Complicit Read online

  I bounce along the gravel drive getting my ass smacked with every groove and divot. Then I park the Jeep between the swollen creek bed and a patch of manzanita before heading up past the main barn, which has since been rebuilt to something far more than its former glory. I don’t much like looking at it, though, so I keep my head down as I pass by.

  It takes about five minutes before I find Hector in the round pen with a lip full of dip. He’s working with a dun-colored filly. She trots nervously, faster and faster, throwing her head in the air as I approach, and it’s like we both know I don’t care for horses.

  Or any animals, for that matter.

  “Jamie Henry,” Hector says, snapping the whip in his right hand. He’s got black jeans on and a basketball jersey. “How ya doin’?”

  “Not good.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I saw your brother Danny yesterday. In Berkeley.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “I think he was with Cate.”

  Hector doesn’t respond at first. He snaps the whip again and the filly breaks into a lope. Her hooves kick up clouds of dust.

  “You think?” he asks finally.

  “It was hard to tell from a distance.”

  “You mean you didn’t go over and say hi to your own sister?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I—I couldn’t.” I turn and look at the woods behind the horse ranch. The cottage where Danny used to live sits up that way. Cate practically lived there with him while they were dating, when she couldn’t stand to be around our parents and they couldn’t stand her, either. “He still keeps in touch with her, though, doesn’t he? That’s how you knew she was out?”

  Hector spits in the dirt. “Maybe.”

  “Hector…”

  “If it were up to me, he wouldn’t have anything to do with her. But my brother doesn’t think rationally when it comes to your sister. He never has. Guess Danny’s not so smart for a college guy, is he?”

  “He loved her. Maybe love’s not a rational thing.”

  “She burned our barn down. She hurt that girl.”

  “I know that.”

  “You’d better.”

  I straighten up. Nod at the filly. “This your horse?”

  “Yup. My dad gave her to me. Not five minutes after she was born, she walked into a split piece of wood that was sticking out of the barn. Lost vision in her right eye. They were gonna put her down, but I told my dad I wanted her. Should be able to ride her soon. She’s a good girl. Real good.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Luna.”

  “Whatever happened to that horse Cate used to ride? Can’t remember what it was called.”

  “Cricket.”

  “That’s it.”

  “Ask your folks.”

  Yeah, right.

  “Danny still ride?” I ask.

  “Nope. Danny goes to school. He’s studying political science. Political science don’t tell you much about raising horses, though, now does it? Or about being rational.”

  I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans. What do I know about raising horses? “Hey, you got his number? I want to be sure about what I saw last night.”

  Hector shakes his head. “No way. You want to stalk your sister, Henry, do it on your own time. Leave my brother out of it. He doesn’t need to worry about that girl any more than he already does.”

  “Fine,” I say, but my cheeks feel hot. What harm could it do just to talk to Danny?

  “Kind of strange, though, isn’t it?” Hector says.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, it’s kind of strange, you going out and happening to end up right near where Danny goes to school. You sure your running into him was just some random, chance encounter?”

  Now my cheeks burn even hotter. Yeah, I get what he’s hinting at, and no, I don’t believe in coincidence, but it’s not like I was out there looking for Cate. Definitely not.

  “Of course it was random,” I tell him. “What else could it be? Berkeley’s a big place.”

  Hector spits again. “Not that big, apparently.”

  FIFTEEN

  I drive away from the ranch and don’t look back.

  My whole body feels jittery. Unhinged. I stare through the top of the windshield out at the tree-covered hills. The vast California wilderness. Sweat gathers in the small of my back and I press down on the gas. I’m eager to get the horse ranch out my sight. My memories of it are confusing, not good. This is Cate’s place.

  Her realm.

  It always has been.

  From the day we moved in with the Henrys, Cate spent every moment she could down at the barn, riding. Angie loved it. Angie encouraged it. At least, at first, before things turned bad between them. It’s where Angie kept her own show horse and Madison’s old pony boarded.

  For years Cate dedicated herself to the sport, taking lessons almost every day of the week. She graduated from walking over ground poles and cavalletti to jumping real fences in front of judges and bringing home trophies. But right from the start, I hated going down to that ranch. The horses scared me and the deerflies bit me and it felt like Cate was taking her life into her hands every time that damn pony hurled itself into the air with her on its back. The funny thing was, as we grew older, more and more, Cate wanted me there with her, watching. I preferred to spend my time hanging out with Scooter, and once, when I was eleven or twelve, I told her so.

  At that point, Cate still stood taller than me—she was leggy then, thin, sparse, and only just starting to grow the kind of curves that would eventually drive the local male population crazy, much to my brotherly irritation. “What’s so great about Scooter Murphy? He’s boring. He’s a total loser.”

  “No he’s not. He’s my friend.”

  “You mean he plays Pathfinder with you? Is that what a friend is?”

  “At least he doesn’t punch me in the face!”

  My sister blazed. “That was your fault, you know. You shouldn’t be telling lies about Mom!”

  They’re not lies, I thought, but said nothing.

  Cate softened. She took my hand. “Come on. Angie’s at the store. Come with me to the barn. Please? Pretty please?”

  “Oh, okay.” We got our bikes and our helmets and raced down the winding country road, past miles of elm trees and estate homes and people out walking their pedigreed dogs. Chin riding mere inches over my handlebars, and with the rhythmic tick-tick-tick of rubber kissing macadam echoing in my ears, my mind clicked back in time to root around in our years spent in the Iron Triangle. Richmond wasn’t far from here. I’d looked it up online. It was maybe thirty miles east as the crow flew, but people from Danville didn’t go to places like that. Richmond was in the news all the time, for bad reasons: cast as a town on the edge, full of violence and crime and constant fear. A bridge led out of the area, across the Bay, into richer, nicer places, but only the Richmond side had a toll. Nobody had to pay to get in. Poor people had to pay to get out.

  Cate and I had gotten out, of course. But we’d paid more than most.

  I pedaled harder, following behind my older sister and her long black hair that flowed out from under her helmet. My legs spun and spun, as if generating their own kind of magic. And that’s when they came to me: The memories, those memories of our mom flooded into my mind with dam-burst force, all of them, all at once. The sweet, sweet scent of cigarettes on her clothes. The way her hair tickled me when she wanted me to laugh. But the bad moments came, too. Those things Cate didn’t want me to talk about: the drugs and the men and our mom’s moods and Cate’s tears and being hungry and not having the right clothes to wear when the weather turned cold.

  I shivered, filled at once with both longing and rage. Maybe it’d be easier if I could only have the good memories and forget the bad. Maybe then I wouldn’t feel so awful when I thought about my mom and the way I loved-hated her for having me and leaving me all at once.

  But I cou
ldn’t forget those faint, rare wisps of half-formed memory. I just couldn’t.

  Not even if I wanted to.

  They defined me.

  My mind cleared as we rounded the drive into the ranch, throwing our bikes down and bolting up toward where Cate’s horse was boarded. I waited outside the barn and threw rocks in the creek while Cate went in.

  Five minutes later she came out with the animal on some sort of a long nylon leash. I gaped. Was she going to walk it like a dog?

  “What’s its name again?” I asked.

  Cate sighed. “This is Cricket,” she said, patting the brown horse’s side. The animal snorted in return.

  “Cricket, uh, looks bigger than I remember.” I actually wanted to say fatter, but didn’t know if horses were as sensitive as girls on that issue. “And wasn’t she black before? And had spots?”

  “That was Mr. Pebbles. God. I’ve had Cricket for like a year.”

  “What happened to Mr. Pebbles?”

  “Angie sold him.”

  “Oh.”

  Cate reached for my hand. “Come on. You’re going to ride her. I’ll teach you.”

  “Oh, no. No, I don’t want to.” I dug my heels into the ground. Felt my insides flop over.

  My sister’s eyes widened. “You’re scared, aren’t you?”

  “A little, yeah. I don’t like horses. You know that.”

  She squeezed me. “I won’t let you get hurt. Don’t you trust me?”

  “I don’t trust me. Or … or Cricket.”

  “Come,” my sister whispered. “I’m going to teach you something secret. Something I’ve been practicing.”

  I followed Cate from the barn to the riding arena. The whole place seemed awfully empty, although an older boy I recognized walked by with a wheelbarrow and said hello to Cate. He had dark skin and even darker eyes.

  “Who’s that?” I asked.

  Cate had a sly smile on her lips. “Danny Ramirez.”

  “Hector’s brother?”

  “Yup.”

  “Hector doesn’t like me.”

  “A lot of people don’t like you, Jamie.”

  “Shut up. That’s mean. And it’s not true.”

  “It is true. I’m being honest. People don’t like you because you’re scared of so many things. You do what’s safe. Always. You’re, like, afraid of doing anything else.”

  “Oh, yeah? Besides your big dumb horse, name one thing I’m scared of.”

  Cate turned around. I expected her to be laughing at me, teasing. Instead my sister’s face was very serious. Solemn, even.

  “You’re afraid of yourself,” she said. “Don’t you know that?”

  Inside the arena, Cate put Cricket on something she called a longe line, and it was like an extra-long dog leash this time. She used it to make the horse walk in a big circle. Then Cate stood in the middle of the circle and I stood next to her. I felt sour.

  “I’m not scared of myself,” I said. “That’s a stupid idea if I ever heard one.”

  “The thing is, you don’t even know who you are. But I do,” Cate said. She used her tongue to make a clicking sound and Cricket walked faster. It was like they spoke the same language. “I remember how you used to be. When you were a little kid. You were different.”

  “Oh, yeah? Well, who am I, then? Tell me.”

  “Isn’t it obvious? You’re Graham Henry now. Perfect son. Perfect student. Pianist. Genius. Dead boy.”

  “That’s awful,” I breathed. “Don’t say that.”

  “Get on the horse.”

  “Huh?”

  Cate said “Whoa” and brought Cricket to a halt. “Get on her. I told you I’d show you something, right?”

  “Um…”

  “Don’t be scared.”

  “I’m not scared,” I said, even though I was.

  Cate walked me over and wove her fingers together to boost me up. I wanted to show her how brave I could be, so I let her lift me into the air, sliding my leg and belly onto the sloped bare back of Cricket. Cate made the clucking sound again and the horse moved! Right beneath me. It felt like an avalanche. So much swaying and slipping. I gasped and grabbed for something, anything, but all I got were a few strands of mane, tacky with dust.

  “Stop her!” I shouted. “Please!”

  “Shh,” said Cate.

  “Cate, don’t. I can’t—I can’t breathe.”

  Then I was on the ground, on my back, looking up at the ceiling of the arena. A nest of barn swallows cooed and fluttered in the air.

  “Ohhh,” I said.

  “Are you okay?” Cate kneeled beside me. The horse stood behind her, tail twitching.

  “What happened?” I asked. My head hurt. Bad.

  “You had one of your spells. The breath-holding ones.”

  “I did?”

  She bit her lip and nodded. “You were panicking and then you stopped breathing and slid off. Good thing Cricket wasn’t going very fast. She was extra careful not to step on you.”

  She was? “Maybe you should call Mom.”

  Cate frowned. “Maybe you should get back on the horse and try again. Unless, of course, you’re still scared.”

  “What?”

  “I promised you I’d show you something, didn’t I?”

  So I let her put me up on the horse again. But I trembled and wanted to get off almost immediately.

  “Cate!”

  “She’s not moving, Jamie. I promise. I’ll tell you before she moves. I want you to close your eyes and relax.”

  Relax? That was unlikely. My heart was trying to jackhammer its way out of my chest. Plus I already felt shaky and weak from blacking out, like the kids I’d seen who played the fainting game at school. They did their hyperventilating and choking in secret, but I always knew what they were up to. They were the ones that showed up after recess, all whey-faced and wobbly, unable to walk straight.

  Cate placed a hand on my back.

  “Breathe. Nice, slow breathing. And every time you let your breath out, concentrate on letting all your muscles go loose like you’re melting, like you’re sinking deep, deep, deep into the horse’s back. You and the horse are like one. That’s right. You’re doing it. Just like that. Keep doing it. Keep breathing. Keep melting and sinking. I’m going to take you somewhere inside of yourself where’s there’s no fear. None. You’re doing great. Keep breathing, keep sinking, keep going deeper and deeper and deeper…”

  I did what she said.

  I felt myself slip, slip, slipping.

  And then I heard her voice again. Sharp and bright. Like a ringing bell.

  “Jamie. Jamie!”

  I blinked. I turned my head. I looked at Cate. Then I looked down. I was still on Cricket but she was trotting briskly and there I was riding her with both my arms outstretched.

  My heart stuttered.

  “Cate!” I cried. “What’s going on?”

  “You’re doing great. That’s what’s going on. No, no, don’t tense up now!”

  “I want to get off!”

  She had the biggest grin on her face. “Yeah, fine. You were doing awesome. Whoa now, Crick. Whoa.”

  The second the animal stopped moving, I slid off her and leaped to the ground, where I stood gasping for breath.

  “I don’t want to do that again. Ever.” I clutched my chest.

  “What’s wrong? You did good.”

  “Cate, I don’t know what I did. I think there’s something wrong with my brain. From the blacking out. Or something.”

  “Mmm. There’s nothing wrong with your brain. You did perfect, okay? This was my secret. I told you I’d show you something and I did.”

  I was so unsettled after the horse incident, I immediately told Dr. Waverly what had happened. About the whole time down at the barn with Cate. Every detail.

  “You actually passed out?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I guess. Cate said I held my breath again, but I don’t remember doing that.”

  “This happened twice?”
>
  “No, I didn’t pass out twice. The second time—it was like the opposite. I was scared to be on the horse, but then all of a sudden I was okay. Only I can’t remember doing anything to make myself feel better.”

  “I see,” she said.

  “Do you think … does this mean that I’m, like, crazy?”

  “What does crazy mean?”

  “You know, hearing voices. Seeing things.”

  “Do you hear voices or see things?”

  “No.”

  “Then you must not be crazy.”

  “Well, why can’t I remember what happened?”

  Dr. Waverly clapped her hands together and sat up in her leather chair.

  “You conquered a fear, Jamie,” she said. “That’s a wonderful thing. Taking a chance like that. Embrace your success.”

  “But I didn’t mean to conquer it. I don’t even know how I did it.”

  “Does it matter?”

  I stared at her. “Doesn’t it?”

  “You tell me.”

  “I thought I just did!” God, this was getting so stupid. I got to my feet and walked over to the wooden dollhouse that she kept. A mouse family sat at the dining room table. I picked one up. Sat it on the roof of the house then tried jamming it down the chimney. It wouldn’t fit. I found a yellow Tonka truck and stuck one of the mouse dolls into the driver’s seat. Then I placed the vehicle on the peaked roof of the dollhouse and gave the back bumper a little nudge. The truck and the doll went spilling onto the floor.

  I smiled.

  “Which doll is that?” Dr. Waverly asked.

  I turned around. “Huh?”

  “What doll are you playing with?”

  “Dunno.” I leaned over and picked it up. “It’s the mom.”

  So that got us talking about Angie and it got us to stop talking about Cate and the horse. I didn’t stop thinking about it, though. My sister, I decided, could generate her own magic, something more powerful than mine. Something even someone like Dr. Waverly couldn’t understand. That’s the type of force Cate was.