Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
In the younger divisions, like the twelve-and-under pleasure walk and trot class that Carmen is riding in with Lady Beatrice, the trainers are allowed to provide audible support as they compete. Because the arena is so big and the cheering robust, the four of us space out on each corner of the oval to give continued feedback and instruction as Carmen rides by. She’ll have a steady barrage of advice to pull from as she rides.
To my right, Sylvie stands at the white railing. She is on her tiptoes to peek over the top, her eyes riveted on her new friend. While I’ve been sorting through the aftermath of Gabe’s tumultuous visit to the barn the day before yesterday, Sylvie was becoming fast friends with Carmen over ice cream cones. She returned home that afternoon, sprinting through the front door of the main house and right past my office without glancing in to see me there.
Didn’t matter—I was beyond pleased by the way she ran right into the kitchen to find my mom working on a crossword puzzle at the table. Mom has been ready to swoop in and cement a grandmotherly bond with Sylvie, even more so now that Sylvie seems committed to at least giving things a try.
After Gabe left, I texted my parents and asked them to meet me at the main house where I filled them in on Alaine’s trust and how co-managing the winery will be more work on my already-overloaded plate. We brainstormed some and my father readily agreed to step back into partial management duties for the farm to ease my burden a bit. We still have things to decide, but all those worries seemed to slip away as I stood outside the kitchen and listened to Sylvie prattle on to my mother about her new friend. I didn’t know Sylvie could be that excited for anything and it more than warmed my heart.
It was nothing though, compared to the squeezing joy that gripped my soul when Sylvie, all out of words to describe her outing, hesitantly asked my mom, “May I call you Mamie?”
“Mamie?” Mom asked softly and oh so curiously.
“It’s a French nickname for grandma. Although I can be more formal and call you grand-mère.”
I couldn’t see my mom while I shamelessly eavesdropped, but I could imagine the softening of her features as I know that struck her deeply.
“I think Mamie is perfect,” she replied.
I left them alone but later learned from my father who texted to proudly announce that he is to be called Papi.
Looking down at my daughter as she watches Carmen trotting by, I itch to reach out and put my arm around her shoulders, but we aren’t there yet. I’m afraid that action would send her scurrying and building trust with her requires the tiniest of steps.
At today’s show, Carmen is in a large, very competitive class. Sylvie earlier had gushed over how beautiful her new friend looked in her fancy attire of a long-tailed coat, jodhpurs and derby hat.
Carmen is riding against nine other horses, which can be quite hair-raising given that these are the most inexperienced riders. Even after all these years, my heart still pounds with worry when one of our kids is in the ring and it doesn’t stop until the winner is announced. As Carmen approaches me, I do a quick once-over with critical eyes to take in not only her body positioning but that of her horse. I note that Lady Beatrice’s head is drifting forward, so as Carmen rides by, I call out, “Tighten your top rein.”
I watch with satisfaction as her black-gloved fingers moved slightly to shorten the strip of leather laced within and the horse responds by holding her head higher. Carmen enters the long straight of the arena right in front of the judge and guides the horse to the left around a slower rider. I am proud to see she does this after looking over her left shoulder to ensure she isn’t cutting off another rider, and that pride extends to the excellent training Kat has bestowed within her lessons. Safety is the most important thing in their teachings.
From the opposite side of the arena, one voice lifts above the others. A raspy cheer. “Go, Carmen!”
My gaze locks in on Marcie like a laser as she perches on the edge of her seat, watching Carmen ride. I can tell she’s nervous, as are most parents and family members when kids that age ride. Her full bottom lip is tucked between her teeth and her hands clutch the railing so hard, her knuckles are white. I don’t spare a glance at her sister, Michelle, sitting beside her. She is of no interest to me, but Marcie is.
Since our dinner the other night, I’ve thought a lot about the stunning redhead. I owe her so much because without her, the bridge between Sylvie and me may have never been built. But that isn’t really what occupies my thoughts. I thoroughly enjoyed our conversation as we sat at the bar and talked over good food. While Sylvie ended up being the main topic of discussion, I learned more about Marcie and what got her into education. I didn’t hesitate to ask about the demise of her marriage, especially after meeting her husband and learning of his cheating ways. I feel protective of Marcie because of that knowledge and I’m not quite sure why. I most definitely count her as a friend, but I think I might want more. I’ve had thoughts of asking her out and that is very unlike me. More than ever, with Sylvie entering my life, I simply don’t have the bandwidth to date.