NO SECRET SO CLOSE excerpt #6, by Claire Dorotik

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NO SECRET SO CLOSE is the story of a the most unthinkable betrayal humanly possible — at only 24 years old, Claire Dorotik’s father has been murdered, her mother arrested, and now, in a sinister twist of fate, Claire’s mother points the finger at Claire, accusing her of killing her own father. Battling the feelings of loss, abandonment, terror, and dissociation, and also learning about them, Claire struggles to stay in her master’s program for psychotherapy. However, when Claire’s brothers also betray her and side with her mother, Claire is left all alone to care for the 18 horses she and her mother owned. As the story unfolds, what is revealed is the horses’ amazing capacity for empathy in the face of human trauma, and the almost psychic ability to provide the author with what had been taken from her. Arising from these horrifying circumstances, the most unthinkable heroes — the horses — show Claire that life is still worth living.

Excerpt #6 from NO SECRET SO CLOSE:

My hand reached up to rub the round patch of white hairs in the middle of Nimo’s forehead.

“You’re free,” I whispered to him.

He looked at me intently, cocking both ears forward.

“That’s right, you’re free. Do you remember what you taught me? Well, back at ya pal.”

He reached his nose forward towards my cheek, blowing softly.

“You wanna jump big today, you’re free to, if you don’t, that’s ok too. This one is up to you. It’s really big out there.”

He held his nose against my face, and his eyes softened as he gently rested his chin on my shoulder.

It was the last day of the intense three-day Young Jumper Championship. The competition was on the grand prix field in Del Mar, the same field that Flying Cat and I had shown on just two years before. I smiled to myself when I looked at the stall chart to see that I was stabled only two stalls down from the stall that Flying Cat had occupied. It seemed fitting. This was the year end competition for all of the five year old jumpers who had qualified during the year. It was designed to showcase the upcoming talent, and separate the potential grand prix horses from the rest of the field. The competition had started with 33 competitors and by day three, the field had dwindled to 17. The fences had started at what was supposed to be an inviting 3’9” but held out of the grand prix field, the course had proven intimidating for such young horses. Many of them had stopped at the fences, become nervous and run sideways, or over-jumped the fences so much that they scared themselves. And each day, the fences got bigger and wider, and each day, more horses dropped out. I’d worried it was too much for Nimo, that it wouldn’t be fair. After all, we’d only shown once during the year, and it was only a small schooling show. Not much preparation considering the circumstances. And when I noticed who the course designer was, I shuddered. She was known for building her courses exactly to specifications, taking no leniency for factors such as the greenness of the field. The course specifications had read that the fences would begin at 3’9” and progress to 4’3” by the end of the competition. But Nimo hadn’t jumped bigger than 3’9” in competition, and although we had schooled 4’3” at home, performing in competition, especially on the grand prix field, was a whole different ball game. The grand prix field is surrounded with bleachers, sponsor logos and banners, a grob, which is like a small gulley with a fence at the top of both sides and right at the bottom on the far side, and a bank fence at the end of the field. To enter the field, you have to ride in between the bleachers, directly underneath a huge announcers tower. That alone is intimidating for even an experienced horse. While Flying Cat hadn’t even looked at the tower and just marched forward diligently, Keeper had thrown a fit under it, and instead of running backwards into the horse that was lined up behind us, we had to leap forward into the field prematurely.

Yet aside from the distractions in the field, the size of the fences alone was intimidating. And in competition, the brightly colored fences always seem to look about a foot bigger than they really are.

In preparation, I’d called Bill, my beloved coach, who’d, for years, schooled me on all of the horses, always offering sound counsel and sage advice. He’d accompanied me many times to Del Mar, me mostly showing my own horses, and sometimes his. And he’d grown especially affectionate of Keeper. When I’d become frustrated with his antics, it was Bill who said, “That one’s gonna teach you how to ride.”

And when he first saw Nimo as just a yearling, his comment was, “That one sure thinks a lot of himself.”

You don’t know the half of it, I thought to myself.

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