“I don’t want my job,” I grumble, shifting onto my side.
“What? Of course you do.”
“Pip. I can’t even see you. The only reason I can navigate around this house is because I’ve memorized the layout and the number of steps between spots. How could I possibly work with a wild horse?”
“But what about your session with Hope?”
“That only proves I can ride a horse that has been rehabbed, one that I know and trust and can control not to break out into a trot. That’s hardly head handler material.”
“But—”
“I can’t read their body language. I can’t inspect them for wounds or injuries. I can’t fit a halter or place a fly mask over their ears.”
“So that’s it? You’re just giving up?”
“I’m not giving up. I’m being realistic.”
“Bullshit. I’veneverheard you talk about quitting working with horses. With Maverick, sure, you went to great lengths to point out that wouldn’t be a forever thing. In my mind, that’s still delulu, but whatever, you did say it multiple times. How can you give up on horses, though? They’re your biggest passion in life.”
“What choice do I have?” I cry, hitching the blanket all the way to my chin. “I have to accept I’m going to lose everything. My vision. My cabin. My job. My…my…” A choked sob bursts from my throat. “Maverick.”
I hide my tears under the blanket, hating who I’m turning into. I’m not a quitter. No matter how many setbacks I’ve endured, I’ve always kept going, kept pushing, kept fighting.
But too much is happening all at once. I can’t do it anymore. I’m not strong enough to deal with my changing reality and losing Maverick at the same time.
Pip rubs my leg through the blanket. “Is there anything I can do?”
I sniff, wiping my nose on the corner of the blanket like the gross pig I’ve become. “Stay with me and change the topic to something else?”
“Sure, I can do that. Just like I can pretend you didn’t just wipe your nose on the blanket.”
“I know. I’m disgusting. I’m sorry.”
“Have you showered in the last forty-eight hours?”
“I have. Why? Do I stink?” I sniff my underarm.
He lets out that deep, rumbling chuckle of his. “You don’t. I was just checking.”
“Good. There is something I want to know. About you.”
“Me?”
“Yeah. What the fuck have you been doing lately?”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t give me that. You were MIA for most of the summer. I know you were doing extra course units or whatever, but you’re up to something.”
There’s a long pause. Then: “Ugh, fine. I’m planning something for the talent show Maverick is organizing. It’s a surprise, though.”
“You have a secret talent?”
“I do.”
“Can I guess?”
“You can try, but you’ll never get it.”
