Every Wild Heart Read online

  “Well, have a good ride,” said Denny eventually. He yanked on the stall door handle and it rumbled along its track, opening.

  “Thanks.”

  He watched while she led Tru into the aisle and clipped the cross ties to the rings on either side of the halter. It seemed to Nic that there was something more he wanted to say, but after a few moments he turned and walked away, his huge old black Newfoundland padding along at his heels. The dog was named Bear. Sometimes Bear wandered into the tack room while Nic was cleaning her tack and Nic would kneel and wrap her arms around his thick neck, ignoring how the hay that was always stuck in his fur scratched her skin.

  Nic picked up her rubber currycomb and began to groom Tru, working the comb in a circular motion from his neck to his haunches, pulling loose bits of undercoat and dust to the top of his dark brown coat. She finished Tru’s other side and then used a hard brush in quick, flicking movements to remove the curving patterns of dirt left by the currycomb. By the time she brushed out his forelock and mane and tail, Nic had worked up a welcome sweat.

  She was pretty sure Denny felt sorry for her. It was something about the way he always stopped to talk to her. He never stopped to talk to the other girls—the ones who giggled and gossiped in the aisle, hogging the cross ties—unless it was to growl at them to move along already.

  Possibly Denny was just confused by her—or curious. He must have looked at Nic and wondered how it was possible that she was the daughter of the famous Gail Gideon. Nic was sure her mom had had a ton of barn friends back when she rode at Corcoran. Denny probably used to tell her to move along already . . . although, no, Nic realized, he was a teenager then, too, of course. Maybe he hadn’t become so grumpy yet.

  She ran a soft brush over Tru until his coat gleamed. When she brushed his face, he lowered his head and nudged her softly. You couldn’t hide your feelings from horses; they were sensitive animals, adept at reading others. Nic and Tru had entire conversations without saying a word.

  She leaned her shoulder into his leg and he lifted it, allowing her to scrape the caked-in dirt and pebbles from the grooves of his hoof. She couldn’t remember learning how to do any of this stuff. It was like something she’d always known, like she’d been born with a hoof pick in her hand.

  What was that Shakespeare quote that Mr. Hylan had recited in English class the other day? “Joy’s soul lies in the doing.” Nic had loved the line so much that she’d scribbled it into her notebook. If Nic’s joy had a soul, a flame of light at the center of all that made her happy, it could be found burning bright and true and strong when she was immersed in the hard work—the grooming, the cleaning, the riding, the doing—at Corcoran Stables. In no other moments of her life did she feel so present, so content, so entirely, comfortably, herself . . . whoever that was.

  After she outfitted Tru with his saddle and bridle, she led him through the big open double doors at the end of the aisle and out to the tree stump that served as a mounting block. The reins were loose between them; Tru would have walked along with her even if she hadn’t held them. She climbed onto the stump and swung her leg over his back and settled into the saddle, finding the stirrups without looking down, snapping her chinstrap in place at the same time. She hoisted her left leg forward of the saddle and pulled the girth up one notch tighter, letting Tru walk forward as she made these final adjustments.

  He headed in the direction they usually went, down the hoof-worn dirt path that curved along the edge of the paddocks. The sky was bright and nearly white, as though the rain from the night before had bled it of color. The woods loomed at the bottom of the hill. Nic glanced toward the ring, but kept Tru moving along the split-rail fence. On some days she followed the trail that skirted the woods and eventually turned from dirt to sand as it cut down steeply through the bluffs to the beach. On those rides, she held her face up to the strong winds that blew down the coast, and lost the sound of Tru’s canter to the thunderous beat of the ocean’s waves. Other days, she preferred the quiet embrace of the trails that meandered through the wooded park that ran along the edge of the property. Today, she needed the lush canopy above her, the serenity of moving through woods that grew wild and free. She wanted to see the dirt darkened by rain, the tiny wildflowers that somehow found enough light to thrive.

  The air changed in the woods, cooling. Nic zipped up the fleece vest she’d put on over her T-shirt. Tru’s hooves pressed into the wet earth below.

  Other than a few stretches of trotting and cantering to keep Tru in shape, Nic mostly let him walk at his own pace on these trail rides. He had a nice walk, not too pokey and not too forward either, just a gentle, lumbering stroll, and enough energy in his gait and prick to his ears to let her know that he was alert, checking things out, enjoying himself. Any corrections on Nic’s part to speed him up or guide him were so subtle that she hardly knew when she was making them. It was her favorite thing about the physical act of riding: the partnership, at its best, was a form of mind reading, any commands imperceptible outside of horse and rider. It was the only time she felt so immediately and completely understood.

  Denny was right; the storm had made a mess of the trails. Tru blew air out of his nostrils and eyed fallen branches. Nic could feel the growing alarm in his body, the muscles tensing below his skin. She tightened her grip on the reins, feeling Tru’s fear become her fear.

  Do something! The voice, a snarl, cut through her thoughts.

  A jolt of adrenaline surged down her body, into her horse.

  Tru shot forward.

  All Nic had to do was think about slowing Tru, and he would have slowed. Instead, she lifted herself a few inches out of the saddle and let her hands move over Tru’s neck in time with his stride, giving him his head, not putting the slightest pressure on the bit. Tru’s gait opened, lengthening from a canter to a gallop. Nic ducked low branches, felt them snap at her shoulders. The wind whistled in her ears, the forest blurred at the edges of her vision. She flew. She was not free of fear, but there was something delicious about the particular fear that she felt in that moment, the way it expanded inside of her, filling her, leaving no room for anything else. This fear felt like power. She suddenly understood why she had ignored Denny—on some level, she had known that this feeling would only be found here in the woods where she could not be seen.

  And then there it was, far ahead: a fallen tree. It cut across the path, rising at least five feet high. Nic thought quickly. She didn’t have a lot of jumping experience and had never attempted a fence that size. Her pounding heart brought her back to the soccer field, the searing pain of her shame as she’d stuttered, the hidden eye of the Lurk watching it all—

  Jump, said the voice—her own voice. I dare you.

  Tru’s ears were pricked and taut; he’d caught sight of the tree, too. Nic made the slightest adjustments to bring Tru in on her plan. His hooves carved a steady pattern into the trail. Nic knew to count her horse’s strides on the way to the jump, measuring the stretch ahead of them with her mind’s eye. Three strides to go, thought Nic, feeling the distance in her bones.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  And then they were lifting off the ground, suspended and weightless and free. Ahead, a sliver of sky glittered between the shadowed branches like a reward; when Nic saw it, she felt the relief of finding the thing for which she’d been looking.

  Something hard collided with her shoulder, wrenching her from the saddle. There was a loud crack that seemed to come from inside her head, and in response, the earth roared. The trees swirled around her in a wild tangle, softening her fall. The world was bright and beautiful and forgiving. She willed herself, before darkness fell, to try to remember this.

  Chapter 5

  In a cab on the way to the hospital, my daughter’s life flashed before my eyes. It wasn’t the version that might have flashed before Nic’s own eyes as she fell from that horse, but it was the version of her life that I knew, the version that would be imprint
ed in my memory for the rest of my days. These were the things I thought about in the taxi on the way to the hospital:

  Nic at one week old swaddled into an impossibly small bundle, smiling in her sleep, my surprise at the dimple appearing on her right cheek, the dimple that I would press my kisses into for years to come.

  Nic as a baby, sleepy and ready for bed, resting her cheek on my shoulder, patting my back with her chubby little hand spread wide and flat as though she were the one comforting me.

  Nic’s wobbly toddler voice singing, “Row, row, row your boat, life’s a butter dream.”

  The blur of Nic’s toothpick legs spinning through the air when she did her first cartwheel down the slope of Bernal Heights Park at age six.

  Nic with pneumonia at nine, the liquid green of her feverish eyes, her hand limp in mine, her skin already calloused from gripping reins tight for an hour each day.

  Nic’s pale face flooding with joy when she opened the gift I’d wrapped for her on her twelfth birthday—Tru’s halter.

  The sound of Nic’s footsteps padding down the hall to my room on weekend mornings, the feel of her warm, soft body against mine when she snuggled into me and whispered the word “doughnuts.”

  The spark that burned in Nic’s intelligent eyes, the ever-burning flame of her many private thoughts.

  The beauty that emanated from Nic when she rode, those moments when she revealed her vast hidden reserve of confidence and strength.

  Nic’s laugh, a bubble of sound, a balloon tied to my heart, tugging it ever upward.

  Nic curling against me on the couch, folding her long legs underneath her. The sound of her relaxed sigh making my heart swell with what was, I knew with complete certainty and utter fulfillment, a love so powerful that it felt like a privilege to live my life tending to it.

  And now: Nic lying in a hospital bed, thin and pale and still except for the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, her breathing steady due to the life-support machine that did the work she no longer could.

  I forced myself not to recoil from this last mental image. I forced myself to focus on it, to stare straight at her, to not flinch or conjure up some easier scenario. The truth was that I did not know the exact state of Nic’s health at that very moment—it could be better than what I envisioned, but it could be worse. Roy was at the hospital with her. Denny Corcoran was there, too.

  I needed to call Tyler.

  “Everything okay?” he asked. “I just landed in London.”

  Tyler always picked up when I called, no matter when it was or where he was—whether he was on a business trip, or in bed beside his nice wife, Lonnie, in their nice house in Mill Valley. Lonnie must have loved how her husband always answered the phone when he saw my name on the screen.

  I told him what Roy had told me: Nic’s horse had returned to the barn without her. Denny had found her in the woods, breathing but not moving. Denny had ridden with her in the ambulance to the emergency room, and Roy had followed in his car.

  Tyler was silent. I pictured him standing in the middle of Heathrow Airport, running his hand over his eyes, digesting this news, spinning it in the most optimistic light.

  “But she’s going to be okay,” he said.

  “I’m on my way to the hospital. All I know is that she isn’t conscious yet. Roy said that they’re giving her a CT scan.”

  “A CT scan,” he repeated.

  I decided not to wait for him to tell me that he was sure that examining our daughter’s brain was a mere formality, something the hospital was required to do for every patient with a head injury, no matter how minor. “Tyler,” I said. “You need to hang up and start looking at flights home.”

  “Right.” He sounded relieved that I’d told him what to do. “I’ll get on the first plane back. Call me as soon as you know anything else. I’ll send you my flight details.”

  After I hung up with Tyler, I called Simone.

  “Hey,” she said. “I just stopped by your office. Where are you?”

  “I’m on my way to the hospital. Nic had an accident.”

  “Oh my God. Is she okay?”

  “I don’t know yet. She was unconscious when the owner of the barn found her. She’s getting a CT scan.”

  “Oh, G.G. What can I do?”

  “Just hold down the fort. Run an old show. Let Martin know what’s going on.”

  “Of course. Don’t even give it another thought.”

  “We’re pulling into the hospital now. I’ll call you when I can.”

  I tossed cash into the front seat of the taxi and ran inside.

  “My daughter is Nicola Clement,” I said to the woman behind the desk. I was speaking loudly, and couldn’t seem to lower my voice. “She was admitted sometime in the last hour—C-L-E-M-E-N-T.”

  The woman’s long nails clacked against her keyboard. She read something on the computer screen. “Nicola is in the middle of her scan right now. I’ll let you know as soon as she is done.”

  My Nic, my Nic, lying alone in some room in a hospital, a machine scanning her brain for injury. Breathing but not moving. She was just a girl. I leaned toward the nurse. She leaned away from me. “I need to see my daughter. Now. You can’t keep her from me. She’s a minor.”

  The woman blinked. She lifted her hands from the keyboard and folded them in her lap. “If you go in that room right now, you will hinder your daughter’s doctors’ efforts to help her.” She spoke carefully and not unkindly. “They are evaluating the condition of her brain, and you will slow them down.”

  “I want to speak with one of them. One of her doctors.”

  “Of course. I’ll let Dr. Feldman know you’re here.”

  I looked over my shoulder. Roy stood near the door, twisting one hand in the other. He looked ill. I spotted Denny sitting at the end of a row of seats near him. I pointed toward them. “I’ll be right there,” I told the woman behind the desk.

  Roy walked toward me as I approached and wrapped me in a hug. His eyes were wet when he pulled away, the lines in his forehead deeply etched. His hands stayed on my shoulders.

  “She’s going to get through this,” he said.

  I nodded but didn’t trust myself to speak. Denny stood. His hair was gray, his skin looked gray, everything about him seemed gray. The room shifted and blurred and my hands began to shake. They tightened into fists and one of them landed hard against Denny’s chest. The other was about to land on his chin when a big ogre of a security guard swung into view and grabbed the front of my coat so forcefully that my feet lifted off the ground.

  “Let go of her,” Roy said. The ogre barely glanced at him. My hands were still balled into fists. I might have growled. A couple of people who’d been sitting near Denny stood from their seats and moved across the room.

  “It’s okay,” Denny told the guard. “Let her be. Her daughter had an accident.”

  The guard looked back and forth between Denny and me. “No one fights in my room,” he said, and slowly released my collar.

  I stared at the guard and rubbed the back of my neck. Fear and fury roared in my ears. What right did he have to tell me how to behave when my daughter’s life was in danger? I might have growled again. He took a step toward me, but Denny moved quickly, edging his body between ours.

  “Let her be,” said Denny again. Even his voice sounded gray, tired and sad.

  The guard eyed me.

  I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans so that they would have a harder time hitting anyone.

  The guard looked at Denny, then Roy, then me again, hard. “There’s no next time. Understand? Not in my room.”

  I didn’t answer. Roy put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed. The guard shook his head, grumbling something, and walked back to his post by the entry. Denny nodded his head toward the row of seats. I still wanted to kick something, or yell at someone, but I sat.

  Roy looked down at me. “I’m going to step outside now,” he said. “But I’ll be right here if you need me.” I nodded.
The doors of the emergency room whooshed open and then shut behind him.

  “She was supposed to ride in the ring,” Denny said. His voice was low, muted. “I told her not to go out on the trail today.”

  I looked at him, surprised. Nic was a rule-follower. A people-pleaser. She wouldn’t go out on the trail if Denny had told her not to.

  “Tru came galloping back to the barn without her,” he said. “She wasn’t too far into the woods. I found her pretty quickly. She was on the ground near a big, fallen tree . . . and her helmet was still on. There was a low branch hanging near that fallen tree . . . if she tried to jump, the branch might have knocked her out of the saddle. The way she was lying made it seem like she’d hit her head on the fallen tree on the way down.”

  I stared at him. “You think Nic tried to jump a tree? That doesn’t make any sense. She doesn’t even like to jump.” I hesitated. “Does she?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” Denny swallowed. “She wasn’t moving, Gail. She must have been knocked out. But she was breathing. I couldn’t do anything but call 911. I didn’t take her helmet off. I couldn’t risk moving her. Head injuries . . . neck injuries . . . you don’t mess around with those.” He ran his hand over his face. “I didn’t see a scratch on her, but I couldn’t wake her up. It was like she was . . . sleeping. Sleeping and breathing and . . .” He stopped himself.

  “And what? Don’t fucking spare me now, Denny.”

  He looked apologetic. “She was . . . smiling.”

  The cry broke free from my chest. Denny put his arms around me. For a moment, I lost myself in his barn scent. It was the same scent that I breathed in to bring me closer to Nic when I sat in the back of Roy’s car after work each night. I couldn’t stop thinking of my daughter lying unconscious in the woods, smiling. She was somewhere in the hospital, somewhere nearby, but I still wasn’t by her side. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could stand being separated from her. I sat back in my seat, wiping at my tears, shaking and agitated.

  “Tru’s fine,” Denny said. “He’s safe in his stall.” The horse was the least of my concerns at the moment, but Denny continued. “Nic will want to know.”