted metal even though I was scared of seeing an actual hurt person.

  “I’m ready,” Mom said. “Let’s do it.”

  Dad had a pair of clippers that Mom had bought specifically for this event. He clicked them on and Mom winced at the dull buzz. Then she straightened up, steeling herself for what came next. Dad moved in slowly, like he was trying to clip the muzzle of a wary pony. I almost expected him to say, “easy now,” like Martha did sometimes. Mom trusted Dad, and I did, too. Dad was the kind of guy who never really got flustered. The kind you’d want to have around if disaster struck. He was willing to try his hand at anything—fixing a broken lock, sewing a doll’s ripped dress, even shaving Mom’s head. I’m not saying he was good at all the things he did, but he was willing to try them without worrying about being embarrassed if he didn’t do them well. Perhaps this ability came from being older, from having seen a lot in his life.

  Dad paused and then put the clippers to Mom’s head. A lock of hair fell. I kept my eyes on the tile floor, watching the hair accumulate.

  “Regan, are you still there?” Mom turned her head to look for me and Dad scolded her, “Don’t move. I’m making progress here.”

  “Yeah, I’m here.”

  “Hey, remember that time, in what was it? Kindergarten or first grade when I got my hair all chopped off?”

  “Hmmm.”

  “I came to pick you up at school and you came to the car and opened the door and said, ‘This is my mommy’s car, but you’re not my mommy, are you?’ I had to convince you it was me and to get in the car with me.”

  I’d looked up from the floor. There was still some hair on Mom’s head but it was only stubble now, a quarter of an inch long, like a pony that had just been body clipped. I always loved to run my hands over my ponies when they’d just been clipped. I couldn’t imagine ever wanting to touch Mom’s bare head. She looked completely different, the features of her face bigger.

  “Do you remember?” Mom turned to look at me. Heinous tears were pushing their way out, burrowing up from inside of me, and no matter what I did, I couldn’t stop them. I did remember that day and I wasn’t sure I’d grown up at all since then because I knew this was my mom, but it didn’t look like her at all.

  Mom said, “Hey, it’s okay. It’s still me. Come here—”

  But I backed out of the room. I didn’t run away, though. I stood frozen, not sure what to do.

  “I guess I should have had it done at the salon again.” Mom sighed. “I just wanted it to be more private this time. Do I look that awful?”

  Dad said, “You want the truth, or should I lie?”

  “Lie,” Mom said.

  “You look awful.”

  I leaned closer, feeling relieved that I wasn’t the only one repulsed. Dad felt exactly the way I did.

  Mom’s voice was exasperated when she replied, “I said for you to lie.”

  “I am,” Dad said. “How could I ever think you look anything but beautiful?”

  And that’s when I ran to my room. Because Dad wasn’t repulsed. He wasn’t scared. He didn’t feel like I did at all.

  Chapter 34

  * * *

  On Saturday, I came into the tack room after hacking Sammy. Tommy was changing a bit on a bridle. He had on a blue polo and his sunglasses were tucked into the collar of his shirt. It was just us, a few younger kids Jane’s mom was teaching, and a few adults hacking at the barn today. Hailey and Anna were spending the weekend with their father and the Carrot at the Jersey Shore. Jane was still sick. Susie was in Michigan judging a horse show.

  “How’s Jane?” I asked Tommy.

  “Not so great.”

  “Do you think it’s food poisoning?”

  “Or a virus. She stopped throwing up, so that’s good. But she’s totally exhausted.”

  “Do you think she’ll be able to ride again soon?”

  “Maybe Monday or Tuesday.”

  I put Sammy’s bridle on the cleaning hook and slid my saddle onto my rack. The baby pad wasn’t very dirty so I put it back in the pile of clean ones.

  “
When are you getting picked up?” He had a funny look on his face, like he was noticing me for the first time when we’d just been talking to each other.

  “I’m supposed to text Lauren when I’m done.”

  “You want to ride Frankie?”

  “Really?”

  “I need someone to get on him. I was thinking I might have to put Alex on him.”

  I giggled at the thought of Alex on Frankie. He could ride—I’d seen him a few times. He actually would probably be good if he wanted to, but he thought horses should be like motorbikes with no-fail gas pedals and brakes, and he didn’t like that they had a mind of their own.

  “Sure,” I said.

  “I’ll get him tacked up for you.”

  “That’s okay. I can do it.” I didn’t want Tommy to think I needed special treatment.

  I expected Tommy to argue with me. I was relieved and grateful when instead he grabbed a bridle and handed it to me. “Okay, I’ll meet you in the ring in ten minutes.”

  I talked to Frankie as I groomed him. No one was around to hear what a dork I sounded like. He seemed to like my voice, turning his head to look at me as I brushed him over with a medium-bristle brush. When I curried his neck, he lowered his head and let his lower lip hang loose. As I groomed him, I wondered if I’d like Tyler better if I got the chance to take care of him more. Sometimes I wished I could do my own work. With Martha it was hard to ask to tack him up or cool him down. She got paid to take care of my ponies and she had her own way of doing things.

  Once I was on, Frankie was more comfortable than I thought he’d be. Jane made riding him seem like torture. He was actually pretty smooth at the trot. His canter was a little bouncier and uneven, definitely not like Tyler’s, but I didn’t mind so much. I found it best to alternate between sitting full seat and then getting out of the saddle into a half-seat. I hacked him around and loosened him up while Tommy talked on his phone to someone about another pony. I kept expecting him to say something, but I must have been doing a good job because he just nodded as I passed a few times.

  When he hung up he said, “You feel okay to jump a little?”

  “Sure.” I brought him down to a walk, trying not to let on how excited I was. Tommy made a cross-rail and told me to trot it. I picked up the reins and I could feel Frankie tensing up already. He got even quicker as we trotted to the jump. My instinct was to pull on the reins. He raced over the little jump and landed in a ball of fury.

  “Just circle him. Then bring him back down to a walk as gently and calmly as you can.”

  It took two more circles. I was finally able to get him to walk.

  “Here’s the thing with this pony.” Tommy talked with his hands on his hips. “He’s clearly been pulled on and yanked on and he just wants to run away as fast as he can. But you can’t pull on him—it’ll only make him go faster. Trust him and don’t pull, and I promise you he’ll slow down. Trot it again.”

  I knew all this from watching Jane. Still, it was different when you were in the saddle. I had to give Jane credit—it was really hard to fight your instinct and not pull. I trotted it again, using all my willpower and trust to keep my hands still.

  “Better,” Tommy said. “Again.”

  By the fourth and fifth time over the cross-rail he was nearly at normal speed. Tommy raised the jump and I cantered it back and forth. It was harder at the canter. I willed myself not to pull as I turned the corner and Frankie lurched forward. Tommy was right—when I didn’t pull, he softened. But it was so hard to give up feeling in control, even when feeling in control didn’t actually amount to being in control. The other key was not to make too big a move when I saw the distance. Everything with Frankie had to be quiet.

  “Really good,” Tommy said. “I think he likes you.”

  He lowered a few jumps and then gave me a little course. “It’s the same thing when you land off a jump. Don’t grab at him. If you need to circle anywhere go ahead.”

  I nodded and asked gently for the canter. I turned to the first jump, a little ramp oxer, and didn’t pull. Frankie relaxed and luckily the distance was right there. It got easier as we cantered the course. But then at the last jump I saw the distance getting way too deep and I had to take on the reins. Frankie sped right up and went through the distance. I tried to calm him down on the other side, circling until Tommy told me to walk.

  “That’s okay. Once we get him relaxing he’ll be able to tolerate you trying to help him out. Some gymnastics will be good for that but I don’t want to fire too much at him right away. I think this poor guy’s seen his share of bad rides.”

  Tommy’s phone rang. “Take another minute and we’ll try the same course again.”

  I walked Frankie while he talked and when he was done, he told me to go again. Frankie was even more relaxed and most of the distances came up right out of stride. One time I was a little long and I had to put my leg on. He scooted a bit and jumped flat, but he came back to me better on the other side.

  “You’re getting it,” Tommy said. “Everything has to be done with about one-sixteenth of the pressure and intensity of another pony. Let him walk on a loose rein.”

  I let the reins slip through my fingers. Frankie shook his head and then sighed. He seemed proud of himself.

  “You rode him really well.”

  He sounded almost surprised. I guess to him I was the girl who only rode the made ponies. He’d probably been doubting himself for even putting me on Frankie in the first place.

  “Jane tries to do too much with him a lot of the time,” he continued. “You’re a very quiet rider and I mean that as a compliment. Jane’s really good at riding the stoppers and the spookers. Being subtle is harder for her.”

  “Thanks,” I said. Tommy had no idea how much riding Frankie meant to me, and finding out I was good at it.

  “Are you up for riding him again tomorrow if Jane’s not better?”

  “Definitely.”

  Chapter 35

  * * *

  The next day Frankie went even better and Tommy asked me if I wanted to ride him Tuesday, too. By then, Jane was better and came back to the barn. She was still kind of weak from throwing up and not eating anything all week, so at first Tommy kept having me ride him. Susie came back from judging and I guess Tommy talked to her about me riding him because she didn’t really say anything about it. I knew I should have told Mom and Dad that I was riding him. I was worried about what Mom would say. She was anticipating that she’d have surgery in July so she was trying to tie up loose ends at ProduX, which meant luckily Lauren was the one to drop me off and pick me up. Susie must have assumed I’d cleared it with Mom.

  I wondered if Jane would mind that I was riding Frankie but she said, “He’s all yours.”

  Of course he wasn’t all mine. Every day I kept waiting for Tommy to say Jane was completely recovered and that she better get back on him. I wondered if Tommy thought I rode Frankie better than Jane. It was possible. He had said a couple of times what a good job I did and I felt like I had a connection with Frankie that Jane didn’t. I even daydreamed that maybe he’d ask me to show Frankie.

  One day after we were done, I took Frankie for a long walk—the kind I was forbidden from doing with Tyler anymore. No grazing and no walking outside of the ring. I rode him around the barn to the back ring. The back ring was pretty small and Susie and Tommy mainly used it for turnout. Today, Martha was lungeing Caitlyn’s eq horse in it. Martha was really amazing at doing groundwork and so Susie sometimes had her work with certain horses. She was putting Riley through movements, making him transition from walk to canter, back down to the trot, to a halt, and then straight off into the canter again. That kind of work would build muscle and get his brain tuned in to listening.

  I walked closer to the fence to say hi to Martha.

  “Hey, there.” She kept her eyes trained on Riley as she spoke to me. “How’s Frankie?”

  “Great,” I said with probably a little too much enthusiasm.
/>   Martha gave me a look.

  “I just like riding him, that’s all.”

  “Well, that’s good, I guess.”

  “How’s Tyler?” I knew I should seem interested in when I could ride him again.

  “He’s jogging sound. We’ll give him a day or so more to be safe.”

  “Cool.” I took a look at Riley. He was really paying attention to Martha. “He looks good.”

  “This guy is a lazy butt.” Martha raised her lunge whip and I heard her start to say can-ter. But by the second syllable of the word Frankie had reared up, flinging me onto the ground. If I had expected him to rear I’m sure I could have stayed with him. He had been so relaxed and I was just sitting back in the saddle on a long rein.

  The funny thing about falling off was it always happened so fast. At the same time I was always hyperaware of my thoughts. Like I was thinking how I could possibly stay on, or what I did wrong. This time I was trying to figure out what had happened since just a moment before everything had been fine. And then I was thinking that if I got hurt, my mom was going to kill me.

  I landed on my right shoulder with a thud, narrowly missing the fence of the ring. Frankie had taken off back toward the barn.

  “Oh my god!” Martha gasped.

  I thought she was worried about Frankie galloping loose, but I looked up and saw her face and she was clearly only concerned about me. She unclipped the lunge line and set Riley loose in the ring. By the time I was scrambling to my feet, she had climbed between the fence slats and was rushing toward me. “I’m okay,” I said although I was still in a little bit of shock and my shoulder ached.

  “Sit down,” she said. “Don’t move.”

  “I’m fine.” I brushed dirt off my shirt and looked toward the barn. “We better go after him.”

  “Don’t worry about him.” Martha reached out to sweep some of the dirt I’d missed. “I want to make sure you’re okay.”