Riding Lessons Read online

  I look over at his profile, watching as he picks up a few pieces of popcorn.

  I remember the first time I ever laid eyes on him--he was in a group of kids bussed over from the local high school to watch me compete. I was accepting my ribbon, and I saw him behind the boards. He was watching intently while the other kids messed around. And then he smiled at me, a huge open grin. It took my breath away.

  He is still the most attractive man I've ever seen, with his easy exuberance and clear blue eyes. Even age is looking good on him, which isn't fair, because it isn't looking good on me.

  Dan turns to me with a questioning look, flashing a smile. I smile in response, and we both turn back to the screen.

  Mutti and Pappa loved Dan instantly. To them, he must have seemed like a gift from God--a nice, respectful Catholic boy who encouraged me in my riding. For the first time in my entire life, my parents encouraged me to have a social life. They let me go out on dates, they invited him to the house, appeared delighted when he showed up unannounced. They even approved of him traveling to Marjory's on weekends, after I went there to train. Dan, it seemed, could do no wrong, and this was the kiss of death.

  Could I really have been such an idiot? To pick up with Roger simply because I had seen the disapproval cross Mutti's face when I introduced them? Relishing her discomfort at his Protestantism, her distaste for his flat personality? You might think that a mother would be pleased to have her daughter bring home a third-year law student, but not Mutti, and so I did the only thing that made sense to me. I dumped Dan and started dating Roger.

  It's strange how it feels as though if I just reached across the armrest and took Dan's hand we could pick up where we left off. I don't have any reason to believe he's even interested anymore. Indeed, why would he be? The last time we were together, I had a hook. I was special. What am I now?

  Dan shifts in his seat as he crosses his legs in the other direction, and I feel the fabric of his sleeve brush against my bare shoulder. I press into him a little, and he does not move away. For the rest of the movie, I concentrate on that little patch of cotton and the soft warmth behind it, hinting of the skin beneath.

  He takes me for dinner at an Italian bistro, and over soft-shell crab linguine laced with tiny cubes of vine-ripened tomatoes, we touch on the subject of our earlier conversation. I laugh it off, trying to give the impression that I've realized how ridiculous it was.

  "It just seems so incredible. Just for interest's sake, you should look at the picture and the horse at the same time. I mean, you know the odds of the coloring. Can you imagine the odds of the markings being exact?"

  "You'd have a better chance of winning the lottery," he says. He turns his fork over and impales a scallop, slick with butter. A tiny sprig of dill, fernlike, sticks to its side.

  "That's why I thought...Well, you know."

  "I do."

  We eat in silence for a few minutes, because we're treading in dangerous territory. Having him think I'm insane would be a definite impediment to resuming our relationship.

  "I've been thinking about it all afternoon," he says suddenly, setting his cutlery down and crossing his arms. I look up, unsure what to expect.

  "In fact, I did a little research on coat color and genetics, and the odds of two horses having exactly the same brindling are just about nil."

  I stare at him.

  "Do you still have that picture?" he asks.

  "Of course."

  "Can I have a look when I drop you off?"

  As we walk back to the car after our meal, I slip my hand into the crook of his elbow. He looks down at me, smiles widely, and places his other hand on top of mine.

  "Well, I'll be damned," he says, looking down at the picture and then raising his face to look out at Hurrah.

  "See? See?" I say, my enthusiasm getting the better of me.

  He shakes his head slowly. "I can sure see why you thought what you did."

  I frown. "But look at it! You said yourself that you would have a better chance of winning a lottery."

  "You would, if the markings matched exactly. But this picture is from a distance, and you can only see about a quarter of the horse. And look, this whole bit, the area under the saddle and rider, is obscured."

  "I know, but look at the shoulder, at the neck. At the star."

  To his credit, Dan actually takes the time to do so. His forehead crinkles as he studies the now worn picture. Then he raises his head to look at Hurrah, squinting as his eyes adjust to the distance.

  Finally, he hands the picture back to me, nodding slowly. "It's very similar. It really is."

  "But you don't believe me."

  "It's not a question of believing you."

  I purse my lips.

  "Think about what you're saying," he continues. "I mean, really think about it."

  I stare at the grass, afraid I might cry.

  "I don't know how to explain this," Dan continues. "It's an incredible coincidence that they're this similar. Perhaps they're even related--after what I read, I'm willing to believe that these three horses share an ancestor. Maybe even not very far back. But damn, Annemarie..."

  My eyes fill with tears. Dan steps forward and wraps his arms around me, pressing me against his chest. My face is buried in his shirt, the top of my head under his chin. And oh, he feels good. He smells and feels so good.

  "Have fun?" sneers Eva as I come into the kitchen. She's standing just inside the doorway, leaning against the counter with one arm. She must have been looking out the window.

  "I said, have fun?" Her voice rises like a siren.

  "Eva--"

  "You disgust me," she continues. "Dad's been gone, what, ten minutes, and you've already got a boyfriend?"

  "No, it's not like that. Dan just--"

  "Don't even try to deny it. You're just a horny old woman. You're disgusting! You make me sick!"

  Horny? Old? Since when was thirty-eight old? I open my mouth to respond, but Eva is gone, storming into the hallway, leaving a trail of perfumed air behind her.

  "Eva!"

  "What is going on?" Mutti appears in the doorway, frowning. "Pappa is trying to sleep."

  "I don't know. Eva's mad at me."

  "Why?"

  "Because she misinterpreted something she saw."

  "And what did she see?"

  I don't really want to tell her, but if I don't, Eva will. "Dan hugged me when he dropped me off."

  Mutti continues to stare at me. Then her expression lightens a shade. "I will talk to her," she says.

  "No, please," I say quickly, because she's already turning to go. "I'll talk to her. I just...I just want to let her calm down first, that's all."

  To my surprise, Mutti comes back. She walks to the cupboard, opens it, and removes two small stemmed glasses.

  "Would you like a Jagermeister?" she says.

  "Please."

  She sets the glasses on the counter, and then disappears into the hallway. A moment later she's back, carrying the bottle. She pours a small amount into each glass.

  "Do you want it here, or in the living room?"

  "Uh, living room," I say.

  After we settle into the winged armchairs, we sip our drinks in silence.

  "I haven't had this in years," I say finally, holding the little glass up to the light. The lamp shade is rusty orange, the liquid in front of it amber. "It's good."

  "Did you have fun with Dan tonight?" says Mutti, and when I look at her to see if her choice of words matches Eva's by choice or chance, I find her staring right at me.

  "I did, yes."

  "What did you do?"

  "We saw a movie and then had dinner."

  She nods slowly. "It's good you should get out."

  "It wasn't a date," I say.

  "So what if it was?" she says. "You need to live your life."

  I take another sip of my drink.

  "If you really are finished with Roger, that is," she adds.

  "He's the one who fini
shed with me, Mutti."

  "I know, Schatzlein, I know."

  This unexpected endearment brings tears to my eyes. I stare at the rim of my glass, trying not to blink.

  "Were things bad between you?" Mutti continues.

  I sigh, and look out the window. "No," I say, finally. "No, they weren't. But neither were they good. They just kind of...were."

  "And then this Sonja came along..."

  "And then this Sonja came along, and I guess Roger decided it wasn't enough."

  "Was it enough for you?"

  "I don't know. I guess so. It seemed like it at the time."

  "Did you try counseling?" she asks.

  I look at her to gauge her intent. "No," I say shortly.

  "Why not?"

  "I don't know. It didn't occur to me," I say.

  "Did you want him to stay?"

  "I don't think I did, no."

  It feels freeing, shocking even, to say this, but Mutti doesn't look surprised.

  "Then perhaps it's for the best," she says.

  "I doubt Eva would agree with you."

  "It is hard for her."

  I say nothing.

  "You know how it is with fathers and daughters."

  "This is totally different," I say quickly.

  "Are you so sure, Annemarie?"

  I am milliseconds from saying, Yes, because Roger never drove Eva the way Pappa drove me, because Roger has never forced his own ambitions on our daughter. Because Roger actually cares what Eva wants to do, and doesn't bully her, or make her feel like she's ruining his life if she doesn't devote hers to fulfilling his dream.

  When I look up, Mutti is watching me. "I know you are having a hard time with this, Schatzlein," she says gently, and I know she's talking about Pappa, has read the rant in my face. "But don't wait too long."

  I shake my head, my eyes once again filling with tears.

  "And I know it wasn't you who started this whole thing, but don't let what's happening between Roger and you get between Roger and Eva."

  "He left us, Mutti. We didn't leave him."

  Mutti raises her glass and uses it to point at me. "He is divorcing you, Annemarie," she says in a voice that is both gentle and firm. "Not your daughter. And besides, you are not blameless. It takes two to get a marriage into this state."

  Actually, I am divorcing him, but I don't feel like arguing. Besides, there's something else I want to ask her.

  "So, Mutti," I say, examining the base of my glass and trying to sound casual. "You never told me. What's Dan been up to for the last nineteen years?"

  When I look up, there's a smile seeping across my mother's face.

  A quarter of an hour later, I go upstairs and find Eva's room empty. As I turn to leave, I hear the click of a door, and see her slip out of my room.

  "Eva?" I say, moving toward her. "What were you doing in there?"

  She growls and heads for the stairs.

  "Eva!" I call, but she ignores me. I hear her clomping across the main floor, and then the crash of the screen door.

  I go into my room and scan it quickly. Everything looks normal. The bed is made, with the usual Harriet-shaped indentation on its cover. My computer is on, but the screensaver is playing.

  I move to the window, and see her crossing the yard to the stable, with Harriet close on her heels. Then, without knowing why, I lay a hand on top of the telephone receiver. It's warm.

  I pick it up and bring it to my ear. Then I press REDIAL.

  There's a flurry of digital tones, and then a pause while the line connects. It rings three times, and then someone answers.

  "Hello?"

  I freeze. It's Roger.

  "Hello?" he says again, after a pause.

  I open my mouth, and just as I decide that I'm going to hang up, he says, "Eva? Is that you, honey?"

  Damn. He's got Caller ID.

  "No. It's me," I say. It never occurred to me that Eva would call Roger. I can only imagine what she told him. I don't think I want to know.

  "Oh. Hi," he says.

  "Did Eva just call you?"

  "Yes," he says.

  "Did she sound okay?"

  "Why? Is something wrong?"

  I feel like I'm digging a hole for myself. "No. Yes. I mean, no, she's just upset with me, that's all. And I didn't think she was talking to you."

  "No, she's talking to me. She's been calling me a couple of times a week."

  "She has?"

  "Yes. Why is she upset with you?"

  I parry. "She didn't say anything to you?"

  "No."

  I shake my head, relieved. "It's not important."

  "It's important if she was upset."

  "It's just the usual Eva stuff. A mountain from a molehill."

  "Well, if you're sure..."

  An interminable, insufferable silence stretches between us.

  "Was there something you wanted?" Roger finally says.

  Oh God, of course--he thinks I called him on purpose.

  "No," I say. Good grief. Is that really the best I can come up with?

  "Is everything okay?"

  "Fine, fine," I say irritably.

  "I'm glad you called. Are you still checking email? I've been trying to get in touch with you."

  "Not really. I've been working at the stable, so I've been using my parents' account."

  "Did you know we've got a court date?"

  "No," I say, feeling suddenly sick.

  "July twenty-sixth."

  I sit down, slumped against the little table. That's less than three weeks away, five days after our eighteenth anniversary. "That's awfully fast, isn't it?" I rub my forehead, frowning. "I mean, we haven't actually come to an agreement on the settlement yet."

  "I was actually surprised I hadn't heard back from you. Have you read it?"

  "No," I say. I'm embarrassed at having to admit this.

  "Will you, please?"

  "Yes. Yes, I will."

  We lapse into another silence, but this one feels deliberate.

  "Annemarie?"

  "Yes?"

  "Are you doing okay?"

  "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" I don't want to have this conversation with Roger. Roger, who probably has Sonja waiting beside him in a silky negligee right now, her smooth, young legs tucked up beside her, a hand resting delicately on his arm.

  "I've got to go," I say suddenly.

  "Okay. So you'll--"

  "Yes, yes. I'll read the settlement."

  Next stop: stable.

  It's completely dark now, and as I head across the yard, I am surrounded by mosquitoes. I resist the urge to break into a run, choosing instead to flap my arms uselessly around my head, and hoping that Jean-Claude is not looking out the window. On some days, there are no bugs at all, and on others, it feels as though they might carry you off into the woods.

  The doors to the stable are open, and an enormous black fan, four feet tall, stands at the entrance blasting humid air down the aisles. There are no lights on, but I can see all the way to the arena by the light of the moon.

  I love the stable at night. I love the stable during the day, too, but at night, when there's no one here but the horses, it feels like a different world. The sweet scent of hay and shavings, of leather, and manure, and oats. The occasional shuffle and snort, the hissing sound as hay is pulled through nets. And best of all, the scent of horses. Unmistakable, and like nothing else in the world, is the scent of horses. I've been known to go into a stall and press my face up against a horse's neck just to get a snootful. I do that now, before I go looking for Eva.

  I check the lounge first, but she isn't there. Then I check the tack room, the trophy room, and the long hallway between the aisles, the one lined with boarders' trunks. She could be anywhere, could have slipped into one of the stalls with a horse, or knelt in the corner of a wash rack, or behind one of the trunks. She could have climbed the ladder into the hayloft, or hidden behind the couch in the lounge. If she really doesn't want to b
e found, I'm not going to find her.

  I slip into Bergeron's stall and run my hand under his mane. Despite the fan, he's sweating. I leave his stall and check a few of the other horses. They're all sweating, and those who have windows are facing them, muzzles pressed to the screen.

  I head across the arena to open the doors at the end. As soon as I step out onto the sand, I see light glowing behind me. I stop, and turn around.

  The light is on in my office. Eva is sitting at my desk with her feet up. She's facing my monitor, with her hand on my mouse. She hasn't seen me.

  I sigh, and cross the arena. At the far end, I slide the massive corrugated doors open, grunting with the effort. The cross-breeze is instant and gratifying, and I stop for a moment, savoring its coolness.

  When I turn back, Eva is watching me through the window. She must have heard the doors. We look at each other for a long time, my daughter and I. Then I head back to the house.

  I'm not surprised at Eva's outburst in the kitchen. If anything, I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner. And once again, it seems I've missed the boat.

  I knew this was coming, and yet I did nothing. I could have sought her out and given her a chance to talk about it, but I didn't. She's always so angry, approaching her seemed pointless. Perhaps I should have done it anyway, and given her the chance to rebuff me. At least then she'd know that I wish she weren't hurting.

  She and Roger were always close, and it's perfectly reasonable for her to miss him. What I don't know how to deal with is her expectation that I should too. She seems angry that I've given up on him, although she knows perfectly well that it was he who gave up on me.

  I don't know how to make her understand that our losses are not parallel. The fact that mine doesn't even feel like a loss is something that I don't understand myself, so how can I explain it to Eva?

  I should be devastated. I should be trying to win him back, or grow poisonous with rage, or hire a hit man, or something--something! But I'm not, and the absence comes as a shock. I'm angry--yes, of course, make no mistake. But the heartbreak never came.

  I expected it--even braced for it--and I thought that the calm that settled was temporary, a way of coping until I could take the hit. But it still hasn't come, and I'm beginning to think it's not going to. I seem to have sloughed Roger off as easily as a snake shedding its skin.