“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Do you ever wonder if Dad cheated on Mom?” I asked.
“I never really thought about it. I wouldn’t worry about getting married, though. You’re nineteen.”
I made a face. “You know how I am—always thinking too much.”
I sprayed the tails with a little leave-in conditioner and then hung them up in the shade to dry. Full sun wouldn’t be good for them. When they’d dried fully, I’d bring them into the tack room.
“Yes,” Ryan said. “Stop doing it. You’ll be better off. Just stick to detangling your wraps and washing your strange fake tails.”
Chapter 25
The course looked beautiful—a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes, many jumps with bright logos of sponsors like Ariat, Farm Vet, Arouet, Equifit, Adequan. Some of the impressive nature of the jumps had more to do with the open spaces between the rails and the panels that made the jumps airy yet formidable at the same time.
I loved the excitement before a big class. The tension and anticipation in the air. I pointed out the big-time movie producer to Ryan and Dad, and they both did their own double-take when they saw the software mogul whose daughter competed.
The course walk for any big class was always a scene. The pointing, the assessing, the striding, the standing around in clusters as a band covered recent Top 40 hits at the end of the arena. Whether they were trying to or not, the riders all looked very important and self-assured as they grabbed their show coats from the Riders’ Lounge and headed onto the expansive course. Some riders liked to wear their show coats; others wore their team windbreakers. Many riders wore baseball hats bearing the name of their farm or advertising a sponsor. A few of the young men, like McNair, wore thin wool or cashmere V-necks over their show shirts. Several young riders were accompanied by their trainers. And what a group of trainers they were. They hailed from several different countries and sported strong accents. One of the older trainers wore a straw hat; another carried a little dog under his arm. The chef d’equipe for the U.S. Team was strolling around, chatting with various riders. Between them there were multiple Olympic medal winners, World Cup winners, and World Equestrian Game winners. It was rare these days if you were über wealthy and still retained a U.S. born, bred, and based trainer. Most of the wealthiest riders selected European luminaries as their trainers and based themselves at their European stables for parts of the year. Lily Teller was one of the few children of one-percenters who had an American trainer and whose trainer was competing against her in the class, no less, with only a few years separating them in age. I explained to my dad and Ryan how Chris coached Lily and pointed out where they were walking the course together. Ryan asked if it was weird for him to compete against her. I had asked Chris the very same question and he’d said maybe a little weird, but not really.
“What’s weird is that she has much better horses than him,” I said to Ryan and Dad. “She’s not nearly the rider he is, but that’s the nature of the sport.”
We went ahead and got in line for the buffet early, so as to avoid the crowds. We were still finishing our meals when the class got underway. By that time the stadium seating was nearly filled with families from the area, thanks in part to the carnival-like atmosphere on the other side of the ring, which included a carousel, street-performers, and a petting zoo. Lily went tenth. The first six riders had faults. There was a big triple bar toward the end of the course and then right after it a vertical-vertical double combination. That seemed to be the trap of the course. Riders came in too forward to the double and ended up having one or both rails down. I explained my thinking on this to Dad and Ryan. When Lily came in, I could see Chris standing at the in-gate. He looked so professional and my heart leapt a little—could I really be dating him? I knew I was but it was moments like these that it hit me all over again.
Monty was a classic type. He was a beautiful bay with a white blaze and two white socks and he was a leaner warmblood, almost a little thoroughbred-like. He jerked his knees up in perfect form and wore his ears well the whole way around the course, sighting in on each jump. He was the kind of horse that made it seem like horses liked to jump, that they liked to compete.
Lily was clean coming into the triplebar. She caught a long distance to the triple bar and instinctually I leaned back in my chair as if I was trying to get Monty to rock back for the verticals. I knew from Chris he was a super adjustable horse but she didn’t quite get him back enough. She was tight into the first vertical and any other horse would have had it down but he somehow managed to scrape over it. He cleared the second vertical too and then had just two more jumps left. I felt mixed about how I wanted her to do and wondered if Chris did too. If she went clean it would be good for him as her trainer; but as a rider it was frustrating to see her horse get her out of a not-so-optimal distance. She rode the last two jumps fine and did, in fact, finish clean.
“Our first to conquer the course tonight, Lily Teller and Monteverdi II, go clean,” the announcer boomed.
By the time we went back to the buffet for dessert and coffee, three more had gone clean. Five riders before Chris was slated to go, Dad said, “I want to go down to the in-gate. Can we watch from there?”
“Wait, why?” I said, nearly knocking my fork off my plate I was so caught off guard.
“Just can we do it?” Dad said. “Are we allowed to? Or do we have to stay up here?”
“We can go down,” I said. “If that’s what you want.”
Dad tossed his napkin on the table. I shared a look with Ryan like, what the heck is this all about? But we also both seemed to wordlessly know not to bother asking Dad to explain further or try to figure it out ourselves.
A quiet hush hung over the schooling ring as Chris jumped an oxer. Dale hovered next to the oxer to adjust it. A steward watched from the end of the ring, ensuring there would be no illegally set jumps. A few people stood on the rail looking in on the ring. Two other riders were jumping; two were flatting in preparation to jump. Another rider, the Princess of Sweden, trotted her horse on a loose rein, his head down low, just having come out of the class. This wasn’t the schooling ring before a junior hunter or eq class where trainers shouted commands. It was almost eerily quiet since most riders at this point in their lives had done the preparation and the training and weren’t trying to fix issues here. This was just a simple prep over as few jumps as possible—saving most of your horse’s good jumps for the ring. This was perhaps about catching a slight convenient rub but nothing more.
The few words that we heard were, “Looks good. Ready to go? Let’s go with that,” and sometimes they were either said with an accent or in another language altogether.
Dad noticed Dale adjusting the jumps for Chris. “He doesn’t have a trainer?” Dad asked.
“Up one and wider,” Chris told Dale.
“Not really. Sometimes he has more experienced trainers or friends who’ll come help him with a horse he’s struggling with, or consult on a line in a course. That type of thing.”
Dad nodded like he was processing all this and doing some sort of assessment.
Chris signaled to Dale that he felt good and they headed up to the in-gate. We followed behind. I wondered if Chris had seen us watching. If he had, he didn’t let on. Perhaps he was too much in the zone to notice.
Nearby a foreign rider was talking to another fellow countryman. They talked in what seemed like incredibly fast bursts in their native language, every once in a while punctuating their sentences with an American turn of phrase. It sounded like: blah-blah-blah-blah-seriously? Blah, blah, blah, blah, super careful!
Dale double-checked Arkos’s boots, bridle, and wiped Arkos’s mouth. Chris stared into the ring almost like he was meditating. The rider before him was finishing up. I took Dad and Ryan onto the viewing platform to watch the class. Ryan followed me but Dad lingered, his eyes on Chris. Ryan and I stopped at the ramp to the platform. “What is up with him?” I whispered to Ryan, as Dad waited, s
till studying Chris.
“I wish I could say I knew,” Ryan said.
Chris and Dale didn’t speak. Some riders exchanged last minute words with their barn manager but not Chris. He didn’t check his girth or fiddle with his reins. He just stared straight ahead.
The rider on course came out of the ring, letting her reins slip through her fingers. She blew out a big breath and threw her leg forward to loosen her girth.
Chris walked forward into the ring, sitting tall in the saddle.
Dad remained a moment or two longer and then caught up with us.
“Coming into the ring now,” the announcer said. “We have Chris Kern aboard Arkos. Chris, a former winner of our country’s equitation finals, has represented the U.S. on several occasions and placed at many top grand prix classes in the country. Arkos is a 16.2 hand Dutch Warmblood.”
This was the biggest class I’d seen Chris ride in. I was in awe of how calmly serious he was. How focused. How he absolutely looked like he belonged on this stage, and on an even bigger stage. Maybe I wouldn’t have seen him walk through the in-gate, or noticed how focused he looked, if it weren’t for my dad asking to come down. Now I had seen it and I felt like I could also see the future—Chris going into the ring in the Olympics. If only he had the right horse.
Arkos jumped brilliantly. And Chris rode him brilliantly. Whereas the other riders who had been clean had done so by having a few hard rubs and somehow also having the luck to have the rails stay up, or barely skimming over a jump like Lily had, Chris mastered the course. There was never a moment where Arkos looked anything but perfectly measured and in control. Arkos didn’t come close to touching a rail. I didn’t know if Dad or Ryan could tell how much better Chris and Arkos were than the other cleans so far—if they could see the difference. Probably not because of their uneducated eyes. I could, though, and goosebumps rose up my arms. Somehow I felt like I would always remember this moment in time. I looked down at my feet on the wooden deck. I would remember this: standing here, watching Chris and Arkos give a command performance. It felt like this was the beginning of something very big for them.
Maybe it wasn’t just me that noticed because the crowd let out an enthusiastic cheer for Chris as the announcer blasted out, “And that’s a clear go—we have another for the jump-off. Chris Kern and Arkos move onto the good list and will return at the end of the first round to try their luck over the shortened, speed course.”
Chris walked Arkos out of the ring and over to the FEI inspection area, patting Arkos’s neck heartily. Dale stood aside as the FEI stewards, dressed in blazers and jeans, took off Arkos’s boots and inspected his legs.
Dad said we could go back to the tent for the jump-off.
“We can stay and watch from here,” I said.
Dad didn’t betray any emotion. “Nope, I’m all set.”
I gave Ryan another look and we headed back to the tent. Part of me wanted to go see Chris and congratulate him but I also thought maybe it was better to not bother him, to let him focus, to leave it at that for now. There were only a few left to go in the class and Chris would be getting on soon for the jump-off. I looked back one more time and caught sight of Mary Beth congratulating him warmly. She had four faults but of course she was conveniently still hanging around the in-gate. When I had pointed her out to Ryan earlier, I’d felt almost silly about how worked up I got over her but now I pulsed with jealousy again. Seeing her made me want to rush back down there.
“You coming?” Ryan said.
Reluctantly I followed them.
Five went clear—Chris had been the last clear so he had the enviable position of going last in the jump-off. The jump-off had a few tight turns to the same vertical-vertical combination and then finished over a line of what looked like seven or eight strides. Lily came back first in the jump-off. She rode efficiently and finished clear. Her time seemed good but beatable. Going first, it was probably just what she needed to do. She had done the eight strides in the last line and that was what the next two riders did. One pulled a rail and the other was slower than Lily so she was still in the lead. A rider from Argentina came in next and laid down a fast and clean trip, still doing the eight, though, and finishing just shy of Lily’s time. To beat Lily you needed to do the seven and go clean. I wondered whether Chris would do the eight since he had clearly coached Lily to do the eight. I wondered if he’d play it safe for Arkos, or go for it. Going in a jump-off was all about measuring the stakes. You didn’t always go as fast as you could. Your plan hinged on where you went in the order and what you were hoping to achieve in that class.
It was impossible to tell what Chris’s plan was over the first half of the course. He was riding neat turns but there was only so much he could do. There were no shortcuts that Lily had missed. It was landing over the in of the last line that his intentions became clear. He was doing the seven and going for the win. I could feel the crowd lean forward, their breath catching in their throats. Even if, like Dad and Ryan, they didn’t know how to count the strides or even what a stride was, they could see Chris urge Arkos forward, galloping at the last jump. Since I’ve never galloped at a huge jump before, I imagine it must take a lot of trust in yourself and your horse. You have to believe that you will make it happen and then it does.
The distance to the out of the line was long. Arkos stretched and cleared the jump. Chris galloped him through the timers and the crowd erupted. The announcer confirmed what everyone else had guessed—that the clock had stopped over a second faster than Lily. Chris had won.
We watched the award presentation from the tent. I couldn’t stop smiling. Ryan leaned close and said, “Well, that was pretty fucking cool.”
Dad overheard him and said, “Really fucking cool.” It was the first thing Dad had said since Chris had gone in the first round. Ryan and I broke out laughing.
We met Chris down by the in-gate. He put his arms around me and hugged me extra tight. I hadn’t seen him look this happy in forever. I hoped MB was watching us hug from somewhere.
“Can we say something now?” I asked.
He laughed, throwing his head back. “Yes, I think we can.”
“That was really cool,” Ryan said.
Lily Teller’s dad came up to Chris and shook his hand. “Couldn’t let her win?” he joked. Or at least I hoped he was joking.
Chris introduced Craig Teller to my dad and Ryan.
“She was right behind me,” Chris said. “She rode great today. But going first and where she is at this stage she needed to do the eight.”
I knew The Chronicle would have fun with their article about today’s class—student and teacher going up against each other.
“Arkos looked good too,” Craig said. “Looks like you have a keeper after all.”
“He jumped great.” Chris looked at my dad. “Did Hannah tell you she was the one who figured out that he had TMJ?”
“She mentioned a little about it,” Dad said.
Mr. Teller left and Jimmy Sharpe came up to Chris and clapped him on the back. “Good go, man,” he said.
“Thanks, Jimmy,” Chris said.
Jimmy and Chris discussed a few details about how the course had ridden. Even though he was American born and bred, Jimmy seemed to have adopted a slight foreign accent or intonation to his words—as if he was trying to be foreign. I guess foreign plain old ruled in show jumping. To be American was to be nothing.
Chris said, “Arkos jumped better today than he’s ever jumped. I’m really excited about this horse again.” Chris looked over at me and I could tell he was trying to tell me just how grateful he was.
“You stuck with him, though,” I said. “You didn’t give up on him.”
“I was getting pretty close.”
“And you were the one who picked him out, who saw something special in him from the beginning when others didn’t.”
“Well, either way, I’m excited. This was nothing for this horse. He always had the scope it was just the carefuln
ess but now it’s like he’s back.”
“It was fun to watch,” Dad said.
Chris smiled. “I’m glad you were here to see a good class. Of course they’re not all like this.”
“I think I got a good sense for what it’s like.”
It was a kind of cryptic statement. How could Dad really get a sense of what show jumping was like from one class? But maybe he could. He was used to looking at companies and figuring out what they needed in a short amount of time.
One of the show’s PR people came over and asked Chris to go speak to the media. “I’ll catch up with you later,” he said.
Chapter 26
After the excitement of the grand prix and Dad and Ryan’s visit, it was almost hard to go back to the routine. I missed having Ryan around the most. Chris jumped Arkos in the 85K 1.50 meter class the following week and he went clean again. His plan for the rest of the circuit was to do the CSI-3 during week 10, give him week 11 off, and then, if he really felt good, perhaps try to qualify to contest the CSI-5 the last week.
His happiness over Arkos trickled down to our relationship, making things between us feel better than they’d been. But still, I knew something lurked underneath the glow of Arkos’s turnaround.
Chris was busier than ever and had little time to spend with me and all I could think about was how circuit was almost over. I couldn’t believe it had gone by so fast and I felt like I hadn’t come close to achieving what I’d set out to do. Chris’s and my relationship wasn’t more committed or defined than it had been back in December. In fact, it was shakier. I was still paranoid about Mary Beth. The urge to bite my nails was growing stronger every day and I felt like any moment I’d cave and chew them. Then there was the question of what I’d do after circuit. Linda had said they’d love to have me come back east with them and work at the farm. “I’m not sure Dakota would love that,” I’d replied.
“Well, she hasn’t exactly tried to mess with you lately, has she?”
Winter Circuit (The Show Circuit -- Book 2) Page 18
