Edgewater Page 19

Horses are such mysterious creatures. They don’t wag their tails when you say “ride,” the way dogs do when they hear “walk.” But Orion knew my voice and my smell, and I imagined they soothed him as I groomed him and tacked him up. I led him down the trail I’d come to think of as our favorite, the one that sloped steeply down toward the ocean. Just in case it mattered, he would have one final memory of this place. I held the reins loosely, letting Orion pick our pace. He broke into an easy canter, and just then I thought, maybe we can go on like this forever, away and away and away. We’ll live off the land, like Gigi said, and the reality of my crazy family won’t affect us ever again.

  Orion stopped on his own at the break in the path by the cliff, and we stood together watching the sun rise over the Atlantic. Pink sky, yellow sun. The ocean was a mirror, so you could fold the sky and the sea in on each other and they’d match up perfectly. It seemed implausible that something so beautiful could also be real.

  I would remember this, always, and it was heartbreaking not to know if Orion could capture the same image and hold it in his brain for tomorrow and the next day and the day after that. Maybe it was better if he didn’t, so it wasn’t something he would miss, but the truth was, I wanted him to miss me, too. I wanted him to love me. No matter how well Beth-Ann could treat him, I wanted him to yearn for me the way I would surely yearn for him. The way I already was.

  It was the height of selfishness to think that way—to put my own feelings and ego ahead of this creature that I claimed to love above all others. But I guess I was my mother’s daughter, after all. I just couldn’t help myself.

  A seagull dipped in front of us and flew on toward the horizon. I watched it until I couldn’t see it anymore. Then I turned Orion toward the barn. I wanted him to have ample time to cool down, to be fed, and to go to the bathroom. It was still my responsibility to look out for his best interests for a few hours more. When we got to the barn, I clipped him into crossties and removed his tack for the last time, hosed him off for the last time, and swiped the sweat brush in short, quick strokes around his beautiful body for the very last time.

  Word must have gotten out that today was the day my horse was leaving, because even after it got later and the barn began to buzz with activity, no one came looking for me to ask for help with chores. I sat on an overturned bucket in Orion’s stall and watched him while he ate. He bent his head to the bucket of oats, then lifted it to chew, and his neck rippled. Every inch of him was fascinating and magnificent. I had my cell phone with me—thanks to an advance payment from Beth-Ann, it was back in service, and we had electricity at home for me to charge it up. When I powered it on, it lit up with notifications for a hundred unread texts and unheard voice mails. But I didn’t have time for any of them. I clicked over to the camera and pointed the phone toward Orion, filling up the memory card with pictures of his neck ripples, his legs, the back of his mane. I didn’t stop until I heard my name.

  “Hey, Lorrie. Hey there, Orion.”

  Charlie.

  It was surreal that Charlie Copeland was someone who knew my name and knew my horse. It was surreal that my horse wouldn’t be my horse for much longer. I felt like I wasn’t actually in my life, living it. I was just hovering on the outskirts and watching it happen.

  Orion lifted his head to investigate the source of the voice calling him, and, seeing Charlie there, he decided his oats were far more interesting.

  I stepped over to the stall door. “Hey, Charlie,” I said.

  “I thought I would start making this a habit—surprising you at the barn. Especially when you’re so hard to contact.” He leaned forward to kiss me. I was reserved, kissing him back. “I meant to come by sooner,” he said.

  “It’s fine,” I said. “I figured you’d be busy. You know . . . with all your mom’s campaign stuff.”

  “You’re a good distraction,” he said. He had his arm still draped over the stall door, and he fingered my face with the lightest touch.

  “It’s really sweet that you came, but I’m working.” I took the pitchfork that was leaning against the wall and pushed around the floor shavings, like a little kid moving her broccoli around her plate to feign eating.

  “Oh God. What happened to your hand?”

  In just a few days, the burn on my palm had blistered and peeled off to reveal new skin underneath, soft and tender as a baby’s. Per Dr. Cortes’s instructions, I kept gauze on it when I was working at the barn.

  “It’s nothing,” I told Charlie. “I got a blister from the reins.”

  “Well, I wanted to tell you we missed you at the barbecue the other night. Actually, we were pretty worried about you.”

  “I got wrapped up in something, and the time got away from me.”

  “Lennox said you weren’t feeling well?”

  That’s what I’d told Lennox, when I finally got in touch with her. I’d called the barn to tell Naomi I wouldn’t be able to come to work for a few days, until Susannah was settled back at home and fully on the mend, and she said she had about a dozen messages for me from Lennox. So then I called Lennox and said I’d had a sudden bout of nausea. It wasn’t exactly a lie. I felt absolutely sick about everything in my life.

  “Yeah, that’s what I meant,” I told Charlie. “I just wanted to spare you the details. I’m sorry if I made you worry.”

  “It’s cool,” Charlie said. “We managed to have fun, even though you weren’t there. I like Lennox—I can see why you guys are friends.”

  “Yeah, she’s great,” I said, not really feeling it. I wasn’t feeling anything for anyone right then. Orion finished his oats and gently butted my shoulder with his head. I reached out an arm to scratch under his chin. “Hey, boy, hey, boy,” I said.

  “Can I give him a treat?” Charlie asked.

  I produced another sugar cube from the box and handed it over. Charlie held it flat on his palm, just the way I’d showed him the last time. “Thanks for stopping by,” I said. “But I really have a lot of work to do.”

  “Of course,” Charlie said. “I’ll let you get back to it. But are you free for dinner later on? I can pick you up at your place.”

  I clenched in fear. It still mattered to me, Charlie knowing the truth. “You know where I live?” I asked.

  “As soon as you give me the address, I will,” he said. “There’s a new restaurant on Main that’s supposedly impossible to get into. They have a six-course tasting menu.”

  “But it’s impossible to get into.”

  “Oh, we’ll get in,” he said. He paused. “Unless you’re not in the mood for that kind of thing. In which case we could just get a pizza. And champagne, of course.”

  “No, thanks,” I said.

  “No, thanks, you don’t like pizza?”

  “I can’t.”

  “Are you afraid to be in a car with me? I promise I won’t drive too fast.”

  I shook my head. “Tonight’s not a good night.”

  “Tomorrow, then?”

  “Yeah, maybe,” I said noncommittally. Behind me Orion exhaled, and his breath on my neck made my eyes well.

  “Are you all right?”

  I blinked quickly. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  He nodded toward the phone in my hand. “Will you give me your number? Or, at least, will you take mine?”

  “Are you doing this because Shelby Rhodes was on a date with Hayden O’Conner?” I asked.

  Charlie looked wounded, and my gut twisted with guilt. I knew I’d been rude; I knew I’d been downright awful. But I couldn’t bring myself to apologize. I couldn’t take care of anyone else’s feelings. There were footsteps at the end of the corridor, and I turned to see Jeremy walking toward us. I kept my eyes on him, because it was easier to look at Jeremy than to look at Charlie.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” he said when he reached us.

  “No, it’s fine,” I said. I turned back to Charlie, finally. “I’ve got to get back to work.”

  “Yeah, all right. I’ll see you around, Lo
rrie.” Charlie turned and briskly walked away.

  Jeremy waited until Charlie had walked down the length of the corridor before speaking. “Naomi asked me to get you,” he said. “She said the transport people are here. They’re parked behind the barn. You’ve got to tack Orion up for the ride.”

  “Yes. Okay.”

  “Do you need help?”

  “No.”

  “All right. If you do, I won’t be far away.”

  He left me alone with Orion, for the last time. I Velcro-ed fleece around his halter and fastened shipping boots around his legs. After I’d unclipped him from the crossties, I noticed that his right front boot was twisted, and I bent in front of him to fix it, something I’d been taught never to do. If you bend in front of a horse and it gets spooked, it can run you over. But Orion rested his chin on my back, and I could feel the whole weight of his head in perfect repose.

  Freezing time was the superpower I wished for the most.

  The clock was ticking, and people were waiting. I stood and led Orion through the corridor for the last time. My voice was thick as I said things to soothe myself as much as to soothe him: “You’re going to be fine. Better than fine. It’s going to be great. You’re going to love riding with Beth-Ann Bracelee. She’s wanted you for so long, and her family isn’t a mess like mine is, so she’ll be able to take better care of you. She’ll never make you wear an old bit or have to duct-tape your shoes back on.”

  Outside, the sun was too bright, the day all wrong. Naomi was standing with the guy who was going to be driving Orion back down to North Carolina. He said his name, but I didn’t hear it. He opened the back of the trailer, and Orion walked in without protest. I went through the motions as if on autopilot, fastening the butt bar behind Orion before tying him up. He kept nudging me, nuzzling me. I knew he sensed I was upset, and I was trying so hard not to cry, to spare him my tears. The act of not crying felt like a physical thing, like someone had me in a choke hold.

  Once Orion was secure, I pressed my hands to him for the last time, memorizing the sensation of him under my palms, the way I could feel his warmth and his breath and the beats of his heart. “I love you,” I told my horse, in a whisper that was just his to hear. His ears flicked at my words. “I love you. I love you, I love you.”

  Naomi finally called to me, and I walked back outside, but I couldn’t bring myself to close the trailer door. Since coming back from Woodscape, I had spent so much time trying to fit the pieces of my life back together to make things look the same as before. But now that was over. I was letting go. Closing the door on Orion and life as I knew it. The symbolism was so obvious it would’ve been amusing if my heart hadn’t been breaking.

  So Naomi closed the door for me, and that was it; I’d had my last glimpse of my horse. The driver got into the cab, and I watched the trailer snake down the driveway until I couldn’t see it anymore. From this moment forward, it would just be me imagining where, exactly, Orion was for the rest of my life. Just like I imagined Mom.

  “Why don’t you go home?” Naomi asked. She had her hand on my back and she was moving it in circles, like a currycomb to a horse. “We can survive without you today. I’ll still pay you.”

  “No, I can work today. I’m going to be thinking about Orion wherever I am, so I might as well be doing something productive.”

  I THREW MYSELF INTO AS MANY PHYSICAL TASKS AS I could for the rest of the day—the kinds of things you can’t do without utter concentration. But the barn wasn’t the distraction it’d always been, and all I wanted to do was weep. People were still giving me space, so I didn’t have to interact with anyone. But that wouldn’t go on forever. Sooner or later I’d have to have conversations, I’d have to deal with the girls who boarded their trophy horses, who didn’t love them nearly as much as I’d loved mine. And I knew I couldn’t take it. With the money from Orion’s sale, I could afford something I hadn’t had all summer: time to figure things out. I’d leave Oceanfront, keep up with the bills, and continue cleaning things out at home. And when I was ready, I’d find another job—a job that didn’t come with so many memories.

  I’d been able to avoid Orion’s corridor for the entire afternoon, but at the end of the day, it was time to leave, and I steeled myself to walk past it. I wanted to get his nameplate—ORION. LOVED BY LORRIE H.—before someone else took it down and threw it away.

  Lorrie H. I hadn’t put my full name on it because I didn’t want to burden Orion with what it meant to be a Hollander in this town.

  His stall door was still open. It took every ounce of bravery I had to step inside and close myself in. There were indentations in the cedar chips where he’d stepped. I sat down in a corner of the stall, just wafting in the lingering scent of Orion. I wanted to absorb it, so a part of him would always be a part of me.

  This is what it’s like when someone you love disappears on you: You try to find the pieces to hold on to, the things no one can take away. The tears came hot and fast, and I made no effort to stop them.

  I looked up when Jeremy opened the stall door. “Sorry,” he said. “I just wanted to check on you.”

  I sniffled and swiped at my face. “I’m fine.” All evidence to the contrary.

  “This is tough,” Jeremy said. “I know it is. I remember when I sold Triumph. That was my old horse—I don’t know if you remember him.”

  I nodded, because I did remember Triumph, a brown horse with white markings like large splashes of paint.

  “I didn’t even want to ride for months after that. It took me so long to come back here, and when I did, there was Atherton. The Crystals acted super-grateful to me when I stepped in to train and ride him. I competed with him. We were doing incredible things together. I loved that horse. And then, without warning, they sold him out from under me. I know it wasn’t my horse, but still. It had been easy to pretend. I’d worked hard with him, which I’m sure increased his value, and it hurt. It still does. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is, I know what you’re going through. If that’s any consolation.”

  I shook my head. It wasn’t any consolation. I didn’t feel better because Jeremy had been in pain, too. My eyes welled with more tears for us both.

  “Orion’s a great horse. I’m gonna miss having him around.”

  “Me, too,” I said, and, despite my best efforts to keep it together in front of him, my voice cracked. “The thing is, I know that over the course of a lifetime people can have multiple horses. But I think there’s always that horse who feels the most yours, your one-and-only. That was Orion for me. I miss him so much. It hasn’t even been a day, and I miss him. And pretty soon there’s going to be another horse in this stall. It’s not like I was expecting Naomi to make it a shrine to Orion or anything. But it’ll be like he was never here. And that makes it seem like he didn’t even count. It’s not fair.”

  The tears spilled over, and Jeremy was at my side in two strides. He wrapped his Gumby arms around me. To look at him, he was such a slight guy. I never imagined how big his hug would feel, the kind you could sink your whole body into. I sank in, burying my face in his shoulder, and I let myself weep.

  “It still smells like him in here,” I said. I could feel Jeremy’s T-shirt against my skin, wet from my tears. “Can you smell it?”

  “A horse’s scent is the only cologne I’ve ever worn,” he said.

  I clutched Jeremy tightly, hanging on as if my life depended on it. He lowered his head so that his cheek was against mine. The wisps of his beard were soft.

  “Lorrie,” he said softly. I could feel his breath, and I knew all I had to do was turn my head an inch or two and he’d kiss me. And maybe I should—maybe all this time, Jeremy was the one I was supposed to be with. My body didn’t buzz at the thought of him, the way it did when Charlie was around; still, there were certain things about me that only Jeremy could understand. He felt so safe.

  I turned my head, so slowly, so slowly.

  “Lorrie!” Lennox’s voice broke Jeremy and me apar
t like the snap of fingers breaking a spell.

  I stumbled back. Jeremy’s face was suddenly as bright as a beet. Apparently he blushed just like I did.

  “I was just about to go,” he said.

  “You don’t have to,” I told him.

  Jeremy took my hand and squeezed it, and I felt my face flush when he did—not because there was any spark between us, but because there wasn’t. Lately everything I did left me with an emptiness that could be filled only with regret.

  “God, Lennox. What has gotten into you?” I asked once he’d left.

  “What’s gotten into me?” she asked incredulously. “What’s gotten into you? You’ve totally been avoiding me—and don’t tell me it’s because you don’t have a phone, because Charlie told me you do.”

  “So you and Charlie talk about me now?” I asked defensively.

  “He called because he said you seemed upset.”

  I took a deep breath and said the words for the first time. “Orion’s gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “I needed money, so I sold him,” I told her.

  “Oh my God. I can’t believe you—” She cut herself off and started again. “There must’ve been something else you could’ve done.”

  “You sound like Claire,” I told her. “You want to tell me how you would’ve done this any better?”

  “No, of course not. I’m sorry. Honestly, I don’t know how you do it.”

  Hearing her say that just made me seethe all the more—saying you don’t know how someone does something is just the socially acceptable way of saying you’re so glad you’re not in the other person’s shitty situation.

  “And I wish you’d told me,” she went on. “I could’ve helped. You know I would’ve. When you needed someone to buy your plane ticket, I bought it. You needed to be picked up from the airport, I picked you up. You needed cash to pay Charlie back, I gave it to you.”

  “Nice to know you’re cataloging my emergencies,” I said.

  “Stop it. I’m just saying I would’ve been there, and, frankly, I don’t know why you turned to Gumby Gummer instead.”