The Mare

Ginger

It was true: Velvet was invited to ride at Pat’s house. She was barred from the barn indefinitely, but she could visit Pat’s home after four o’clock. She could ride Pat’s mare Chloe.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” I asked Pat. “Given how reckless she’s been?”

“She’s not going to be reckless at my house. Listen, there’s an element of danger any time anybody gets on a horse, just like there’s danger any time anybody gets in a car. Velvet plus that horse she fell off of are a particularly volatile thing. Velvet plus a certain trainer are even more volatile. But one, there’s only two horses at my house and both of them are angels—”

I felt myself smiling into the phone; my heart rose with the cadence of her voice. Because in spite of the danger, my question had been pro forma.

“—and two, I’m the only other person she’s gotta deal with at my house. Three, that girl is a genius horsewoman. That kind of talent should not be ignored; in my opinion, ignoring her talent will be putting her more at risk than letting her ride. Because that girl needs to ride for her sanity.”

“That’s what I think too.”

“Impose some discipline on your end; she needs that as well. Make her do chores for a week, hold something back, whatever you want. Make her realize that what she did wasn’t okay with you. If she’s good for the week, I’ll drop by and take her to my place.”

So I laid it out for her: dishes, math workbooks, and the three-extra credit essays for school. I said, “And don’t ever endanger yourself like that again. If you do, you can’t come back here anymore. That would break my heart, but—”

“I stopped Beverly from hurting Joker.”

“If Beverly was abusing Joker, you should’ve told somebody! Instead of getting on another horse bareback and riding it out with your ass halfway on it!”

“I told Pat, and she didn’t listen!”

“Then you need to say it differently or say it to someone else or accept that you can’t do anything about it!”

“I did do something about it! She stopped hitting him!”

“And you know what? The next time she looks at Joker, she’s going to remember that you got her knocked down and guess who she’s going to take it out on?”

“I don’t care. I’m not afraid of her.”

“Not you. She’s not going to take it out on you. You won’t even be there. She’s going to take it out on the horse.”

Her face went into a wounded full stop, mouth and eyes open.

“Maybe that won’t happen,” I said. “I’m just saying it could. But I don’t care that much about the horse. I care about you. You could’ve broken your neck and that would’ve broken my heart. And by the way, it would’ve destroyed your mother.”

“Trust me,” she said, “it would not destroy my mother.”

I said, “Just don’t do it again.”

But I was thinking: It would be a relief to have a mom who could not be destroyed. My mom used to say that Melinda was going to destroy her and that if I ever “went like Melinda” it would destroy her. It was a very annoying thing to hear.