22. Maximillian
— ? —
Maximillian
Elle takes the corner a little wider than I would have suggested, and Sovrano responds by finding exactly the line she wanted.
I stand at the rail with my arms folded, watching her bring him around toward the second fence.
She asked me to set the distances this morning, and I did, but she’s been adjusting her approach on every pass.
She wants more room into the second fence and a tidier turn toward the third.
Watching Sovrano settle into the approach, I can see why.
“Inside line,” she calls as Sovrano clears the second fence. “I’m taking the inside.”
I move along the rail for a better view.
She’s already looking toward the third fence, her hands quiet, her seat following the rhythm of his canter.
She keeps the turn compact without losing the rhythm, then straightens him toward the middle of the fence.
Sovrano gathers himself and clears the jump with room to spare.
She brings him back to trot, then walk, circling toward me with a smile that makes me want to abandon any pretense of coaching.
“Thoughts?” She halts near the rail, stroking Sovrano’s neck.
“I think you’ve stopped listening to my suggestions.”
“I listened.” She tilts her head, her eyes bright beneath the brim of her helmet. “Then I improved on them.”
“Naturally.” I rest my hand on the rail. “I’m beginning to wonder why you invited me.”
“I enjoy having an audience.” She grins at me. “Especially one I can argue with afterward.”
Two weeks ago, she laughed halfway across the meadow, then insisted she had beaten me in a race I hadn’t known we were having.
Since then, we’ve built from poles to crossrails to these three low fences, with quiet days between and time to get comfortable before adding anything else.
She still pauses before she asks for canter, still takes a breath that I’ve learned to recognize.
But the pauses are shorter now, and the breaths come easier, and today she’s been arguing for the line she wants instead of waiting for me to tell her what to do.
“Walk him out?” I nod toward the far end of the arena. “He’s earned a rest.”
“So have I.” She turns Sovrano away from the rail. “I’m declaring this session complete.”
I watch her walk him along the long side, her posture relaxed, her reins long enough that he can stretch his neck. The morning sun catches her braid where it falls beneath her helmet, and I let myself enjoy the sight of her without trying to measure whether she’s recovered enough.
The competition is eleven days away. The entry went in two days ago, for the class she chose when she first showed me the schedule.
She submitted it herself, sitting cross-legged on our bed with the phone in her hand, then asked whether I intended to stare at her all evening or come and see the confirmation.
Our bed. I still catch myself enjoying the words. The morning after she came to the loft, she took my book upstairs and put it beside hers. By the time I followed with my bag, she was clearing a drawer and complaining that I had brought far too few shirts.
Today, one of those shirts is hanging over the back of her chair because she wore it to breakfast and declined to return it. I have never been less interested in recovering something I own.
The groom meets us at the gate and takes Sovrano’s reins while Elle dismounts at the block. I reach for her helmet as she unfastens the strap, and she hands it to me without comment, shaking her braid loose.
“Thank you.” She pulls off her gloves and tucks them into her pocket. “For the poles.”
“You’re welcome.” I set her helmet on the bench. “I’ll remember to leave space in my notes for your amendments.”
“You could give them their own page.” She steps closer, her hand coming to rest on my arm. “There may be quite a few.”
“At this rate, you’ll need your own notebook.” I cover her hand with mine. “Mine is filling up.”
She laughs, and I feel the warmth of it settle somewhere in my chest. These past two weeks have been full of moments like this, small and ordinary and impossibly precious.
Waking up beside her. Watching her frown at the estate papers while I pretend to read.
Reaching for her hand across the table and finding her already reaching back.
She reaches up and brushes a little arena dust from my sleeve, then leaves her hand there. I draw her closer for a kiss before she can find anything else to correct.
“Your mother will be here for lunch soon.” Elle glances toward the house. “Rosa has moved everything onto the terrace.”
“She called me yesterday to confirm.” My mother sounded so pleased that I suspected Elle had told her more than I had. “Twice. In case I’d forgotten.”
“She’s arriving at noon.” Elle checks her watch. “Which gives us just enough time to make ourselves presentable.”
“You look presentable.” I brush a strand of hair from her face. “Slightly dusty, perhaps.”
“Dusty is not presentable.” She catches my hand and presses a kiss to my palm. “I’ll meet you on the terrace in half an hour.”
She turns toward the house, and I go back for the training sheet we left on the rail.
The groom is untacking Sovrano in the aisle.
I put away the spare poles, then make a note of the approach Elle used and the turn she preferred.
She will want to discuss both when we plan the next session, and I want to remember what I saw rather than what I expected.
By the time I’ve washed and changed, Rosa has set the terrace table for three. I bring over the extra chair she asks for, lifting it clear of the stone so I don’t scrape the legs.
Felicity arrives precisely at noon, her car pulling into the drive as I finish setting down the chair. She emerges with a basket over one arm and a smile I can see before she has closed the car door.
“Darling.” She sets the basket on the wall and pulls me into a hug. “You look wonderful.”
“So do you.” I kiss her cheek. “How was the drive?”
“Long enough to think of several things I forgot to pack.” She pulls back and studies my face with the careful attention only mothers seem to possess. “But worth it. You really do look well.”
“I’ve been sleeping better.” It’s true, though the reason for it makes me glance toward the house.
“I imagine you have.” Her smile widens. “Where is she?”
“Changing.” I gesture toward the terrace. “She’ll be down in a moment.”
“Then I’ll wait.” Felicity picks up the basket and heads for the table. “I brought some things from the garden. Rosa said she’d find a use for them.”
I follow her to the terrace, where she begins unpacking an improbable quantity of vegetables onto the table. Tomatoes, peppers, a bundle of herbs that fills the air with the scent of basil. I remember her bringing baskets like this to Umbria, filling our kitchen with things she’d grown herself.
“You didn’t have to bring all this.” I help her arrange the tomatoes in a bowl.
“I wanted to.” She gives me a look. “You forget, I’ve seen what you eat when left to your own devices.”
“That was one time.”
“It was three weeks of one time.” She sets the herbs aside. “I still don’t understand how you survived.”
“Willpower.” I dodge the swat she aims at my shoulder. “And determination.”
Elle’s voice carries from the house before Felicity can respond. “I hope you’re not letting him take credit for anything.”
“I was about to start.” Felicity turns toward her with open arms. “Georgina. Let me look at you.”
Elle crosses the terrace and walks into the embrace. I watch my mother hold her, the two of them standing close for a long moment before Felicity pulls back to examine her face.
“You look wonderful.” Felicity touches Elle’s cheek. “Max said you’ve been working hard.”
“He’s been very useful.” Elle shoots me a smile over Felicity’s shoulder. “Provided I keep him supplied with biscuits.”
“That sounds about right.” Felicity releases her and gestures to the basket. “I brought vegetables. Rosa’s promised to do something marvelous with them.”
“She usually does.” Elle examines the tomatoes with evident pleasure. “These are beautiful.”
“The peppers are better.” Felicity picks one up and turns it in the light. “Though I may be biased.”
Rosa appears with water, glasses, and a basket of bread, setting them on the table beside the empty plates. She and Felicity exchange a few words about the vegetables, and then Rosa disappears back into the house, leaving the three of us alone on the terrace.
“Sit.” Elle pulls out a chair for Felicity. “Tell us about the drive.”
“Uneventful, thankfully.” Felicity settles into her seat and accepts the glass of water I pour for her. “Though I did have time to think about what I wanted to say when I got here.”
“That sounds ominous.” I take the chair beside Elle, close enough that our knees touch beneath the table.
“Not at all.” Felicity looks at Elle over the rim of her glass. “I wanted to tell you how proud I am. Of everything you’ve accomplished these past weeks.”
Elle’s expression softens. “I’ve had help.”
“You’ve had support.” Felicity sets her glass down. “That’s not the same thing. The work has been yours. The courage has been yours. Max may have carried the poles, but you’re the one who jumped them.”
I feel Elle’s hand find mine beneath the table. She doesn’t say anything, just threads her fingers through mine and holds on.
“Thank you.” Her voice is quiet. “That means a great deal.”
“It’s only the truth.” Felicity smiles. “Now tell me about this competition. I want to hear everything.”
Elle begins to describe the event, the class she’s entered, the schedule for the day.
I listen as she explains why she chose this class, asking about the arrival time when she pauses to check the schedule.
This is what I wanted, back when I wasn’t sure I’d ever have it again.
Not just Elle beside me, but Elle confident and happy, making plans for something she chose for herself.
“And you’ll be there?” Felicity asks me. “On the day?”