Getting Back On

CHAPTER ONE

There had been a sign a while back warning us to watch out for riders crossing the path, but the brunette girl on horseback not too far away from our car still shocked my mother. The horse she was on, a pretty gray with faint dapples speckling its coat, seemed surprised, too, tossing its head with a loud snort. My mother’s hazel eyes were wide, her hand hovering barely half an inch away from the horn, ready to press it. I pushed it back down gently, remembering that loud noises would spook the horse. Only the girl kept calm, barely glancing in our direction as she tugged lightly on the horse’s leather reins, walking coolly on by us.

A frown settled on Mom’s scarlet-tinted lips as she watched the rider continue onto the dusty trail that led into the lush green fields. Catching a glimpse of the girl’s face passing by the car window, she asked me, in a slow, odd voice, “Wasn’t that Britton?” Her fingers closed around the black leather of the steering wheel one by one, gripping it tightly, with a moment’s pause before resuming the drive towards the stable.

I shrugged, eyeing the retreating figure, clad in a navy blue top and tan pants, the familiar locks of long brown hair spilling down her back. “Yeah, I guess so,” I replied. “Why?”

Her expression was flecked with a mixture of concern and exasperation as she answered, “Well, I don’t think that she should be out in the middle of the road with her horse like that. It’s dangerous.” She shook her head as if dismissing the topic, speeding up slightly. I shifted so I was facing out the passenger window, my eyes trailing across the scenery. Bright verdant pastures, blades of grass dancing in the light summer breeze, stretched as far as I could see, just as they had for miles and miles since entering the country. Horses dotted the endless paddocks, grazing peacefully. Even with a fresh, fragrant scent wafting in, the air in the car was hard and tense, only accentuated more by rigid body language and sharp motions. It was uncomfortable, to say the least, and I felt, not for the first time, a slight sense of relief that I would be spending the summer with the Harts instead, in a home where I wouldn’t have to endure any awkwardness or one-sided arguments.

It wasn’t as if it had been my choice to begin with. My mother had insisted on me going away as she and Dad settled the divorce and custody battle, and when her cousin, my distant aunt, had brought up that I could stay at her horse farm with the opportunity to take equestrian lessons, it seemed like the best choice. During the packing stage, my mother had enthused on how much fun it would be, getting to be around horses again, like I had done long ago, and rooming with my cousin Britton, who was thirteen as well. But now, her happy attitude had faded into a mess of frustration and stress, leaving me on edge too.

The lines on her forehead deepening, Mom brought out her phone, holding it in one hand and frowning as she referenced the map application she had up that was guiding her to the stables. “It’s three miles away,” she muttered under her breath. A quick look over her shoulder at the empty road told me that she had to be wondering what Britton was doing trail riding three miles from home, but, to my surprise, didn’t mention it. I didn’t say anything in response, keeping my eyes locked straight ahead, tracing the grassy horizon.

Our car stopped abruptly on the side of the road, in front of a spray of houses, which a huge billboard sign proclaimed to be Bridleway Estates. The houses were large and posh, with spacious lots; winding bridle paths unfolding behind an array of trees that lined the pastoral subdivision. “That was three miles?” I asked skeptically, my words and the snapping sound of my seatbelt unbuckling breaking the heavy silence.

“No, this isn’t it,” Mom murmured, engrossed in her texting. “I just need to sort some things out with … some things that can’t wait. Roselyn isn’t expecting you to be at three o’ clock on the dot, so it’s fine.”