Page 88 of Holding On
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I was only trying to help. I got all excited by the idea that maybe you might have a relationship with one of your birth parents and that it would be good for you, and I never should have reached out. I get it.” Her green eyes glitter. “I stuck my nose in your business. I never should have done that.”
I kiss the top of her head and squeeze her shoulder. “Don’t worry. It’s done. She’s here. I’m a grown-up. I’ll see you at eleven.”
“Oh, no. It’s just the two of you.”
I take both her shoulders in my hands and get down in her face. Sometimes I think this is the only way she’ll really hear me. “Then that’s the deal I’m going to cut. If I show up at eleven, so do the rest of you.”
“What about Geo?”
“I’ll talk with him later.”
***
Cory dances along the water, waving his hands. He’s so excited, so he can’t really talk. He has to calm down.
“I can ride him now? Can I ride him now? I want to ride him,” is his mantra of two questions and a statement. It’s all he can sputter, and it comes in cycles.
“You need to walk quietly,” I say, over and over. “Like this.” I walk with determined steps. Salty trudges through the sand, wary of the little boy with the dancing curls.
Slowly, Cory understands. He needs to move slowly, keep his hands still at his sides, no shouting. This is hard for him.
We make our way down the beach. The tide’s going out, and clammers are out in the dark sand, digging. We trail between a father and son and another group of three teens. I know people, tourists, are looking at us. The Black man with a horse and a little white boy—I can only imagine what many of them are thinking.
And then I stop. I don’t ever want to be a mind reader. My dad warned me about that. He said, “The moment you assume you know someone else’s worldview based on nothing, you’ve disrespected them. You’re also doomed.”
We don’t get as far as Echo Cave, but before I turn around, I kneel down to Cory’s height.
“If you think you’re ready to ride Salty, then you have to prove it.”
“I will, I will, I will.” He starts to press his hands together and squirm around to some inner tempo.
“So that means you have to be slow and quiet. Horses are worried a lot.”
“Worried?” Cory understands this word. His anxiety is often through the roof. “Why is Salty worried?” He pets the horse on the neck, and Salty shakes his head. “He doesn’t go to school or have homework or do projects.”
“He worries like you do. He worries about things that are happening right now. So right now, you have to be very still and quiet. You know how certain things make you scared? Flashing things, loud noises?”
Cory nods, a furrow above his eyes.
“Well, Salty’s the same way. Sudden movements scare him. So, we have to move slow.”
Cory listens, and in a superhuman effort, he stops waving his hands and twitching.
“You ready to ride him?”
Instead of a dance or flinging his hands, the boy just says, “Yes, Uncle Travis.” I note how he’s channeling a more reserved air and equating it with being quiet and addressing me formally. Laurel will love it.
“When I lift you up, spread your legs wide so you don’t accidently kick him, okay?”
Cory nods.
I don’t bother to step on the lead. I trust Salty. He knows what he’s doing now. He can sense our needs. That night carrying Maya back, he didn’t spook at the blue flashing emergency lights on the beach, which must have terrified him. Apparently, I lost consciousnesses for a minute before everyone could reach us. Jackson said the horse didn’t take another step after I dropped. It wasn’t until Nic slid Maya off into his arms and Bryce pulled me to a standing position that Salty reared and backed up, but by then, Claire had a hand on his halter.
I pick Cory up and settle him on Salty’s back. The horse sniffs my pocket, and I reward him with an apple bit.
Cory’s smile is so slaphappy, it makes me grin. He starts to say something and rubs Salty’s mane fast—a little too fast.
I put a finger to my lips and touch the boy’s thigh so he sees what I’m doing. He immediately stops and composes himself.
