16. Georgina
— ? —
Georgina
It is early afternoon when I reach the arena, the sun warm and the ring quiet.
Max is already there, sitting on the low bank with his back against the rail.
There is a streak of dust on his breeches and a damp patch at the open collar of his shirt.
He must have come straight from work, but he looks quite content to sit in the shade until I reach him.
I checked the clock before I left the house. It isn’t two yet.
Two days ago, I stood in this arena and eventually put my hand on Sovrano’s neck. I had been able to feel Max watching me then, too, but he held the rope while I cried and stayed when I asked him to. I have thought about that almost as much as I’ve thought about touching my horse.
Yesterday he told the world I was a better rider than him.
I haven’t quite worked out what to do with that, or with the fact that he withdrew from a competition he wanted to win.
The part I could decide was asking him to come here.
Now that he is here, I find myself straightening the end of my braid, buying a few seconds before I tell him what I’ve been thinking about since lunch.
“I’d like Sovrano tacked.” I stop a few feet from where Max is sitting. “Saddle and bridle. I want to see how it feels.”
“Shall I ask the groom to bring him here?” Max gets to his feet, brushing the dust from his hands. When I say yes, he goes through the gate ahead of me.
While he speaks to the groom in the yard, I walk over to the mounting block.
Three worn steps, smoothed by years of use.
The last time I stood on a mounting block, my foot touched the edge of the stirrup and my body refused to go any further.
That was weeks before the championship, in a small paddock behind the cypress hedge, with Marco walking away because I’d asked him to leave me alone.
This time, at least, I won’t have to explain it afterward.
A few minutes later, the groom leads Sovrano through the gate, tacked and ready. She stops near the mounting block and holds his head while I walk over to meet them.
“Could you bring my helmet?” I look at the saddle, the familiar curve of the pommel, and feel my chest tighten. “It should be with my things in the tack room.”
“Of course, signora.” She hands me Sovrano’s reins and disappears toward the stable.
I stand holding my horse, feeling his breath warm against my hand. He’s watching me with his ears pricked forward, curious about the change in routine. I haven’t sat on him since the accident. Holding the reins now, I keep glancing at the empty saddle.
Max comes through the gate as I stroke the little whorl near Sovrano’s shoulder. My horse turns his head to investigate my empty pocket, quite prepared to interrupt an emotional reunion for the possibility of food.
“You’ve already had lunch,” I tell him, nudging his nose away. “One of us ought to remember that.”
“He checked mine on the way out,” Max says, stopping beside us. “Thoroughly.”
I glance at the damp mark on his pocket and laugh before I think about whether I can. It helps. For a moment, this is simply my horse being greedy and my husband letting him.
The groom comes back with my helmet and hands it to me. I put it on, adjusting the chin strap with fingers that aren’t quite steady. The familiar weight of it settles against my skull, and for a moment I’m standing in a hundred other arenas, about to do something I used to do without thinking.
“I’m going to stand on the block.” I say it out loud, making it real. “That’s the first thing.”
“I’ll hold him.” Max takes the reins when I offer them, and I check the girth before moving to the steps.
My fingers know the buckle, the pressure beneath the leather.
I can still do this part without hesitation, and I hold on to that as I climb.
My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
From up here, I can see across Sovrano’s back to the arena beyond.
The footing is soft, the rails casting long shadows in the afternoon light.
“A little closer, please.” I reach toward Sovrano, then draw my hand back to the top of the block while Max moves him.
When Sovrano stands alongside, Max passes up the reins and moves his hand to the bridle near the cheekpiece.
I gather the reins and a little mane in my left hand, settling my right against the saddle.
Below me, the stirrup hangs within easy reach.
There is nothing unfamiliar about any of it until I lower my foot and feel my stomach turn over.
I get the ball of my left foot into the stirrup. For a moment I can only stare at it. Last time, I couldn’t manage even that.
I begin to transfer my weight and feel Sovrano make a small adjustment beneath me.
My right foot stays planted on the block.
I know what should happen next, can almost feel the familiar swing of my leg over the saddle, but my fingers tighten instead.
All at once I am listening to myself breathe, and the more I listen, the harder it becomes to draw enough air.
The ground rushes toward me in memory, gray at the edges, the air knocked out of my lungs. For a second, I remember trying to answer someone and being unable to get a sound out. My right hand aches against the saddle before I realize how hard I’m gripping it.
“Elle.” Max’s voice is quiet. He’s standing at Sovrano’s head, one hand on the cheekpiece, watching me. “You can step down if you need to.”
I take a breath and let it out slowly. Sovrano stands perfectly still beneath my foot, patient and steady. He’s not going anywhere. He’s just waiting for me to decide.
“I’m going to try again.” I draw my foot out of the stirrup and set it back on the block, loosening my right hand from the saddle. “Give me a minute.”
Max strokes Sovrano’s cheek while I look past them both toward the gate. The groom is rolling up a spare lead rope. Beyond her, someone has left a wheelbarrow in the shade. Ordinary things, absurdly reassuring when my body seems convinced that the ground is about to come up at me.
“Could you talk?” I look down at Max. “About something other than what I’m doing.”
“Deus thinks I use too much bedding.” He glances toward the stable, as if my cousin might appear to defend the accusation. “He asked whether I was making a bed or furnishing a palace.”
“Were you?” I ease my foot into the stirrup again, keeping my eyes on his face. “You do have rather expensive tastes.”
“I thought I was being generous.” His thumb stops moving against Sovrano’s cheek as I shift my weight, but he keeps talking. “Apparently, I’m generous enough for two horses.”
I mean to tell him Deus will have him counting handfuls next.
Instead, I push up, bring my right leg over and lower myself into the saddle, and the words leave me altogether.
For several breaths I sit with my hands resting against the pommel and the reins gathered loosely between them.
Sovrano flicks an ear back. The leather gives beneath my weight, familiar in a way that makes my throat hurt.
“I’m here.” I’m not sure if I’m talking to Sovrano or to Max or to myself. “I’m actually sitting here.”
“You are.” Max’s voice is careful. He’s still holding the cheekpiece, keeping Sovrano steady. “How does it feel?”
“Terrifying.” I laugh, and it comes out wet and shaky. “Also familiar. I can’t decide which is worse.”
Sovrano lowers his head a little, and I feel the change through the saddle. My hands tighten, then ease when he settles again. Max stays beside him while I work out how to let my shoulders drop.
After a while, I find my right stirrup and adjust the reins between my fingers. The trembling hasn’t stopped, but I can loosen my grip enough to feel the contact properly. Max watches my hands, then looks up when I say his name.
“I want to walk.” The words come out before I’ve fully decided. “Just a few steps.”
“Would you like me at his head?” Max keeps his hand on the bridle as he asks.
I consider saying yes. Having him hold Sovrano while I mounted helped, and I don’t have to prove I can do everything in a single afternoon. But I want to feel my horse answer me. I want to ask something of him and recognize his response.
“Let me try with you beside us.” I look down at Max, making sure he understands the rest. “Close, please.”
Max moves to my left side, keeping his hand near Sovrano’s shoulder. I squeeze my legs gently, and Sovrano walks forward.
The first step catches me by surprise, even though I asked for it.
My body tenses, waiting for something to go wrong, and Sovrano feels the tension and hesitates.
I let out the breath I’ve been holding and ease my fingers.
He takes another step. I feel it through my hips this time, and manage to go with him instead of bracing against it.
We make it to the first corner before I have to stop. My legs are trembling, and I can feel tears burning at the backs of my eyes again. I halt Sovrano and sit there, breathing hard.
“Take your time.” Max is still beside me, his hand on Sovrano’s shoulder. “There’s no rush.”
“I need a moment.” I wipe beneath one eye, annoyed by how difficult it is to see clearly, rather than by the tears themselves. I have wanted this for too long to pretend it is a small thing now that it is happening. “Don’t let me start counting how far we’ve gone. I’ll become unbearable.”
“I won’t measure it.” Max looks down at the tracks in the sand, giving me a little privacy while I wipe my other eye. “The tape’s back in the shed anyway.”
The laugh hurts on its way out, but it leaves me enough room to breathe.