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With a determined frown, she nodded and went off to corner Carolina. I hurried toward the gate, my speed increasing the farther I got. And when I was finally through it, I sprinted toward the women’s room as fast as my feet could carry me, afraid that the tears I was holding back wouldn’t last until I could release them in peace.
But I made it. And all alone in an empty stall, I burst into tears. Ugly, splotchy, sobbing tears. I was crying for my wrist. For my confrontation with Sarah. And for Hunter. It all came out of me at once. And when I’d finally cried my last tear, the clicking sound of heels entering the restroom made me sit up straight.
“Miss Hale?”
Alarms sounded inside my head. Ms. Gentry was here. In this grungy bathroom. There could only be one reason for that.
She was here to kick me out of the competition.
Nothing in my life could go right.
Chapter Nineteen
It seemed that the sanctity of a woman’s bathroom was no match for the likes of Ms. Gentry.
This was the place girls came to escape the bad. To regroup. To re-gloss her lips, fix her hair, and feel good about herself for a few minutes. Kicking me out of the contest just because I’d fallen off my horse did not qualify as bathroom etiquette. And of all people, Ms. Gentry should’ve known the rules.
“Miss Hale, please come out so that we can speak,” Ms. Gentry said on the other side of the stall door, tapping her toe impatiently.
I sighed, flushed the wad of toilet paper that I’d been sobbing into, and unlocked the door. Ms. Gentry stared at me with her arms crossed over her long, gray dress. Her thin eyebrows were arched, her gaze quick to assess every inch of me. No doubt, zeroing in on the specks of dirt still clinging to my outfit. I’d been cornered, with nowhere else to go. I guess it was time to meet my doom.
“I’m sorry for falling off my horse, Ms. Gentry,” I began, squinting at the tiny buttons on the front of her dress. “It really wasn’t my fault. You see—”
“Are you hurt?”
“Um...maybe.”
“May I see?” She reached out to gently take my arm.
Blinking back my slight shock, I tried not to wince as she palpated the skin with her fingers and then maneuvered my hand like it was a joystick. The good news was that the pain was fading.
“Doesn’t seem to be broken.” She nodded and then released me. “Maybe a slight sprain. Put some ice on it this afternoon and take some ibuprofen for any pain or swelling.”
I looked questioningly up at her. This wasn’t the boot out of the contest I’d been expecting. She seemed almost...kind. And caring. I was totally feeling tongue-tied by this interaction.
“How did you know how to do that?” I asked.
“I may have retired from the medical community five years ago,” she said, narrowing her eyes at me. “But a nurse never truly quits the practice.”
It had never occurred to me that Ms. Gentry might have had some career like nursing. I don’t know why. I guess I’d figured that she was some kind of elocution teacher who’d transferred here from another century. She would’ve been a tough nurse. And maybe even a good one, from the way she’d calmly assessed my arm.
“Please don’t kick me out of the competition, Ms. Gentry.” I shuffled my feet, eager to get back to the arena and my horse. It wouldn’t take long for me to prove to everyone out there that I had the goods to win this thing. “I know I can do better. I promise.”
She blinked and then something that looked like the hint of a smile played on her lips. “Child, I won’t kick you out. You’ve proven that you can take this competition seriously. Falling off your horse doesn’t negate that. I simply wanted to be sure that you were okay.”
Unbidden tears filled my eyes again. I walked past Ms. Gentry to lean over one of the ceramic sinks on the opposite side. No, I wasn’t okay. Everything felt like it was falling apart. But I didn’t want to fall apart. Not again. Not like I had a few months ago.
“I can see that there are some underlying issues with you today.” Ms. Gentry moved to stand beside me. I could feel her studying the side of my face. “The teenaged years are so difficult to traverse. When my daughter, Elizabeth, was having a particularly bad day, she used to walk out into the woods behind our home and yell until she was hoarse. Then, we would share a bowl of vanilla ice cream covered in sprinkles. It was her routine that worked for her. Maybe you mi
ght find something similar.”
The idea of screaming in an abandoned wood was sounding kind of attractive at that moment. So was the bowl of ice cream. I wiped away a stray tear from my cheek and looked over at Ms. Gentry. “You have a daughter, too? I’ve only met your son.”
She smiled sadly at me. “Yes, I do, although Elizabeth passed many years ago in a car wreck when she was only eighteen. I miss her deeply every day still.”
A fresh wound formed on my heart as I stared at the woman standing next to me. Never would I have imagined she carried such a trauma. It made me realize how incredibly focused I’d been on myself this whole time.
I really was the worst.
