Bright, Broken Things, page 9
Family meals were always more comfortable with Geai present, and he usually joined them at least once a week. It was his attendance that made the holidays bearable, though Christmas was really the only one that included unavoidable traditions. Easter and Thanksgiving celebrations were usually worked in around the track schedule, because what was a day off for most workplaces was an extra day of racing at Woodbine.
Her mother was an excellent cook — just another thing Liv was not. Liv could make a salad, or a grilled cheese, or fry an egg, but that was about it. She would never starve, but gourmet would never be her thing. She helped bring the food to the table — she could do that much — then sat next to her father as he poured wine for everyone but her. She didn’t like it, or alcohol in general.
“How is Claire coming, Liv?” Her father turned his attention to her.
Claude Lachance had never been one to tell her she was pretty. Sometimes he would tell her she was smart. They were both more comfortable with this type of discussion. They could talk horses all day like old friends. Leave the personal out. They understood each other; that was all that mattered.
“She’s doing well. Nothing phases her. I’ve even jogged her on the track a little.”
“Are you sure you have time for her, with school?” her mother asked. There was a note of pride in her voice, because hard work was to be lauded. Taking on such a heavy course load was a badge of honour; handling it so well, another one, but heaven forbid anything else interfere with obtaining that lofty degree.
“Yes.” She responded quickly, but didn’t think she snapped. When she flipped her eyes to Geai, he was suppressing a grin, she just knew it.
“How’s the new fellow?” Her father asked Geai.
“So far I’m impressed,” Geai answered. “He’s quiet and no-nonsense. The horses like him.” If the horses liked you, chances were, Geai would too.
“I’m sure he’d be quite all right with Claire. Especially as she’s so tractable,” her mother inserted.
Liv’s jaw tightened, teeth grinding. “I can manage, Maman.”
“You should come watch him, Livvy,” Geai said.
Now she shot him a look. Whose side are you on, anyway?
But, she should keep tabs on her selection for the position. She’d let her schedule swallow her up; let Geai assume the duties that had always been his. She couldn’t use that as an excuse. When she became a vet, she’d have to juggle all the things — clients, cases, finances, as well as her responsibilities at the farm — and somehow still find time for riding and working out, because both were crucial for her sanity. Veterinarians had one of the highest suicide rates of all professions, and all that. They’d already discussed well-being in one of her courses this semester — social, occupational. She had to manage it all.
“Maybe on the weekend,” she said. “I should be home from the track before you start.”
She didn’t miss the way her mother’s lips pressed together. The only reason Anne Lachance kept quiet about her galloping on the weekends was because after she was done, she helped Jake on his rounds. Liv would never understand how a horse-crazy teenager could give it all up when she met a man and got married. But her mother had. Didn’t she miss it?
She’d seen photos of her mother riding. Galloping, even. But she’d never actually seen her mother on a horse in real life. Her father had always been the one to drop her off at her grandfather’s farm; always the one to come to her shows. Never her mother. Anne had tolerated her daughters’ involvement with horses only because it seemed unavoidable with their grandfather being who he was: an Olympic-calibre show jumper, though he’d never quite made it to the Games.
“I suggested he go in and get licensed at the track,” Geai said.
Liv had to stop her mouth from falling open, her teeth indenting her bottom lip to be sure it remained closed. Why hadn’t Geai told her first? Maybe it served her right, for dropping the ball on the follow-up.
“I hire him, and now you’re sending him away?” She did her best to look amused instead of irritated.”Do you want to encourage him to leave?”
“I want to show him we have trust he’ll stay.”
It seemed a little like leaving the cage door open so a bird had freedom to fly away.
“We won’t be able to keep him on the farm forever,” Geai said.
“Can’t we?” Emilie said, her pleading tone balanced by a grin. Her mother smiled at that. Anne Lachance hadn’t even met Nate Miller and she probably liked him too.
“If you love something, set it free,” Liv quipped. Emilie kicked her under the table. Liv turned to Geai with a slight tilt of her head. “You realize if he bails on us that I’ll have to quit school and do the yearlings myself. It’s too late to find someone else now.”
She almost felt guilty for the way her mother’s face twitched — but not quite.
Geai didn’t seem concerned, whereas Liv thought it was a real possibility that helping Nate get his license was just facilitating his departure. Roger didn’t need any exercise riders. With Liv, and sometimes Emilie, helping on the weekends, there was ample opportunity for the one he employed to have time off. They only had eight horses at the track right now. If Nate Miller had his license to gallop, what was stopping him from using it to find a job with someone else, or to start freelancing? There never seemed to be enough good freelancers. What Geai had suggested was giving Nate a free pass to leave. But there was some merit in presenting a test. If he stayed despite that, it would suggest a certain loyalty that was rare in this business. And the offer showed a kind of respect on Geai’s part, didn’t it? It acknowledged Nate had a choice. He didn’t have to be here, helping them. A choice Liv envied. A choice she didn’t have.
It wasn’t as if she’d actually get to quit school and do the yearlings herself. Her mother would make sure of that. Her father would send them to another farm, one of the places around that offered that service for those who didn’t have the personnel to do it themselves.
For that reason, Liv wanted Nate Miller to stay. Because even if she was still working with Claire herself, it would be far too easy to have the filly sent along with the others, if it came to that. Her mother would undoubtedly persuade her father on that point, and Geai wouldn’t have much of a case against it, if he was even on Liv’s side.
She helped clean up after dinner, then bolted to the training barn. There was just enough daylight left to end her hectic week on the perfect note.
Finding the barn gloriously deserted, save for the equine occupants, Claire’s low nicker greeted her; grounded her. The performance of being a human this week left her exhausted. She needed this much easier connection.
She tacked Claire up quickly, covering the filly’s frosted front legs with white polo bandages before slipping on the bridle. Claire mouthed the bit, curling her head around to Liv as Liv fastened her helmet before leading the filly out of the stall.
“Want a leg up?”
She nearly jumped out of her skin at the figure in the middle of the aisle. Nate. Where had he come from? Not that it was any surprise. When she was with the filly, Claire was her world. Her refuge; her port in the storm. She blocked out everything else.
Her response didn’t come out right away. It wasn’t even a case of the words being stuck in her brain; they didn’t even form.
She didn’t need his help. She’d gotten Claire used to the mounting block so she wouldn’t have to rely on someone being around for her to ride. Once her mind began to function again, she almost said, “What are you doing here?” But she quelled her natural response to this intrusion.
“Okay. Sure. Thanks.” So maybe those lectures on emotional IQ had yet to sharpen the brain-to-voice signal. Did his lips twist? Humour well in those eyes?
Eyes that were very blue, she was reminded, when he was near enough to hold Claire’s head. It was part terror, part thrill, his being so close. It brought up everything in her that was awkward and damaged. She blocked it out, buried it back where it belonged, and cocked her leg for him to wrap his hand around her ankle. Claire stood like an angel, oblivious to Liv’s consternation.
“You could probably hop on her without my help,” he said once she was up.
“True enough,” she answered. Why hadn’t she mentioned she didn’t really need help? Maybe there was hope for the girl in her. Maybe one day, a guy — a guy like him — would round off her edges, temper her defences, help her trust. Make her believe. Right.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” she did finally ask, hoping she didn’t sound suspicious, like he shouldn’t be here. She wasn’t sure he should be, though. She tucked her feet in the irons, adjusting them after she knotted her reins, because someone — him, it had to be — had changed the length of the stirrup leathers.
“I offered to water off when Geai said he was going to your place for dinner. And I thought I might play with Arthur.”
Before she had a chance to say that was nice of you to the part about Geai, like a normal human being would, the second part of his answer stumped her. “Arthur?”
He grinned at her perplexed look, those perfect teeth of his making an appearance. “That shy colt. The one who’s afraid of his own shadow?”
“Arthur?” she repeated, with why instead of who attached this time. Claire dropped her head, ears flopped to the side like an old track pony as she waited for Liv to process. If that was the case, they might be here a while.
“Arthur Dent?” Nate said. “In the immortal words of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy: don’t panic.”
Liv grinned. “No wonder you get along with my sister. That’s her favourite book.”
He grinned back. “I knew there had to be a reason.”
“I thought maybe Arthur Pendragon. Like you’re trying to instill bravery in him.”
“That might be a better idea,” he said.
“How’s he doing?” she asked, grateful for a topic that let her seem normal.
“He’s a work in progress. You said no hurry, right?”
“Exactly right. Good luck.”
“Thanks.” His grin got a little crooked, then he turned back toward the barn.
“Thank you,” she called after him, finally remembering her manners. Speaking of being a work in progress. “For the leg up.”
He nodded, still smiling. A squeeze of her calves, and Claire stepped out. Just a walkabout tonight. No hurry.
15
Emilie had informed him there was a laundromat in town, and he’d driven by it on his way to Lucy’s. He hadn’t been able to resist going back for those butter tarts. He’d also noticed, however, there was a washer and dryer in the training barn. Weighing the pros and cons of driving into town versus horse hair on his clothes, he opted for the latter. He spent much of his time covered in horse hair anyway, so what difference did it make? Maybe hand-washing underwear would be a plan, though. He jammed jeans and t-shirts and socks and running shorts into a backpack; sniffed a sweatshirt he’d only needed a few times so far and tossed it back on his bed. It could wait.
The farm was quiet, the horses outdoors bathed by the early evening light, grazing in clusters, tails swishing at flies. He wondered how long it would be before the weather changed, late summer giving way to early fall, the evenings becoming cooler. Waking up to frost instead of dew as the sun rose.
He flipped on the tack room light. There was even detergent. Sweet. He started the first load, then peeked in the dryer. It was full of polo bandages, saddle towels and girth covers. He started singing “Another Saturday Night” as he rolled and folded. Except while he didn’t have somebody, he didn’t want somebody. Not now. Maybe not ever.
He’d just got to the part about arriving in town when he looked up and saw Liv standing in the doorway. He stopped abruptly, his mouth half open, mid-stanza.
Her eyes went from the horse laundry, to his laundry, to his face. Once he recovered, he almost said, we have to stop meeting like this. Two days in a row. But he didn’t think they were quite there yet.
“Okay,” she said, the slight quiver of a laugh in her voice. “If you decide to stay, I’ll ask my father about getting something for your apartment.”
If. It was like she questioned his commitment. Fair. He questioned it himself, and racetrackers were a notoriously transient bunch.
He watched as she picked a saddle cloth, girth cover and polos from his folded pile before collecting tack and a grooming kit. He didn’t have to ask what she was doing and didn’t think she wanted his help. She didn’t really need him to leg her up, but last night it had felt polite to ask, and she’d been too polite to refuse. Should he offer again? Would it be too much? She probably just wanted to be alone. He got that. He was becoming a recluse himself. Was that bad?
He peeked around the corner, seeing her set it all outside Claire’s stall and, grabbing one of the rope shanks hanging at the end of the barn, she disappeared.
It wasn’t long before he heard the light clip-clop of Claire’s unshod hooves on the barn aisle as Liv led her to her stall, but he stayed where he was and started sorting tack as he waited for the washing machine to finish. There wasn’t a lot of dirty equipment, but he didn’t clean it each day after working with the yearlings, so he was catching up. He decided it was best just to hide in here. If Liv wanted him, she could ask.
She didn’t, apparently. The clip-clop came again, retreating this time until it became nothing. He went back to singing.
Once the first load was in the dryer, he decided it was a good time to play with Arthur. Pendragon was a better angle; perhaps auto suggestion could help the colt’s confidence. Was that what Liv liked to read when she wasn’t buried in a veterinary text? Which must be all the time, these days.
The colt’s pasture mates shunned him, including the field’s referee, the old gelding, Twizzle. Some babysitter. At least Arthur was easier to catch now, so that was a bonus. Coming in each day had helped, but it was tricky getting him out when the others wanted to swarm the gate. Nate distributed the flakes of tasty second cut hay he’d brought with him as a distraction and left them bickering over which pile was choice as he and Arthur slipped out.
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out the colt was claustrophobic. He obviously hadn’t spent much time in a stall, and found the confinement stressful. Simple solution: Nate was building Arthur’s trust outside. It was actually going better than expected. He didn’t bother to lead the colt into the barn, instead going directly to the round pen where he’d left a hoof pick, set of brushes and a longe line.
Holding the end of the lead rope, he started currying Arthur in the middle of the pen. It was hard at this age — most babies hadn’t learned to like peppermints and carrots, and apples were even more of an acquired taste. But Arthur seemed to enjoy the circular motion and itch relief of the rubber comb, so it became Nate’s currency. The colt’s coat was starting to darken and shine as the bleached hairs sloughed away. And maybe Liv didn’t appreciate his singing, but the colt did, though it probably had more to do with the way it evened out his own heart rate and breathing than Arthur liking his voice or chosen playlist.
Arthur followed at his elbow when he returned the grooming kit to the other side of the fence and replaced the rope shank with the long, flat, cotton line. A flip of the end was all he needed to get the colt circling. A whip would have destroyed everything Nate had built. After a few turns at the walk, he moved the colt up to a trot with a flick and a cluck.
“Such a good boy,” he crooned as Arthur jogged, the colt stretching his neck down, his nose at the same level as his knees. When he’d first met the colt, he never would have imagined they’d get this far in five days. No matter he’d bellied and backed the others in the stall and they were all ready for their first little rides outside. “So proud.”
He hoped the colt’s owner was a patient person.
It was dim by the time he returned Arthur to his non-friends. Tomorrow was Geai’s day off, so Nate would hay and water once he’d folded the load of laundry in the dryer and started the next one.
Liv wasn’t back yet. That filly of hers made him think. He might need them, for Arthur, as company; a lead. Obviously Twizzle would be useless in that capacity because Arthur was afraid of him, and that went for the other colts as well. Normally he wouldn’t think of pairing a filly and colt at this age, but Arthur hadn’t shown even a hint of being studdish.
Claire would be good for it. She was completely non-threatening. The shy colt was a ways away from being ready for that, though. He kind of needed to get on the yearling before then. But there was no rushing the relationship. A jab in his side reminded him how that had gone for him with his ex. He hadn’t thought he’d been rushing, but maybe he had been.
Liv would be good for him, too. Not in a romantic way. She was good for his ego, which somehow still existed after what had happened with Cindy. Because while it was fine for him to go out with Will to a club on his birthday and push away a fawning girl, and it was fine to flirt with Emilie and josh with the farm staff, it bothered him, apparently, that this girl — this woman — cared not one bit for him. He was an employee, that was all. And that was all he needed to be right now.
16
Her study notes were words and sketches; not that she could draw very well. Like any horse-crazy kid, she’d doodled in the margins of her schoolbooks, but she’d never become adept. Funny that now such sketches were part of her schooling, rather than a distraction from it.
Not that she really needed to study equine anatomy. She knew the proper names as well as the lay names. She’d be able to speak to trainers, translating them as easily as her brain now translated French to English and back again. In track speak, the fetlock joint was the ankle, even though it really wasn’t. The carpus was the knee, when the corresponding joint on the human body was the wrist. The tuber coxae was the point of hip. Trainers weren’t going to magically start using scientific names. They didn’t have much use for science at all. It was up to the vets to take the science and make it palatable.
