Page 51 of Run for the Money

“I think you’ll find ‘indoor’ a generous description for the drafty semi-permanent tent out there.”

Two hours later I discover she is, of course, right. While she gets ready to race in the warm-up tent, I take stock of the chilly arena next door to see what we’re up against. The metal bleachers that surround the course are freezing to the touch. I notice the more knowledgeable, experienced spectators are sitting on old saddle blankets and portable seat cushions to protect their rear-ends from frostbite. Among those well-prepared spectators are Melanie’s supporters: Edwin, his wife, and his siblings; Olivia, who is just as loud and enthusiastic in person as she is over FaceTime, chatting animatedly with Melanie’s much quieter friend, Kennedy; Mirielle Cunningham; and, to my surprise, my mother.

I catch her eye and hold up my hands to signal,What the fuck are you doing here?Mom smiles and blows me a kiss. Olivia watches the whole exchange, rapt. It’s not a disaster, but I don’t think a Lisa-Conway-shaped surprise will help Melanie’s confidence. I mime zipping my lips in the hopes Olivia will get the message and resist the urge to spill the beans. She gives me an innocent look that I don’t buy for a second, so I rush toward the holding area to run interference with Melanie. My phone buzzes before I’m three steps away.

I won’t tell Melanie her former idol & future mother-in-law is here—I’m not an idiot.

This is Olivia BTW.

I will be bullying your mom into showing me your baby pics tho :)

I’ll probably regret it later, but I decide the baby pictures are an adequate payment for Olivia’s silence, and continue my journey back to Melanie in the holding area.

“What am I in for?” she asks when she brings GT into the holding area. “Half a dozen bored ranch hands, or a packed crowd of horse enthusiasts?”

“The latter, definitely,” I say. “How was warm-up?”

She gives GT an affectionate pat on the nose. “Easy-breezy. He’s in a good mood.”

“Focus on the course, and you’ll be golden, then,” I say. “Don’t worry about the crowd, or the judges, or me. Trust your instincts.”

“You got it, Coach,” she says, then she’s off to walk the course.

When she comes back, her eyes are bright and the nervous energy she’s been exuding all morning has dampened.

“We’re so going to the Olympics,” she whispers conspiratorially. “Did you see the first jump series? It’s like they studied GT and made his ideal course.”

“What happened to all your jinxes and superstitions?” I tease.

She swings up into the saddle and winks at me. “I’m a new woman, Nick. Turns out it’s a lot easier to do this when my performance isn’t directly linked to my self-worth, and I’m motivated by something other than spite or terror. Who knew?”

“You could have made a child psychologist unfathomably rich,” I tell her.

“Would’ve, could’ve, should’ve. Instead I’ll just help an adult psychologist afford a nice timeshare somewhere warm,” she quips.

The buzzer sounds for her to enter the arena and I reach up to squeeze her calf, like always.

“Let it rip, baby,” I say.

“Let it rip,” she repeats, and then she’s off.

She crushes the first round. It’s a seventy-second course, and she clears the finish line at 0:62:43, no points. She and GT move like they share a brain, his body responding to her commands as if they were coming directly from his head. The crowd is rowdy for an earlyDecember morning—Olivia’s enthusiasm appears infectious. Everyone in her section is on their feet, cheering for Melanie.

If Melanie notices my mom, she doesn’t show it. She waves at her supporters, then gives me a swift kiss before leading GT back to the warm-up ring to keep him ready for the final round. She’s got as much momentum and home court advantage as you can get in this sport, so I let her be, not wanting to mess with her flow.

The rest of the first round flies by in a blur. Melanie is in second place going into the final, which means she’s riding second to last. I’m expecting steely determination when she comes back to the holding area to prep for her final run, so it’s a bit of a shock when she marches up to me, eyes blazing. GT is calm, so I don’t think there’s something wrong with him, which means—

“Nick, what the hell?” Melanie hisses at me. “Why didn’t you tell me your mom was coming?”

“Mostly because I didn’t know,” I answer honestly. “I mentioned you were competing the last time I spoke to her, but she never said anything about coming to watch.”

“I’m definitely going to vomit,” Melanie whispers. “This is the coolest day of my life. I’m going to medal in front of Lisa Conway!”

The rider ahead of her starts the course, so we only have about a minute before Melanie needs to be in the saddle, at the gate. I pick my words carefully to offer the best blend of support, encouragement, and advice.

“Don’t worry about my mom or the medals. Focus on the triple bar. It’s late in the course and GT might get lazy on you if you’re not sharp. But whether or not you place today, I’m proud of you, Miss Manners. I’m the luckiest coach in the sport, and an even luckier man.”

She lands a swift kiss on my cheek, then mounts GT with a laugh. “Oh, I’m placing, Nick. The guy with the white mare is looking a little too comfortable in first place, don’t you think? Time to give these people a run for their money.”

---