Chapter 8 #3
I mutter a “thanks” before stepping into the barn. Being cordial toward Caleb—Caleb being cordial toward me—still feels strange.
Automatic lights flicker on as I enter what turns out to be a kitchen filled with shiny appliances and granite countertops.
Not what I was expecting.
Almost everyone in Landry has obscene amounts of money. The Winters family has the most, so it shouldn’t surprise me that this is the nicest kitchen I’ve ever been inside.
But it’s in a barn , which is unexpected.
“Through here,” Caleb says, not bothering to stop and admire the spotless kitchen the way I am.
The next door leads into the center aisle of the stable. More lights flicker overhead.
It’s exactly what I expect, and nothing like it.
There are familiar elements. It smells like hay and horses and liniment and pine and leather, same as every other barn I’ve been inside. But there’s no dust or manure or even a stray shaving.
The black rubber mats that run down the center of the aisle look like they’ve been freshly vacuumed. Unlike the worn, chewed walls that enclose our horses, every horse here has a stall that’s constructed from a mixture of black iron and mahogany wood.
The entrance to each stall reaches about four feet high, allowing the horse to stick its head out into the aisle.
On either side of the door, wrought iron slopes up gradually, creating a “U” shape that frames the front of each stall.
To the right of each door hangs a leather halter and a golden nameplate.
The only sound aside from our footfalls on the rubber is the quiet munching of hay. A few horses duck their heads out of their stalls, but most of them just continue eating their dinner, unbothered by our visit.
The stalls seem to stretch endlessly, even though I know they must end eventually. Occasionally, I think I feel Caleb’s eyes on me, but every time I glance over he’s focused on the barn.
Finally, the stalls stop, transitioning into a grooming and bathing area filled with fancy equipment and racks of brushes. I halt but Caleb keeps walking, heading toward a massive sliding door just past a shelf filled with shampoo and bug spray.
“There’s more ?” I ask. I haven’t been counting, but we’ve already passed dozens of stalls.
“I thought you’d want to see the stallions.” Caleb slides the wooden door open, exposing a cement hallway that veers abruptly to the left. As we walk down the hall, snorts and stamps sound.
The stalls down here are bigger, allowing the massive horses more space to pace. Eight heads pop out into the aisle, pricked ears and proud profiles appearing left and right.
A huge, coal black stallion whinnies, straightening the elegant slope of his neck as he shakes his thick mane. Caleb approaches the horse and begins stroking the skinny white blaze that runs down the center of its wide face.
I take a step toward the stall, trying to see the horse’s name plate. The stallion snorts, eyeing me suspiciously. There’s a wild savagery and a barely-restrained power that’s captivating to witness.
“This is Grand Slam.”
“Last year’s Landry Cup winner.”
“Yeah.” Caleb’s hand moves lower, stroking the rippling muscles of Grand Slam’s neck. “He’s mine now, technically.”
“Your grandfather…”
“Yeah.”
“You named him?”
“It was between Grand Slam or Babe Ruth,” Caleb replies.
I smile. “Of course.” I study the majestic animal. He must be close to seventeen hands. “It suits him. He’s handsome.”
“He’s handsome, but I’m just hot? That’s cold, Matthews,” Caleb teases.
I roll my eyes. “I knew you were going to find some way to bring that up again,” I mutter, moving on to the next stall.
This stallion’s not as skittish as Grand Slam was, and he lets me stroke his neck for a couple of minutes before I turn back around and we head back into the main section of the barn.
“Thanks,” I tell him, about halfway down the aisle.
“For what?”
“For showing me around.”
“You’re big into horses, huh?”
I glance over at him, eyebrows raised. “You are aware we live in Horsetown, USA, right?”
“Yeah. But you can live somewhere and not subscribe to everything it stands for,” Caleb responds. My steps slow as his words register. I’m not sure we’re still talking about horses.
“Well, you didn’t grow up here,” I remind him. “It’s different when it’s all you’ve ever known.”
“Meaning you wouldn’t like horses if you hadn’t grown up here?”
“I don’t know,” I reply honestly.
“Your grandfather doesn’t race them anymore, though.”
I’m surprised he knows that. Based on Caleb’s low level of involvement in his own family’s horses, I wasn’t expecting him to know anything about my family’s. “Uh, yeah. He stopped racing after…” I clear my throat. “He just decided it was time.”
“But he kept all the horses? That’s a lot of work for…well, nothing back.”
I scoff, well aware of exactly how much work it is. “It’s not nothing ,” I reply, miffed. “We still breed them. They’ve all got championship bloodlines. And I ride them… sometimes.”
We emerge outside. The night air feels especially chilly after being in the warm barn.
I pull my jacket tighter to keep any wind from sneaking underneath.
“Simon gave me some questions. There’s only ten, so it shouldn’t take long to get through them.
That should give me enough for the article.
Andrew can’t wait to get my draft, especially after your unexpected visit earlier.
” I emphasize the last three words. “Thanks for that, by the way. Andrew’s convinced I’ll scare you off and we’ll have to lead with a story on the running track that no one will read. ”
There’s a pause before Caleb replies. I play with the zipper on my coat, wondering when I started feeling nervous around him, instead of annoyed. Has this giddiness always been there, hidden beneath irritation? Or is it new?
“You should take that as a compliment,” he finally says. “Not much scares me.”
“You’re saying I scare you?”
“You pack a hell of a punch, Matthews.”
“What does that mean?” I ask. As tempted as I’ve been on multiple occasions, I’ve never actually hit Caleb.
“It means you tell it like it is. Not many people do, or want to have to confront it. Why do you think people act so nervous around you?”
“Because my mother gambled away all our money, made some questionable choices when it came to men, and then dropped dead out of nowhere. Then, my absentee father felt some misguided sense of obligation, so he returned, only to overdose at the racetrack when parenting became too much for him,” I say, summarizing my messy past succinctly.
Caleb lets out a short, surprised laugh, and then quickly glances over at me, like he’s worried his amusement at the expense of my parents’ demons will offend me.
“I, uh, I didn’t know the details,” he says.
He’s lying.
My mother died when I was in sixth grade; my father the summer before I started high school.
It feels like a long time ago—it was a long time ago—but the drama surrounding my parents is far too juicy not to be still gossiped about regularly. I’m certain Caleb has heard far worse about my family than what I just shared with him.
“That’s not why people are intimidated by you, Lennon.”
I shoot him a look of disbelief as we climb the front stairs to his house. “You’re joking, right? That’s all people care about.”
“No, I mean it,” Caleb insists. “I never see you talk to anyone at school besides that new girl…”
“Cassie,” I supply.
“Right, Cassie,” Caleb agrees quickly, probably worried I’m going to lecture him about remembering girls’ names again. “I’m just saying, if you opened up a little… Some people might surprise you.”
It’s remarkably similar to what Cassie said before Marcus’s party, but I’m more willing to believe Caleb on this. Given our history, I don’t think he’ll sugarcoat anything.
“ Some people might.” I stress the first word, because I’m pretty sure I know who we’re talking about. “But most won’t. You walked into homeroom with me, the first day of freshman year. You saw how they all looked at me. I’m still the same person I was then.”
“Maybe other people aren’t.” Caleb holds open yet another door for me—this time the imposing black one that marks the entrance to the house.
I step inside the front foyer and open my mouth, ready to respond. I close it again when a stunning blonde woman appears in front of us.
“Caleb, where have you been?” she asks, patting the elaborate twist her hair is pulled back in. “I texted you three times. You were supposed to look over the color schemes for your graduation party.”
“I was at Colt’s. Then picked up Lennon,” Caleb replies. “You can choose whatever colors you want, Mom.”
Mrs. Winters fixes her gaze on me. I experience the uncomfortable sensation of being closely scrutinized and found lacking. “You’re the Matthews girl, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Mrs. Winters, I’m Lennon Matthews,” I reply. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“You didn’t mention you were having a visitor tonight, Caleb.”
I mimic Mrs. Winters’s cool indifference. “Caleb and I have a school project to work on.”
Caleb’s mother looks relieved to hear I’m here on a strictly academic basis. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” She sweeps out of the front entryway as dramatically as she appeared.
“I feel surprised,” I tell Caleb.
He grins. “Yeah, my mom is probably not the best example. She tried to acclimate to living here by becoming the snobbiest snob of them all.”
Caleb walks toward the central staircase.
I trail behind him, registering the inside of the house for the first time.
It’s similar to the minimalist exterior of the house but paired with polar contrasts.
The ivory walls meld into ebony floorboards.
The floors are dotted with woven rugs, and the white painted plaster is covered with black-and-white framed photographs.