Fear of Falling (22 page)

“I have to move there.” Olivia felt as if her insides had slipped out of her. She was cold. Numb. Hollow.

Rafe's smile dropped off his face like melting wax. “Move?”

“Yeah.” Her mouth was dry and gritty. She continued, “The magazine is overburdened with the Kentucky Derby coming up. The editor, Albert Allen Simmons, was so shorthanded, he handled my interview himself. After the Derby, they're sending me on a shoot in New Mexico. Another in California.” She was frantic to find her earlier excitement, but failed.

“Move? Out of Indian Lake?”

“Yeah.” Now was the time to tell him the worst part. “The name of the magazine is
Lexington Trophy
. It's new and they do a lot of features on horses and racing. Covers. Albert wants to use my shots for the cover.”

“What shots?” Rafe dropped his hands and shoved them into his pockets.

Olivia forced herself to form the words. “The ones I took of Rowan in the winner's circle. Albert hasn't seen my photographs from Saturday—”

“Saturday? The Illinois Derby he just won?” Rafe shook his head and then raked his fingers through his hair. “Let me get this straight. You're telling me you're moving out of town. For good. To Louisville. And you're going to be using photographs of
my
horse to snag this job?”

She reached out for him, but he recoiled. “Rafe. That promise I made you shouldn't make any difference anymore. Rowan's pictures are everywhere now. He won in Illinois. Albert could buy shots from any stringer there—”

“Fine! Let him!” Rafe turned to walk away but then paused. He stuck his face right next to hers, his anger spilling over. “I don't care if Rowan's photograph is on all this guy's covers, Olivia.”

“You don't? Then why are you so mad at me?

“You don't get it?”

“No, Rafe. I don't. I think you're being selfish and unreasonable.”

“Me? Unreasonable?” he barked and pointed at the stable. “That horse was my dream.
Is
my dream. All I see here, Olivia, is you using Rowan to make your dreams a reality. Because of my devotion to him and my desires, you're able to step out of our lives.”

Olivia realized she had broken his trust in her. She felt his pain as sharp as a dagger to her heart. The rift between them was quickly forming a gulf and only she could stop it. She scrambled for a solution. “Rafe, I'll tell him that Rowan is off-limits. That he can have anything else but his pictures. If he thinks I'm good enough, there will be other shoots in the future.”

“Olivia.” His voice was softer now. “I want you to be ambitious and test-drive your talent. You deserve that. You really do. I'd be the first one to tell you that you should take this chance. It's just, this is a shock. Moving away is a big deal.”

“I know.”

“Does this sudden decision have to do with your father by any chance?” He splayed his hands. “Look, I know it's difficult to heal those wounds, and I think you believe you're not hurting my feelings when you avoid talking about it. But it still hurts. We tiptoe around it, but it's the elephant in the room. I think because you couldn't trust him, you can't trust me. That's why you used Rowan's photos when I asked you not to. I wasn't the priority. I'm trying to understand you, Olivia, but all I feel is betrayed. You wanted this shot at your career, and by getting close to me, you got more access to Rowan. You were able to take more photos of him. Bottom line is that our relationship didn't tip the scales in my favor. So, in the end, maybe we just can't be together.”

“Rafe, that's not true!” she said defensively, feeling the burn of her defection. She'd lost him. And she was desolate.

“Yeah...” He chewed his bottom lip and glanced into the distance. “I'm afraid it is. So, I'll tell you what, Olivia. You go to Louisville and you get your dream. Go on those great shoots you mentioned. Grab fame. But count me out of your plan.” His voice was steady and brittle. He'd put his hands on his hips as he spoke, but his knuckles were white, as if he was using all his strength to steady himself. “In the end, Rowan and I served our purpose for you, didn't we?”

An eerie sensation flooded through Olivia, as if death had just laid his hands on her. “What are you talking about?”

“You got you what you needed out of us, didn't you? I guess you can always say we gave you this shot at the big time.”

He spun on his heel and waved over his shoulder. “Good night, Olivia. Have a good trip.” He stalked away and never looked back.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

T
EN
DAYS
IN
Louisville had felt like a month. Olivia slugged back a bitter-tasting
chain-brand cappuccino, wishing for even a sip of Maddie's brew. She hadn't
slept more than five hours a night since she'd driven into town with her van
piled high with clothes, linens, kitchen utensils and her inflatable bed. She
felt she'd barely seen the inside of her own apartment, much less unpacked a
single suitcase or duffel bag. All she'd done was work.

Albert had not only assigned her to two journalists, Lucrezia
and Bart, but he'd also given her a shopping list of photographs he wanted taken
over the next three weeks. He'd handed her a Garmin, an iPad and an
old-fashioned street map. “You need to learn the city but fast,” he'd said,
shoving a thick manila file of photographs of Thoroughbreds into her hand. “We
have less than two weeks till D-day. That's why I needed you here so
quickly.”

“The Derby, you mean.”

“That's right. Morning, noon and night you'll be shooting
anything and everything related to the Derby. We'll run interviews with the
owners for months. Most of these horses will go on to summer and fall races. I
want to know about their futures. I want to know if they're bringing up another
horse for next year. Do they have stablemates? You will be everywhere they are
until the Derby is over.”

“Got it.”

“Lucrezia is doing pieces on these first nine horses. Bart has
the rest. He's an old pro at this. I gave him more ground to cover because he
can do it.”

“And I'm assigned to both of them? I appreciate your confidence
in me.”

Albert's face had registered a ghost of a smile. “You're young,
Olivia. Lots of energy. Until the Derby is over, I'm depending on your youth
just as much as your talent.”

“I see,” she'd replied, wondering if that was a compliment.
“I'll get on it.”

Olivia's desk was a small, drab army-green metal unit parked in
a distant corner of the office. In her first hour on the job, Olivia had
realized she couldn't use the rehabilitated six-year-old laptop she'd been given
and volunteered her own computer. She was able to edit her photographs both at
work and at home using her trusty laptop. It had worked out beautifully because
Olivia could use it at her desk, in her car, at her apartment and in the coffee
shop at the corner.

No matter how busy she'd been or how many hundreds of shots
she'd taken and submitted each day, not an hour passed that she didn't look at
her cell phone hoping to see a call, text or email from Rafe.

But there was nothing. It was almost as if she was dead to
him.

Her mother, on the other hand, had communicated at least once a
day. Julia had been just as surprised as Rafe that Olivia had won the job, but
her reaction had been much different. Surprisingly, Julia wasn't concerned about
replacing Olivia, which hurt Olivia's feelings more than she cared to admit.
She'd been her mother's right arm since the first days of the deli. They were
the Two Musketeers, or so Olivia had thought.

“Goodness, Olivia,” Julia had said. “It's nearly summer—half
the graduating class from the high school will come knocking for a summer job.
I'll pick one or two and train them. If they're good enough and show interest, I
could always move them into the catering, as well. I'll figure it out. Besides,
this is the moment you've always dreamed about.” She had caressed Olivia's
cheek, but there was only joy and pride in Julia's eyes.

“Gee. I thought you'd be all teary-eyed and beg me not to
go.”

“I envy you this move. I've always dreamed of Florida. I
wouldn't move there permanently, of course. Just for the winters. Louise Railton
closes every December and comes back in April and she's like a new woman. She's
met so many friends.” She'd looked down at her hands and then back up at Olivia.
This time Olivia saw a sheen of tears, but they weren't for her. They were for
Julia's own lost dreams. “Maybe someday.”

“You keep hoping, Mom. Something will turn up that can make
that happen if you really want it.”

Julia had smiled warmly. “You're absolutely right. You never
lost faith that this would happen. I'll do the same.”

* * *

I
T
WAS
THREE
days and counting to the Kentucky Derby, and the city was overflowing
with visitors, trainers, owners and horses. Olivia was astounded at the hustle
and bustle. It was as if the residents were preparing for the triumphant return
of a hero. In a way, she supposed, they were.

The streets were clogged with florists' trucks delivering
floods of roses to hotels, restaurants and offices. Invitations to Derby
parties, both private and for charity, sat in stacks at the reception desk in
the
Trophy
office. Actors, famous musicians,
politicians and sports stars had booked every hotel suite.

Private homes played host to Hollywood celebrities and
socialites from all over the country. Five-star restaurants were packed. Long
lines ringed the streets around nightclubs where top-selling rock bands had been
booked for over a year.

Albert stood over Olivia at her desk, tapping his watch. “What
are doing here?”

“Editing the photos for Lucrezia's article on Just in Time.”
She pulled up a photograph of the chestnut-colored Thoroughbred. “What do you
think?”

“Great-looking horse.” He peered at the shot. “I'm not sure I
want to use it.”

“What? Why not?”

“Olivia, I know you're working hard, but these photos are
missing something. They're just not as good as the ones you submitted with your
résumé.”

“Rowan, you mean.”

“Is that his name? Anyway, I don't know what it is. An essence.
A spirit. Just in Time has done well this year, but I'm not picking him to
win.”

“You think you can pick the winners?” she asked, studying the
image.

“The winners should be standout horses.”

“But I won't know that until they actually run the race.”

Albert shook his head as if he was trying to reason with an
imbecile. This was the second time in three days that Albert had criticized her
photographs without giving her a clear explanation of what she was doing
wrong.

“Albert, please tell me what you're not seeing here and I'll
give it to you,” she said, hating that she had to plead. She was exhausted, but
she wasn't desperate. Still, she couldn't work for the man if he didn't give her
guidelines.

“You should know from looking at these horses which one will be
the favorite.”

“I could check the oddsmakers in Vegas,” she mumbled
sarcastically. But she thought she understood what he was saying. “You want me
to find the ones that have heart, not just good lines and track records.”

He snapped his fingers. “Exactly.”

I thought I was doing that.

“Albert, by the time these horses make it to the Derby, they
are
all
the best in the country. Every one of them
is spectacular.”

He leaned in close until their noses nearly touched and his
eyes pinned hers. “And it takes a very gifted photographer to single out the
very best from that elite pack. I thought you were that person.”

“I am,” she assured him. With a jolt, Olivia realized Albert
was right. She did know how to see to the heart of a horse, but since her move
to Louisville, everything about her work, her thinking, her own spirit, was out
of whack.

It was as if the void that had opened up on her last night with
Rafe had shut down her ability to connect with animals...or with anything. Was
she forcing her heart not to feel the pain of their separation? Was she doing
exactly what she'd done when her father had abandoned her? Stuffing her
heartbreak into an iron locker and praying it would never escape?

Albert straightened and turned on his heel. He took two steps
and then said over his shoulder, “You've got a gig at the Brown Hotel in one
hour with Owen and Sylvia Huet. Owners of Sideshow.”

“Okay.”

“Make sure you give me shots that
Town
& Country
and
Horse & Hound
will
cry over.”

* * *

O
LIVIA
SAT
ON
a
gold brocade sofa in the opulent lobby of the historic Brown Hotel in downtown
Louisville listening to Owen and Sylvia Huet carry on about their adventures in
Thoroughbred racing. Owen was fifty-six years old and looked every minute of it,
his face tanned and weathered from the Florida sun. He was trim and
broad-shouldered, and looked like a working man who did not leave the training
and riding to others, but chose instead to live his life through his horse.

He reminded her of Rafe, or what he'd be like in twenty years,
and she felt hollowness in her heart that threatened to swallow her. She glanced
at her cell phone. Still nothing from Rafe.

She raised her camera to her eye so that no one would recognize
the sheen in her eyes for what it was.

Frightening, how stingingly painful it was to miss someone.

Lucrezia, who was only a year out of the University of
Louisville, barraged the Huets with questions that seemed inane to Olivia, but
which the older couple indulged.

Olivia rose from the sofa and took her photographs as
surreptitiously as possible, trying to capture those split-second moments that
flattered both Owen and Sylvia and did not reveal their suffering at Lucrezia's
inexperienced hands.

“And what are your aspirations for, uh...” Lucrezia looked at
her notes and scrambled for the horse's name. “Sideshow?”

To win, obviously
, Olivia thought
with exasperation.

Both Owen and Sylvia gaped at the young reporter before
answering stiffly.

Olivia continued taking pictures as Lucrezia went through her
list of questions, which the Huets graciously entertained.

The interview was so painful, Olivia finally interrupted
Lucrezia, who slung her a killing glare. “My boss would like some photographs of
you and Sideshow. How about if I follow you over there now? After you finish
your drinks, of course,” Olivia said sweetly.

The relief on both Owen's and Sylvia's faces was blisteringly
apparent. “Great!” they said in unison, setting down their half-finished
cocktails. “You can ride with us, Olivia,” Sylvia offered with a tone of
urgency. Olivia realized how anxious they were for the interview to be over.

Lucrezia bounced to her feet and announced, “Actually, Olivia
won't be going to the stables with us.” She whipped out a white sheet of paper
from the monogrammed leather folder she carried—probably a graduation gift from
her parents.

Olivia nearly chided herself for her catty thoughts. Nearly.
Lucrezia was gloating. This couldn't be good.

Lucrezia shoved the paper at Olivia. “Albert wants you to
continue shooting the owners here at the Brown. He's sending another
photographer to the stables.”

Not photograph the horses?

Olivia was stunned. Albert was dead serious when he'd told her
that her work had lost its spirit. Olivia smiled placidly, hoping the shock
didn't register in her eyes. She had to find her edge again.

Lucrezia smiled at the Huets. “Albert wants the best for
Sideshow. Olivia has only been on the job a few weeks and is just getting her
bearings. We have a seasoned photographer, been around stables forever, Albert
tells me.” Her smile had turned into a leer. “Shall I follow you over there in
my car?”

Lucrezia was beyond gloating, Olivia thought, but it didn't
matter. Olivia was being taken down a peg because she'd lost something vital in
her work.

Olivia had always viewed life and her subjects through her
heart. The problem was that her heart was broken.

Olivia watched the Huets and Lucrezia leave the lobby, feeling
as if the earth was quaking under her feet. She looked down at the expensive
marble floor. Rock-solid.

Then she turned her gaze to the blank screen on her cell phone.
What was this? Twenty times today, alone, she'd checked to see if Rafe had
texted or called her. Never in her life had she spent so many minutes and hours
wishing that her phone would ring. She would give anything to hear Rafe's
voice.

“Olivia!” Bart shouted from across the hotel lobby, startling
her out of her thoughts.

She whirled around and raised her arm in a wave. “Bart! I'm
here.” She rushed toward him and the next Derby entrant owner.

This is your dream come true, Olivia. What
are you going to do with it?

* * *

R
AFE
CRUSHED
HIS
mother's homegrown mint in the bottom of
a silver-plated mint-julep cup. He added a heaping tablespoon of powdered sugar
and a jigger of his father's best Kentucky bourbon and stirred the mixture until
the sugar dissolved. As he added crushed ice to the cup, he stared at the
bourbon bottle.

The word
Kentucky
swam in his
vision like a hologram: illuminated, vibrating and beckoning.

Rafe's father had often told him that you could count on one
thing in life—irony.

It was ironic that Olivia, who had feared horse racing all her
life, was now living at the epicenter of American horse racing. She was no doubt
at the Derby today, covering the story for her new job. It was the one place in
the world that Rafe had dreamed of being since he was a kid.

It was also ironic that he'd been partly responsible for
putting her there right when he'd realized that what he wanted most in his life
was Olivia.