But what the hell for?
They’d already gotten everything they wanted.
Or thought they had.
For now.
What a waste that he had driven the Ferrari. After two adult beverages, he’d have to stay under the speed limit.
Inside the car, Gorton placed a call. “Where the hell are you?”
“This place called Oli’s,” said the man who answered.
“Seriously?” Gorton said. “I just walked out of there.”
“I saw you,” the man said. “But I didn’t think it was a good idea for the whole town to see us talking to each other.”
“Well, I’ll talk now,” Gorton said. As he pulled out onto Forest Hills Boulevard, he quickly related his conversation with Caroline Atwood.
“I don’t want this kid to win,” he said. “I’m sick of the Atwoods calling the shots. You want the horse?”
“You know I do.”
“Then figure something out,” Gorton said.
He ended the call, took a right on Southern, then put on some Sinatra and continued his slow ride to the island.
Trust us, she’d said.
What kind of schmuck did they think they were dealing with?
SEVENTEEN
“YOU’RE SURE YOU’RE ready?” Mom said.
Two days after Mr. Gorton had given us his deadline, we met in the schooling ring and laid out our competition schedule. I’d show next weekend on both Sky and Coronado at a height that was just under four feet eight inches, listed in programs as “1.45.” The following week would come WEF’s Saturday Night Lights, where Coronado and I would compete in the International Arena at the Olympic height, the height of the jumps would be just under five feet three inches. It would be like jumping a horse over me.
“Can I be ready but not sure I’m ready at the same time?” I said.
“Whatever gets you around clean,” Mom said.
“And fastest,” I said.
“You don’t need to win first time out of the gate,” she said. “I’ll take any kind of ribbon.”
“Did you used to think that way?” I said.
“Well,” she said, “you got me there.”
She was already out of her wheelchair. Classic Mom.
“No, thanks,” she had said, when Dr. Garry suggested that she stay in it a few more days. “Not my kind of ride.”
She’d leaned her crutches against the fence and draped her long, lean arms over the top rail. My mom had an awesome figure. Anyone approaching her from behind, in her breeches and a T-shirt, would mistake her for a college girl. But the riding pants, which usually looked as if they’d been spray-painted on her, same as mine did, looked loose today, signaling how much weight she’d lost since her fall.
“Coronado is ready,” I said, “to jump the big-boy height right now—”
“You’re not,” Grandmother said.
“Let’s get through the first event,” Daniel said.
“Keep reminding yourself you’ve never ridden a horse this big or strong in competition,” Grandmother said. “You’re a career prop-plane pilot who’s taken control of a jet.”
“Keep your voice down,” I said, grinning at her. “Sky’s in the barn, waiting for me to ride her. She’ll hear you.”
I was still on Coronado, the only horse in the ring right now. “Coronado doesn’t much like being close to other horses, even in warm-ups,” I said. “I’ll need to watch out next weekend, when the schooling ring at WEF will look like rush-hour traffic on Southern Boulevard.”
“Doesn’t play well with others,” Mom said, feigning confusion with an exaggerated scratch to her head. “Now who does that remind me of?”
“May I answer that one?” Daniel said.
“I’ll try to be good,” I said to both of them.
“We’re looking for great,” he said.
“On it,” I said.
Mom said she’d stay and watch me trot Coronado, and then look at the video she’d taken of our round. Grandmother headed for the house, Daniel for the barn. As I watched Daniel walk away, I said to Mom, “Ask you something?”
“Ask away.”
“Do you think he likes me?” I said. “Like in a way he might like me if he wasn’t my trainer and didn’t work here?”
“Now that, kiddo,” she said, “is something only he knows, and you need to find out, at least if you want to.”
“Don’t you think it would be weird?” I said. “Sometimes I get the feeling he knows me better than I know myself.”