15. Maximillian
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Maximillian
I wake before dawn thinking about riding Dante through a turn, the small adjustment of my hands, his weight gathering beneath me.
For a moment, the movement feels closer than the cot beneath me.
I want to be in the arena at home, warming up Dante for the title defense.
I want to feel the rhythm of his stride beneath me, the particular focus that comes before competition.
My body knows this calendar. For years, this week has meant preparation, intensity, the kind of single-minded attention that leaves no room for anything else.
Instead, I’m lying on a cot in a hayloft, listening to the horses stir below, thinking about my wife’s hand on Sovrano’s neck.
Yesterday she told me about standing on the mounting block, unable to put her foot into the stirrup, then coming to find me.
I was teaching Giselle. I try to remember that morning and can’t separate it from all the others when I finished a lesson pleased with myself.
Elle went back to the house without asking for help.
I keep thinking about how near she must have been.
Later, with her fingers in Sovrano’s mane, she asked whether we could stay a little longer. I wanted to put my arms around her. I held the rope instead, and she kept talking to her horse until the light began to fade.
I climb down from the loft as the first gray light seeps through the stable windows. Deus is already in the feed room, measuring grain into buckets with the efficiency of someone who’s done this a thousand times.
“Early start.” He doesn’t look up from the grain. “Something on your mind?”
“I need to make a phone call.” I lean against the doorframe. “Official business. Is there somewhere quiet?”
Deus sets down the scoop and looks at me properly. “What kind of official business?”
“I’m withdrawing from the title defense next week.” I rest my hand against the doorframe, making myself meet his eyes. “I need to call the organizer and make it formal.”
The expression in his face changes. He’s been watching me these past days, measuring whether I’m worth the space I’m taking up in his cousin’s stable.
He looks toward the calendar pinned inside the feed-room door, then back at me. I know he understands which event I mean. We have spent enough years around the same circuit for him to know what I am giving up the chance to win.
“The tack room’s empty.” He picks up the scoop again. “Take your time.”
“Thank you.” I push off from the doorframe. “I’ll finish the first boxes before I call. It’s too early to ring him yet.”
He nods once, already turning back to the grain.
By eight, the first horses are out and their boxes are clean.
I wash my hands at the stable tap before going to the tack room.
The morning light falls across the bench where I cleaned Elle’s father’s bridle a few days ago.
I sit down and pull out my phone, finding Benedetto’s number.
He accepted my entry for the legacy exhibition.
I remember how little discussion it took to put Giselle beside me on that list.
“Max. I was going to call you about arrival logistics.” Benedetto answers while I am still staring at the calendar on my screen. Next week is filled with travel and preparation times. I close it.
“That’s why I’m calling.” I look out the window at the hills. “I’m withdrawing from the event.”
The silence stretches.
“You’re withdrawing.” The rustle of paper stops. “From the title defense.”
“Yes.” I press my thumb against the edge of the bench. “I know it’s late notice. I apologize for the inconvenience.”
“Max, people are expecting you.” More shuffling. “Is something wrong? Are you injured?”
“I’m not injured.” I watch a bird land on the windowsill. “I have personal matters that require my attention. I won’t be able to compete.”
“The press will want a statement.” A chair scrapes at his end of the call, followed by the click of a keyboard.
“They can say I’ve withdrawn for personal reasons.
” I pause, thinking about what Elle heard at the championship.
The announcer’s voice, explaining her absence as a gift.
“Actually, there’s something else I’d like to address.
Can you put me in touch with the press coordinator?
I have some things I need to say publicly. ”
Benedetto is quiet for a moment. “This is about the legacy exhibition. The one at the championship.”
“Yes.” I’m not surprised he’s made the connection. “I need to correct some things that were said.”
“I can send you the coordinator’s number.” He reads it out while I open my notes, then says he will send it as well. “If you’re willing to do a recorded interview, they could have it up by this afternoon.”
“That would work.” I reach for the pencil beside the bridle-cleaning cloth. “But first, please confirm the withdrawal. That decision stands either way.”
“I’ll process it now.” Benedetto reads back the event and my entry, and I confirm both. When he asks whether I need anything else, the picture of the warm-up arena returns so sharply that I have to look down at my boots.
“No. Thank you.” I wait while he confirms that I’ll receive it in writing. After we end the call, I message the head groom to cancel Dante’s transport and keep him on his usual exercise routine at home.
After I hang up, I sit with the phone between my hands.
Someone else will ride the round I have been preparing for.
I will watch the results arrive from here, and I know I will care who wins.
Elle hasn’t asked me to stop caring about my work.
She asked for a place in my days, and I kept making her wait until there was nothing left to give her.
Benedetto sends the coordinator’s number. Beneath it is a short confirmation that my entry has been withdrawn. I read that twice before making the next call.
***
The press coordinator arranges everything within the hour.
By mid-morning, I’m sitting on the tack room bench with my phone resting in a small stand on the workbench, the camera showing the plain wall behind me.
The reporter appears on the screen with a headset and a page of notes.
Before we begin, she confirms that the recording will appear on the event’s equestrian news channel this afternoon.
I check the framing once more. Nothing of Elle’s house is visible.
“Thank you for speaking with us, Mr. Costanzo.” She glances down at her notes, then back at the camera. “Our viewers are surprised to hear about your withdrawal. Can you tell us what’s behind this decision?”
“I have personal matters that require my presence elsewhere.” I straighten my hands on my knees, resisting the familiar urge to make the answer sound effortless. “I’m sorry to disappoint anyone who was looking forward to the competition.”
“Can you tell us more about these personal matters?” She holds her pen above the page, waiting.
“I’d prefer to keep the details private.” I shift slightly on the bench. “What I can tell you is that I’ve made choices over the past months that I need to address, and this is part of addressing them.”
“There’s been speculation about your wife.” She moves a sheet of notes to one side. “Some people have said she wasn’t at the championship because of health issues.”
“I’m not discussing my wife’s health.” I feel my jaw tighten and make myself relax. “She’s a private person. What I can tell you is that the narrative around the legacy exhibition at the championship was wrong, and I want to correct it.”
“The exhibition you rode with your sister-in-law?” She checks the date on her notes. I remember the sound of the applause before I can stop myself.
“Yes.” I look directly at the lens. “The announcer described it as my sister-in-law stepping in to honor my wife’s place. That description was inaccurate.”
“Inaccurate how?” Her pen stops moving, and I know this is where a practiced answer would be easiest. A misunderstanding, an unfortunate choice of words. I have used enough of those.
“Georgina didn’t ask to be represented. She didn’t ask for anyone to keep her place warm.
” I hold the camera’s eye. “I entered with Giselle without consulting Georgina, then chose to use Georgina’s horse without asking her.
The way we presented the ride made it sound as though she’d given her blessing. She hadn’t.”
“So your wife didn’t approve of the arrangement?” The reporter lifts her eyes from the page. I resist the urge to explain how reasonable I thought I was being at the time.
“No.” I let the answer stand for a moment. “She didn’t know I’d put her sister on her horse until she found out at the championship. Sovrano belongs to Georgina. I made that choice without asking her permission.”
The reporter pauses. “Some reports suggested your wife wasn’t present at the championship.”
“She was there.” I move my hand away from the screen so I can see the reporter properly. “She came to the grounds that day. That I wasn’t aware of her presence doesn’t mean she was absent. That announcement was made at an event she had come to watch.”
“That must have been difficult.” The reporter lowers her notes. I think of Elle behind the half-open car window, reminding me how long she’d already been asking for my time.
“It was something I caused.” I stay facing the camera, although my eyes want to drop. “I accepted congratulations for a ride she had never agreed to. Calling it an honor made her part of a story she hadn’t chosen. I owe her a correction that reaches the people who heard it.”
“Your sister-in-law has been praised for her performance.” The reporter returns to her notes. “Some people have called her a natural talent.”