A week passes in a strange limbo. I'm mostly better - but if I try to read for more than a couple of minutes, my lurking headache comes full force. No school yet. I don't feel nauseous, but when I take our dog Buck out, and run to catch up with him, I'm left doubling over and holding my head trying to stop the dizziness.

I appreciate it when Tora comes to see me after riding on Monday. While Buck's delighted to have me home, I'm not sure talking to a dog all day is great for my mental health.

The day is warm, like any other summer day in Ohio, and breezy. Perfect riding weather. "How was it?" I ask.

"Good. Ok. Decent?"

"You don't have to hold back for me Tor. You can tell me it was great."

"Oh, my dear Jennifer. I would tell you if it was great. It wasn't. It was fine. It'll only be great when you're back."

Every single day I'm tempted to go back, but then I imagine being a sad, sort of shadow person drifting around aimlessly. A rider without a horse. Until I'm well enough to ride, I don't belong at the stables.

"Tell me the barn gossip." I deflect.

"Well." She starts. "There are two more new bay ponies - ones a super expensive boarder, and one's a new pony Spencer bought for the school - and you can't tell them apart. To the point where some intermediate rider rode the boarder's pony by mistake, and Spencer only figured it out halfway through the lesson, when the school pony stuck his head over the field gate and whinnied.
Oh, and the new wash stall is ready, it has cold and hot water now. There's a bird nesting in the rafters and it had babies and Ace's stall is filled."

"Ace's stall?"

She puts her hand on my shoulder. "Is that okay? I thought if I said it fast, with everything else, it might be better."

I think for a minute. I didn't realize how much the spectre of that gaping empty stall was bothering me - how, when I thought of the barn, it was all I could picture. Now, Tora removed it. I take a deep breath. "You know what? It's okay. It's fine. And I'm going to the doctor's tomorrow morning. If he says I can ride, I'll come out with you in the afternoon."

"You will?"

"I will."

It doesn't feel like a week has passed. The drive to the barn feels just the same. The tires hum on the highway, roll on the pavement of the concession road, crunch as gravel takes over. We pass through dense trees, then move into open farmland bounded with wire, and finally hit the neat black wood fences marking the edge of Spencer's property.

Tora is in the backseat beside me, just like she has been so many times over the years, and, as usual, our helmets are on your laps. The difference is, where hers is scuffed and covered with a thin layer of dirt, mine's brand-new, without so much as a scratch on it. "It's a welcome-back-to-riding gift" Tora told me as she handed it over. "Plus, you'd probably get lice if you borrow one from the schooling stash."

Another change; instead of waving and driving away when we reach the barn, my mom steps out and stretches.

"Tina!" Spencer is grace and charm when it comes to the moms - the cheque-payers. He air kisses my mother. "It's been too long!"

"Jen said you came to visit. I'm sorry I missed you; meetings, you know. It was so kind of you to drive all the way into the city when you're so busy."

"It was the least I could do..."

While they chat, and while Tora zips up her tall boots with the fiddly zippers that take forever, I turn away and walk to the barn. If I want to be alone when I see Ace's stall with a new horse in it, I need to move fast.

I throw my shoulders back, take a deep breath, and step into the filtered light of the aisle. Blink twice, sneeze at the dust bunnies floating through the air, and turn right, to walk the fifteen steps to the most familiar box stall in the stable.

The words are right there on the tip of my tongue: "Hey champ." It's a phrase I've spoken hundreds of times over the last two years. A phrase just for him, because he was a champion. The reason my room was decorated with so many wispy blue ribbons and shiny gold trophies. Right as I'm about to let the words roll right off my tongue, I change them at the last minute to "Hey honey." Because the delicate dished head poking through the dipped bars of the stall door, long- lashed eyes, and near perfect circle on her forehead, has to belong to a mare.

I step back to read her nameplate. "Man Eater." Cursive letters underneath read "Liberty", so yes, a mare.

She reaches her nose out, snuffles around my shoulders and face. She's so gentle, her muzzle like mole skin, whiskers carefully trimmed. Black hair pulled and cut to a short length over her buttermilk fur. Groomed for the show ring. Which, of course, she would be. People don't pay Spencer's prices unless they intend to compete.

She rests her face flat against my chest, and I reach to scratch behind her tan, black outlined, ears. She exhales a long, shuddering breath, warm and soft against my t-shirt.

I smooth a rogue chunk of mane to the left side of her neck. "This is a good stall. You'll like it here." I waited months for this stall to come free for Ace. I wanted the internal window for him, the one where the birds sit and chirp a sweet melody. I wanted him to have cross ties right outside his door so he'd never be bored. I mucked this stall out for him, groomed him in his stall until dusk and, at the end of a very long day, fell asleep slumped in the corner of this stall while I waited for Ace to finish the bran mash I'd made for him.

This isn't Ace's stall anymore. A tear punks on the sweet tan face of the mare and I blink to stop any more from falling.

"You alright?" Spencer's at the far end of the aisle.

"Yeah. Fine." I whisper my thumb over the drop; press it into nothing more than a dark spot among the surrounding hairs. By the time Spencer reaches my side, it's disappeared.

"I wanted you to know it all went ok with the...uh...arrangements...for Ace."

"Oh. Thanks. It felt like the right thing to do." It felt like a surreal thing to do, actually, when I was presented with the option of donating Ace's body to a nearby Equestrian Science lab. "Because he died without being euthanized, it would be easier for us to use his muscles for research."

Weird at first, but burying, or cremating something as big as a horse is more complicated than you might think, and the idea of having him rendered into glue was awful. By comparison, having his body donated to a research facility, where they could use his body parts for good, seemed a lot better.

The hunk of Ace's mane sitting on my table, the one I grabbed when he went down, and I fell off - is more important than his flesh and muscle.

Spencer clears his throat. "I was wondering if you'd like to ride Artemis."

Spencer's Irish Warmblood mare, imported from Europe, so expensive she's owned by a syndicate.

"I'd have to be more than concussed to say no to that."

His brow furrows. "You are okay? It's safe to ride?"

"The doctor cleared me this morning. As long as I don't jump."
I don't tell Spencer about the doctor's wagging finger, and his deep sigh, and his warning. "This is against my better judgment."

Spencer beams. "Great! I'll pull her tack out for you."

As I grab a lead rope, and go to get Artemis out of her rubber-padded stall, there's something else I'm not telling Spencer either. How can I explain that I only feel a flat indifference about riding his super-star horse that's worth about five times more than any other horse I've ever been on?

I'm sure it will change once I get in the saddle.

******

Artemis feels like the one million dollars she's rumored to have cost. Where Ace was whippet - stringy, this horse is rock hard everywhere; under my legs as I squeeze her, under my hands as I stroke her neck. It's like riding a tank. She punches the ground in her walk, and her trot nearly launches me out of the saddle with each big and floaty stride she takes.

Spencer wanders in, a cup in his hand, sips and watches, sips and watches. "What do you think?"

I"m glad he's not asking what I feel - my heart is refusing to lift, even though I want it to. But what I think is easy: "I think amazing. Powerful."

" That, and lazy, too. Come, chase her up; she's been barely moving." Then, in a tone I'm not used to, rushes to add. "If you're tired, or your head hurts, you tell me, and we'll take a break." He swivels to Tora, sounds more like himself. "Not you. You haven't been working that horse enough lately. No breaks."

But my head doesn't hurt, and I don't get tired. Or feel like crying. Or feel anything. Most every ride on Ace gave me a moment of joy. Of pride. Like when he was just learning to do flying changes, and he unexpectedly threw one in for me in the middle of a course. "He changed for you!" Tora yelled, and my heart swelled. He loved me. I loved him. Life was great.

Or when we'd stand, and watch another rider do her course, Ace would turn and rest his nose on the toe of my tall boot, and sigh. Love.

But those feelings aren't with me on Artemis, but at least being on horseback - even though it's not my horse - gives me a one-hour vacation. A mental shut off. All that matters is my legs, seat, and back and hands. Everything I do is a communication. Artemis may be expensive, but she's a horse like every other horse. She talks to me with the swivel of her chestnut ears, her mouthing of the bit.

Once we've gotten to know each other, I tighten my legs, relax my hips, and hold the reins as steadily as I can, and she lunges into an extended trot, hooves flying, reaching, all the upward, saddle - thrusting, motion focused forward, coppery neck arched and mouth listening to my hands. I feel like I'm sitting on a charging bull, and I feel like I'm holding a carton of eggs in my hands, at exactly the same time.

"Beautiful!" Spencer's nodding. "See that, Tora? She's not fiddling with her mouth to get the frame. She's driving her from behind." He watches as we round the ring one more time. "That's enough. I want to see a nice walk transition, then give her a long rein."

Artemis stretches her neck long and low, her muzzle almost brushing the ground, demonstrating to Spencer that she was working the right muscles, showing she's happy and relaxed. I rub her neck. "Good girl."

She is a good girl. She's a lovely girl. And I've been privileged to ride her - I know that. This ride has been like coming halfway home. Like when we flew back from Ireland, and I was so excited to land in Ohio. It felt great, it felt like home. Almost. But it was only when we started seeing signs for Dayton that the reaping feeling of home - of belonging - seeped into me.

Artemis helped me back to my country, but my hometown's still out of reach.

"She's beautiful." My mom wasn't in the ring - in the magic oval - so for the last hour I've forgotten about her.

However, the fact that she's stayed for my ride - and that she's been watching instead of working - worries me. My mom never wastes her time, so if she's chosen to send her time watching me, there's got to be a reason.

Eventually I'll find out what it is, so for now I just agree with her. "She's a great horse."

"What's that?" Says Spencer, putting a hand by his ear. The arena was so big, you had to yell if you were talking to anyone.

"I said she's a great horse."

"She is. And she went well for you. I was telling your mom you can ride her from now on if you'd like."

My mom turns to me, finely waxed eyebrows raised, voice pitched high.
"Isn't that a wonderful offer, Jen?"

"Well, Spencer will take it back if I don't cool her out properly." It's only a temporary dodge, but it works for now.

Spencer laughs. "You're right, keep her moving."

I circle around to walk Artemis next to Tora and her horse, Drax.

She reaches out to poke me with her dressage whip. "See that, Tora? See how perfect Jen is? Even with a concussion she rides ten times better than you..."

"Shut up."

"Why should I?"

"He's just being nice to me because I'm damaged goods, and my horse is dead. He'll go back to tearing strips of me in a couple of weeks. Let me enjoy it for now."

She shrugs. "You're right. Your hair looks like hell, and he didn't even give you crap for not wearing a hairnet. I guess he is going easy on you."

"Thanks Tora."

"Anytime bestie."

******

Tora sticks her head back in the car after she steps out onto her driveway. "Walk the dogs?"

"Um, sure."

My mom twists around in the front seat. "You're not too tired, Jen?"

" No, I'm good." I look at Tora. "You take longer than me - when do you want to meet?"

" Half an hour?"

I raise my eyebrows. "You'll be ready?"

"Yeah, well, you'll just have to deal with the flat-haired, none made-up, me."

"Good thing you'll be walking Myla; I might not recognize you."

Twenty-five minutes later, flat-haired and non-made-up, I reach down and click Duke free from his leash. He immediately leaves the moved path to bound through the wild grasses, already higher than my thighs. The scope he gets- nearly straight from a stand still - makes me shake my head. What could he jump if he was a horse?

As I watch, he's side-swiped by Myla. Our families got these two dogs just weeks apart, and though now they're both settled - and on their own, sometimes lazy - together they always revert to puppy way.

"To the beach?" Tora is anything but flat-haired.

"How do you do it?" I pick up a hand of my flat and frizzy riding hair and let it fall back into place.

"Oh the wonders of dry shampoo my dear. You'll get some for your birthday."

It's one of those early May night, when the air is skin temperature - so light you can't even feel it. When minus-thirty January deep freezes, and sticky plus-thirty June blast, are equally impossible to imagine. It's the kind of night you could declare perfect and nobody would argue.

We walk along the shore of the river, and when we get to a spot where the dogs like to splash out on the broad, flat rocks we stop, and sit on a fall tree and stare aimlessly at the Ohio river where the sun shimmers utop it's murky surface.

Tora clears her throat. Here it comes. "Hey Jen, you're holding your breath. What's up with that?"

"You're going to tell me something I don't want to hear."

"What makes you think that?"

"You never, ever, want to walk the dogs after riding. Never. You want to eat popcorn, and paint your nails, and watch back seasons of Gossip Girl."

She spreads her fingers in front of her, studies her nails - shiny, but chipped - and sighs. "You're right. I don't want to have to tell you this now. After everything. But you're going to find out..."

Myla pushes her wet nose into my hand and I close my fingers around her muzzle.
"Just tell me."

"I...we...Drax is for sale."

"What?" My fingers scratch behind the dog's ear a little too hard, and he whines and ducks away. "But he's amazing. He's great. He's the perfect horse."

"I know, that's the point. It's the right time to sell him. He's at his peak. Somebody will buy him, and do well on him, and love him."

"I thought that person was you Tora."

Tora shakes her head. "I get that it's hard for you to understand, Jen, but I'm done. I've had enough. I know it sounds stupid, and shallow, but I'm tired of driving out to the barn. I'm sick of getting dirty, and breaking my nails, and always having helmet hair....God, it sounds pathetic, but just the fact that I notice all those things tells me I'm not into it enough anymore."

Not into it anymore. Her words run a shiver through me. I talk to cover it up. "But we were going to show all summer."

She nods. "And we would have. It would have been fun. But now it would just be me. And then I started figuring out how many shows I'd miss at the end of the season, anyway - to go to London...."

Ah, yes. University. She has an entrance scholarship to Western in September.

"I get it."

"You do?"

"I guess. I wondered what you were going to do. I never thought you'd take Drax to Londin."

"No, and there's no point in him sitting here, doing nothing but eat in his stall."

"I get it."

She reaches over, squeezes my arm, right above my wrist. "There's one caveat to this, Jen. If you want Drax - if you want to ride him, and show him this summer - just say the word. He's yours. I've already talked it over with my parents. We'll sell him in September, after the championships, if that's what you want."

"It's an amazing offer, Tora..." I stand, stretch, snap my fingers for Buck. "Let's head back, I'm kind of tired."

"Oh god, you're head. I'm sorry. Let's go." We're mostly quiet on the way back, but it's not because my head ruts. It's more because my mind won't stop.

Ace is gone. And soon Drax will be too. I glance sideways at Tora. Suddenly, even her departure, which has seemed far off for so long, feels imminent.

Everything's changing.

I could get my old life back. At least part of it. I've got lots of time to heal before the show season gets into full swing. I've been offered rides on my coach's Olympic-calibre even horse. My best friend has presented me with the option of showing her trading-to-the-eyeballs A- Circuit jumper. I could clean up this year; do even more than I could have done with Ace.

But.

"What's that thing you always say when Dom is being an ass, and you decided you should definitely break up with him, and then you take his call, and fifteen minutes later you two are back together again?"

Tora raises her eyebrows. "Always?"

"More than once, more than twice. Would you prefer 'often?"

She laughs. "Ok, you're right." She claps her hand over her chest. "The heart wants what it wants."

The heart wants what it wants. Something in the pit of my stomach does a flip every time I hear that quote. Even when it just applies to Tora talking about her high school boyfriend. Especially in the context of me thinking of the gangly, dirty, warmblood who stole my heart three years ago, and kept it as we grew and improved together. As he learned not to bolt, and I learned not to panic, and we went from the pair who were hard to get into the ring (Ace knocked down more than one whipper-in during our early show days), to the pair who were tough to beat.

I don't know what my heart wants but, from the absence of any flip or flutter in my stomach or elsewhere, I know it's not showing Artemis or Drax.

If a persistent ache counts for anything, I'd say my heart wants things to go back to the way they were before Ace died.

I guess just because the heart wants what it wants, doesn't mean it can have it.