“At least you’ve stopped saying no.”
“Not saying yes, either.”
“Obstinada,” he said.
Not the first time I’d heard that one.
Stubborn Becky McCabe. Obstinate Becky.
Or just Becky.
This would be the biggest event I’d ever had with my horse in this arena, this big a purse, this strong a field. I hadn’t been bullshitting Daniel. I hadn’t changed my mind on the Olympics. But after days of persuasion, I had promised him that I would at least try to keep an open mind. I’d told Mom and Grandmother the same. And then asked all of them to please drop the subject until after the Grand Prix.
Mom and Gus happened to arrive at the arena at the same time Daniel and I did. They were getting ready to walk the course, too. Gus, of course, riding his motorized wheelchair, bright yellow and black, thick, all-terrain tires rolling through the deep and soft dirt. Everybody could see Gus Bennett in that statement chair. I’m here. Now what?
Move along fast, or be prepared to get the hell out of his way or get run over.
“Hey,” I said to Mom.
“Hey yourself,” she said.
Over the past few days, Mom had spent most of her time at Gus’s. I jokingly asked if they were finally dating, and she’d said, “I think of it more as boot camp. What he doesn’t say to me in the ring, he says at dinner.”
“Good luck,” I said to her now, as we all started out on the course, Gus leading the way.
“Same,” she said.
I thought: I could just as easily have been talking with Matthew or Jennifer or Tess or Georgina or any of the other heavy hitters in our sport. She hadn’t known I was definitely entering the event until Friday, and only then because Daniel had told her.
She was going eighth in the order. In the past, she’d absolutely hated going early. When I mentioned that to Daniel he told me to focus on my place in the order—thirty-fourth—and not hers.
“You’re riding your horse tonight,” he said. “Not hers.”
When we finished walking, I saw Steve Gorton up above us, as if the master of all he surveyed, leaning against a railing above the in-gate. Drink in one hand. Phone in the other. I knew he saw me. But he just looked away. Whatever. He was Mom’s concern now. Her problem. Not mine.
Emilio wouldn’t be taking the walk with Sky until the class had started. For now, Daniel and I made our way up through the bleachers to my usual perch: back row, corner.
“What do you expect from her, really?” I said when we got up there.
“Your mom or Sky?”
“You know who I mean.”
“Seriously, I expect very little,” he said. “But perhaps she will surprise us.”
“She’s world class at surprises lately,” I said. “Now we’re going to find out if she can still ride.”
She then proceeded to ride like crap.
Not the horse’s fault.
Hers.
She got too close to the third jump, on a terrible distance, and Coronado hit the rail so hard with his front legs that the sound was like a gunshot, even as far away from them as Daniel and I were.
“Don’t give up,” I said.
It was what she’d yell to me sometimes when I’d catch an early rail, and she’d see my shoulders slump. Or my whole body. I looked down and saw Gus, usually the loudest trainer out there, sitting silent in his chair near the in-gate.
“She is way too forward on the horse,” Daniel said quietly. “If he ever stops short, she will go flying right over his head.”
Two jumps later, another bad distance, another rail.
“Her brain is going faster than her horse,” Daniel said.
We were both leaning forward, watching her blow through another rail as she started the second half of the course.
Finally, second-to-last jump, Coronado refused. We could hear the loud, collective groans and gasps from the crowd. I could see the slump in her as she circled the horse. The death moment for any rider. The death move. She brought him around and this time he made the jump. They were done. Mercifully. I was vaguely aware of the announcer listing the faults and time faults. In the moment it sounded as long as a grocery list.
She walked Coronado slowly back toward the in-gate, her head down. As she did, Daniel said we should get down there.
“Not sure I want to talk to her right now,” I said.
“No,” he said, “I meant, Emilio is on his way with Sky.”
As we passed underneath the stands, I could see Grandmother and Steve Gorton locked in heated conversation. When Grandmother laid a hand on his arm, Gorton jerked it away, nearly toppling her balance. Then he was moving away from her and down the stairs as if he’d been shot out of a cannon.