Pas de deux Page 11

  I suspected he was trying to wring as much work out of me before I skipped off merrily—his phrasing—to play with world-class dressage horses for a few months. I knew he knew that wasn’t what I’d be doing at all, and was making light of it to downplay the importance and make me feel like shit for abandoning my post. A post he’d given me permission to abandon because he knew what good publicity it would be for his practice.

  I’d been working at Seth Ranger and Associates for over six years, and while there’d always been the vibe that we were lucky to work there and should just take what was dished out—unfortunately not unusual in my profession—the animosity and indifference had definitely ramped up in the last three or four years. Not a great way to foster a happy workplace. But I loved the work and my salary was really good, which not only helped with my college debt but my remnant childhood unease about not having much money. It’d become a case of sticking with the devil I knew.

  Even if the devil was an asshole six days out of seven.

  Chapter Nine

  Caitlyn

  One of Lotte’s clients had left Douglas, who I’d been calling Dougie—a four-year-old green-broken stallion by the champion Grand Prix stallion, Damon Hill—at Lotte’s barn for me to try out. I loved everything about Damon Hill and his son seemed like an excellent example of the bloodline. Like his father, Dougie was quite small but had a huge presence and big expressive paces that made him feel like he filled the arena, and he was willing and enthusiastic without being out-of-control hot.

  I made a mental note to do some more math once I’d dismounted. Technically I could afford to purchase him on my own and there was always the prospect of keeping him as a breeding stallion, which after some Big Tour wins would bring in a nice sum every year. But his price tag would seriously dent my rainy-day savings.

  Or I could put forward a proposal to one of my major sponsors to syndicate the horse and have either just me and them as co-owners, or possibly add a third equal party. The arrangement wasn’t unusual at high levels of equestrian sport, and it was actually rarer to find international-class riders who owned their mounts outright than it was for them to be riding someone else’s horses.

  Even a split percentage of revenue from Dougie’s service fees would help cover running costs during my leaner months away competing, though working out competition and breeding arrangements for stallions could be a nightmare. Especially when there were multiple parties.

  If I got Dougie, then I would have a sure thing to take Dew’s place, especially if my young horse, Dirk, continued on his current path of being too anxious in high stress situations, in which case he’d be sold to someone less competitive than me. My whole life was made up of uncertain ifs which I did my best to make certain.

  Hopefully I could keep Dew sound and happy for the next four years ready for Tokyo 2020 which would be his second, and last, Olympic Games. After years at the highest level of competition, it became more difficult to keep horses physically and mentally sound. Then, if my Small Tour horse, Dimity, stopped being so marey and opinionated she might move up to the Big Tour.

  If…if…if…

  If I didn’t stop thinking about the future when I should be concentrating on the present, I was going to have a meltdown. I could see Wren bringing Dew in from his field for his afternoon session with the massage blanket, and made a transition down from Dougie’s naturally balanced canter to his expressive rhythmical trot. We did a loose cool-down trot around the arena, while I asked him to stretch his head and neck down and relax through the back while keeping steady rein contact.

  A direction change, more long-and-loose trot before I brought him back to walk. Dougie spotted a gremlin in the field to our right and spooked. It was such a minor spook that it barely rated on my spook-o-meter and I laughed, patted him, then kept on doing what we were doing. There was such a fine line between flamboyance and a look-at-me quality, versus too tense and looky to be able to compete at high levels. Dew, bless him, had enough of each to make him the perfect Grand Prix horse. And it seemed Dougie did too.

  Wren and a couple of the other grooms had arranged to meet in town for dinner and once we were done for the day I’d waved her off and told her to have a great time. An evening by myself was just what I needed. While I was ruining dinner, I called Mom for my weekly Skype chat and just as I was about to give up and try again later she answered with her typically drawn out, “Hellloooo.”

  “Hi, Mom. Sorry I didn’t call earlier. How’re you and Dad?”

  “It’s fine, I know you’ve got stuff going on.” She laughed. “We’re all fine. How’re you doing, Caity?” She was the only one, thankfully, who called me that.

  “I’m good. Busy with the usual stuff. We’re driving to Rotterdam the day after tomorrow. First day of competition is Thursday.”

  “And how are you feeling about things?”

  “Good. Excited.” I added a handful of diced green pepper to my creation and jumped back when the pan hissed at me. Hastily, I turned down the heat. Oil burns were not a great way to start an Olympic campaign. Potential Olympic campaign. “Some nerves brewing, but nothing big or unusual.” And I knew they’d disappear the moment I sat astride Dewey.

  “Good. Now, turn that heat down, Caity, I can hear you burning your dinner. Have you added garlic? You always forget to add garlic.”

  “Carbon is good for you. And it’s not burning, it’s…sizzling. And yes, I have added garlic.” Have added…about to add because I forgot and you just reminded me…same thing. I sidestepped to the fridge for the jar and dropped half a teaspoon into the pan.

  “Hmm.” That one sound conveyed all her maternal disbelief and disappointment that my culinary skills were basically nonexistent. “Let me guess, dinner is whatever vegetables are wilting in your crisper, tofu and rice.”

  “Close. I ran out of tofu and haven’t managed to get to the store.” Staring into the pan at my bland dinner, I conceded that perhaps I should have donated these vegetables to Lotte’s neighbor’s pigs and just eaten takeout.

  “What about all those recipe books I’ve sent you? And the sport nutritionist’s ideas? Hundreds of recipes just waiting for you to try.”

  “I have them. Somewhere. At home which is nowhere near here. And yes I know I could look online, but all the recipe books in the world aren’t going to help someone with zero cooking ability, Mom. It’s like a language I just can’t learn no matter how hard I try. I’m a one-trick pony and cooking ain’t my trick. Even those cooking classes you paid for didn’t help much. Cooking Maestro Caitlyn is a ship that sailed long ago. And it sank. In flames.”

  The fact my mother didn’t argue or try to placate me was both comfortingly familiar and a little insulting. “At least they’ll feed you well in the athlete’s village.”

  “True.” Those brewing nerves fluttered in my stomach at the idea. “So you won’t have to worry about my dietary needs for those few weeks. Assuming we make the team,” I clarified.

  Mom, master of emotion, obviously picked up on the slight quaver in my voice. “I’m sure you’ll be just fine. You always are. I’m so proud of you, always have been. And remember that the results don’t matter. All that matters is you do your best and act in the spirit of good sportsmanship, just like they taught you at Pony Club. I know you’ll do both and that’s enough for your dad and me.”

  We both knew there was far more than that at stake, but I loved her simplistic attitude. I rummaged for cutlery. “Speaking of Pony Club. Do you remember a girl called Addie Gardner from the South River Pony Club when we moved down to Tennessee?”

  “Name’s familiar but I can’t get a face.”

  “She used to ride that chestnut gelding with all the white, looked similar to Antoinette. Reddish brown hair, really unusual light brown eyes, dimples. I think she was about my height back then but now she’s a bit shorter.” I realized my description was bordering on waffling and clamped my lips closed on saying more.

  “Ohhhh, right. Ye
s, I remember now. The poor girl.”

  “Mom!”

  “What? The family was poor, and by her mother’s own admission too, Caity. Not that we were exceedingly wealthy either, mind you, but I know the Gardners struggled. I was friendly with her mom. You know we all used to sit around and gossip while you kids were off being equestriennes.”

  “Really? But Addie was in with the bitchy crowd.” The rich bitchy crowd. Given how cruel and rude they were to those deemed not good enough, I found it unfathomable that someone without money would be allowed in their ranks. “They all went to an elite school, were a super-tight group and there’s no way they’d let her be in their crowd if she wasn’t rolling in it. I don’t believe it.”

  “Well you should believe it. And I know for certain that Addie was not at that school. Don’t you recall we gave Addie and her horse a ride to competitions a couple times because they didn’t have a trailer or even a car that was capable of towing a rented trailer?”

  That, I did recall. I hadn’t questioned why at the time, just assumed something was wrong with their car or trailer. Being horrified at having to share the car with Addie, I hadn’t delved into the reason behind it. But now I thought about it, I couldn’t actually remember the experience at all, how she’d behaved, if we’d talked. She’d probably been mean, which was why I’d wiped the memory. Or…perhaps it had been totally inoffensive. I wished I could remember. “Why’d we give her a ride?”

  “Because it was the right thing to do for someone who needed help.” The explanation had come out matter-of-factly and also with a steely edge as if daring me to express an opinion that conflicted with Mom’s good manners. “They were totally reliant on others. I don’t even think they owned the horse, and I know her mom worked a second job to help pay for its upkeep. I also know Addie used to spend all the time she wasn’t on that horse or doing schoolwork, either babysitting or doing odd jobs to get money so she could help out. Her mom always gave me gas money and also usually a cake or something to say thank you. Good people. Kind people.”

  “That’s nice of them,” I said vaguely. Apparently there was a lot going on behind the scenes that I’d never known. Another dot point to add to the list of things that maybe weren’t as I’d thought they were. I was starting to feel a little like my teen years had existed in a separate dimension. And if my mom had things happening under my nose, what about everyone else? What about Addie?

  “It was. So why’d you bring up Addie?”

  “Turns out she’s our new team vet. We’ve been seeing a little of each other and will be spending a fair bit of time together until…I come home. Whenever that is.”

  Mom’s squeal of delight was genuine. “Well isn’t that nice. Just goes to show how you can make anything of yourselves if you try.” She paused for a dramatic beat. “Must be nice to have a familiar face around. Were you two friends back then?” The question was slow, as if she already knew the answer and was leading me.

  “Not really no. Not at all.” I felt like a whiny idiot when I said, “That group she used to hang out with were all mean to me, remember?”

  “As I recall, you were all horrible to one another. Typical teenage girls, mean and catty and forever playing pranks. Do you remember when you and your friend stole all my food color dye to paint a girl’s horse with a rainbow right across his belly? She was in tears because she thought it’d stain all his white fur.”

  Gray, and hair. Smiling, I agreed, “I do remember that.”

  “Mhmm, and as I recall, she was not at all impressed.”

  “It shampooed right out, Mom. It was totally harmless.”

  “Didn’t seem that way to her.”

  I turned off the buzzing rice cooker. “Is there something you want to say to me? You know I’m not good at reading between the lines, and you’ve got that voice.” Thankfully my psychologist mother rarely turned her professional gaze to me. Or at least not to my face. But she did insist I have another psych’s professional eye on me while I was growing up chasing dreams.

  “All I’m saying is sometimes people misconstrue other people’s actions. I know everyone used to think you were snooty and aloof because you’re so shy. Did you consider how you might have come across to Addie? Now I’m not saying whatever she did to you when you were kids was mean or not. What I am saying is maybe you looked at it in a different way to what was intended. And maybe you should look at the reasons behind why you might do that.”

  I was still and silent for so long that Mom prompted me with a, “Caity? You still there? Did this danged call drop out? I still see you. Blasted technology.”

  “I’m here. Just thinking.”

  “Good. Think away. It’s good for you. But not too much. Just the right amount is good.”

  Well that’s not cryptic at all. “Noted.”

  “Do you recall when you and Addie rode that pas de deux?” She mangled the French. “Quite the performance. You worked so hard together on getting your choreography and music just right, and your horses were so perfectly matched. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen two kids so happy.”

  “I remember.” We’d been put together because our horses were so similar. After a few moments to drag my memories back, I admitted, “It was fun.”

  “Mmm, thought so. So maybe it’s not all as you remember it. Oh! I have to go. Patrice is here, we’re going to the movies. Be safe, call me when you can, give Dewey a pat from me and say hi to Wren. Love you.”

  “Will do and love you too.”

  Over dinner, my mom’s advice circled around and around my head. Of course, that led to me thinking about my conversations with Addie. I had to admit that she really was nothing like she had been. And the more I thought about it, the more stupid I felt. Who was the same as they were twenty years ago?

  Objectively, I could also say Wren was right when she’d said Addie was cute. And funny. She was sweet, and kind to Dew and aside from that initial meeting where she’d seemed startled into forgetting to be polite, she’d been nothing but polite. Everything pointed to her being a decent person now.

  So, I could hold on to childish idiocy, or move on. I trusted her, because she was an appointed team veterinarian and clearly more than capable. But more than that, setting all the professional stuff aside, I had to admit I felt comfortable with her. Or more accurately, comfortable leaving the welfare of probably the most important thing in my life in her hands if need be. But was I comfortable enough to set aside twenty years of background grudge?

  I poured myself a small glass of red and took it and a few squares of chocolate into the living room with my iPad. A few years ago I’d digitized the three full photo albums of horse pictures taken with the camera Nana had given me for my thirteenth birthday, and saved them in the Cloud. Most of the photos were just repetitious shots of horses grazing, tied up with tack on or pictures taken by friends with most of me or the horse not actually in the picture. The albums also held photos my mom had taken during Pony Club meetings, rallies, and competitions. Riding, receiving ribbons and trophies, falling off.

  One photo caught my eye. A picture of Addie and me riding the pas de deux. I’d always been so focused on myself that I’d never paid much attention to how other Pony Club members rode, but in this photo she looked as if she belonged on a horse. Our horses’ strides were completely in sync, both of us polished to perfection. She had a massive smile on her face, and when I zoomed in, I noticed we were both side-eyeing one another. Interesting. It should have been such a standout moment in my early riding career but I couldn’t recall any details, this “working so hard together” that Mom had mentioned.

  There was another image that made me pause. The picture was a candid shot of the club members during one of our monthly meetings. In the foreground, sitting on the concrete bleachers in front of the clubhouse were Addie and the Elites. They were hamming for the camera, holding up cans of Coke and burgers. Except for Addie. Her smile was tight, expression one of forced mirth. Instead of Coke she had a plasti
c reusable water bottle and in her other hand was a sandwich wrapped in tinfoil. On her knee was a fun-size Mars Bar.

  Just to Addie’s left and a row down I sat with my head bowed. Hair escaping my ponytail, a smudge of dirt on the knee of my jodhpurs, my boots polished mirror bright. On my lap was an unopened sandwich—PB&J undoubtedly—and a half-eaten banana. I zoomed in, trying to remember the girls’ names, and failing. As I stared at the picture, it suddenly dawned on me that Addie wasn’t actually looking at the camera, or even her friends.

  She was looking at me.

  Chapter Ten

  Addie

  I’d spent most of the flight to the Netherlands doing up client billing and clinical notes ready to send back to the work servers the moment I had wi-fi, and when I landed after multiple flight legs was hit by the wave of suppressed fatigue. Fatigue was my near-constant companion but this was some next level shit.

  I collected my rental car and checked into the same apartment three miles from Lotte Bakker’s place and just over a mile from my new favorite Netherlands café. After a longing look at the bed, I showered, chugged an energy drink and jumped back in the car to go see Caitlyn. And Dewey. Oh, and Dakota and Pierre too. Right.

  I’d meet up with the other seven riders and horses who were based in Europe when everyone came together at Rotterdam tomorrow. Thankfully it was only two horses to check straight up because I was weirdly foggy for someone who was conditioned to being awake for inhumane stretches of time and at bizarre hours.

  On my way to the barn my eye was caught by someone riding a very flashy liver chestnut with a delicate, dished head marked with a distinctive thick, off-center stripe running down its face. Though obviously young and inexperienced, the horse was one of the most eye catching I’d seen. Even more eye catching was Caitlyn. If I hadn’t recognized her by the long brown, instead of the usual competition black, boots she always wore when schooling horses I would have known her riding style anywhere. She just always looked so…natural. She really could get on anything and make it look easy, as if the moment she put a leg over a horse she was made complete.