by Nicole Baart
“You okay?” Sam knew enough about his daughter to pull up in front of the stables instead of continuing on to the house. He let the engine idle, patient, waiting.
“Fine,” Adri said. She wiped her palms on her knees, but it was a superfluous action. She wasn’t sweating, she was cold. Ice cold.
“Are you sure? Because we can come back tomorrow. Or the next day. You don’t have to do this right now.”
Adri ignored him. “Do you have the keys?”
He did. A fat key ring that jingled cheerfully. As far as Adri knew, the Galloways had never had a butler—gardeners, housekeepers, a cook, yes, but no one who lived on the estate full-time and who made sure that everything continued to function at optimal performance levels. And so, because they were in the middle of nowhere with little to no threat of burglars, and because there simply was no one to hold the keys, the entire set used to hang on a hook in the small, detached carriage house that had been constructed west of the mansion. Adri was happy that Sam held them now.
There were at least twenty keys. Some shiny and newly cut, others so old they were copper colored. There was even an antique skeleton key, though Adri had never discovered what it was for. Briefly, when she and David were first dating, she had fancifully entertained the notion that there was a hidden room somewhere. Perhaps a closet, shut tight with a rusty padlock and harboring secrets like weary prisoners in the dark. She loved the thought of finding such a door and peeking inside. She feared it, too.
“Thanks.” Adri took the large key ring from her father, and quickly fingered her way to the one that would fit the padlock on the wide double doors of the stable. They hadn’t always locked it, there was no reason to, but she was grateful that the doors were sealed now. She couldn’t bear the thought of rebellious local teenagers prowling the horse barn with questionable intent.
When the door swung open, it sighed a low breath of dust and musk, a scent so sweet and long forgotten that Adri grinned in spite of herself. For a moment it was just another September day and David was beside her, Harper and Jackson and Will just behind. The stable echoed with the memory of their laughter and the breezy nicker of Amira, who was always happy to see them.
But the only sound in the dark stable was the muted stomp of curious hooves and the occasional snort of uncertainty. Adri could hear the horses shuffling around in their stalls, kicking up hay that held the sharp tang of old urine and ripened the stale air. The light switch was to her left, and though Adri’s eyes were already adjusting to the dimness, she fumbled for it and clicked the dark away.
It seemed like nothing much had changed. Amira, Hasana, and Farah, the sisters, though they weren’t really, still occupied the first three stalls on her right. The mares were all lean and lovely, but when Farah dipped her head over the gate and regarded the visitors, Adri could tell that she hadn’t been groomed in ages. Her mane was matted and her coat flat and dingy. Though Adri wanted to go to them, to rub their foreheads and tickle their muzzles with her fingertips, her heart was beating fast. She was already turning away.
The tack room was on Adri’s left, and then the wash stall. Adri didn’t mean to rush down the aisle, but by the time she neared the fourth stall she was jogging.
It was empty.
Bard was gone. The big, black stallion that David had always favored was no longer strutting around his oversize stall, even though the gate still bore a plaque with his name.
“Victoria sold him,” Sam said. He had caught up with Adri and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. Squeezed briefly and then let go. “Sheer black like that? He was worth a mint.”
Adri struggled to find words. Liam had purchased the horse when David turned sixteen. Bard was bought on auction, a promising colt with a pedigree that could be traced back to a series of Supreme Champion sires and dams in Egypt. His bloodlines guaranteed lucrative breeding options, but Liam hadn’t gifted Bard to sire foals. He bought him to teach David a lesson.
“He called me a cheeky sonofabitch and said I needed to learn a thing or two about respect.” David had laughed when he shared the story with The Five. “He wouldn’t buy me a car until I learned to ride the stallion.”
“How hard can it be?” Will had asked, reaching over the gate to tug at Bard’s forelock. But the horse threw back his head and bared his teeth, whinnying so loudly that the stable echoed with the sound. He trotted a few circle eights in his stall just to show them the dark ripple of muscle and the arch in his long, aggressive neck.
“Pretty hard,” David said. He was the only person who hadn’t leaped back from the stall, and he leaned with his arm lightly on the gate. Even so, Adri could see that his back was rigid, his shoulders tight and ready for action. “When you ride a stallion, you have to remember that he’s in charge. You don’t break a stallion, he breaks you. I figure my dad bought an expensive horse to raise me instead of doing it himself.”
“Didn’t work very well.” Harper curled herself against David, her mouth just grazing the curve of his ear, and mock-whispered, “You’re still a cheeky sonofabitch.”
“Nah. I just know how to play the person in charge.” David winked at her.
Bard was calming down and Will dared to take a few steps back toward the stall in an attempt to reclaim some of his dignity. “I thought poets and playwrights were supposed to be dull and bookish.”
David laughed. “Bard isn’t named for Shakespeare. His name is Arabic. They all are. Amira is the princess, Hasana, kind, and Farah means happiness.”
“What does Bard mean?” Jackson asked.
“Cold. Because he’s a coldhearted snake.”
But he wasn’t. Not really. Big and powerful and intimidating, yes. But not cold. Adri had ridden him once, only because she was so angry she was half hoping one of them would be killed. And when he ran beneath her, the stallion was so hot that it hurt to grip him. Or maybe her legs just burned with the strain of holding on.
It was a harrowing memory. And yet, Adri stared at his empty stall, the molding hay piled in one corner and the scuff marks along the wide planks, and wished that she had saddled him up more than that one awful time.
“I’m sorry,” Sam said. “I should have told you. I guess I just figured you would’ve suspected as much.”
“I did,” Adri nodded. “I knew he’d be gone.”
“That doesn’t make it any easier,” Sam finished. Then, turning, he motioned in the direction of the far corner stall. “If it helps . . .”
Mateo was the only bastard of the bunch, a gorgeous blue roan that Victoria had purchased because he was the most beautiful gelding she had ever seen. She didn’t learn until after she brought him home that the classic roan gene does not appear in her husband’s beloved Arabians, and the mottled, silvering effect that she adored was evidence of his disreputable heritage. Liam suspected there was quarter horse in Mateo’s blood, or worse, Tennessee Walker. After that disheartening discovery, no one paid Mateo much mind. Until Adri started hanging around the estate.
“Hey.” Adri’s mouth tilted in a half-smile and she crossed the aisle to take Mateo’s face in her hands. His lips flapped at her fingers, and just as she wished that she had brought something for him, Sam handed her a sugar cube.
“I stuck some in my pocket before I left for the airport,” he said with an innocent shrug.
“Thanks.” Adri offered Mateo the sweet and he snatched it out of her hand instantly. The short whiskers on his muzzle prickled against her palm as he swallowed and searched for more. When Mateo realized there was none, he let out a short, deep whinny, then gave up and contented himself with nuzzling Adri’s chest. It was almost as if he remembered her. But that was impossible. Five years had gone by since she had seen him last, because her homecomings had never included a trip to Piperhall. Adri simply couldn’t summon the courage. Now, Mateo was middle-aged, nothing like the young adult he had been when Adri first rode
him. Back then, he had flowed like water, bubbled up and out and away even as she did everything in her power to control him. Mateo looked like he’d need coaxing to gallop now.
They had stayed on the estate many weekends, The Five, and, in the beginning at least, spent as much time on horseback as they did in the pool or hot tub. On warm days in the fall and spring, they’d do homework on the lawn and then ride before supper. Afterward, a swim to cool off or a dip in the hot tub to relax tired muscles. Early on, Adri had claimed Mateo as her own and no one contested her choice. David, of course, rode Bard and the other three took turns with the sisters. Will had a soft spot for Hasana, but only because she lived up to her name and was endearingly gentle-spirited.
Later, when the others grew tired of horseback riding, Harper began to throw small parties at the estate. Liam was long buried by then—a man who existed only in photographs and in the chill that crept down Adri’s spine when she found herself alone in the grand, old mansion—and Victoria was retreating into herself, an odd but elegantly aging woman who deferred to her son as the head of the household even though David wasn’t exactly the responsible sort. He had it in him, anyone could see that from a mile away, but in his college years he seemed eager to savor every last morsel of youth, and he lived hard and drove fast and drank altogether too much Scotch from his father’s extensive collection of costly, dark bottles.
And so David and Harper threw parties of the Great Gatsby kind, and populated Piperhall with various groups of people who drifted the scant miles from ATU’s campus in the heart of Blackhawk to gawk at the Galloway fortune. Harper liked theme parties, beach-styled luaus by the pool when it was hot, and elegant soirees that spilled from the dining room to the loggia and were lit by candlelight when the stars came out. Once, there was even a 1920s-themed murder mystery, and Harper set it up so that she and David played the part of a chic, enviable couple, the hosts of the glitteringly ominous event.
They played house, really, all five of them. Or, all four of them. They adopted David’s reality as if it was their own, and Adri had never stopped to wonder what would happen when their games came to an end. None of them did.
“Would you like to go for a ride?” Sam asked, stroking Mateo’s neck. “I know it’s been a while, but it’s kind of like riding a bike. You never forget how.”
Adri shook her head, dissolving the haze of her memories. “No, thank you. Not now.”
“You must be exhausted. How long have you been traveling?”
“Days,” Adri said wryly, and it wasn’t a lie. “But I’d like to at least groom them. And maybe muck out the stalls. It looks like it’s been a while.”
“Sorry about that.” Sam said.
“What for?”
“It’s my fault they’re not groomed.”
Adri was stunned. “You’re taking care of the horses?”
“Will and Jackson help me when they can, but they’re busy.” Sam paused. “Jackson’s going to be a daddy, you know.”
No, Adri didn’t know. Throughout college, several boyfriends, girlfriends, and acquaintances had tried to work their way into the tight knot of The Five. It worked, for a season. But inevitably someone got bored, or irritated that no matter how hard they tried to ingratiate themselves, The Five remained impenetrable at their core. Only Nora managed to orbit their circle with any frequency, and Adri hadn’t been surprised by the phone call she received a couple of years before to announce Jackson and Nora’s wedding. She had been invited, but she hadn’t made the trip.
“A daddy,” Adri said, a little belatedly. “Jackson will make a great dad.”
“He really will.” Sam nodded. “Jackson and Nora are a beautiful couple. She’s struggling a bit with the pregnancy, but the baby is healthy. Everything will be fine.”
Adri probed her emotions as if pressing a bruise. Was she jealous of Jackson and Nora? Of their marriage and baby? No, she decided. It was just strange to imagine that while she was trapped in her own self-inflicted purgatory, life was going on without her. Jackson and Nora were proof that some people were granted the grace of a new beginning.
“Jackson isn’t much help,” Sam said, reaching out to pat Mateo, “but I don’t hold that against him.”
“And Will? Is he around much?”
Sam shrugged. “Brothers is doing well. They’re very busy.”
Several years ago Will and Jackson had claimed their bachelor’s degrees were useless and started a small construction company that specialized in home repairs, additions, and remodeling. It had been a rocky start, but apparently business was booming. But that was beside the point. Surely Victoria had hired someone to take care of the horses.
“I volunteered,” Sam continued before Adri could formulate a question. “Victoria called me to ask if I could help get Bard ready for sale, and when I realized that no one was looking after the stable, I volunteered.”
It was a lot for one person to handle. Caring for a single horse was a big commitment, but tending to all four of them was a part-time job.
“We ride them when we can. Pasture them when we can’t.” Sam passed a hand over his face and sighed a little. “I’m hoping there’s a provision for them in Victoria’s will.”
Adri did too. “Thanks, Dad.” She laid her hand on her father’s arm and attempted to convey just how much it meant to her that he had stood in the gap when no one else could or would.
It would take hours to groom all four horses the way they deserved, but Adri found a pair of curry combs and offered one to her father. They could do a preliminary brushing to get rid of the worst of the matting, and focus on hooves, mane, and other details later.
Adri found it oddly calming to work herself into a sweat as she wielded the curry comb on Mateo’s rump. The harder she brushed him, the more he leaned into her care, his skin rippling beneath her vigorous ministrations. It reminded her of scrubbing the tile floors in her little beach bungalow, only it was much more satisfying to feel Mateo’s obvious delight at her attention than to do battle with a never-ending stream of fire ants that crept through a crack in the wall of her tiny kitchen. And a lot less painful.
“Tell me about it,” Sam said suddenly as he worked on Farah’s neck. He had tied her in the aisle near Mateo’s stall. Adri didn’t ask why, she assumed it was because after all the years between them, proximity was a luxury worth indulging.
“About what?” She figured he was talking about the horses, her time with David, the past.
He surprised her by saying, “Africa. Your job. Your life.”
Adri didn’t know what to say. There I’m me, and here I’m someone else altogether. There I know who I am and where I am, here I feel like I’m living in the skin of a stranger, an alien in a strange land. And yet, every remembrance was filling her up, splashing into the quiet, empty spaces and reminding her of a time that had been so rich and full and decadent and lovely her heart hurt to think about it. How could she say all that? How could he understand?
“It’s hot,” she said carefully and stifled another shiver. “Very, very hot.”
Sam laughed. “I knew that. You post pictures on Facebook every once in a while. The heat seeps through.”
Adri gave him a guilty look. Her father had bought a cheap laptop from Walmart and signed up for a Facebook account several years ago because Will had informed him that Adri occasionally uploaded photos to her timeline. But she was a sporadic user at best, and if she remembered correctly, the last time she had shared anything was when Dawn, her assistant before Caleb, had scraped her knee in a soccer match. In spite of their best efforts, the cut had become violently infected and Dawn was forced to travel stateside for treatment. She never came back. “It’s busy,” Adri added to her paltry description. “I’m busy.” And then, “I’ll try to post more pictures.”
Sam nodded, but didn’t say anything more, and Adri felt a stab of remorse. She was, wit
hout a doubt, the world’s worst daughter. When she first moved to Africa she had come home regularly. Once a year. But she tired of the excruciatingly long journey, of navigating the life she was desperate to leave behind. She could never bring herself to visit Victoria, even though that was exactly what she should have done. After two short trips home feeling helpless and useless, she decided to stay put for a while. A while had turned into almost three years. Three years of nothing but phone calls, emails, and the occasional Facebook photo. Who did that?
In the beginning of her exile, she had routinely asked her dad to come and visit, but it was a hollow invitation. Adri knew he wouldn’t come. He couldn’t. The farm was small, but there was no one else to take care of it. And in all of his fifty-eight years he had never been outside of the Midwest. Ever. Sam wasn’t about to jump headfirst into international travel, and Adri could hardly blame him.
“Time is different there,” she said slowly. Fumbling toward familiarity. “We get up early in the morning and work until midafternoon. You just can’t get anything done after that, so we don’t even try. I go to bed at nine o’clock.”
Sam grinned. “So do I.”
“I get up at five.”
“Gotcha beat. Four.”
Adri tipped her head in acknowledgment of his victory. “Okay. We eat twice a day. Something light in the morning, and then a large meal in the afternoon.”
“I forage,” Sam admitted.
“But you’re an excellent cook!” Adri protested, her mouth watering at the thought of her father’s mashed potatoes, glistening with pats of butter and swimming in gravy that he made from the drippings of his roast chicken. When they were kids, she and Will had eaten like royalty. Fat steaks charred on the grill, meat loaf sandwiches with homemade vinegar-and-ketchup glaze, pork roast with caramelized onions and baked apples. Sam also had one go-to cake, a dense, chocolate confection made with sour cream and a can of cherry pie filling, that was best hot from the oven. And even better with a handful of half-burned birthday candles stuck in the gooey frosting.
