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She laughed. “Sit down, Jim Carrey. ” Turning her back to him, she tightened the girth and bridled the mare. “Go and get me my helmet, will you, Bretster?”
He ran to the tack room. At the chest marked Mike’s stuff, he bent down and lifted the lid, rummaging through the fly sprays, brushes, lead ropes, buckets, and hoof picks until he found the dusty black velvet-covered helmet. Tucking it under his arm, he let the lid drop shut and ran back into the arena.
Mom was on Bullet now, her gloved hands resting lightly on the horse’s withers. “Thanks, sweetie. ” She leaned down and took the helmet.
By the time Bret reached his favorite spot on the arena fence, Mom was easing Bullet toward the path that ran along the wall. He climbed up the slats and sat on the top rail.
He watched as she went ’round and ’round. She pushed Bullet through her paces as a warm-up: walk, trot, extended trot, and then to a rocking-horse canter. Bret watched as horse and rider became a blur of motion.
He knew instantly when Mom had decided it was time to jump. He’d watched so many times, he knew the signs, although he couldn’t have said what they were. He just knew that she was going to head for the first two-foot jump.
Just like he knew something was wrong.
He leaned forward. “Wait, Mommy. The jump is in the wrong place. Someone musta moved it …”
But she didn’t hear him. Bullet was fighting her, lunging and bucking as Mommy tried to rein the mare down to a controlled canter.
“Whoa, girl, slow down. Calm down …”
Bret heard the words as Mom flew past him. He wanted to scramble down from his perch, but he wasn’t allowed to—not when she was working a horse over jumps.
It was too late to yell anyway. Mom was already at the fence. Bret’s heart was hammering in his chest.
Somethingiswrong. The words jammed together in his mind, growing bigger and uglier with every breath. He wanted to say them out loud, to yell, but he couldn’t make his mouth work.
Silver Bullet bunched up and jumped over the fake brick siding with ease.
Bret heard his mom’s whoop of triumph and her laugh.
He had a split second of relief.
Then Silver Bullet stopped dead.
One second Mom was laughing, and the next, she was flying off the horse. Her head cracked into the barn post so hard the whole fence shook. And then she was just lying there in the dirt, her body crumpled like an old piece of paper.
There was no sound in the big, covered arena except his own heavy breathing. Even the horse was silent, standing beside her rider as if nothing had happened.
Bret slid down the fence and ran to his mom. He dropped to his knees beside her. Blood trickled down from underneath her helmet, smearing in her short black hair.
He touched her shoulder, gave her a little shove. “Mommy?”
The bloodied hair slid away from her face. That’s when he saw that her left eye was open.
Bret’s sister, Jacey, was the first to hear his scream. She came running into the arena, holding Dad’s big down coat around her. “Bretster—” Then she saw Mommy, lying there. “Oh my God! Don’t touch her!” she yelled at Bret. “I’ll get Dad. ”
Bret couldn’t have moved if he’d wanted to. He just sat there, staring down at his broken mommy, praying and praying for her to wake up, but the prayers had no voice; he couldn’t make himself make any sound at all.
Finally Daddy ran into the barn.
Bret popped to his feet and held his arms out, but Daddy ran right past him. Bret stumbled backward so fast, he hit the fence wall. He couldn’t breathe enough to cry. He just stood there, watching the red, red blood slither down his mommy’s face. Jacey came and stood beside him.
Daddy knelt beside her, dropping his black medical bag into the dirt. “Hang on, Mikaela,” he whispered. Gently he removed her helmet—should Bret have done that?—then Daddy opened her mouth and poked his fingers between her teeth. She coughed and sputtered, and Bret saw blood gush across his daddy’s fingers.
Daddy’s hands that were always so clean … now Mommy’s blood was everywhere, even on the sleeves of Daddy’s flannel pajamas.
“Hang on, Mike,” his dad kept saying, over and over again, “hang on. We’re all here … stay with us…. ”
Stay with us. That meant don’t die … which meant she could die.
