She rolled her eyes and laughed.
My pleasure, Mr. Rossi. I’ll do anything to get to see my horse.
When they passed the accident spot on I-75, Lissa did not flinch. She fixed her eyes on Silvano’s black hair, wondering what type of gel he used to glue it in place, and tried to concentrate on his words.
“… After the business trip this week, things were pretty busy at the office … keeping up with the bigwig authors … asked me to personally handle all his editing and give suggestions… .” He droned on, dropping one name after another, like the trees on Lookout Mountain dropped their dying leaves on a blustery autumn day. When he tired of talking publishing, he turned to the stock market crash, which Lissa had heard way too much about from her father.
Finally, exasperated, she said, “Look, Silvano, can we talk about something a little more interesting than stocks and bonds?”
Silvano raised his eyebrows, glanced at her quickly, then back at the road, and said, “And what do
you
find interesting, Miss Lissa Randall?”
“I don’t know. Just about anything would do. Books—let’s talk about books. Not about the authors you meet or the trips you take. Let’s talk about what you find that is thought-provoking in those books.”
He glanced at her again, obviously surprised—and perhaps entertained— by her comments. “You know what I find interesting, Lissa? You. You are a fascinating young woman.”
Yeah, right.
She didn’t answer.
“Tell me about your horse and your riding career.”
Well, I’ll be. Maybe he can show interest in another person after all.
Lissa spent the rest of the drive to the barn explaining to Silvano her life of horses and horse shows.
“Here we are,” Silvano said, turning onto the dirt road with the sign marked
Clover Leaf Stables
.
Lissa was relieved to be at the barn, momentarily away from images of her father hiding behind his newspaper and Silvano painting his workday as something larger than life.
Cammie had already tacked up Caleb and hooked his bridle to the crossties. The chestnut pricked his ears and stamped impatiently when Lissa patted his muzzle.
“So glad to see you here again, Lissa! Looks like Caleb’s pleased at the prospect of a workout.”
“He and I both! Cammie, this is a friend of mine, Silvano Rossi. He offered to drive me here. I’ve told him all about this barn.”
“Good to meet you, Silvano. If you want to come with me, you can find a spot outside the ring to watch Lissa and Caleb.”
While Silvano followed Cammie toward the riding ring, Lissa slipped into the little bathroom behind the tack room in the barn and took out the bag she had packed with her riding hat, leather riding boots, jodhpurs, and chaps. She liked the feel of the jodhpurs, the way they stretched and clung comfortably to her legs. She pulled the chaps over the jodhpurs, the smell of leather and sweat taking her back to her former life. Dressing for the barn had been second nature, she thought, pulling her hair into a ponytail and attaching it with an elastic band. Then she tucked the ponytail under her riding hat and emerged from the bathroom.
“Hey, there, boy,” she said, unsnapping the lead shanks from Caleb’s bridle. He shook his head twice when Lissa took the reins over his head and led him out of the barn. She blinked in the bright October sun and tightened the girth. Her heart was pumping as hard as before a real competition as she swung onto Caleb’s back. The minute she felt him beneath her, she forgot Silvano and her father and driving lessons and the library. She was back! Back!
For thirty minutes Lissa worked Caleb at the walk, trot, and canter, guiding him in both directions in the large riding ring. Every once in a while she glanced over to where Silvano was sitting in the bleachers beside the ring. He was following their every move.
“This is just the warm-up,” she called out to him. “I know it’s boring, but just give us a few more minutes.”
Cammie had her arms draped over the fence. The sight of the large, middle-aged woman standing precisely where she had stood on hundreds of other afternoons comforted Lissa. She pulled Caleb to a trot and then a walk, loosened the reins, and came up to where Cammie was standing. “I think I’m ready. I really do.”
Cammie’s brow furrowed and she frowned. “Okay, but start off slowly, Miss Liss. You haven’t done this in a long time, remember.”
For the next fifteen minutes, Lissa took Caleb over fences made of bright red- and white-striped poles, no more than two feet off the ground. Then she nodded to Cammie. “I’m ready for a short course. Can you raise them for me?”
Silvano helped Cammie raise the poles on eight fences, set in lines of two. “I’m putting them at three feet max, Lissa. And don’t you make a face. You haven’t done this in a long time, so we’re starting slow and low. Got it?”
Lissa nodded with a grin.
Slow and low.
That was Cammie’s dictum, had been for years. Work your way up, take your time. As in the old days, Cammie pointed out the course of eight fences, showing Lissa the order in which they were to be jumped.
“And I mean slow. I want you to think as you go into each line, count his strides, look for the small spot, not the big one.”
“Got it, Cam. I promise.” Lissa felt the soreness in her thighs as she squeezed them into the saddle—the wonderful confirmation of hard work on the back of a horse. Caleb eagerly obeyed. Every move seemed at once natural and completely foreign, as if she were speaking Latin again after years away from the language. She knew the things to do, the way to encourage Caleb with her heels and hands and by squeezing the saddle. She still had the instinct, but the practice was rusty. Caleb was impatient to jump, bolting out from under her after the last three-foot fence.
“Whoa there, horse! He’s definitely feeling his oats! Good job, both of you.”
“Put them up higher, Cammie.”
Cammie put her hands on her hips and shook her head. “No, Liss. That’s enough for today. Caleb’s a mound of froth. He’s out of shape, and so are you. You need to take it easy.” She patted the chestnut on the neck and gave Lissa a hard stare.
No, I don’t.
A hint of that former competitive drive coursed through her. But she said, “Okay, Cammie. Thanks. Thanks for being here. I’ll walk him out.”
“Sounds good. I’m gonna start feeding—call me if you need anything.”
Lissa waited for Cammie to leave, then called to Silvano in the bleachers. “Can you put the fences up?”
“But the lady said—”
“Silvano. Don’t worry.” She thrust her left leg in front of the saddle, leaned over, and tightened the girth. She gave Caleb a pat and nodded to two jumps. “Just that line, there. Set the poles up two notches on both jumps.”
Silvano gave her a skeptical look. “How high are you jumping, Lissa?”
“Not high for us. For heaven’s sake, Caleb can jump the moon. This is barely over three-six. It’s nothing.”
Silvano raised the poles as Lissa instructed, calling over his shoulder, “How long did you say it’s been since you’ve ridden?”
“Two weeks. I was here two weeks ago.”
“I know that, but I mean before.”
“Almost eighteen months. Now get out of the way. We’re going to jump.”
Silvano obediently retraced his steps to the bleachers.
Lissa turned Caleb and cantered him in a few circles. Then she headed him to the two jumps. Three-foot-nine was definitely a respectable height, but they’d gone as high as four-nine. Today she was back in the saddle in more ways than one. Leaning forward, squeezing hard with her legs, she urged the little chestnut gelding forward.
He sailed over the first fence, took two long strides, and then sailed over the second.
“Good boy, Caleb!” She let go of the reins, and he galloped around the ring while she held her hands over her head, straight up in a gesture of victory. She was back.
Lissa showered at the barn, just like times past, and when she came out in her jeans and an oversized sweater, Silvano nodded in approval.
“You look great, Lissa, whether you’re on a horse’s back or just standing there in a pair of jeans.
Mervaviglioso
.”
She grinned and shook her head. “Please, spare me the flattery. It really won’t get you anywhere.”
She stopped by Caleb’s stall, where the small chestnut was munching his hay, his flanks still wet from where she had hosed him off and then slid the sweat scraper across his belly to remove the froth. He came to the stall door, tiny ears forward, and nickered.
As if on command, Lissa produced a carrot, rubbing his muzzle as his oversized teeth crunched into the raw vegetable. “Thanks for bringing me here, Silvano. It means a lot to me. A whole lot.”
What prompted this guy to drive from Atlanta to Lookout Mountain, then back toward Atlanta to this barn? And later he was taking her back up Lookout Mountain. Was he lonely? Surely he could find a date in Atlanta. Then on second thought she imagined that most girls got tired of his banter after a first date.
They drove along back roads on the return trip to Chattanooga, and Lissa was thankful to be off the highway and bypass the accident site. She still felt the pumping of adrenaline, the thrill of being on Caleb’s back and watching the fences being heightened.
“You are a competitive young lady, aren’t you?”
“Is that a problem to you?”
“No, of course not. I just hadn’t seen that before.”
She smiled at him, lifting her eyebrows.
I hadn’t seen it in a long time either.
The restaurant was definitely Italian, but a sharp contrast to the expensive, intimate atmosphere of the week before. Here, people crowded in the foyer and waited their turns, happily talking and laughing to pass the time. Palvoni’s had a warm family style, with red- and white-checked tablecloths and waiters bustling in and out, carrying plates overflowing with pasta.
“So you want to talk about books, Lissa. Go for it. What are you reading right now?”
“I’m rereading Virgil’s
Aeneid
in Latin—to prepare for a tutoring session next week with the girls in the Latin competition.”
He seemed duly impressed. “The
Aeneid
in Latin. Do you ever do anything for
fun
? Light reading?”
“Sure. I’m in the middle of a novel that came out last year by Tom Wolfe—I think you said you’ve met him. Anyway, it’s fascinating.
The Bonfire of the Vanities
.”
“Yes. I read that last year. Wolfe is great—very provocative. And quite a character. And speaking of characters, remember I told you about the anonymous writer S. A. Green? I’ve been working on her stuff.”
“The new novel, right?”
“Exactly. I tell you, you should read this lady’s work. It’s good. She has a way of getting into your soul.” He sounded almost embarrassed. “I read a lot of stuff, you know. And sometimes I can’t get through the first five pages. But she’s amazing. The way she uses her words is like poetry in prose. It’s like …” He searched for the right words. “It’s like being back in Rome, Lissa. You’re surrounded with something that appeals to your senses. You can taste and smell and feel and hear it. Somehow she makes her stories palpable.”
“Wow. That’s quite a recommendation.”
“Yeah. I don’t know what it is. The lady gets to me, like a fine bottle of wine or an opera where the music soars.” He stopped. “Sorry. You’re right. I do get carried away.”
“Hey, it’s okay. You’ve convinced me. Tell me what she’s written.”
“Five novels—not counting the new one. If I were you, I’d start with the first one—it’s short and poignant.
Eastern Crossings
. It came out back in 1960, but I’m sure you can find it in a bookstore or the library.”
“Actually, I think I’ve seen it at our school library. I’ll look it up.”
By the time Silvano drove her back to the house on East Brow Road, Lissa had changed her mind about the cocky Italian. He had depth. He was interesting. He could even show concern for someone else. He just needed a little guiding. And guide him she would. A free ride to the barn, a good dinner, and conversations about books. For a deal like that, she could lead him around for a long, long time.
________
Two a.m. How she hated jet lag! Katy Lynn wished she’d bought the sleeping pills that Lanie had told her about.
She’d arrived in Atlanta yesterday afternoon. Gina and Ellen and Lanie were waiting for her at the gate at the Atlanta Hartsfield Airport.
Gina had rushed over and given her a rare warm hug. “Hey, Mom! Welcome home!” And she’d actually seemed happy to return to their house together.
Katy Lynn had been so exhausted that she’d tumbled into bed at ten.
But now she was wide awake, staring at the ceiling and reviewing the past three weeks, especially her conversations with Janelle. It felt good to get to know her sister, truly know her, for the first time.
When the clock showed two thirty, Katy Lynn got out of bed and dialed the number in France. Six hours ahead meant Janelle would be up.
“
Oui, allô?
”
She felt a rush of warmth at the sound of her sister’s voice.
“Hey, Nelli. It’s me.”
“Katy Lynn! What in the world are you doing, calling in the middle of the night?” Then she laughed. “Jet lag, right?”
“Exactly.”
“Well, how are you? How does it feel to be home?”
“I’m okay. Gina’s here, so that’s good.” She almost let it go with that. Everything under control. “Actually, I’m scared to death. Overwhelmed. I don’t want to go through with this divorce. I feel so alone.”
She could almost hear Janelle measuring her words, determined not to spoon out superficial advice.
“I’m sorry, Kat. I can imagine it seems overwhelming. Give yourself a few days to get back on schedule before you do anything rash. Trust me. In all my traveling back and forth, the best thing I’ve learned is to give myself a little time in transition. No big decisions. No major changes. Take a deep breath.”
“Thanks, Nelli. I’ll try that. I really will.”
“And grab a good book.”
“What?”
“Find a good novel to read if you can’t sleep.”
“Really? Yeah—maybe I will.”
“And Katy Lynn—you can call me any time of the night or day, understand?”