Catch Rider (9780544034303) (15 page)

Then she said this to me: “You're trying to ruin my life.”

And I realized she was crazy.

 

In my car, driving up Route 220, knowing I might never sleep under the same roof as her again, I started crying so hard that I could barely see. I felt like my mother was dead.

I drove to the farm. Wayne was asleep, drunk, on the sofa with the TV on. I slept there and went to school in the morning, and at lunch I told Ruthie what had happened, all of it. She just sat there chewing her food, shaking her head. I figured she was probably on her way to a fancy boarding school anyway, so what did she care.

A
FTER SCHOOL
, I went to the barn alone. I had stopped by Wayne's place on my way, but he stank of liquor so I left him home. I wasn't cleaning stalls half an hour before I heard Dutch chewing out Wes over some horse getting cut up in the field. Wes had been walking the perimeter of the field for more than an hour but couldn't find what had done it—a nail, a piece of metal, whatever.

To listen to this while I was thinking about my mother was too much. When Dutch finally left, I found Wes. “You don't have to let them treat you like trash.”

He tried to ignore me. “Maybe they hired a pig farmer from Massies Mill because they knew he'd never stand up for himself. You'll be here until you're a tired old drunk.”

“Don't be blowing your stack at
me,
Sid. I'm the only friend you got around here.”

I climbed up to the hayloft and threw down a few bales, broke the bales into flakes, and hayed all the horses, working with one of the grooms. When I was done, Wes was standing in the aisle looking tired.

“You hungry?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“I'll drive.”

I got in his truck and we drove over to White's, the local horsemen's hangout, home of the “Mammoth Burger.” I'd only been in there once, with Wayne. Charlottesville was different from Covington—the cars were a lot nicer and the people had more money. There were terriers bouncing up and down in trucks in the parking lot and the people inside had on nicer coats than they would near my house, but you'd be surprised how much we all had in common. Horse people just wanted to talk about horses, gossip, make deals—you know, the same everywhere.

Wes acted like I hadn't said what I did. I couldn't be- lieve I was sitting there with him. I felt like my life was in the damn toilet, yet suddenly it didn't seem to matter so much.

“I heard you almost qualified for the finals,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“That's incredible.”

“Thanks.”

We ordered cheeseburgers and fries.

“Even if someone gave me a horse for the show, I'd have to pay for all the other fees,” I said. “The board at the Garden, trailering, entry fees, the hotel room. That alone would be . . .”

“Six grand. Maybe more,” he said.

“Shit. That's a lot worse than I thought. Even with a loaned horse?”

“You wouldn't get a free horse, Sid. If you went, you'd have to take something really broke, a real eq horse. And even if you borrowed one, you'd have to insure it.”

I sat back in my seat and sighed. “Oh, well—doesn't matter because I didn't qualify.” I kept looking into Wes's eyes. I felt as though he really understood and he cared.

He blinked and looked away. “Maybe next year,” he said. But we both knew it had been a fluke and wouldn't happen again.

“How's Wayne?” he asked.

“Wayne's not doing too good right now.”

Our food came pretty fast, and we ate for a few minutes. I changed the subject. “Who's your favorite horse in the barn?” I asked.

He smiled. “That fat old pony, Cherokee,” he said.

“Out of all the expensive horses from Germany and Sweden and Saudi Arabia, he's your favorite?”

“You try him out sometime—you'll see. He'll jump anything. You'll rub your hands raw trying to hold him back. He's got to be eighteen years old, at least, and he bites kids. But, man, is he fun to ride. You point him at a fence and he just takes off.”

“So, you don't mind working for rich people?” I asked him.

“That's where the money is.”

“How'd you get the job?”

“I was at a show once, working as a groom, and Kelly's horse colicked. They found him in the stall about to die. The vet was an hour away, so I ran a tube down his nose and pumped him full of mineral oil.”

“All by yourself?”

“Yeah.”

“Damn. That's one thing I can't do on my own,” I said.

“The horse wasn't going to make it otherwise—I didn't have any choice. So they hired me because they wanted to keep someone with vet skills close by. I got accepted to a summer vet program at Virginia Tech, but the money at Oak Hill was too good, so I stayed.”

I was impressed. “Virginia Tech is one of the best vet schools in the country.”

“I've got a good gig. I'm lucky.” He shrugged.

“I think they're the ones who are lucky.”

I was kind of embarrassed after I said this.

“Thanks,” he said.

The waitress brought the check. Wes grabbed it and pulled out his wallet. “My treat.”

“Thanks,” I said.

I wondered if this was a date. I sure wanted to think so.

We got in his truck and went back to the barn. Dutch was hauling a sale horse up to The Plains and no one was around, so we decided to go on a trail ride. I got to ride Cherokee. The second I got on his back and sank my weight down into my stirrups, he took off. I gathered up the reins while he was running through the parking lot.

Wes nearly fell over laughing. He climbed onto his gelding and threw his leg forward in front of the saddle to tighten the girth.

“I told you! I told you he was crazy! He loves trail rides,” he said.

We trotted down the edge of the field and cut through the woods. Cherokee knew which way to go, so I got in front. You're only supposed to let a horse run when you're heading away from the barn—otherwise they get in the dangerous habit of taking off for the barn when you head home—so we skirted the edge of the field and let them tear. Cherokee was running so fast that tears streamed out of my eyes from the wind. We cut into the woods where Wes said there were some jumps set up. Cherokee tore down the trail and jumped over those coops and gates like they were nothing.

It was so damn fun to be on a horse with no one watching what you were doing, knowing the horse was going to go over the fence because he wanted to.

We walked home to let the horses catch their breath. I wanted to ask Wes about Kelly. I couldn't, for the life of me, figure out what he would want with her. But it didn't come up.

W
HEN WE GOT
back to the barn, I heard Kelly in the tack room arguing with Dee Dee and crying.

“But she's my best friend!” Kelly said.

“I don't want you sharing a trainer with her anymore. Dutch gives her too much attention and it's going to cost you.”

They were talking about Margaret, the girl I'd seen with Kelly on my first day. I knew she and Kelly were best friends. Margaret boarded her horse there.

Kelly begged her.

“It's always ‘The Margaret Show,'” said Dee Dee. “She needs to find another trainer.”

Dee Dee was making the girl leave a few weeks before the finals. Wow.

“She's pretending to be your friend but she just wants to beat you,” Dee Dee said.

“She
is
my best friend.” Kelly was still sobbing. “You're making her move Limestone? He loves it here!”

“I have to talk to the vet. I don't have time for this,” Dee Dee said.

“You only have horses because you hate people,” Kelly said as Dee Dee walked away. “And they hate you back.”

I saw Dee Dee's face, and she was hurt. She saw me and tried to hide it. I wished I hadn't heard any of that. I didn't like either of them, but I felt bad for both of them. Kelly was right—Dee Dee liked horses more than she liked people. She had horses around because she was lonely.

Then I felt a cold shiver as I wondered if I rode horses because I was lonely, too.

Wes and I just stood there. Finally, Kelly came out of the tack room, saw us, and dried her face off on her sleeve. “Where've you been?”

“We just took a short ride,” Wes said.

“Sid, you left Gee Gee's stall unlocked, and she got into the tack room and cut up her leg.”

I felt the blood drain from my face. Immediately I assumed it was my fault. Then I realized that it wasn't—I hadn't been near Gee Gee's stall all day. Why did everyone blame me for everything? Did everyone hate me that much?

“The vet is sewing it up,” she went on. “Twelve stitches.”

Wes went to help.

“I wasn't in there,” I said.

“Everyone knows you were. You were cleaning her stall this afternoon.”

“I was not in there today. It must have been someone else.”

“Like who?”

“Hell if I know.”

“Well, we know it wasn't your uncle. He's sleeping under a bar somewhere.”

That was it. I didn't care how upset she was—she wasn't going to insult my family.

“I have news for you, sweetheart,” I said. “If I want to knock your teeth out, Wes ain't going to stop me.”

“You're fired,” she said. “If you want to get paid for the day, you better finish cleaning stalls.”

“Screw you,” I said.

“Just get out.”

Everything was happening so fast, I didn't have time to think. I got my chaps and my saddle from the tack room and went outside.

As I loaded my tack into my car, a big silver Range Rover pulled into the driveway and a lady got out wearing jodhpurs and rubber boots. I recognized her as an official I'd seen at the horse shows. What in the hell was she doing here?

Martha came out to meet her.

“Hello, Madeline,” she said.

“Good evening, Martha.”

“Is everything okay? Is this a USEF business call?” Martha asked.

“Actually, it is. Your granddaughter is a beautiful rider. I'm so happy for her that she qualified for the finals.”

God, it was so insincere. These old horse biddies were nice to their horses, even nicer to their dogs, but not so nice to each other. I was getting to the point where if I saw a lady over the age of forty-five in riding clothes, I wanted to run for my life.

“Oh, we're so happy, too. Thank you. She'll be taking the horse Idle Dice.”

“I see. I'm actually here to talk to the girl who rode Idle Dice a few weeks ago. Is she here today?”

Martha paused.

I held my breath. What else was I going to get in trouble for?

“She should be.”

Martha didn't know what had happened.

I came out from behind my car.

“This is Sid,” said Martha.

“Hi, Sidney. I'm Madeline Cardwell from USEF.”

“Hi,” I said. I was going to be fined or sanctioned or never allowed to show again. This day was spelling nothing but doom.

“There's room for one more entry in the Maclay Finals. One rider had to scratch, so we'll take one more from the regionals, and you're next on the list.”

I just stared at her.

“Sidney?” she said.

“What?” I asked. My brain was numb.

“You qualified for the Maclay Finals.”

“My! Congratulations!” said Martha. Madeline Cardwell handed me an envelope.

“Here's your official letter. Please call me if you have any questions.”

They were both smiling at me. I opened the letter. There was a USEF seal at the top, and sure enough, I was being invited to ride in the finals.

Kelly came out of the barn.

“She just qualified for the Garden,” Martha told her.

Kelly's mouth fell open. Then she asked, “What are you going to ride?”

“I don't . . . I don't know,” I stammered.

She looked at me for a long time, and I finally took a breath.

“You know, you're only as good as your horse,” Kelly said.

“No, Kelly, your horse is only as good as you,” I said.

And I got in my car and left.

I
T STARTED TO
pour as I was driving over Afton Mountain. I got behind a tractor-trailer heaving slowly uphill with its hazards on. The right lane was blocked off because of falling rocks—pieces of a smashed boulder lay behind orange construction webbing. I took my foot off the gas, feeling the frustration build. Couldn't I just get up the damn mountain?

If I'd known I'd qualified, I wouldn't have mouthed off. I might even have sucked up a little to Martha to borrow a horse from them—that was how badly I wanted to go to New York.

I stopped by my house and got some things for Wayne. I wanted to make him dinner, figured we could talk over some warm food.

When I got to his house, he was sitting at his table halfway into a fifth of bourbon, smoking a cigarette and staring at the television. He looked horrible. This bender was getting worse.

“I'm making you a redneck casserole—tuna fish and corn flakes,” I said, opening a cabinet.

He didn't say anything.

“I got fired from the barn.”

He looked up. “What for?”

“Mouthing off.”

“Ain't that a surprise.” He shook his head, getting upset. “Damn it, girl, don't you know when to keep it shut? Talk about cutting off your nose to spite your face. That was your chance to make something of yourself.”

“Look who's talking,” I said.

I pulled the letter out of my pocket and handed it to him.

“What is it?”

I didn't answer. He found his glasses and opened it.

He read it, then looked up at me.

“I guess I'm lucky they let me qualify.”

“It ain't a goddamn lottery. It ain't luck. You earned it.”