I slowed Bliss to a trot. My stomach clenched as we drew closer to the willowy figure who stood near the gravel driveway.
Of course, the expression on Mom’s heart-shaped face was as poised as ever; not even a single blond hair strayed from her usual neat ponytail. The wiry arms crossed under her chest hinted at annoyance, but that was all the reaction I got. Disappointing, but hardly shocking.
Nothing fazed Nicole Daily, not one of the critically injured horses she tended or an impromptu move to a new state, and certainly not one slightly rebellious, hugely heartbroken daughter.
When I pulled the horse to a stop, Mom’s dark-blue eyes remained neutral behind the square frames of her glasses. “I’m sure I’ve told you not to ride faster than a walk. Was there a point to that?”
I dismounted and patted the blowing horse on the neck. My shoulders hitched back. “No point.”
Her eyebrows arched over her lenses, accentuating her surprise. Then her lipstick-free mouth flattened into a thin line.
The spurt of satisfaction I felt wasn’t nice.
“I see.” An abrupt shake of her head, followed by her slender fingers rubbing the spot between her brows.
With a start, I noticed her hand was shaking when she extended it toward me, palm up. An uncharacteristically pleading gesture. “No, I don’t see. Mila, please, you can’t do this sort of thing. What if you’d had an accident, and then—”
She broke off, but it didn’t matter. The flannel shirt I wore became heavier, burdened with the weight of words left unsaid.
And then—maybe I’d lose you, too.
For the first time since the move, I threw my arms around her and buried my face in the comforting bend of her neck. “I’m sorry,” I said, my words muffled against skin scented with a combination of rosemary and horse liniment. “Only slow rides from now on. Promise.”
When Mom stiffened, I gripped her all the tighter. I wouldn’t let her slip away. Not this time. Her hand patted the spot above my left shoulder blade, so soft, so hesitant, I almost thought I’d imagined it. Like after this past month, she’d forgotten how.
And maybe I did imagine it, because she untangled herself from my grasp a moment later and stepped away. I tried not to let the hurt show on my face while she adjusted the wire-framed glasses that only intensified the intellectual glint in her eyes. People said Mom didn’t look like a stereotypical veterinarian, not at all, not with those acres of blond hair and her petite frame and delicate features. She eschewed makeup as a waste of time, and her bare face only seemed to enhance her natural beauty.
We looked completely different, the two of us. I was shorter, sturdier, with natural muscle like my dad and his brown hair and eyes, too. The quarter horse to her thoroughbred. But I liked to tell myself I had Mom’s heart-shaped face.
And her stubbornness.
“You have to follow the rules, Mila. I need you to be safe.”
She hesitated before tucking my wind-blown hair behind my ears. As her fingers grazed my temples, her eyes closed. A tiny sigh escaped her lips.
I stood frozen in place by the unexpected sweetness of her gesture, afraid that any sudden movement might startle her back into the present. I so, so wanted this version of Mom back, the one who dispensed hugs and kisses and comfort as needed. But up until this moment, I’d been convinced that the old version hadn’t made the trip to Clearwater. That maybe the old version had holed up somewhere in Philly—along with the missing pieces of my memory.
Mom pulled away all too quickly, her right hand flying to the emerald pendant dangling around her neck. My birthstone. A necklace Dad had given her when I was just a baby.
After his death, Mom heaped more affection on the symbolic version of her daughter than she did the real thing.
Her abrupt swivel kicked up dirt. I watched the dust plume upward in a small, tangible reminder of her rejection, a cloud that thinned and thinned until it finally dissipated into blue sky. What would it be like, to disappear so easily?
“Go walk Bliss out and rub her down. I’m going to check on Maisey,” Mom called from over her shoulder, her swift stride already carrying her halfway to the barn.
If only I were as efficient at leaving things behind as she was.
“Oh, and Kaylee called. She wants to pick you up for a Dairy Queen run in half an hour. You can go there and nowhere else, understand?”
“Yes,” I said, barely suppressing an eye roll. Come straight home after school. No going anywhere without approval. Never let anyone besides Kaylee—who’d gone through a rigorous prescreening process—give me a ride. You’d think we lived in the slums of New York City or something.
Not that it mattered. I didn’t have anyone else to go with—or anywhere else to go—anyway.
I leaned my head against Bliss’s lathered body, taking comfort in her warmth, in her musky horse smell, before straightening. “Come on, Bliss. Let’s walk you out.”