Chapter 31
Rounded eyes the exact shade of root beer peer back at me. The gelding patiently waits while the therapist explains the goals for our session today. I need to build a strong foundation reading and interpreting equine body language before building up to helping others.
“Wonderful!” Tanya, the therapist, says softly, combing her fingers through the gelding’s black mane. “Biscuit’s mirroring your energy. Do you see how he’s standing relaxed—his head’s hanging low, ears are pointing outwards, eyes are sleepy and he’s resting one hind leg.”
“Yes,” I say gently, cautious not to get overly excited about crushing my first lesson.
That’s a gross exaggeration, but as a girl who grew up with zero positive feedback, the smallest grain of praise lights up my brain like a carnival.
I’ve been relaxed around the horse, and he’s comfortable enough to mirror my energy.
Tanya motions for me to follow around Biscuit’s side. My boots crunch in the dirt and Biscuit’s ears flick towards me. I pause, but she urges me forward.
“You’ll learn more from him today than you will from me.”
Tanya guides me to walk slowly in a wide arc around Biscuit. He moves calmly and quietly, following me like a shadow.
The sun glints off his silken coat, a mesmerizing pattern of sorrel and white. He’d be the most beautiful paint horse I’ve ever seen, had I not met Hope first.
I’ve been sneaking over to see her every chance I get. Lucky Spurs Ranch is working its healing powers on her already.
“Good. Now step closer to him,” she says.
I tense slightly, and step forward softly. Biscuit halts his movement, shifting away.
“He’s giving you space. Do you feel how your body told him what you needed? He feels your hesitation and senses the shift in your mood.”
Deliberately, I relax my shoulders and neck and breathe easily. This time when I step towards him, he stays in place and his ears relax.
I’ve loved meeting all Reid’s horses and learning how to care for them. But it isn’t until now that I understand what Olivia, Reid, and Isabelle have described. Horses have a way of speaking to you without any sound—and I feel what it means to be heard.
I’ve regaled my first session with Tanya to my sister and Olivia. The three of us are at The Flying Pig for Queen Olivia’s twenty-third-birthday dinner and I’ve never been happier.
I have to tell myself this because if I acknowledge the giant missing piece of my perfect life, I crumble. Connor and I are good—great even. But we’re still dancing in the grey area between friends and something more.
I internally smack myself because tonight is about Olivia, not my life-long, undying, unrequited love for my best friend.
Livy’s acting odd, though. She’s her typical boisterous, bubbly self—but she’s distracted. She’s been checking her phone every few minutes, all night. It’s not like she needs a ride home. Since neither Izzy nor I drink, she always has a built-in designated driver.
She asked for the check as soon as the food arrived, which Izzy insisted on paying, so we’ve just been sitting chatting, enjoying our precious time together as a trio. Life’s had us running in different directions and I miss my girls.
Right on schedule, Livy picks up her phone and opens a text. “Shoot. I’m so sorry but I have to go! One of my dad’s biggest clients moved their meeting to first thing tomorrow morning. I need to head home to sleep off the pitcher of margaritas I just consumed.”
“Do you need a ride?” We gather our things.
“No!” Livy practically shouts. “No. My, uh, mom’s waiting out front.”
With no further explanation, she disappears into the bar leaving Izzy and I staring stupidly at each other.
“That was fucking weird,” Izzy says, finishing her Cherry Pepsi. “Do you want to stay? Or should I take you back to Connor’s?”
I can read my sister like a book, and she wants to get home to Reid.
“I’m ready to leave. Let me pop into the restroom first. I drank way too much lemonade.”
I take off into the crowded bar making a beeline for the ladies room. The door handle jolts against my grip—locked. I lean against the opposite wall for a minute before something, or someone, slams into the ladies room door.
I rush forward to ask if everything’s okay when I hear a laugh I’d know anywhere followed by a chastising “James!”.
Oh. My. God. Livy’s hooking up with James in the bathroom. That sneaky little bitch. Client meeting my ass.
I return to our table and Izzy slides out and links her arm in mine. I’m dying to tell her what I heard but for some reason, I don’t.
I know what it feels like to want someone I can’t have. And Olivia clearly wants someone forbidden. I’ll keep her secret—from everyone except Connor.
Lying in bed at the end of a long day is the pinnacle of relaxation. Clean skin against cool sheets, snuggled beneath a soft blanket is glorious. What makes it heavenly is curling up against my Greek god best friend and having pillow talk until one of us—me—falls asleep.
“You’ve got to be kidding? In the bathroom at the pub? They need to be more careful if they don’t want Greyson finding out. They aren’t exactly great at sneaking around if we’ve caught them multiple times. It’s gonna get back to Greyson,” Connor lectures.
“The heart wants what the heart wants.” I’m all too familiar with the sentiment.
“Yea,” he says sullenly.
I prop up on my elbow, my hair fanning out on his tanned shoulder. “What’s going on? You seem off tonight.”
Connor sighs heavily and rubs his hands up and down his face and through his long hair, bleached from hours under the sun.
“I popped by Quincy’s earlier to check on her. I haven’t seen her in a couple weeks, and she hasn’t been great about returning my calls or texts. She wasn’t home, and since she’s ignoring me, I tried to reach her another way.”
He gets a boyish glint in his eye that flips my stomach.
“I rang her video doorbell nonstop until she answered through the camera.” He chuckles.
“You did not!” I say, slapping his hard, bare chest.
“I did. Turns out she’s in Laramie visiting Lucas.”
“Lucas?” I question, struggling to place the name.
“Her and Sam’s best friend from college,” he says.
“Oh, right. That’s nice she has him to lean on. I can’t imagine how difficult the past year and a half has been for her.”
“Yea. I guess. I’m glad she has Lucas’s support, but isn’t it weird she’s spending so much time alone with her dead husband’s best friend? Shit, that was callous. You know what I mean. It’s not…appropriate,” Connor says, visibly uncomfortable.
“That’s one way to look at it. Or you could choose to look at it as Quincy getting the love and support she needs in her time of grief.
“Grief isn’t linear or logical. Like I said earlier, the heart wants what the heart wants—and maybe right now Quincy’s heart wants comfort and familiarity. Maybe she feels closer to Sam when she’s with Lucas. I’m sure they have countless stories to reminisce about.”
“Maybe. I have a gut feeling it’s something more,” he says.
We chat until my eyelids are too heavy to stay open. The last thing I remember is Connor pressing a kiss to the crown of my head and telling me he loves me.
If only he loved me the way I love him.
Biscuit’s back and I’m bubbling over with excitement for the session today. Tanya’s introducing a group of teenagers to Biscuit, and I’m standing beside a lanky boy with his hood pulled over his head.
“Isn’t he beautiful?” He glances at me like Why is this weird lady talking to me.
“Hi I’m Delilah. I appreciate you coming out, you’ll help me learn a lot today.”
The boy scoffs. “Good for you. I didn’t ask to be here.”
I let his saltiness roll off my back. Tanya explained this program is for kids who are at-risk of heading down the wrong path. Their parents, or a judge, enrolled them. She’s graciously invited me to participate.
Tanya asks for a volunteer and when no one offers, I raise my hand and guide the surly boy towards Biscuit.
The gelding’s tossing his head and clapping his hooves against the packed dirt. I’ve learned enough to be confident interacting with Biscuit, but this kid hasn’t, and he looks nervous.
“He’s agitated…I’m so sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” I say to the boy, embarrassed needing to ask.
“Jake.”
“Okay Jake, thank you for volunteering.” I wink at him, and get an eye roll in return, his crossed arms tightening around himself.
“What do I have to do?” he mumbles, uncomfortable standing before his peers.
“Breathe. Inhale slowly, exhale softly. Drop your arms and relax your shoulders. Don’t think too hard about it, just relax your body,” I instruct.
Jake is just as agitated as Biscuit, but with all eyes on him, he reluctantly follows my direction. I do the exercise with him and Tanya quietly guides the other kids to do the same.
The crunching of Biscuit’s hooves slow and his heavy breaths stop, leaving the pen quiet.
“Did I do that?” Jake asks out the side of his mouth.
“You did. You told him you weren’t agitated anymore.”
“But I didn’t say anything.”
“Exactly. He heard you without you saying a word.” I smile at Jake and sneak a peek at Tanya who gives me two enthusiastic thumbs up.
The session passes in the blink of an eye, and I’m filled with joy witnessing the beauty of these kids communicating with Biscuit with their spirits.
Watching Tanya load Biscuit into his trailer and pulling away from Lucky Spurs Ranch, it sinks into my bones what it’d be like to create a space people could be safe, seen, and heard.
And maybe even become whole again.
My post-success glow doesn’t last long. When I show up to the stables the next morning, I walk in to my worst nightmare come to life.
Mom’s drunk off her ass, or strung out, pacing like a caged animal along one end of the stables. I entered from the opposite side, behind the cavalry that already arrived.
Reid’s holding Izzy back from our mom, trying to deescalate the situation.
James is talking to my mom trying to figure out why she’s here.
Greyson’s standing between James and Reid, who now has Izzy’s arms pinned to her sides, despite her furious thrashing.
“What’s going on?” I try not to stammer.
All heads whip around to me slowly walking into the chaos. Everyone talks at once and the onslaught has me backing towards the door.
“ENOUGH!” Greyson barks—bringing the stables to an abrupt silence.
Izzy calms enough for Reid to let her go and she comes to stand beside me, hand in hand.
“She showed up some time overnight. Reid found her sleeping in one of the empty stalls when he came out for morning chores,” she sneers.
“We’ve been trying to get her to tell us why she’s here and what she wants but she’s been incoherent and combative,” Reid adds.
“Think her ride left her here. I got the impression they were here to steal shit to sell.”
Panic grips me deep in my chest, so I do what I always do when I need help.
Me: Emergency! Mom’s at the ranch
Studmuffin: What the fuck?
Studmuffin: I’m in town for Reid.
Studmuffin: Fuck. I’m on my way.
Studmuffin: Stay away from her, Delilah. I mean it.
Me: The guys have it under control, I think. But she and Izzy might try to kill each other if they get the chance.
Studmuffin: Take Iz to the main house and wait for me there.
I tuck my phone away and against my better judgment, disobey Connor and approach my mom. I’ve always been the one to talk her down from her benders or redirect her rage.
I walk past a protesting Izzy, again held back by her fiancé, past a fuming mad Greyson, to stand beside James. I assure him I’ve got this, and he backs away a few steps.
In the absence of these three men’s intimidation, my mom settles a touch.
“What are you doing here, Mom?”
“You little bitch. That’s all you have to say to me after you abandoned me?” she slurs.
“I’m just asking you a question, I’m not judging you or attacking you. Okay?” I try to soothe. She mumbles nonsense and resumes pacing the aisle.
“We can’t help if we don’t know the problem,” I say. Izzy scoffs loudly because the last thing she cares about is helping our mom.
“Here y’all are, fat as pigs, eating like kings at this godforsaken ranch, while I starve to death in that freezing cold trailer.” Her words hit their mark. She always complained how much Izzy and I ate, which in reality, was barely anything at all.
I’m sucked back in time to living in that trailer, suffering through her beratement.
There’s no winning with her. Some people will never be happy, and they want nothing more than to make everyone around them as miserable as they are.
Losing my patience quicker than I used to, I ask, “What do you want?”
She’s not used to me talking back or standing up to her.
“You stuck-up cunt. You and your whore of a sister will open your legs for anyone for a free meal, but don’t bother sharing any of your good fortune with the woman who raised you.”
“Raised us?” Izzy shrieks. “We raised ourselves, Ivy. Why should we help you when all you ever did was neglect us?”
She and Mom get into a screaming match and all three men jump in to deescalate the situation.
No good will come of this. All I can do is walk back to my car and wait for Connor.
I don’t have to wait long. A knock on my window scares the shit out of me. My door’s wrenched open and warm hands envelop my tear-stained face.
“What’s going on? Are you okay? Fucking Ivy…” Connor trails off, furious as ever.
“Come on, let’s get you inside. I bet Mrs. Andersen left some of her baking around.”
I follow him inside like a zombie and plop down at the kitchen island. Connor bustles around the kitchen, comfortable in the space from spending so much time here. A plate slides in front of me, but I don’t look at it.
“I’m going to take care of this. I refuse to let her hurt you anymore,” he says resolutely.
A kiss on my temple and he’s gone to save the day like he always has.
I roll his words around in my muddy head. His love clashes with my mom’s hatred and I want to stick an ice pick through my head to stop the voices—Connor’s, my mom’s, Izzy’s, and my own, battle to be heard above the others.
The kitchen window frames rolling pastures yellowing from the below-freezing temperatures overnight. My pulse jumps as my eyes focus on the beautiful black and white paint horse in the distance. As Hope grazes, I center myself and for the first time, my voice wins out over the rest.
I refuse to let Mom take from me anymore. She took my childhood, my confidence, and my health. The plate sitting on the island in front of me holds a thick slice of homemade banana-walnut bread, the crust dyed from the berries Connor spooned next to it.
Stealing one last glance at the horse I wish was mine, I get up to find what I need. I slather butter on the banana bread and without hesitation, take a bite. Pleasure dances on my tongue and I savor the flavors and textures.
Watching the beautiful mare, I eat every morsel of food on my plate.
For the first time in a long time, I have hope.