Page 36 of The Feud

It’s four p.m. and I’ve broken my routine. Normally at this time of day, I am cloistered in my office working on the administrative duties required to run Blackburn Farms. I have a part-time secretary who does things like invoicing and scheduling, but it’s always at my direction, so my fingers are usually pounding on the laptop in my home office for an hour or so each day.

But today, that work will have to wait. Sylvie is at the kitchen table finishing up her homework and as I walk in, I hear her talking to Miranda.

“…three years old and one ear sticks straight up and the other flops forward,” Sylvie says.

“He sounds adorable,” Miranda replies, and as I turn the corner into the kitchen, I see Miranda working at the center island, seasoning the pork chops we’ll be eating for dinner. My parents are joining us tonight and my mom is bringing a board game for us all to play after. It’s just one of many ideas they’ve been accumulating that will allow Sylvie to spend family time with them in a fun, easy way. “I bet you miss him a lot.”

“Very much,” she replies as my gaze slides to her. She has her head bent over a workbook—math by the looks of it—and is managing her calculations while talking to Miranda. The girl is smart as a whip.

I decide to join the conversation. “Who do you miss?”

Sylvie’s head pops up and I’m relieved to see acceptance in her expression. Gone is her normal glare and disdain and she no longer closes herself off the way she used to. True to her word, she has been making an effort.

“My dog, Renault.”

I didn’t know she had a pet she’d left behind in France. Just one more loss she was dealing with. I have no clue what it would take to get her dog shipped here but I make a mental note to look into it. “Renault… as in the car manufacturer?”

“Renault as in the Formula1 race team,” Sylvie replies and my jaw drops. “Although now they’re called Alpine.”

“You watch Formula1 racing?” I’m practically agog because it is such a niche sport and she’s only nine. Aren’t girls her age into dolls and stuff?

“Maman did. She dated a man for a while who used to race so she was into it. Renault was her favorite team.”

I am fascinated. I walk over to the cabinet that holds thermal cups and pour myself a coffee from the pot Miranda always keeps fresh. My caffeine addiction is real. After pressing a lid onto my cup, I turn to face Sylvie, intensely curious about this new fact I’ve learned. “Did you ever go to any races?”

Sylvie nods, tapping the eraser of her pencil on the workbook. “He took us to a Grand Prix in Monaco and Monza. It was really loud.”

I have a million questions, but each one may sound like I’m curious about Alaine and her racing boyfriend and I don’t have any genuine curiosities about that.

Except one.

And I’m hesitant to ask it but it bears directly on what type of father figures Sylvie has had over her life.

Luckily, Sylvie appeases my curiosity by saying, “But she didn’t date him for very long. He traveled a lot and it didn’t work out.”

She sounds neither sad nor regretful. Just matter of fact and I assume Sylvie didn’t have a strong bond with him. Weirdly, that gives me some satisfaction as the thought of someone else being a father to her makes me sting a bit with jealousy. I’ll delve into that later, as I’ve got nine years of history to learn about her. I instead ask, “Do you like any other sports?”

Sylvie shrugs. “Football, or as you Americans call it… soccer.”

I can’t help but bark out a laugh. “Your dad played soccer in high school, or as you French call it, football.”

Sylvie actually smiles and Miranda laughs.

“Do you understand that the show horses we have and train are athletes? They compete in shows with their riders.”

“Kat explained that to me,” Sylvie replies, bending her head over her workbook and answering another math problem.

“Are you almost done with your homework?” I ask.

“Just two more.” She keeps focused and I wait for her to finish. Sharing a look with Miranda, her expression is replete with happiness that they’ve had an actual conversation—an exchange of meaningful words.

When Sylvie closes her workbook, I ask, “Why don’t you come over to the show rider barn with me? There’s somebody I want you to meet.”

Sylvie’s eyes widen. “Who?”

“Ms. DeLeon’s niece Carmen has a lesson with Kat. She goes to a different school, but y’all are the same age and we thought it would be good for you to meet. A new friend.”

I wait for suspicion to arise, but her expression is one of curiosity. “Okay. Do I need to change clothes?”

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