No one wanted to hear Uncle Nate’s insistence that it was actually something more.
*
I take it as a bad sign that I’m already feeling annoyed with the campers and they’ve only been here two days. It’s a smaller group this year, fifteen kids, seven boys and eight girls, a few repeats, including Simon, who has been coming here for the past four years and specializes in following me around like a puppy.
“When you’re working with the horses,” I’m telling a group of five of them, the ones with no horse experience, “you want to make sure to be calm and not make any sudden movements. Horses are very receptive to whatever energy it is you’re putting out there, too, so you’ve got to act accordingly. If you respect them, they will respect you.”
We’re in something of a heat wave for this time of year; there hasn’t been any fog and the temperature’s approaching the mid-seventies. Clover, the chestnut mare, stands in front of me, eyes half closed, dozing in the warmth of the day. You could detonate a bomb next to Clover and she’d do little more than swish her tail and maybe shift the weight from one side to the other.
“So before you put the horse’s tack on, you have to groom them,” I say. “Each horse here has their own groom box. You’ll each be assigned to a horse for the three weeks that you’re here. It will be your responsibility to take care of the horse, which includes grooming, exercising, and evening feeding. I’ll go through what all the stuff in the groom box is and then I’ll tell you who you’re assigned to.”
Brett, the tall boy with tattoos on his knuckles, eyes Clover warily. “What if you’re like . . . respecting the horse but he ain’t feelin’ you and isn’t respecting you back?”
“I guarantee you that won’t happen here,” I tell him. “And generally, when you give respect, you get it. That’s not something that just applies to horses.”
He gives me a wary look, like I might be lying or trying to pull a fast one on him, but I just give him a smile and raise my eyebrows.
“It’s true,” I tell him. “Remember that and you shouldn’t have any problems.”
*
When I get back to my cabin that evening, there’s a pink orchid sitting on the small dining room table, plus a note from Lorrie. This came for you today, but there was no card and the delivery guy couldn’t/wouldn’t give me any more info. It’s beautiful, regardless!!
I put her note down next to the terra cotta pot. A few of the little nuggets of bark have fallen onto the table. The plant actually looks a little menacing, like it could extricate itself from its confines and start scuttling around the cabin.
I take a shower, and as I’m toweling off my hair, my phone starts to ring. I already know it’s going to be him before I even look to see who the incoming call is, but I answer, because he’ll just keep calling if I don’t.
“Do you like the orchid?” he asks.
“It’s lovely. And completely unnecessary to send.”
“I thought that drab little cabin of yours could use some cheering up. I’m sure you could use some cheering up.” I can practically hear his smirk.
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“Really, though, Jill. I know it’s coming up on the one-year anniversary of your dad’s death, and I just . . . I wanted to call and see how you’re holding up.”
“I’m okay, Sean, really. Thank you for thinking of me, though.”
“I think about you a lot. I’d like to drive down there and see you. Or take you out to dinner next time you’re in the city. I’m subletting my cousin’s apartment here in the marina for the summer—you should come check it out. It’d be great to have you around.”
“I don’t think so,” I say. “I mean, I’m just pretty busy with work and then when I’ve got free time I need to go see my mom.”
“I wouldn’t mind seeing your mom.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “Listen, I’ve got to go. I had a long day and I’m beat.”
“Jill, hold on. I really thought you’d be ready to talk now.”
“Talk about what?”
“About getting back together. You know we belong together. I understand that what happened last year was pretty f**king traumatic and you needed some space. I get that. But it’s been almost a year and I think that we’re both ready to get things back on track.”
That’s the problem with people like Sean. They’re used to getting exactly what they want, all the time, and have no f**king clue how to accept ‘no’ as an answer.
“Sean, our relationship is over. Which means you can stop calling me and also stop sending flowers. To both me and my mother. Okay? Goodbye.”
“I love it when you play hard to get,” I hear him say before I’m able to disconnect the call.
Chapter 5: Griffin
I’ve never had so much time to just sit and be alone with my thoughts.
It’s a little unnerving.
I’m generally the sort who likes to keep moving, who likes to be doing something—or someone—pretty much all the time. Perhaps at one point Dad thought that such a characteristic would be beneficial in business, but he has since determined otherwise. Somewhere along the way he made up his mind that I wouldn’t be following in his footsteps, and he basically told me to go do whatever I wanted so long as it didn’t involve getting thrown in jail—presumably he didn’t want to have to put up the bail—or get involved in any scandals that might tarnish the public’s impression of him. I doubt he ever had a conversation like that with Cam. When I was twenty-five my trust fund would be released to me. At which point he’s probably hoping to never have to see me again. From what I’ve gathered, Cam hasn’t touched his trust fund yet and instead has followed in Dad’s footsteps and is making money out of money. Or something. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure what either my dad or Cam do, but it’s lucrative and gives them the idea that they are somehow better than everyone else.
Mom always liked to refer to us as her “good boy” and her “wild one.” I’ll let you decide who was who. But clearly it was apparent early on that Cam could do no wrong. In every holiday photo, he’s looking straight into the camera, perfect smile, not a hair out of place. It was always on account of me we had to do half a dozen or more retakes, my dad’s smile getting tighter and more forced with each one, until the official Alexander Family Christmas photo always resulted with Dad scowling. Somehow, though, the look on Cam’s face never faltered.