29. Gage
GAGE
Cricket reaches for me before Bonnie has the door shut behind her.
I take her, and she pats my cheek with a damp palm. For months I was grateful if she tolerated being handed over. Now she recognizes me from across a room and expects me to do the noise that makes her laugh.
I do it. She laughs. Bonnie shakes her head at both of us.
“That sound’s going to get you removed from a restaurant.”
“Then we’ll eat here.”
It is early March, and Bonnie has a late planning meeting for a spring clinic.
Cricket is staying with me through the evening, and Bonnie will collect her afterward.
The first visits ran from one feed to the next.
Now I know where the milk goes, what she will eat, and how much of an argument a nap is likely to be.
I check the latch on the kitchen gate, then give it another pull. Cricket got as far as the doorway last time. Bonnie puts down the bag and watches me test it.
“She’s getting faster,” she says.
“I noticed.”
“She got to Cleo’s shoe yesterday.”
“Was it worth the trip?”
“Apparently.”
Bonnie kisses Cricket, then me. The second kiss lasts long enough that I forget the gate. She reminds me of the milk in the cooler bag and leaves smiling.
I spend the next hour on the floor. My daughter is learning how to get where she wants to go, with methods that involve more effort than distance. I put a toy within reach, and she ignores it in favor of the hem of my jeans.
The phone rings while she is tugging at it. It is the ranch manager, calling about my last qualifier. I put him on speaker and stay beside her.
“You’re in a strong position,” he says. “If you ride like that in April, you’ve got a real shot. The standings only get you there. That one run decides it.”
I know. I have looked at the standings too often this week. I open them again while the manager talks and look at the same three names above mine.
“We need to talk about the final prep,” I say.
We do. Cricket interrupts with a loud complaint when the toy moves beyond her reach. I get it back and miss part of what the manager says.
“Sorry. Say that again.”
He repeats it.
Afterward, I feed Cricket while she sits in her high chair, with me beside her. She has strong opinions about the food Bonnie and I have been introducing. Tonight she accepts some and decorates the tray with the rest. I clean her up and change my shirt after she uses it to finish the job.
When she is sleepy, I follow the routine Bonnie and I have worked out. The room is dim. I put her down, and she complains at being moved before settling. I wait nearby for a little while, then go to the kitchen and look at the mess.
There are plates to scrape and a shirt to rinse. I could shower before Bonnie arrives. Instead I turn up the monitor and stand at the counter for another minute, listening to Cricket sleep in the next room.
Bonnie arrives at eight. She comes in quietly and asks whether Cricket is asleep. I tell her yes, for now. We both know moving her may end that achievement.
“How was the meeting?”
“Useful. Too long. They want to add a beginner session.”
I ask what she thinks of that. She takes off her coat and talks while I make tea. I reach for her cup without asking. She is halfway through explaining the beginner session when I realize I’ve set a plate out too.
“Do you want dinner?”
“I ate at the meeting.”
“I’ve got pie.”
She looks at me over the cup. “From the diner?”
“I’m trying to redeem it.”
She stays for pie. We sit close at the table. I tell her about the manager’s call and the standings, then stop before I get to the ground in Amarillo. She’s had a long meeting. Still, I want to talk to her about this run more than I want to talk to anybody else.
“You’re riding well,” she says.
“I want to win it.”
“I know.”
“Does that worry you?”
She sets down her fork. “Wanting to win doesn’t. What you’ll ask from everyone around you still matters.”
“What does that look like in April?” I ask.
“I’m teaching in that building, so I won’t hold your horse.”
“All right.”
“I won’t stand at your gate.”
“The groom can stand there.”
She turns her cup a quarter turn on the table. “And Cricket doesn’t go into anybody’s picture.”
“I’ll tell Dewey. No publicity with Cricket. Anything with you in it needs your permission. So do Mercy and your work.”
I take out my phone and send him the instruction while Bonnie waits. There is no reason to leave it until I can forget.
She picks her fork up, then stops. “I haven’t decided about Saturday. If I come, I sit in the stands. I’m there to watch you ride, and that’s all I’m there for.”
Saturday. She brought it up before I could ask again. My knee starts going under the table, and I press my heel to the floor to stop it.
I nod and leave my last piece of pie on the fork.
Cricket wakes before Bonnie finishes the pie. We go to her together. Our daughter sees us over the crib rail and reaches up, delighted by the company. Bonnie picks her up, and I bring the coat.
At the door, I kiss my wife and ask about breakfast tomorrow. She says she has an early lesson but can meet me afterward.
After they leave, I finish the bite of pie on Bonnie’s plate. I can ride early and still make breakfast with her. I check the time we agreed on; for once I have allowed enough of it.
On Saturday, Bonnie comes to watch me ride.
The qualifier is at an indoor arena less than an hour from Pueblo. I chose it weeks ago because the travel was manageable and the ground suited the bay. I asked whether she wanted to come before I entered. She said she would decide when she knew what her week looked like.
She tells me yes on Friday afternoon. I spend the rest of the day trying to treat that as ordinary news.
Cricket stays with Cleo. Bonnie drives over after breakfast, and I meet her at the trailer while the groom checks the bay’s rug.
She is wearing jeans, boots and a warm coat, with her hair caught back out of her face.
I have seen her arrive like this at more arenas than I can count.
I am nervous enough to forget what I was going to say.
“How is he?” she asks.
“Good. Fresh.”
“That’s not always the same thing.”
I laugh and let her greet him. She knows this horse. He noses her pocket, disappointed when it contains only gloves.
“I’m watching today,” she tells him. “You’ll have to work with what you’ve got.”
“I’m standing right here.”
“I know.”
She smiles at me across his neck. I would like to take her into the trailer and kiss her until I stop thinking about my draw. Instead I ask if she wants coffee.
She does. We stand beside the trailer drinking it while I describe the ground. She asks whether I walked the far turn. I tell her yes, then admit I want to go back and look at it again.
“Go,” she says. “I’ll find a place to sit.”
“You don’t have to sit by yourself.”
“Gage. I came to watch you compete. Go and prepare.”
I take my coffee and let her find her seat.
She touches my wrist before she leaves. “I hope you have a good run.”
“So do I.”
I watch her go until the groom asks me a question. Then I turn back to the horse.
In the saddle, I can feel myself hurrying. The bay shortens his stride, waiting for the cue I have almost given. I bring him back to a walk and start again.
When we are called, the groom gives me a nod. I go through the gate with the horse listening beneath me.
The first turn is good. At the second, I want to hurry him. I wait the fraction he needs, and the turn opens cleanly beneath us. After that I ride instead of trying to correct a mistake I have not made.
We come out fast. I hear the time, hear people reacting, and keep going until there is room to bring him down safely. My hands are shaking with the excitement of it by the time I pat his neck.
“Good boy.”
The groom is grinning when we reach him. He repeats the time as though I might have missed it. I have not. I may never forget it.
I dismount and loosen what needs loosening, then walk the bay while the groom checks him over. I am still catching my breath when Bonnie comes through the passage beside the warm-up area.
She is smiling so hard I start smiling back before she reaches us.
“You waited,” she says.
“At the second?”
“Yes.”
“I nearly didn’t.”
“I know. I saw you think about it.”
She laughs, pleased with me. I have to look at the horse for a moment because that is almost too much to take while I am still full of the run.
We walk the bay together, Bonnie on my free side. She has noticed something about the first turn that I want to remember. I ask her to show me while we keep him moving.
A man from the event approaches to ask for a quick interview when the horse is settled. I tell him I can do five minutes by the rail. Then I turn to Bonnie.
“Will you wait?”
“Yes. I want to hear you explain the thing you nearly didn’t do.”
“That’s unkind.”
“It’s accurate.”
I kiss her before she can add anything else. It is quick, and I can still feel her smiling when I move back.
The interview takes the five minutes I promised. The man asks about the final and how the bay is working. When he begins another question, I tell him I have to get back to the horse and thank him for his time.
Bonnie is standing where I left her. I come straight to her. She puts her phone away when she sees me coming.
“Food?” I ask.
“Please.”
Once the groom has the bay comfortable, we get sandwiches and find a place away from the loudest part of the arena. The remaining riders are still going. I can hear enough of the announcements to know I have not been passed yet, and Bonnie can tell I am listening.
“You can want to win,” she says.
“I do.”
“So do I.”
I look at her. She is unwrapping her sandwich, apparently unaware of what that has done to me.
For a second I forget the sandwich. She wants me to win. I get halfway through telling her about the run before I remember to take another bite. She listens until I get to the second turn, then argues with my description because from where she sat, I had more room than I thought.
We disagree for several minutes. I love every one of them.
When the final rider has gone, my time holds. I win the qualifier. The pleasure is so sharp that I abandon my sandwich and get up. Bonnie laughs at me with her hand over her mouth.
“Go on.”
“You’ll come?”
“If you stop looking as if you think I might disappear.”
I offer my hand. She takes it.
The presentation is brief. Bonnie waits beside the rail. When it is finished, I give the award to the groom to put in the truck and go back for her.
She puts her arms around me, and the question of how much time we have left can wait. I hold her, wanting to make the moment last without making her stand there for somebody’s photograph.
“I liked watching you,” she says against my shoulder.
I close my eyes for a second.
“I liked knowing you were here.”
She draws back and kisses me. This time she is the one who makes it hard to stop. I have been exhilarated since the run. Now I am so aware of her body against mine that the noise from the arena seems much farther away.
“You need to get home?” I ask.
“Soon.”
“I’ll walk you to the car.”
We check on the bay together first. Bonnie rubs his forehead while I speak to the groom. The groom has a rug on the bay and waves me on. I tell him where I’ll be, then go with Bonnie before I find another instruction he doesn’t need.
At her car, Bonnie tells me what Cleo said about Cricket’s morning. Our daughter has apparently spent part of it trying to seize a measuring cup. I laugh, then realize I am looking forward to hearing the story again when I see her.
“Tell Cleo thank you,” I say. “For having Cricket.”
“I will.”
Bonnie kisses me again before she gets in the car. I’m still grinning when the groom calls across to ask whether I intend to help load. Yes. I want to get home.